BY

Sydney Alexis
A Queer as Folk Novel

Summary: With the Mommies' marriage crumbling down around them, Gus forced attention on himself by acting out in an ill fated attempt to keep his parents together for his little sister, JR's, sake, but at what cost to him?

Setting: Post Season 5 with some flashbacks to earlier seasons

Edited by: ShadowNYC

 
 
1: Sassy Shit

[Gus' age: Sixteen]

Gus was a sassy little shit. Sharp tongued and quick witted, he grew up to be an extremely intelligent, highly antisocial, mal-adjust. The school had labeled him 'at risk' and his mothers had labeled him as a 'troubled' teen. The kid wasn't stupid; he'd heard his mothers whispering late at night, and he sure as fuck saw those brochures for brat camps.

As far as Gus could tell, Lindsay only told Brian snatches of what was happening-detention for cussing and vandalism, suspensions for fighting and truancy. She used fancy words like 'insubordinate behavior,' 'malicious mischief,' and 'insufferable demeanor' like she was listing off items in a fucking court martial document instead of talking about her kid.

The funny part was that it wasn't the cussing or the totally bogus arson charges the school tried to pin on him that made his mothers crack. Oh no it was the day he decided to start calling his parental units by their given name.

Two days later, Mel and Lindsay decided it was time to drop hints of what was to come. It was a Thursday morning. Gus had been in the middle of buttering his too-burned-to-be-toast when Mel casually mentioned that, instead of going to his fathers' home that summer, he'd be spending his time in a 'summer camp' in the middle of Montana.

Assuming it was another bluff to get him to behave for the last eight weeks of school, Gus rolled his eyes, grabbed his partially buttered, burned to a crisp toast, and left the house without a word. He forgot all about it until some stupid bitch from the 'Save the Miscreants' showed up on a Saturday afternoon to talk to his mothers.

That was when he pulled out his secret weapon, or rather, his cell phone and dialed his father's number.

"Kinney."

"Dad, you're not going to believe the shit that the Lesbi-moms are up to this time."

Gus listened to the exasperated sigh on the other end. He knew his father hated getting pulled into the middle of Peterson-Marcus-Kinney drama, but this shit was important.

Knowing his father had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to getting to the crux of things, he blurted out the one thing he knew would make his father take notice:

"They're not going to let me come back to the Pitts this summer. They're downstairs talking to some stupid cow about sending me to a brat camp in Podunk, Montana."

A long, drawn out silence followed. If it were anyone else he was talking to, Gus would have been nervously filling the space with words, but he knew that tactic wouldn't work here.

"Gus," Brian started.

Just the way his name was said, Gus knew what the response would be and shit if the walls didn't start moving in like he was having another fucking panic attack. There were a lot of things he'd put up with over the years-JR having the much bigger bedroom, the shitty part time job he had to get to help his parents out when money got tight, and acting like a fucking valet so JR could be in ballet and volleyball instead of having the extra hours each week to have a fucking life-but he wouldn't, couldn't be cut off from his dads. Ironically enough, his dads were the only stable thing in his life.

"It's just...it's just this place. It's small, you know? And it's so loud here, Dad. There's just so much noise. JR's always blasting boy bands through the walls and talking on the phone and Mom and Momma are always arguing," Gus trailed off, the 'about me' left off the end of his statement, but it was heard nonetheless.

"I know I've screwed up. I know that I've been a total shit to the moms, but there's so much noise going on in my head. I feel like I can't hear myself think. I need to get out of here," Gus added, voice breaking slightly at the end. He released a puff of air and plunged ahead.

"Dad, please," he said, softly.

Despite the fact that his little sister had a propensity for drama, Gus tended to be even keel. Rare indeed was the day he actually pleaded for anything.

There was yet another long-agonizingly long-pause at other end.

"Let me talk to your mothers," Brian breathed into the phone.

2: Bare

[Age: 4]

As a kid, Gus was pretty straightforward. He loved animals--penguins, llamas, goats, and all the other horrendously smelly animals that the Pittsburgh Zoo had to offer. Almost every weekend during one summer, Brian and Justin took him because Gus asked them to.

Gus stood for what seemed an eternity in front of animal enclosures just watching the animals move and interact before declaring each time that he wanted to be a veterinarian. Brian would smile indulgently because he correctly guessed that Gus' animal obsession would wane before the next summer came along, but, every weekend seemingly without fail, they'd go because Gus' enthusiasm was infectious. He'd smile and laugh and demand his Daddy pick him up to get a better view of the monkeys or polar bears.

There were moments were Brian stood on the wooden decking, holding his son, and looking down at the gorilla habitat for the thousandth time that he felt something warm in his gut--some niggling voice that whispered that this is what family felt like. That this is what childhood should feel like.

Every time they went, Justin would sit back and simply watch. It never ceased to amaze him how at peace Brian was when he was with Gus. Pages of his sketchpad were filled during these trips. Interactions between father and son, the animals, and of other people at the park were carefully rendered. Most would fuel more complex works in the years to come.

But time and events have a way of slipping through fingers. Suddenly, there were reviews from New York critics and parents running out of the country in fear.

Gus sat in the backseat of his Mommies' car watching his Dad watch him with sad eyes. He didn't understand why his father's voice caught a little when he said goodbye.

Clutching his Daddy Bear close to his chest, Gus watched from his car seat as familiar landscape disappeared from his window. Miles lengthened beneath the SUV's tires as the signs he couldn't read yet passed by his window.

He didn't understand why they were driving in the car for so long.

He didn't understand why his Mommas called this tiny, unfamiliar house home.

But, Gus was always a bright boy. When the men came in the big, loud truck and unloaded his bed and all his toys into his room, he knew.

He knew when he called his Daddy and heard the little hitch in his Daddy's voice when he told his Daddy he loved him.

It would be a long while before he saw his Daddy again, and that made him sad.

3: Charlie

[Age: 15]

The monkey bars were ice cold beneath his hands as he swung from one rung to another.

"My mom says it'll only be for a couple weeks and then I'll be back for school."

Gus stopped mid-swing to eye his friend suspiciously. Charlie always had a way of pulling shit like this on him. If they hadn't been friends since he landed in this shit hole of a town, they probably wouldn't even be on talking terms anymore.

"Why isn't your Mom going with you?"

"'Cause my mom and dad don't get along since they divorced," Charlie explained in a not-really-telling-you-everything answer as he tugged the gray woolen cap further down over his shaved-to-the-skull head.

Gus scrunched up his nose. Yeah. They'd been really drunk when he'd done that. What kind of a sober moron would shave their best friend's hair off in the dead of the Canadian winter? Then again, Charlie had fucking deserved it.

"Isn't your mom gonna miss you while you're with your dad?"

Charlie shrugged. "Pro'ly so. She says we're gonna have our own Christmas when I get back. What 'bout you? Your dad coming up to visit?"

Gus shook his head. "Don't know. Probably not. He's working on some really big account...Christmas tends to be his busy season. Pops might though. He likes to come up and paint the landscapes 'round here."

At least that's what he'd been told. Secretly, he suspected part of the reason his pseudo-father came for visits when the Twat's clan came was more to keep Gus sane and out of trouble than anything else. Not that Gus'd mention any of this because he fucking loved Justin's visits.

"Cool," Charlie said, pulling himself up onto the top of the monkey bars before adding, "Justin's awesome."

Gus gripped the edge of the bars and hauled himself up beside his friend.

"Yeah," he replied simply as he began digging in his coat for the joint and lighter he'd pocketed before leaving the house.

"So. What did you ask your moms for, for Christmas?"

Gus smirked, placed the joint between his lips and angrily flicked the lighter until a flame appeared. He took a deep drag before answering.

"I asked for a plane ticket to the Pitts."

Charlie snorted, black gloved hand inching out to the steal the joint from his friend. "Bet that went over well."

"You have no idea," Gus replied, disdain evident in his voice.

"You could just hack yourself a ticket," Charlie suggested as he leaned back against the bars.

"My dad would just send me back."

Scowling at Charlie and his lack of the understanding of the word "share," Gus roughly snatched the joint back and took another drag.

"Twat's father coming?"

Gus looked out into the sunset and took another pull from the joint before answering.

"Yeah. The whole Novotny-Bruckner clan's coming."

"Shit. Michael and Deb," Charlie said, fumbling to pluck the joint back from Gus' mouth without having to move. "You gonna stick around for the whole thing?"

Gus shrugged. "Justin's gonna come down after Thanksgiving. Michael and the rest are comin' in tonight."

"They staying with you?"

"Yeah. Michael and Ben are in my room, Deb's with JR..."

"...and you're riding the couch?"

Gus inhaled smoke as a non-answer.

"You're welcome at my place. You know my mom totally loves you."

Snorting, Gus tapped the joint against the bars beneath him--a nervous habit he carried over from smoking cigarettes.

"Least somebody's mom does."

Charlie rolls his eyes. "Your moms do too. Your family's just got issues."

"Tell me about it."

"I just don't get why you don't live with your dads."

Shaky hands lifted the joint to his lips. Gus drew in two deep lung-fulls before answering as smoke filtered through his nose and mouth.

"My dad asked them once...after all that shit went down with JR."

"And?"

"And nothing. Melanie and Lindsay got all possessive and said I was better off with them. That it was safer in Canada. That he didn't lead the type of life conducive to having a kid and my Pops wasn't blood so he's got no rights...blah...blah...same BS," Gus said, tone flippant but so layered with bitterness that it made Charlie turn towards his friend.

"Fuck that. At least your dads give a shit about you."

Gus took another hit; this shit was good.

"My moms care. They just don't know what to make of me," he defended weakly.

"'Your moms care,'" Charlie repeated, trying the phrase on his tongue. "Your moms care so much that they don't question when you don't go home for days, or, when you do bother, you're totally lit out of your mind."

Gus shrugged and swallowed thickly. The truth was that, in the early days, they used to yell and fight with him. Now, they just ignored him and yelled at each other.

"Your old man would notice. Hell, he'd probably get stoned with us."

Gus offered a weak smile. The pot was making him mellow.

"First, he'd yell at me. Then he'd get stoned with me," Gus said, sobering when he thought of what he'd just said. "Which would be the reason the Lesbi-moms don't want me moving back to the Pitts."

"Fuck that. They keep you here because they want to oppress you. They want you to be as unhappy as them."

Gus snorted and refrained from telling Charlie he was starting to sound like his hippy parents. Taking the joint from his friend's laxed hand, he took another hit rather than responding.

"What you ought to do is be such a horrible kid that the moms'll send your ass packing."

Gus rolled his eyes, and Charlie sat straighter like he usually did when he thought he was on to something profound. Pot might mellow Gus, but it just made Charlie stupid.

"No, dude, I'm totally serious. If you want to live with your dads...if you want to get anything out of the parental units, you totally have to convince them it's in your and their best interests."

"I suppose this is how you weaseled your way into a trip to Sunny SoCal to see your Dad," Gus said indifferently.

"Totally. It's on like page one of the Divorce Manual for Kids."

"I thought that one said 'it's not your fault,'"

"Nah," Charlie said, taking another hit. "That's in chapter seventeen under 'what years of therapy helped me realize.'"

Gus snorted as he stole the joint back, took a long drag, and snubbed it out on the metal bars; Charlie was far too gone for his taste. Then again, he did have a point...

"It'd have to be something my moms wouldn't associate with my dads which scratches drugs, drinking, and fucking from the list--"

"--all of which you do beautifully."

Gus' eyes narrowed briefly before he continued. "Can't be anything that could lead to suspension or more time in juvie."

"There's always the classics: vandalism--"

"--boring and stupid and way too easy to get caught."

"Arson," Charlie quipped.

"Asshole, that shit was yours and you totally gave me up."

"With all the shit I'd taken that week, I'd be going to detox and juvie. 'Sides, it's not like they could pin that shit on you."

"They sure as fuck tried."

"But you got off and it sure as fuck didn't stop Carnegie Mellon from accepting you."

Smiling broadly, Gus responded. "That's because the guidance office sent records for Gus Kinney."

"Shit! You hacked your own file?"

"Yup. Copy, paste, change the names to protect the innocent, and the deed was done."

"You are my hacking god, man."

"Whatever," Gus responded. The truth was that it had been so pathetically easy to do and get away with.

"You still gonna go this summer?"

Gus shrugged. "Dunno. Probably. Seems like a waste of a good hack."

"I just can't believe you're going to college at 16. That's like so fucking awesome."

"It'll just be one class..."

"One class that'll let you graduate a year ahead."

"Two if you count skipping the fourth grade."

"You're like a freak of nature."

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Gus lay back across the bars and watched the vapor of his breath curl up and out of his mouth like tendrils of smoke. Fuck it was cold.

"How the fuck are you going to go to Carnegie Mellon," Charlie asked an eon later.

"Bus to the Pitts?" Gus said, one shoulder turning up.

"I meant tuition, asshat."

"Remember all that time I spent working the last couple of years," Gus asked, not bothering to see if his friend nodded or not. "I managed to save some money up. Ted showed me how to invest it properly and voila. Cash."

"Ted?"

"Yeah. My Dad's accountant. The guy I'd tell you I was busy talking to when you called every once and awhile."

"Shit. I thought 'talking to Ted' was code for getting head."

Gus rolled his eyes. He needed to find some smarter friends.

"Yes. My Dad's fifty year old accountant was blowing me," Gus deadpanned.

"Jesus! I knew you liked getting your dick sucked but...," Charlie said, voice trailing off as he motioned with his hand. Charlie always did have an inability to complete sentences that were too long when he was lit. It fucking drove Gus crazy.

"Gay boys do suck cock better than most girls," Gus conceded.

"Tell that to what's-her-face."

"Sara, and fuck you. She's hot."

"You tell her you're bi yet?"

"I told her I was friendly."

"Which is why it took Kelly four months to figure it out. Probably would have taken longer if you hadn't taken so long to help that guy change his flat tire."

Biting his lip to keep from laughing aloud at the memory, Gus responded. "Okay...fucking that stranded guy in the back of his Rodeo probably wasn't my best move--"

"You think!"

"--but he was hot."

"You really are your father."

"A fate worse than death," Gus deadpanned, plucking at the ashes on his shirt.

"Couldn't have been any other way," Charlie said. Gus turned towards him, question dying on his tongue when Charlie changed the subject.

"So...you've got the cash. You plan on telling them you're graduating?"

Gus shrugged. "Figured I'd pack my shit, get to the Pitts, sign in at the dorm, hang out for awhile, and then tell them."

"You're sixteen. Legally, they can drag your ass back."

"They won't; it'll probably be a relief. Finally free from their fucked up kid."

"Jesus. You have life issues. Like way more than me."

Looking out into the endless blanket of snow on the playground, Gus couldn't help but silently agree.

4: Cabbage

 
[Age: 7]

Gus was seven before his Mommies let him fly down to spend the summer with Brian. The boy that appeared was nothing like the son that he'd said goodbye to all those months before. He was shy, sullen, and withdrawn. He didn't smile, barely ate, and there was an emptiness in his eyes that made Brian shiver.

Fearing his son was ill, Brian took him to the doctor. A few hundred dollars and tests later, his son's old pediatrician suggested taking Gus to a child psychologist. Brian paid the bill and left, dialing the Munchers when he got home.

"He's been like that," Lindsay explained.

Brian read between the lines--they were hoping seeing his father would snap him out of it.

The next morning, he found Gus sitting at the breakfast table drawing a crude but accurate picture of a horse.

"What do you want for breakfast, Sonny Boy?"

Gus didn't look up from his picture.

"I already ate. I had some toast."

"I don't see any dishes."

"Momma expects me to clean up after myself. She says it makes me a big boy and that it helps her 'cause JR's a handful," Gus said, shrugging. He looked up at Brian a beat later. "They make me clean up JR's toys, too. I don't think that's fair 'cause she's always leaving big messes everywhere."

Brian ruffled his hair and slipped into a seat opposite of his son.

"JR's very young, Gus. She doesn't understand that she's supposed to clean up the messes she makes just yet."

Gus nodded. "I know, Dad. I just wish she were old enough to take care of herself like I do."

"You take care of yourself a lot?"

"Momma said it was important to learn 'sponsibility so she taught me how make toast and cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and coffee," Gus said, looking up at his dad. "Momma taught me how to start the maker because she has to take care of JR when we first get up."

"You make the coffee," Brian repeated.

"Yeah. It's one of my chores. I also have to take the dishes out of the dishwasher and make my lunch and take out the trash and clean up my toys and JR's."

"You do all that?"

Shrugging as a non-answer, Gus continued to shade in the horse's mane. A graphite colored finger smoothed across the space just as his Daddy Justin had taught him.

Brian nodded, lips thinning as he regarded his child and tried to rectify the difference between the jovial little fireball that had left Pittsburgh and the listless child at the table. One look at the picture was enough to give him an idea.

He left Gus alone for a moment and stepped into the den to make a few calls before returning to find Gus still drawing intently. Smoothing a hand through his son's hair, he easily returned the smile his son offered at the touch.

"Get your shoes on."

Big hazel eyes blinked slowly in confusion a few times before Gus stood from the table and did so obediently. Following his father out to the Corvette without a word, he buckled himself in without being prompted to do so. After checking the belt, Brian threw the car in gear and backed out of the half-dirt/half-gravel driveway.

Starting northwest, he following the curved road that was cut right through a forest. Hundreds of trees flanked either side of the road, and there wasn't a car to be seen for miles. Though it was quite beautiful, it was also fucking creepy in that 'and now the scary shit goes down' part of the X-Files.

The further they got from Brighton--Christ, he'd never forgive Justin for naming the house that--the more nervous Gus got. It took a couple of minutes, but Brian noticed the kid shaking.

If they hadn't been in the middle of nowhere, he might have pulled the car over. Instead, he reached over and smoothed the kid's hair down again, attempting to tame the sleep-made cowlick.

"You're not taking me back, are you," Gus asked, turning in his seat. " 'Cause you promised. You promised I could stay all summer, and I've been good, Daddy. I cleaned up my toys and..."

Brian's eyebrows knit in confusion. "No, Sonny boy, I'm not taking you back to your moms. There's a farm a little ways up the road. There's an old man that gives horseback riding lessons."

Gus smiled broadly. "You mean I get to ride a horse? Mom wouldn't let me because she thinks it's too dangerous," Gus started smile fading as he realized he might have blown his only chance.

Reading his kid's expression, Brian responded quickly: "As long as you don't tell your moms, we'll be okay."

The smile his kid offered almost put Justin's to shame.

Ten minutes later found them turning into the mostly mud driveway of The Little Shoe Ranch. Ten minutes and five seconds later, Gus was unbuckled from his seat and running like hell towards the barn.

"Gus," Brian called out the half-opened car door. The little boy halted completely and turned a sheepish look on his father. Running back, he stopped right beside the car door.

"Sorry, Daddy. I just got so excited," Gus explained, turning big, doe eyes on his father.

Brian bit his lip to keep from smiling. His kid was fucking adorable.

Pulling the parking brake up, he slipped out of the car, closed his door, and pushed the car lock/alarm button on his keychain. Gus took his father's hand and they started walking towards the barn. Four steps from the car and he was assaulted by the smell of manure and animals. Four and a half steps and he was ready to turn around, but, one look at his kid happily skipping beside him was enough to make him track through the grassy, muddy mess.

They were almost to the barn when an older gentleman in jeans and t-shirt came out to greet them.

"Thought I heard someone pull into the drive. Alex McFarlane," he said, holding out his hand. Brian shook it and returned the man's smile.

"Brian Kinney. We spoke on the phone?"

"Aye. I remember, and this must be young Mr. Gus."

Gus bounced on his heels and held out his hand just like his Daddy Justin taught him.

"Gus Kinney," he said, holding out his little hand. His father side-eyed him in disbelief at the name change, but said nothing.

Mr. McFarlane shook the boy's hand with a good-natured laugh. "Quite the grip you've got there young man. I'm sure you're gonna do just fine holding on to the reins."

Gus' eyes got wide. "You mean I get to ride a horse an everything?"

Mr. McFarlane smiled. "What say we go take a look in the barn. Meet some of my horses?"

Gus gripped his father's hand and matched the older man's pace across the property. Once inside, Mr. McFarlane introduced Gus to Jessie, an old, white mare.

"Go on. Rub her nose. She loves that."

When Gus did, the horse neighed loudly. The boy's eyes went wide.

"This is so cool, Dad."

"Now try feeding her," Mr. McFarlane prompted.

Gus giggled loudly as the horse's tongue darted out to take sugar cubes and oats from his hand.

Before long, Jessie had been saddled up and Gus was riding in circles in the training rink as Brian stood by the fence watching.

Seeing the look in Gus' eye as he rode in aimless circles, Brian knew he'd be spending the rest of his summer there with Gus just as he had two years before at the Pittsburgh Zoo, but it didn't bother him.

The next time they came, Brian brought a camera and took pictures.

By the time his summer was up, Gus had graduated to a spotted pony named Cabbage, but, more importantly, Gus was smiling as easily as he was two years ago.

On his last night in Pittsburgh, they ordered in a too greasy pizza and watched SpongeBob, who, according to Gus, was 'the shit.'

It was during a commercial break that Gus smiled up at his father. "Can we go riding next summer?"

Ruffling his son's hair, he replied. "Yeah, Gus, that's a promise. Just remember what I said..."

"...don't tell Mom or Momma about Cabbage or they'll have your one good ball," Gus repeated the warning his father had given him every day they'd ridden out to Mr. McFarlane's property with a giggle.

The next morning, Gus woke up and found a small wooden figurine on the table beside his bed with a note from his Daddy that read:

So you don't forget Cabbage.

5: Daddy Justin

[Age: 5]

"Jus? If I call my mommies Mom and Momma 'cause they take care of me, then how come I don't call you Dad," Gus asked, watching the mural's paint leave his hands and swirl slowly down the bathroom's sink.

Justin's gaze raised at the sudden question to meet the little boy's big, doe eyes in the mirror.

"You take care of me just like Daddy does, and you live with Daddy just like Momma does with my Mom. And you love Daddy like Mom loves Momma," Gus reasoned, watching Justin's eyes burning in to his. He watched his Jus get all tall and uncomfortable like his Momma did when he asked where JR came from. It made him nervous.

Gus turned on the little stool that helped him reach the sink, swaying slightly as his balance tried to reach equilibrium. Without thinking, Justin put his hands on the little boy's waist to steady him. Gus looked up at his Jus' worried expression and too pale face.

Biting his lower lip, he continued. "You love me, don't you Jus," Gus asked, fingers flexing on Justin's forearm.

The response was immediate. "Of course I do, Gus," Justin replied, voice suddenly wary.

Not liking the sound in his Jus' voice, Gus ticked his head slightly as he tried to read his Daddy Justin's face.  "My friend Charlie has a dad and a step-dad. He calls his step-dad Papa. Can I call you Papa?"  

Justin unknowingly tightened his grip on Gus' waist. Of all the things he was expecting when he came over to help 'spruce up' Gus' room, as Lindz had put it, this was so not what he was expecting.

Heart pounding loudly in his ears, chest seizing, hands shaking, he swore he was about five seconds from having a panic attack because, yeah, he'd thought about having children, and, yes, he'd realized a long time ago that Gus was probably as close as he was ever going to get to having one of his own. Thinking and admitting those two things aloud and to other people were two separate things.   

He went for an obvious response.

"Did you talk to your Moms about this?"

Gus' eyes locked on Justin's, and yeah, Justin knew he was totally screwed at this point because the kid was a Kinney after all. He probably had a carefully constructed speech for any question Justin could ask.

"But you are like a Daddy to me," Gus responded, voice emphatic. "You draw with me and read to me and take me to the park..."

"Deb and Michael do that, too," Justin interjected.

"But they always take JR along, too. You treat me like I'm not a tag along."

"Is that why? Because I take you for trips with just the two of us?"

"No, Jus, you look at me and treat me the same way Daddy does with me and Michael does with JR--like I'm your kid, too."

Justin sighed, scratching the back of his head in a way Gus knew meant he was scared or nervous about something.

"If you just wanna be my friend, that's okay, too 'cause you like ta' have lots of fun with me," Gus said, quickly backtracking the way he did with his Moms to get out of trouble...or at least try to.

"You make up the best stories like Daddy does...only your stories are about castles and princes and Daddy's are 'bout twinks and the dance land called Babylon," Gus said, wrinkling up his nose before continuing. "Michael usually tells JR stories about Captain Astro or Rage and Zeph...Zeph..."

"Zephyr," Justin supplied.

"Yeah," Gus said, looking up at Justin with wide eyes. "He told them to you too?"

Justin nodded, a small smirk on his lips.

"I just don't see how those things could happen," Gus said, wrinkling his nose in thought.

"Sometimes people like to think about super heroes saving them from things that are scary or uncomfortable," Justin suggested. Sort of like this conversation.

"But that's what daddies are for," Gus replied, offering a bright smile that Justin returned in spite of himself.

If Justin hadn't been convinced that Gus was learning the Kinney manual and verse, he sure as hell was now because he sure as shit hadn't seen that one coming! The kid totally backdoored him into that one.

Gus jumped down off the stool and wrapped Justin in a big hug, wet hands leaving their imprints on Justin's paint-streaked shirt.

"Love you, Papa," Gus said before tearing out of the bathroom before his Daddy Justin could stop him.

6: White Noise

[Age: Eleven]

Melanie was waiting right in front of the school at four o'clock sharp. Gus made it a point to be the first child out hoping his mother wouldn't make a scene.

Not bothering to look or speak to him, Melanie navigated her SUV through Toronto's streets before stopping in front of a nondescript office building.

"I'll be back to pick you up after your appointment," she said tersely.

Gus nodded grimly. It turned out there 'little side trip' was to one Dr. Reginald Winston Walters, III, child psychologist extraordinaire.

Dr. Walters office was too bright, too colorful, and uncomfortable as hell. The only chairs he had to offer were fuchsia colored beanbags that looked like rejects from the seventies. The walls were painted in primary colors and the carpet was bright white. The entire place was overwhelming.

Not that Gus told Dr. Walters any of this. No, Gus protested passively; he obediently sat on the beanbag chair, stared at the bookcases full of toys, and actively ignored every question volleyed at him, which started with...

"So, Gus, your moms tell me you have problems with your anger."

Gus wanted to laugh out loud. No, he didn't have problems with his anger. Who would have anger issues when their bratty little sister got away with destroying your shit because she had a fucking label to her behavior problems.

"They tell me that you acted out against her," Dr. Walters tried again.

Funny how the truth got twisted.  He let go of her wrist; gravity did the rest.

"Your school's cumulative folder states that you're no longer actively participating in class. That you spend most of lunch and recess alone, reading."

And it also says that he was maintaining his work despite all this, but, of course, shrinks like to focus on the negative.

"Your file also suggests that your kindergarten teacher back in Pittsburgh never encountered these types of problems with you. It says you were a happy, active child that enjoyed helping out wherever you could."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why his Mommies expected him to clean up after his stupid sister. She's not even his fucking sister. They weren't related.

"Everything seems to indicate you were fine until you moved up here," Dr. Walters ventured.

Gus shot the doctor a hard stare before returning his gaze to the clock on said wall, watching the second hand tick across it's surface.

"By your reaction, I'm guessing that your move here is partially at fault. It says here that your father still resides in Pittsburgh as well as several close family friends." A beat. "Moving can be difficult. Especially when moving long distances from people that mean so much to you."

Gus swallowed hard and watched the clock. Tick, tick, tick...

"Your mother mentioned that you spent the summer with your father..."

More digging. Gus read a book about paleontologists--men and women who spent hours sifting through sand and dirt to find one stupid little bone. Gus idly wondered if that's how Walters felt every day, sitting in his too bright, too ugly office listening to children whine about their lives. It seemed like a colossal waste of time.

Then again, Gus had seen Internet sites about salaries. Seems Dr. Walters was pretty well compensated for all those hours lost looking for bones.

"...it says here that you seemed to have enjoyed yourself.  Never gave your father any problems."

No, and he hadn't given his mothers any grief for months. It was JR's job to cause all the drama--temper tantrums and tirades, stomping feet and slapping hands. She'd work herself up into a frenzy until she was covered in tears and leaking snot bubbles. They always caved to her whims. Well, Lesbi-moms, welcome to the present and your future because Super Nannies don't come swooping in to deal with your shitty parenting skills. You've managed to form one brat and one angry, resentful, put-upon kid.

"Do you know that your mothers love you very much, Gus? They wouldn't have brought you here if they didn't."

The funny thing is that Gus did understand the concept. It was a lesson they'd taught him--it's possible to love someone that you hate so completely.  At first, he'd only felt it for JR, but, now, he felt it for all three of them.

"It also says that here that you begged your father to stay with him the night before you returned home."

Gus' eyes shot back towards Dr. Walters.

"Why didn't you want to return home, Gus?" A beat. "Are you going to say anything?"

Gus looked at the clock and saw there was less than a minute left. He stood and began slipping on his coat, scarf, and gloves before slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. Hand grasping the doorknob, he turned to look at Dr. Walters one last time.

"Your office looks like a circus accident."

Every Tuesday and Thursday after that, Gus would spend an hour under Walters' Big Top and the rest of the week, he'd be at the library reading his way through the children and young adult section.

Therapy, in Gus' opinion, was a waste of time. The only things he would comment on were stuff he'd read that week. It was during his seventh or eighth session that Dr. Walters actually called him on it.

"You seem to be pretty well read for someone your age."

"Yeah, well, the library is free. Might as well use it."

"So you spend a lot of time there?"

"Where the fuck else am I going to go? It's warm there. It's quiet. And, the faster I learn all the shit I need to, the faster I can graduate and move the fuck out of here."

"And where do you intend to go?"

Gus shrugged and looked down at the scarf he'd been playing with. He hadn't meant to say anything.

After a long, drawn out silence, Dr. Walters responded.

"You mean you want to go back to Pittsburgh to be with your father."

Gus didn't respond. After that, he went back to staring at the back wall. After four weeks, his moms stopped making him go.

[Sixteen]

Gus liked his dads' place because it was quiet there. Hours could pass with just the ticking of Brian's keyboard as he worked on a campaign and the swish-squish sound as Justin painted. Gus could curl up on the sofa and read or take a nap or draw or build computer programs on his laptop and all of it without Justin Timberlake or the Lesbi-moms screeching through his head at a million beats a minute.

At the same time, he knew he could stop either of his dads and just talk to them. They'd put everything aside for a couple of hours and listen. And yeah, Gus wasn't so stupid that he didn't realize he fucking hated his mothers for ignoring him unless he screwed up. It always seemed like they were racing to their jobs or functions for said jobs.

Borderline debt seemed like it was something neither of his moms considered when they moved to Canada without a working permit, a home, or any locked-in employment opportunities. They also failed to realize that taxes were a lot higher than in the Pitts.

So, the four of them crammed into a fucking cracker jack sized house. Lindsay took a job as a personal assistant in a temp agency and Mel commuted to some border town and took a job in a legal firm making a little more than half her previous salary. Money was tight in that 'let's clip coupons and only go on double coupon days' kind of way. Even the supplemental income that Brian and Michael sent didn't exactly go to the kids; it was spent on 'luxuries' like utility bills and mortgage payments.

Needless to say, two frazzled, sleep deprived parents on a fixed income wasn't a fabulous combination. Who knew June and Ward could have some fucking all out scream fests? Not like this was news to him; they seemed to like to fight at least twice a month--usually around the time the bills came in.

When he was a kid and his moms were fighting, Gus would hide in the closet under a blanket, little fingers gripping onto his Daddy Bear. He'd use his Superman flashlight to read through the latest children's book his Momma had checked out of the library for him. Lips moving to the text, he tried not to listen to their angry words because, the last time they yelled that much at each other, he and his Mom moved out.

When he got older, Gus begged for an iPod, never telling his father he used it to mask the sounds of his mommies arguing. It wasn't like they were the poster family for domestic disturbance, it's just that the shit got old. Every time Gus screwed up, great Mother Melanie of Patience would swoop down and scream at Lindsay how Brian was a fucked up choice for a sperm donor. She'd proclaim over and over again that his jizz was swimming with god only knew how many illegal substances and that they had, in turn, caused Gus to become the fuck up that he was.

Yeah. Gus knew Mel loved him and understood that she kind of, sort of tolerated and respected Brian. He even knew that she was saying all that shit just to make Lindsay hurt, but knowing it and offering up acceptance and forgiveness were two separate things.

They also always seemed to forget that the sound of their screaming carried.

And, yeah, maybe that's why JR played her shitty-ass boy bands so loud.

Raising a tentative hand to his cheek, Gus fingered the red and swollen skin caused from the ring on Melanie's hand. The metal had bit into his flesh when she'd slapped him two nights ago leaving an indentation in the skin.

Maybe he'd deserved it. Maybe he hadn't, but it had fucking hurt. Not the actual action itself, but the anger behind it. Proof that there was a part of her that hated him. Not that he needed it. He knew it was there all along in the way that she never quite met his eyes. Then again, he'd taken after his father in one department; he told people exactly what he thought of them, and, if they didn't like it, they could blow him.

Gus closed his eyes and let her angry words wash over him over and over again until all that was left was white noise.

7: Home

 
[Age: 6]

Gus gripped the phone tightly in his hand as he dialed.

"Kinney," came brusquely through the phone.

"Daddy," Gus questioned, voice quiet. He'd been scared by the angry voice his daddy had used.

A small smile spread across Brian's lips. "Hey, Sonny Boy," he responded, tone much softer than moments before.

Gus' vice-like grip on the phone loosened.

"Ms. Kleinderman told me to call because I wouldn't stop talking," Gus said  in one, fast breath.

Brian blinked slowly as he tried to translate the tumbling-it-all-out-at-once-so-that-the-adult-won't-catch-on kid-speak to English, and, not more than a second after he had, another thought came to mind...

"Ms. Kleinderman told you to call your father in another country because you wouldn't stop talking," Brian half-repeated, half-questioned in an amused tone. The way his kid's mind worked...

"She told me to call home," Gus corrected.

And just like that, Brian's good mood was deflated.

"Gus, your moms have already talked to you about this..."

"--but Ms. Kleinderman said that home is where your family lives and you and Daddy Justin live in Pittsburgh," Gus interrupted.

"But your moms and JR live in Toronto."

And then the sounds of crying started. Between the sounds of sniffling, Gus spoke: "But I don't wanna live here, Daddy! I wanna live with you and Justin."

Feeling a headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes, Brian pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Gus..." Brian started

"Daddy," Gus sobbed in response, already knowing what his father was going to say.

"Gus...Sonny boy, you know we discussed this after you and your moms got to Toronto."

"That I'm 'posed to live with Mom and Momma," Gus started, reciting it emotionlessly before quickly adding, "but Charlie's dad lives in California and he spends half the year there..."

"But wouldn't you rather stay there and finish the school year with your friends," Brian said, trying to reason with the distraught boy.

"No," Gus yelled into the phone.

Brian jerked the earpiece away in response. Before returning it, he took a shuddering breath. This shit was getting to him more than he'd like to admit.

"Gus..." he started again, not quite able to keep the tremor from his voice.

A scuffling noise and muddled voices filled the line. Finally, an older, female voice came on.

"Ms. Marcus?"

"No. Brian Kinney, Gus' father."

"Ms. Kleinderman, Gus' kindergarten teacher. Will you be able to come in and discuss his behavior?"

"Sure. Just give me about three or four hours to get there. I'll have to book a plane," Brian quipped.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. He swore he could fucking hear the gears turning in the woman's head.

"I'm in Pittsburgh," he supplied, trying not to laugh.

Another long pause was broken with: "Oh...oh dear."

Which was quickly followed by: "Gus Peterson-Marcus...please tell me that you didn't call the United States."

It was said into the background and definitely in a scolding tone.

"It's Gus Kinney, and it's not my fault; you told me to call home and I did," Gus' defiant voice said loud enough for Brian to hear.

The small smile of pride he'd had at the beginning of Gus' little explanation changed to him biting his lip to keep him from laughing out loud.

Ms. Kleinderman's voice returned, still in the background but loud enough to be heard: "Gus, we'll discuss this with your mothers when they get here. For now, I want you to go to the naughty circle."

In the distance, Brian heard Gus' defeated reply: "Yes, ma'am."

There was a short pause and then Ms. Kleinderman's voice filled the line again.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Kinney."

"Not a problem," Brian replied. "And, Ms. Kleinderman? You can send me the bill for my son's little call," he said, before hanging up.

8: Iced

 
[Age: 15]

Gus thought he was going to hurl. Seriously. His Mom had been right when she'd warned him about downing all that royal icing. Ugh. He'd so learned his lesson, but, at the time, it had been totally worth it.

It had all started with some innocent looking sugar cookies and several bags of icing. Of course, Gus had forgotten the second rule of the universe--when those bitches on TV tell you 'it's a snap,' it's really a fucking lie to convince you that you can do shit that takes years of practice and a fucking license to do.

Of course, none of this came to his Mom's mind when she decided to turn the kitchen into Martha Stewart Central and had roped his sorry ass into helping.

Which led him to the third rule of the universe--never sit still for any length of time or some adult will ask you to do shit. And, honestly, it's never something you want to do.

Of course he'd indulged her because he got that she missed Mel while she was at work.

"That's it. Just squeeze the bag a little harder," Lindsay prompted and Gus watched as half the red icing came out of the top of the icing bag rather than through the tip.

"Mom, this totally blows."

Lindsay glared at Gus. "Maria and I used to do this every year."

Rolling his eyes, Gus kept all the little comments to himself because anything negative he said about Maria would mean time in the time out room, and the time out room, aka Melanie's office, was even more boring and pointless than decorating Christmas cookies.

Mom and her trying to 'recreate my happy childhood memories with my own kids' bullshit. He swore he'd have to start hiding those parenting magazines again because they just fed her these ideas. Then again, this was probably Maria's fault.

He'd only met his Mom's nanny/cook/keeper once, but he didn't like her. She's the one that fed his Mom all those happy Mommy and Me moments that led to his pain and torment. And what kind of pathetic cliché was it for his non-existent grandparents to hire a fucking Spanish-speaking nanny? Jesus! The Petersons and families like them were like the fucking poster child for the pointless privileged.

"You're doing good, Gus. Now you just need to give him eyes."

Looking down at his creation, he had to wonder why they didn't just smear the icing across the top and call it a day. Lord knows no one would be able to recognizing the poor little drummer boy underneath the pile of icing he'd squeezed on. Gus eyed the black frosting bag on the counter and the red one in his hand and contemplated giving the little guy red eyes.

"I talked to Emmett today. He said he was coming up this year."

Gus 'hmmed,' but said nothing.

"He promised to come up early and help us get the house ready."

Because the standard, pathetic Charlie Brown-esque Christmas tree and haphazard, 'decorated by children' set up wasn't good enough for Mumsy and Daddy to visit? Lame. Her parents weren't going to give a shit what type of decorations were on the tree; they'd take one look at how small the house was and how it was crammed with gays, straights, and undecideds, and run for the hills. Like he needed or wanted to hear them go on and on about how great their real grand kids were. He got that shit enough from Deb when she was crooning over JR for the four billionth time.

When he finished his last drummer boy cookie--with black eyes to avoid his Mom's queen out--he set it aside and tried to back out of the kitchen slowly. He'd almost made it to the threshold into the dining room when he heard his Mom's voice.

"Where are you going?"

Denied. His head fell forward in defeat.

"Online," he said, voice full of hope.

"But I was hoping you'd help me make the fruitcakes."

And he knew that voice. It was the 'help me or I'll pout and get even voice.' JR had learned that shit from Lindz, and he'd never fucking forgive her for that.

"But it's fruitcake, Mom. It's something that no living being likes to consume. It gets made, it gets passed around between relatives, it gets stale, and then it gets pitched."

Lindsay eyed him. "Your father likes it."

"That's because you douse his in booze." That also happens to be why he liked the Bourbon balls they make every year as well. Not that he'd tell his mom that either.

"Then what would you like to make, Sweetie?"

It was said in that scary pod person tone that meant he'd better feed her an answer she'd like or grab a hardhat and duck. Truth was he'd like to make the Über-Mom disappear, but that wasn't happening.

Pausing for a long moment, Gus considered his options. One, he could suggest something which would mean pouring over those cookbooks for hours with Scary Mom. Two, he could queen out and hide upstairs, and, in all likelihood, get grounded. Or he could make the fucking fruitcakes and watch his father's reaction to receiving one yet again. Hmm....

"Fruitcake. We'll make the fruitcake."

. . . . .

The next day brought with it fresh snow, Emmett, and what Gus could only assume was the entire contents of the North Pole, if, you know, Santa was real and Mrs. Claus was his beard.

Pounding down the steps, he stopped on the second floor's landing and blinked slowly. Oh. God. It had to be the royal icing...or the nips of brandy he'd stolen while making all those fucking fruitcakes because this could so. not. be. real.

The living room had been taken over by the largest tree he'd ever seen. It was lit by so many fucking strands of lights and twinkling, glittery ornaments he thought it would burn his retinas out. But that wasn't the worst part. Oh no...that was just the start because Emmett had set the fucking thing on a rotating platform that played Christmas carols as it spun in slow circles.

As if the blinding brightness of the tree wasn't bad enough, he'd strung lights from the chandelier and on the garland that wrapped around the banisters, every doorway, and the fireplace mantle.

"Well? What do you think, baby?"

Gus jumped at the voice before smiling down at Emmett.  

"It kinda looks like Babylon," he replied.

The smile on Emmett's face spread. "I call it 'Winter Wonderland.'"

Smirking, Gus started down the steps. It certainly was a wonder. He couldn't fucking wait to hear what his dads said.

Gus heard the car pull into the drive, and, though the lighting was low, he knew that blond head anywhere. Racing down the stairs, he beat his dads to the door.

"Thank god you're finally here. Mom's lost her fucking mind," he said pulling Justin into a hug.

"Nice to see you too, Sonny Boy," Brian said, smirking at his kid.

"She's been baking...like whoa. And Em's been decorating the whole house. Even the fucking bathroom. It's creepy."

And, yeah, Gus knew the exact moment his Dads saw the living room complete with rotating, surface of the sun Christmas tree.

"Christ," Brian exclaimed, turning towards Gus. "You should have fucking told me she turned this place into Babylon. I could have brought some go-go boys," he continued, looking pointedly at Justin who, in turn, thwacked him on the chest.

"I thought we'd put that ugly incident behind us," Justin said in an annoyed tone, "or should I tell the boy about whose behind..."

"...point taken," Brian said, stepping into the room to get the full affect.

The Novotny-Bruckner-Horvath Clan was the next group to arrive. Michael, Ben, Deb, and Carl all entered in quick succession. Gus knew the moment they got in because he heard Debbie exclaim:

"Oh my God! It's fucking gorgeous!"

Which was quickly followed by JR thumping her way down the stairs like a fucking elephant. And then there was the gratuitous lovey-dovey scene. Like they hadn't just fucking seen the little twat a month ago, and, even though he was cool with JR, he still made it a point to avoid that little clan.

And, no, he wasn't surprised to see his father and Justin sneaking into the kitchen either.

"Where'd she hide it this year?"

Gus turned from his post as turkey baster and watched his father pull open cabinet doors.

"The booze or the fruitcake?"

Brian stopped mid-motion to glare at Gus with a look that said 'that shit's so not funny.'  Gus responded with a shrug of 'I tried to stop her' to which Justin responded with a trying-to-hide-my-laughter-with-a-smile look. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The fruitcake's in the pantry in the cutesy tin. The booze is in their bedroom closet in a box labeled 'Playboy.'"

The look that Brian gave his son was a cross between proud and disturbed. "They hid it in the straight porn?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Like you or Justin would intentionally go digging through that box."

"It's official," Brian started, looking at Justin with mock horror. "Or son is straight. We've failed the world."

"It's horrendous," Justin agreed, tone filled with boredom.

"Lame. Seriously lame," Gus said, laughing.

"He has such little respect for his authority figures. Perhaps we have taught him well," Brian said, tasting the mashed potatoes.

"Ah. You're right. Where did we go wrong," Justin said, poking around in the pantry until he found the aforementioned fruitcake.  

"I gave up the goods," Gus started, pausing to stick the bird back in the oven. "Your turn."

"And look, I let him spend so much time with you he turned into a bossy little bottom," Brian said, holding out the plastic key card.

Gus smirked and took the card from his father. They'd been trying to figure out which way he swung ever since his queen out last summer. "Or maybe I just figured out you get more out of people faster if you rev their engine."

Which started Justin laughing.

"Jesus. He really is his Daddy's son."

Brian offered a tongue-in-cheek expression that soured when he saw the fruitcake tin--two fluffy bunnies with red bows around their necks.

"Isn't it cute," Lindsay said as she entered the kitchen, Debbie right behind her. "Gus picked it out just for you."

Gus quickly palmed the card and slipped it into his cargos, and, yes, both of his fathers noticed this. They also noticed the weary glare Deb offered the kid when they first entered the room. Novotnys were like the fucking mob sometimes; they never forgave and they never forgot.

. . . . .

Gus instantly took one look at the frigid, old woman sitting across from him and knew why his mom talked about Maria so much. Jesus! First, there was the way she put everyone and everything down.

'My...what a quaint little house you have, dear.'  Translated from snooty old bitch to English: your house looks like a cracker jack box.'

'You cooked the turkey? How forward thinking of you, dear.' My god you're poor, aren't you?

'You have such an interesting family.' You surround yourself with freaks

Gus hated her, and would so have been mocking everything about her if he knew he could get away with it; she wasn't fooling anyone with the too-smooth, freakish lizard face from one too many cosmetic surgeries. And her hair? Yeah. That was real. All 70 something year olds have perfectly blonde colored hair. And the way she cut everything into tee-tiny bites. Guh! This wasn't the Victorian Era, lady.

Of course, his dad noticed all of this and would comment on it later, but, while they were having dinner, he made it a point to make the old bat as uncomfortable as possible. And none of it was anything that could be labeled as bad manners exactly. Was it his dad's fault that she totally walked into every barb?

"Lindsay mentioned that you own your own business?"

"I own two actually."

Gus smiled broadly because he so knew what was coming. And it was gonna be awesome.

"Oh," Grandma Lizard responded in that politely interested tone.

"I own an advertising firm called Kinnetik."

"Why, yes. That's the firm the Philip's boy used some time ago. They had that racy commercial for their hot wings," Grandpa said, earning a smile from Brian and a look of shock from Grandma Lizard.

"You made that commercial?"

She said it in that 'and now the heavens will open and God will smite you' tone that he'd heard his Grandmother Kinney use the one and only time she'd run into he and his Dad at the supermarket. Come to think of it, they never did go back there.

"I'm sure 'the Philip's boy' also mentioned 'that commercial' quadrupled his quarter profits," Brian said, matching the woman's tone perfectly.  

"Really?" This from Grandpa.

Gus watched the slow, deadly smile that crossed his dad's lips as he smiled.

"Of course, Phil's Grill did nowhere near as well as Babylon did last quarter."

It all happened in slow motion. Justin reaching for his glass to cover the broad smile, Lindz's warning, Mel's laughter, and Deb's squeak of warning. None of it stopped his dad from saying.

"Perhaps you've heard of it, Mrs. Peterson. It's a gay dance club off of Liberty."

Dinner didn't last long after that. The Petersons left, Dad went outside to smoke and Deb followed to fuss at him. Gus and JR were stuck on KP duty with their Mom. Gus was in the middle of loading the dish washer when he turned towards his mom.

"You know how you always tell me about all the stuff you and Maria did when you were a kid?"

Lindsay nodded absently, eyes glaring at the door his dad had walked out of a few minutes before.

"And you know how you're always complaining about how you were raised by Maria and your little sister got to be around your Mom?"

This time his mom looked at him when she nodded.

"Maybe it isn't so bad that Maria was like your mom. I mean look at how spoiled your little sister is and your mom is like whoa...the ice queen."

Lindsay's expression softened a little. He took that as a positive sign to continue.

"Maybe Maria was meant to be there, ya know? Keep you happy and like grounded and stuff."

Lindsay gave him an odd expression before smiling a little. "When did you get to be so wise," she asked before leaving JR and Gus to clean the kitchen.

JR waited until all the adults were out of earshot before she threw a dishtowel at him.

"Subtle, Gus. Really  subtle."

Gus shrugged. Yeah, JR was one of the few people that really got him.

"My Pops told me once that the way that he got my dad to fall for him was that he just kept going after him."

JR stopped and turned towards her older brother, eyes softening. He fucking hated that look because he knew what it meant and knew what she was going to say was true. Instead of speaking, she pulled him into a hug.

"Maybe if you ask Santa, he'll come through for you," JR whispered into his ear.

Gus closed his eyes and returned the hug. How could she know he'd asked for the same thing every fucking year?

Gus fished the plastic key card out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock until the light blinked green.

After throwing his duffel bag onto the chair, he collapsed onto the bed.

"Hey Sonny Boy. The Mommies let you out of your cage?"

Looking up at the figure towering over him with slitted eyes, Gus offered a weak smile. This had become their own little tradition after 'the incident.' Rather than riding the couch and forcing him to partake and overlook the Novotny-Bruckner-Horvath Very Merry Christmas Special, they'd let Gus stay at a hotel.  

"Something like that," Gus said, sleepy eyes falling shut.

Maybe he didn't get his original wish to fly to the Pitts, but this was just as good.

9: Fortress

 
[Age: 6]

The sight before him was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. There, in the center of Gus' bedroom were four dining chairs, two on each side, seats facing out, and, draped over them, was one of Lindz's too-lesbianic-to-be-anything-but Martha Stewart sheets.

Brian cast a weary eye at Justin who was sitting in a chair, sketching the monstrosity in the center of the room. It was all too fucking domestic. He was about to say something when a small head popped out of from beneath the whatever the fuck it was.

"Daddy!"

And that was all the warning he got before the six year old came barreling towards him. Tiny hands wrapped around his waist seconds later.

"Come play in my fort," Gus said, taking his father's hand.

Brian looked up from his kid to Justin. "Mel and Lindz are having 'Mommy Time.'"

"And the sheet?"

Rolling his eyes, Justin responded. "Don't tell me you never made a fort when you were a kid."

Brian bit his lip because, while he was familiar with the concept, this was definitely on the list of things he didn't do growing up. Seeing that hesitant glance, Justin's eyes softened. He was about to apologize when Gus interrupted them by tugging on his Dad's leg.

"Daddy! Come play with me."

Offering a dramatic, put-upon sigh, Brian crawled into the 'fort' behind his son to find an array of toys already laid out. Gus immediately launched into an explanation.

"This is you," Gus said, holding up a Ken doll. And, yeah, Brian had been fully prepared to bite his tongue to avoid laughing until he saw...

"And this is Daddy Justin," his son said, holding up a doll that looked suspiciously like a Skipper doll that had a close encounter with scissors. Licking his lips, he was able to keep himself from smiling too much. That was, until his son said, "you can play with him if you want to."

"I can, huh," Brian said, smirking. Outside the tent, he heard Justin snickering, and, yeah, he could just imagine the fodder from the gang hearing about that little interactions.

"This is Mom and Momma," Gus said, pointing to two Barbie dolls. "And this is Uncle Mikey," Gus explained pointing to Mrs. Potato Head who was sitting at what he assumed was a table. In the center was a small doll that looked suspiciously like...

"Oh," Gus said, eyeing the doll on the table. "That's JR."

Raising an eyebrow, Brian asked, "And the duct tape on her mouth?"

Gus shrugged. "Because she cries too much." It was said resolutely as if it made logical sense. And, yeah, Brian would have huffed a laugh if something hadn't occurred to him...

"Gus, you haven't actually tried to tape her mouth shut, have you?"

"Of course not, Daddy," he said, and Brian almost let out a puff of air when Gus tacked on. "Momma told me I couldn't."

Gus was quiet for a long minute as he stared at the small doll in his hands.

"Mom and Momma and Uncle Michael used to fight about JR when we were living in that other place..." Gus said, voice trailing off.

And that little tidbit pissed him off. It was one thing to fight about your kid. It was another to do it in front of another who was too young to understand.

"I don't think that they realized you were there to hear."

Gus shrugged. "Debbie told me that people forget that I'm around 'cause I'm a good kid." A beat. "I liked that place. It was quiet 'cause JR wasn't there, and Daddy Justin came over more to color and watch the PowerPuff Girls. You came over a lot more too, and you and Mom would take me to the park that I like. You read me all those stories with the funny voices."

Brian watched the way Gus had started moving his 'Mom' and 'Momma' dolls to the farthest point from him in the 'fort.' The Justin Skipper doll in one hand was joined with the Brian Ken doll and a small boy that looked suspiciously like Gus.

"They do that a lot now, too, only now they yell 'bout moving here and about columns not adding up," Gus said, pausing again. "When I can't get my numbers to add up right, Mrs. Patrick makes me try it again."

Nodding at this, Brian made a mental note to up his support payments when he got back to the Pitts.

Big, hazel eyes turned upon his daddy's. "Do you think that Mom and I are gonna go live near you again like we did last time, Daddy?" The tone was so hopeful.  Swallowing thickly, Brian looked from the dolls in his hand to his little boy.

"I don't know, Sonny Boy. I think your Mom and Momma are trying to work things out today."

Gus blinked, absorbing this. Brian watched as that hopeful look drained from his kid's face. "But I don't want to stay here, Daddy. It's cold and being here makes both Moms mean. And I like spending time with you, Daddy. You play with me."

"But, Gus, your Mom and Momma are your parents."

"But you and Jus are my parents too, aren't you?"

Brian was quiet for a long moment, lips thinning.

"Your Papa and I are, but your Mom and Momma are the ones raising you."

"Why can't you and Papa raise me?"

Brian heard a sharp intake of air, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was just him or Justin as well because, yeah, they'd both discussed this at length when Lindz and Mel had dropped the bombshell that they'd intended on moving to Canada.

A shadow fell across the entrance into Gus' little cave as Justin inched into the tiny space. Sharing a look of both relief and regret, Justin took that as his cue to speak because he sure as fuck knew how much all of this had hurt Brian.

"Gus, you know that your Daddy and I love you very much, right?"

The little boy nodded.

"And you know that your Mom and Momma love you."

Gus nodded again.

"And you know that your Mom and Momma would miss you very much if you weren't with them."

"But don't you and Daddy miss me when you're not here?"

Justin nodded, not even chancing a look at Brian because he knew the devastation he'd see on his partner's face. Every trip here would end like this. Gus asking to live with them, Brian pleading with the Mommies to let Gus spend some time in the Pitts, and him returning home hurt. He swore he hated them sometimes. First, they neatly packed him off to New York, and then they move off to Canada. How the fuck did they expect Brian to feel?

"You know that we do, Gussy Gus, but it's better for you to spend the school year in one place. You want to learn a lot and grow up to be super smart just like your Daddy, right?"

Gus nodded and Justin was relieved to see the slight smirk on Brian's face.

"But what about the summer? Can't I come stay with you in the summer? Please, Papa," Gus asked as he climbed into Justin's lap and hugged him tightly.

"I promise to clean up after myself, be extra good when you need to color on your super big paper, and I promise not to sing too loud to the radio."

Justin offered the ghost of a smile, unsure of how to answer that question.

"I tell you what, Sonny Boy," Brian started, watching the little boy turn in his partner's arms. "I'll talk to the Mommies about it."

Gus bounded from Justin's lap to his Daddy's crushing him in a hug that would make Deb proud.

.  .  .  .  .

"Why the fuck won't you let him come? It's only a couple of months..."

"You know shit all about raising a child. Fuck you've barely spent more than a weekend playing Daddy, and, with Justin in New York half the time..."

"Fuck you, Mel. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my kid on my own."

"Until you need to get off..."

"Mel," Lindz said in a warning tone.

"He's running two businesses. How the fuck is going to have time to spend three months raising a kid?"

"You two seem to manage your hours just fine," Brian said, eyes narrowing. "And you're forgetting I own both companies. I can take off as much time as I need to, and, if I have to go in, I've got a the whole gang there to babysit."

"And that's what? A reminder of what we had there, too? Well fuck you, Brian. It's safer for them up here."

Justin sat on the top step beside Gus, offering the little boy a weak smile. He'd been reading the kid his favorite bedtime story, The Giving Tree, when the yelling had started. And, yeah, Justin had been surprised as to how perfectly you could hear everything in Gus' room.

Offering sad eyes, Gus had slipped out of bed and padded down to the second floor landing before sitting down to get a peak at what was happening.

"We shouldn't be listening," Justin whispered. "It's rude to eavesdrop."

Gus shrugged. "If they didn' want me t' hear, they shouldn' be yelling so loud, Papa." A beat. "'Sides, this is 'bout me," he said, leaning against Justin's chest for comfort.

Brian was quiet for a long moment before responding in an almost too quiet to be heard voice. "What the fuck do you want me to say? That I never get to see him? Because I don't. He's growing up so fucking fast it's like I'm missing his life."

"We're not stopping you from seeing him; Michael's up here three...four times a month," Lindsay said in an equally quiet tone.

"JR's younger. She can't travel, but Gus can. And you promised me he could spend summers in the Pitts."

There was a long sigh, and Justin wasn't sure whom it was from. He half expected to hear one of the Mommies interject, to tell him no. Needless to say he was a little surprised when Brian spoke next, because, yeah, he fucking knew how much all this shit tore Brian apart. He'd seen the fallout first hand when he'd come back for a visit from a successful show to find parts of Briton totally wrecked. Brian had offered a weak smile and said in a mocking tone: 'I woke up this morning and hated everything.'

Justin had just wrapped his arms around Brian and ignored the smoked out, fucked out, Beam smell because the shaking and the fucking tears Brian had been fighting hard not to let fall had been enough to kill any quip he'd come up with.

"What else do you expect me to do, Lindz? You ask me for money, and I give it. You two split up, and I fucking sign my rights over. You split up again and ask for help finding a lawyer, and I do. You tell me you're moving to Canada and ask my blessing. I only agreed because you fucking promised me I could see my kid, and what? Now I can't because Pittsburgh is too dangerous?"

Brian stepped into view, and, through the slats in the staircase railing, Gus and Justin watched him circle the sofa, arms moving as he spoke, face carefully neutral. Justin knew that look. It meant Brian was close to breaking. That he'd probably get there before this was over. That the night would be followed by drinking, fucking, and a total queen out, and that Justin would bear the brunt of it. Looking down at the little boy shaking in his arms because of all the raised voices, he knew there was no other way. That he couldn't and wouldn't stop this from happening because Brian and Gus needed this. And, yes, Justin had been furious with the Mommies. At least until Mel spoke...

"How about every single fucking time you leave we have to watch Gus sit at the window for hours while he waits for you to come back? Or how he cries for days when he realizes you aren't? Or the fact that, when you do bother to come visit, he asks you for all the things we can't afford and you fucking take him shopping to get it. How the fuck do you think that makes us feel," Mel said, voice raising and then breaking.

Justin felt Gus stiffen beside him. Looking down, he saw the broken expression on the kid's face.

"Well, as you so love to remind me, raising a child means not putting your own needs first. When you got scared and moved him to another fucking country, away from anyone that can help you, you put yourselves first."

Gus tugged his hand away from Justin and carefully climbed down the steps. Justin followed him down, watching the small boy drag his Daddy Bear behind him in one hand as the other latched on onto his Dad's hand.

Brian instantly smiled down at his kid.

"Hey, Sonny boy."

Gus' squeezed his Daddy's hand before looking at his Mommies.  "I wanna spend the summer with Daddy."

"Gus," Lindsay started.

"I know it'll make you sad and that you'll miss me, but you can have Uncle Michael and Deb come up and watch JR and you can have lots more Mommy Time so that you won't have to use your angry voices as much."

"But, Sweetie..."

"And I promise to be super good. I won't ask Daddy for 'nothing, and I'll go to work with him like I do with you sometimes. I like to play with Cynt'ia's computer; she has games on there, but I'm not 'posse to tell Daddy about them or he'll 'can her ass,'" Gus said, scrunching up his nose before looking up at Brian with wide eyes. "I didn't get Cynt'ia in trouble, did I Daddy? Because I like her. She makes me laugh."

Brian smirked at his kid. "No, Sonny Boy. I promise Cynthia's not in any trouble."

Lindsay stepped forward and knelt in front of Gus. "Gus, why don't you let Justin take you upstairs so we can finish discussing this."

When Justin took a step forward into the room and reached for Gus' hand, the little boy planted his feet.

"No," he said, crossing his arms. "Every time you 'cuss anything 'bout me, you always end up yelling, and Daddy leaves with a sad face. Sometimes he doesn't come back for a long time."

A look passed between the adults that Gus didn't quite understand until finally his Momma shook her head and pinned Brian with her mean eyes. "All right, but, if you fuck this up, so help me you'll have nothing but supervised visitation from now until Gus turns eighteen."

Gus slept in his fort that night, gripping his Daddy Bear as he listened to his Daddies take turns making up a silly story about a little boy named Twink that kept going after a man named Stud until he got what he wanted.

10: Rooms

[Age: 10]

Blue and red splashed against sterile white. Mixing, blending, ever present flashing beating in tune to his rapid heartbeat and the word circling in his head...guilty.

Emergency vehicles' diesel fumes and sirens filled the space. More walking wounded shuffled into hard plastic chairs with clipboard clasped insurance forms.

His mother stood beside him, purse clasped tightly in her hands as they watched the paramedics unloading JR. Lindsay's voice was crisp and deadly as she pointed to a chair, and told him to stay quiet until she fucking told him to speak.

Purposefully sitting where directed, Gus watched the brat's gurney wheeled passed, neck brace wrapped tightly. His mother seemed oblivious to her crocodile tears and tongue sticking out at him.

Pale faced, Lindsay followed JR into the back leaving Gus to his own devices. And so he sat where his mother ordered him to and kept his mouth shut like she fucking wanted and he stared at the primary colors meeting and mixing and turning violet on the walls.

The doors opened and closed bringing an endless stream of people and cold air. He shivered, pulling his arms around his chest; he hadn't thought to bring a coat.

Endless hours later, a blue, uniform-clad chest stepped in front of him, stealing his reds, blues, and purples.

"Can you tell me what happened, son?"

Blink. Twitch. Stare.

"The paramedics said...your sister was it...Jennifer Rebecca fell down the stairs?"

Sirens sounded louder. Moaning. Blood spattering on white flooring as a squeaky-wheeled gurney was pushed passed.

Hairy arms pulled a tablet out to check information before continuing.

"Your mother indicated you were arguing with your little sister, is that right?"

Gus blinked, swallowed hard at the image the words forced him to recall--wide eyes locking onto his, wood quaking under too rapid descent, and the crackling crunch of bone.

"Son?" A beat. "Gus?"

His dad called him Sonny Boy. Promised to love him no matter what. He wondered now if that were true after what he'd done or if his father would look at him the same way his mother did in that ambulance.

Swish of doors. Swirl of cold air. Click of heels on linoleum.

"I'm looking for my daughter? Her name's Jenny Rebecca. My partner brought her in?"

Hum of florescent lights, vending machines. Murmured words. Rustling of fabric.

"...well which was it? Was she pushed, or did she fall down!"

He jumped, fearful of the tone.

"...down in radiology."

Muffled sobs, sniffling, and click of heels.

The flashing colors only returned for a moment before a different colored chest stole them.

"...not responding to my questions. In fact, I haven't seen him move."

Bright penlight shined in one eye and then another. Gus blinked against them, felt his pupils dilate.

"...not uncommon...post trauma...psych consult...where's his parents?"

That got his attention.

"Followed his sister up to radiology."

"Well he shouldn't be alone."

"His mom probably wasn't thinking clearly."

"We should get him a bed. Do you have an ID on him?"

Shuffling of papers. "Gus Peterson-Marcus."

Gus looked up, eyes narrowing. When would people realize it was Gus Kinney

11: Linoleum

[Age: 16]

The call came in to his cellphone at some ungodly hour. The damn thing vibrated off of his bedside table and clattered to the ground loud enough to wake him from his coma-like sleep. Hefting half on/half off the bed, Gus fished the phone off the floor and squinted at the screen.

"Someone had better be fucking dead, man, or I'll kick your ass tomorrow...today...whatever the fuck.

The only sound that answered him was sniffles. Gus knew that fucking sound all too well; Charlie was having another melt down. Why couldn't he do this shit at a normal time of day?

Sighing, Gus shifted in bed, flicked the light switch on. Eyes shut violently against the harsh light. Blinking slowly, he flopped back onto his mattress.

"I swear to god, Charlie if you're queening out about them giving Catherine a fuck buddy on that show of yours I will so kick your ass."

More sniffling. "You already promised to do that, asshat."

And, yeah, Gus did catch on to the way Charlie slurred his words.

"It speaks. And here I thought I was holding a conversation with Snuffleupagus."

There was a long, long pause on the other end that he so didn't like. When it stretched out a little too long, Gus released a puff of air, and asked the inevitable.

"What happened." The 'this time' left off.

More sniffling followed by the sound of something like glass shattering in the background. Gus fucking knew that sound. Glass plus family drama plus late night phone call with slightly slurred speech equals badness.

"Think you can come over?"

Sighing, Gus looked at the clock. 1:47am. Just what he fucking needed--getting caught sneaking out again to deal with Charlie's shit again. He'd just fucking gotten off being grounded.

"Please, Gus."

"All right. All right. I'll be there in ten."

They ended up at the playground again, Gus half swinging/half digging his Doc Martens into the dirt. Charlie sat on the swing beside him, straddling the seat. Except for a brief exchange of greetings, they'd been silent for over an hour. That was usually how this shit would go down though. They'd laze around until they got too fucking cold to keep avoiding the topic, have it out, and then move on. And, yeah, there were some nights where 'moving on' meant going back to Charlie's room where Gus would watch his friend drink himself into a coma and only half-heartedly join in.

It was just their pattern. One that Gus was well versed in.

And it wasn't that Mrs. Broussard was clueless. It was just that she didn't know how to handle it, and Charlie didn't know how to talk to her. Charlie's old man walking out on them sort of made their family implode, and, while Mrs. Broussard was trying to pick up the pieces, Gus didn't think Charlie ever would.

It probably didn't help that Charlie's mom worked two jobs to support them--a waitress and a file clerk--or that she was going to night school to become an LPN. As sweet and well meaning as she was, she was a fucking ghost.

Charlie's dad, on the other hand, was one of those types of people that had no attention span. Most of the 'relationships' in his life had a shelf life equivalent to cottage cheese. Unfortunately, his kids tended to be on that list. Not that Charlie ever willingly realized it. It was just one of those things that Gus knew.

When they were kids, Charlie had joked about his dad having a revolving door in their house, but Gus'd always been a smart boy. He fucking knew what tricking was. Had even called it as such, and yeah, that had been one hell of a fucking fight between the two of them. Black eyes, bruised ribs, bloodied and torn clothes, and a week of total silence, but they'd managed to patch things up.

Charlie went back to talking about his dad's latest conquests and Gus had gone back to shaking his head neutrally before changing the subject.

It was probably their shared, mutual angst that kept them cemented as friends because lord knows Gus'd never willingly seek anyone out; he had enough shit to deal with to add in some vacuous little twit. But Charlie? He was cool. The kid wasn't a fabulous speller, and he would never have passed science if he hadn't copied religiously from Gus. He did, however, make a pretty decent friend. One that had enough family shit in his own life to understand and appreciate Gus'...which was probably why he'd been willing to sneak out of the house at two in the morning.

Looking up at the full moon, Gus guesstimated they'd been out there a good hour. His fingers, wrapped around the metal chains of the swing, had long since grown as numb as his nose. If Charlie didn't give up the goods soon, he was going to start prodding because holy shit it was cold.

And, as if on cue, Charlie started. "Harry's girlfriend finally popped her kid," he said, lighting a cigarette.

Gaze locking on his friends', it was bright enough to see the tears forming. Harry Broussard, father extraordinaire. Guy'd been married three times and had seven...no eight kids counting Charlie. Most of them with different mothers.

"Said 'it's far too busy of a time for you to come down, kiddo,'" Charlie hiccoughed.

And that meant that Charlie would probably spend Christmas alone. Again. Because Mrs. Broussard made it a point to get overtime pay on the holidays. 'Cash over cuddles, kid,' she always told him. To her, paying the bills on time was like a fucking religion. Maybe she and the Mommies went to the same church.

"Could always come over to my place. Take in the show," Gus said, offering a weak smile. Charlie wiped at his eyes.

"Jesus. I must be really pathetic if you're gonna offer a front row seat for the Muncher Smackdown."

Gus snorted. They'd known each other almost five years before Charlie had come over to his house. It was just after The Incident, and, after days without word from Gus, Charlie took it upon himself to stop by. He'd been up in Gus' room all of ten minutes before the yelling had started.

Gus never did invite him back, and Charlie carefully never mentioned it.

"How many does that make? A tribe," Gus asked, pilfering the cigarette from his friend.

"Nah. He passed tribe about two kids ago. We're getting into football team territory."

"Christ! I can barely manage JR. I can't imagine having seven of her."

Shrugging, Charlie looked out across the playground.

"I don't know anything about any of those kids. I seriously doubt Harry does, either."

Nodding, Gus remained quiet.

"I feel bad for the kid, ya know? 'Cause you know Harry's only going to be there for like five seconds before he's off to his next whore. Wouldn't be surprised if he already had someone on the side already."

"I just don't get you. I mean your dad's barely there to spend any time with you when you visit him."

"It's just different."

"But how? Your dad works and goes tricking. Your mom works and goes to school. Neither one of them is really there for you."

"He spends time with me," Charlie defended weakly.

Gus raised an eyebrow.

"It's like...you go and visit your Dads, right," Charlie started. Gus' nod prompted Charlie into further explanation. "And, yeah, they go to work, but they like talk to you and do stuff beyond just eating meals with you. They're there. My dad's like that, too. He takes the time to talk to me." A beat. "It doesn't have to make sense to anyone but me."

Gus was quiet for a long moment while he debated just letting it all go.

"Being there with your dad? You can't protect him all the time."

"Pot/Kettle, asshat," Charlie said, eyes narrowing.

Gus smirked. "I can't be your Yoda if you keep calling me on my shit."

"Point taken. Still..."

"Still nothing. Your dad is a fucking nomad; he gets tired of being stuck in the same place..."

"Projecting again..."

"Fuck you, Padawan."

"Oh...ho, please continue, Master," Charlie replied, snorting a little at his own joke.

Gus quirked his eyebrow. "Kinky."

Charlie laughed. "You just wish you could get into these pants, Kinney."

"Nah. You'd get all clingy. I get enough of that shit from..."

"...all the girl's I've loved before...who've traveled in and out my door."

It was Gus' turn to laugh. "Please tell me that cigarette was laced with something because Charlie Broussard singing Julio Iglesias at two in the morning is far too gay even for me to handle."

The hurt expression that Charlie tried to pull didn't work well because of the wide smile on his face. "I'll have you know that all the girls go tingly for Julio."

"Issues, man. Issues."

Charlie snorted. "So? It's cold. You should totally finish being profound so we can go back to my house and get food."

Crinkling up his nose, Gus tried to remember where they'd left off.

"My dad, the nomad," Charlie prompted.

"Right. Your dad moves where he wants, does whatever and whomever he wants...and leaves a nice little trial of broken hearts and babies. Do you want a front seat for that?"

"I don't know. You tell me; why do you want to live with your dads."

Narrowing his eyes at Charlie, Gus responded in a clipped tone. "My dads aren't like that."

"The fuck they aren't. You, yourself, told me that they aren't monogamous. That your Pops shifts from living in New York and the Pitts according to his shows."

"First off, he never spends that long in New York -- a couple of months total out of the year--"

"Potato/Potatoh," Charlie interrupted.

"And my dads do fuck around, but they're always careful. They sure as fuck never made vows to forsake all others or some bullshit breeder notion."

"Man, they even have you spouting their rhetoric."

"My dads are in the most honest relationship I know. They fuck around, yes, but they don't make promises they can't keep. They always do what they need to do to make sure that I'm happy," Gus said angrily. "Now stop fucking telling me I'm projecting and answer the fucking question; do you want a front row seat to watch your father self-destruct?"

"No," Charlie replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Then there's your fucking answer," Gus said, releasing his grip on the swing's chains.

"But..."

"But nothing. You can't change someone unless they want to be changed."

Biting his lower lip while considering what was just said, Gus swore he knew what the kid was thinking.

"Don't even think of going down there, either. You're too young to be playing Jiminy Cricket to his Pinocchio."

Charlie was quiet for a long moment.

"I think that this time's different," Charlie said, voice just above a whisper. "There's this tone in his voice when he talks about her. And this kid? He actually talked about baby names."

Gus swallowed thickly because he could so see where this was going.

"He still calls you," Gus said, weakly, knowing it was totally lame.

"For how much longer, Gus," Charlie asked, turning to look at his friend with such a defeated look. "Until his latest kid starts talking? Until they're happily married in their fucking suburbia splendor while my mom busts her ass to clean up after him."

Gus pinned Charlie with an angry stare.

"You weren't a mistake, you fucktard!"

"The fuck I wasn't. Condoms fail like seven percent of the time. It's why your dads preach safe sex and why my mom got pregnant."

"So what? You go to California and hang around as the living, breathing reminder of what a fuck up your dad was? Like that'll go over well. Even if he doesn't send you back up here, you'll never be a part of that family or that life!"

"Just like you'll never be a part of JR's happy land or your dads'," Charlie snarked back.

Gus glared at his friend, feeling as though he'd been slapped. There were both way too sober to be having this conversation.

"We're talking about your issues, not mine," he reminded.

"Yours. Mine. What's the difference," Charlie replied, tone defeated.

Gus took a final drag on his cigarette before flicking the filter into the sand. Embers glowing amber against the darkness.

"How fucked up is it that you and I are better adjusted than our parents," Charlie said, breaking the silence.

"That's the way it's supposed to work. We think they're insane and they think the same about us," Gus replied.

They both watched a cop car circle the block for the second time. Time here was short before they'd be busted.

"You think your Moms regret having you," Charlie asked.

Gus shrugged not exactly wanting to consider the answer to that.

"I guess so. Sometimes. I'd imagine most parents go through that at some point."

"And there's Master Gus again. All deep and philosophical at two in morning."

"You're the one that has to queen out at ungodly hours," Gus side-eyed him.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yes. We'll have to start scheduling these things. How does Saturday afternoon look? I'll need to discuss my unhealthy addiction to Ben and Jerry's while stoned."

"Ice cream porn. Really, Charlie, if I wasn't concerned before..."

"Asshat, focus."

"On what?"

"My pain? My eternal state of limbo?"

"What do you want me to say? I understand? Because I fucking do. I know what it's like to be passed around like timeshare property--there only so long as the contract says. Upkeep by appointment only. Whatever."

"So we're vacation property now?"

"It was an analogy."

"A shitty one. Jesus. You've spent way too much time around Ted."

"Dysfunctional Street. Brought to you today by the letter 'P,'" Gus mumbled.

"P?"

"Property, putz..." Gus started, motioning with his hand.

"Pop Tarts."

"Poppers."

"Porn."

"Ah the essentials in life." Charlie said, rolling his eyes before adding, "Promises."

"My dad says the only person you should trust is yourself," Gus added after a moment of silence.

"That's fucked. You should be able to count on your parents."

"Whatever."

"No. Not 'whatever.' I shouldn't be able to walk in and out of my front door at all hours without my mom catching me, queening out...anything."

"You want to be punished? Christ! You can parent swap with me," Gus quipped. Charlie was all over the place tonight. Like a fucking schizoid--joking one minute, depressing the next. Or was it bipolar? Gus shook his head. It was far too early and he'd had far too little sleep to even fucking think.

They were quiet for a long while watching cars pass down the busy street and their breath curl through the air.

"You ever think about what it'd be like if you hadn't been born?"

Gus swore he wanted to bury his face in his hands. Charlie and his fucking questions!

"No. I think daily about JR not being there," Gus deadpanned. The 'or about bombs not going off' going unsaid and carefully not thought about.

"You love that little twat and you know it."

"Love. Tolerate. Tomato/Tomatoh."

Charlie let out an exasperated sigh that made Gus smirk.

"I'm trying to be serious here, man."

"Charlie, you're a bald headed kid in a pylon-orange jacket sitting on a playground swing in the middle of the fucking night with your best and only friend who, I might add, you're depressing the shit out of. There is no serious here. Just some sort of fucking punchline."

Charlie had the good decency to shoot a guilty expression towards Gus.

"But, seriously, man, what if I hadn't been born? Would my parents still be together? Still be happy?"

Gus squirmed in his seat because, yeah, he had considered all this shit. What if his dad had turned the Lesbi-moms down? Would Michael be his father? Because, while Michael was an okay father to JR, he was wicked obsessive about getting into her personal life.

And if they'd adopted? Found an anonymous donor? No doubt Mel would've been happier with those choices, but, he had to wonder if he had a different father, if she would've cheated. Was it the pregnancy? His parentage? Or, like Charlie's dad, a trapped feeling that led Melanie to cheat? And was it something along those lines that led his own mother to cheat?

Which led him to the next question--would they have moved to Canada if he hadn't been born? It had been Melanie's idea originally. Maybe if she hadn't had JR...

He felt his heart speed up, felt like the walls were moving in. Fuck Charlie and his 'what ifs.' He didn't need to think about this shit because he always wound up having a panic attack.

"...and then there's my dad. Like what if the courts had given him custody?"

Charlie's voice filtered into a buzz of white noise.

What if his dads did have custody? Umpteen years ago, his father hadn't been willing, but, after ten years worth of summers, he might be more inclined.

And what if he hadn't been born? Would Justin and his dad have stayed together? It was Gus' birth that led Justin to being introduced to the family. Justin made his father happy. He couldn't wouldn't fucking go there.

"What ifs are bullshit, and you know it," Gus blurted out, partially to himself but mostly to stop Charlie from forcing him into conversations he wanted no part of.

"Fuck you, Gus," Charlie said, eyes narrowing. "Like you don't stop and wonder if your Moms would've been happier without you.

"I don't have to think; I know. Just like I know that my Dad feels guilty about not fighting harder when they said that they wanted to move. Just like I know the idea of me living with him for any longer than a summer is fucking terrifying to him because he's afraid he'll turn into his father.

"I fucking know Charlie. Just like I know that there's shit all I can do about it. And there's shit all you can do about your Dad populating half of California or your Mom working her ass off to support you two because your father is a selfish son-of-a-bitch," Gus said, voice rising as his face flushed in anger. Not at his friend or at the question but because of the fucking situation.

The swing beside his stopped rocking suddenly and Gus became increasingly aware that he'd revealed a little too much. Turning slowly, Gus saw his friend's face pale.

The palpable silence wore on for far longer than he was expected, but Gus didn't shift his eyes from Charlie's face as he watched his friend's jaw tick in anger.

"You're right. My father is an asshole and a whore, and, yes, my mother works her ass off. And, you're right. There is shit all I can do about it because, even if I was able to get into some fancy ass school in another country, I'd be too fucking poor to go.

"But you? You're Moms may be shits sometimes, but they'd be there for you in a second if they needed to be. Same thing with your Dads. You've got an out waiting for you in a couple of months and a whole family that gives a shit about you. So, if I want to play the 'what if' game I fucking will, but it sure as fuck won't be with you," Charlie said, standing. With one more harsh glare, he turned and walked away.

Gus sat on his swing and fished a cigarette out of his pocket as he watched Charlie until he was no more than a blimp in the distance.

And, yeah, sometimes forcing each other to see the truth was part of their little sessions, too.

. . . . .

He didn't think much of the empty seat beside him in homeroom; Charlie often overslept. By lunch, he started to get an antsy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The last class of the day and no sign of Charlie replaced that antsy feeling replaced with a full-blown panic.

It wasn't like Charlie to miss test days no matter how much they'd queened out or gotten smashed.

When school let out, Gus checked his messages. There was only one, and it was from Charlie.

"Missed call. Friday, December 15. 3:15pm. 'Hey. When you get a chance, can you stop by?' End of Message. To repeat..."

Gus knew that fucking tone. He'd known Charlie far too long not to know it meant badness. Slamming his phone shut, he started running for Chez Broussard.

Using the key that Charlie had given to him ages ago, Gus let himself in. His first stop had been the kitchen/dining room/TV area because, when Charlie did play hooky, it was almost always to do something lame like stay home to watch Oprah. When he got there, all he found was the table filled with the whole fucking liquor cabinet; Charlie'd obviously been sampling everything the night before.

"What the fuck, Charlie," Gus said, tossing his jacket onto one of the chairs. It wasn't like the kid to leave evidence of his benders out for his mom to see. And, Christ, the room reeked of booze.

He never would be able to explain why, but something drew him further into the house. Feet carrying him down the hall, heart slamming in his chest, Gus passing the first two doors--the den and Charlie's room before stopping in front of the bathroom.

Fingering the cold doorknob, he turned it slowly. Throwing the door open, he was greeted by steam that quickly dissipated by the blast of cool air. His glance fell first on the shower curtain that was open and allowing super-heated water to spill out and then down to the weight that was holding the curtain in place.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw -- Charlie's unmoving body on the ground and an bottle of pills next to him.

"Charlie?" Gus screamed, sinking onto the fugly linoleum floor to heave his friend up.

Grey-blue eyes fluttered open.

"What. the. fuck? You call me over here to what? Find your fucking body? Screw you," Gus said, hefting the kid up higher. The sudden motion was enough to wake up his body's self-preservation system. Charlie scrambled passed Gus to the toilet and instantly started vomiting.

Willing tears from his eyes, Gus watched helplessly as his friend continued to retch. Gus' whole body was fucking shaking because oh. shit. his best friend had actually tried to off himself.

It seemed to take eons before Charlie was reduced to dry heaving and even longer than that before Charlie curled up into Gus' side, shaking himself. Gus wasn't sure if it was from the rapid detox or emotional outpouring.

"Why won't he take me?" Charlie cried into his shoulder. "It's better when I'm there."

They sat there, on the cold floor for hours. Back wedged against the mustard yellow fiberglass tub, surrounded by the stench of vomit and liquor, Gus blinked away tears of his own because he fucking understood. And, the truth was that, when Gus first saw Charlie on that fugly linoleum, Gus wanted to fucking die with him, too.

12: Caustic

[Sixteen]

The metal handle of the faucet was icy to the touch as he spun the knob.

Freezing cold liquid spewed from the spigot with great complaint, pipes rattling in the wall behind it.

Dispassionate eyes watched as the clear water turned pink, wiping away the evidence of what had occurred...at least what could be cleaned up.

[Five]

Justin watched as Gus focused on the image on the wall, his brow knit in concentration so like his Daddy's it made him smile.

"Good," Justin said as Gus lifted the paintbrush from the tree he was working on and looked up.

Stepping back, Gus surveyed the work they'd just completed in the attic turned bedroom. The rapidly drying paint was a mural of the people, places, and things most important to him--the Liberty Diner, Briton, the Pittsburgh Zoo, Kinnetik, Mr. McFarlane's ranch complete with Cabbage, and his old home--all recreated with great accuracy. On closer inspection, amid the horse ranch, Mr. McFarlane was out walking Cabbage, Deb behind the counter at the diner, Emmett walking down Liberty, and, in the center of it all, his dad and Justin each holding his hand at the zoo's entrance.

"It's so neat, Jus," Gus exclaimed, hugging his Daddy Justin hard enough to knock the air out of him.

Justin carefully extricated himself from the boy's vice-like grip and smiled before looking down at their hands.

"What's say we clean up this mess before your Mommies get here?"    

[Sixteen]

He flinched and drew his hand back initially at the chilly water before forcing his hands back beneath it. Chunks of flesh were missing from his knuckles and the cold was helping to raise the bruises to the surface of his pale hands.

[Sixteen]

"You've got to teach me how to defend myself," Gus said in a raspy voice, wincing as the Beam laden cloth touched the wicked cut above his eye. Apparently, Hilton suites came with everything but a first aid kit to patch up your kid.

"I don't know," Justin breathed out definitely not feeling comfortable about this whole conversation. Shit! The Munchers were still terrified Gus would try to hurt JR again. And reliving his days in the fucking Posse? Yeah that was on his list of things to never think about ever again.

Licking his lips, Gus locked his eyes on his Pops, knowing he'd have to come clean with how bad David's shit had become.

"He had his hands on my neck for so fucking long I blacked out," he admitted quietly.

The washcloth - soaked through with Beam-made-antiseptic and the pink tinge of Gus' blood - slipped from Justin's nerveless grasp.

The next day, Justin took him down to a nearby gym and sat silently beside his son as he taught Gus how to wrap his hands in cotton bandages to limit damage to his wrists when he threw punches.

It took almost a month, but Gus was as good a street fighter as Justin had been all those years before.
 

[Sixteen]

The terry cloth was soaked through with deep red blood and had bits of hair and scalp mixed into it when he pulled it back from his skull.

He rinsed it thoroughly before reapplying it to his skin, hoping to stave off the bleeding.

He'd need stitches this time.

[Five]

"Remember to be good for your new teacher," Lindsay said as she guided Gus down the hallway to his new kindergarten class.

Gus nodded, nervously biting his lower lip. The grip on his Captain Astro lunch box got even tighter as he started to turn the knob.

As soon as he walked in, the teacher turned and smiled at him.

"You must be Gus," she said, helping him take off his coat.

"Class, this is the new student I was telling you about, Gus. Say hello, class."

"Hello, Gus," they all said in unison.

Gus blinked at them. They all reminded him of the pod people on that movie that Hunter made him watch the first and only time he'd babysat Gus and JR.

The hand that touched his shoulder made him jump. Ms. Kleinderman smiled down at him sweetly...just like the pod person had.

"Gus, I'm going to seat you next to Charlie Broussard," she started, turning towards the class. "Charlie, raise your hand so Gus can see where you are."

Charlie rolled his eyes but did as he was told. Gus smirked. At least one of the kids in the class looked promising. As he started towards the back of the room, one little dark haired boy stuck his leg out making Gus trip and fall flat on his face.

"David Entes," Ms. Kleinderman fussed, "acts of violence against anyone is against the rules of this class. I want you to go to the naughty circle," she said as Gus, now blushing deeply in embarrassment, slipped into the seat beside Charlie.

"Sorry 'bout that. David's kind of a meanie," Charlie said, offering a weak smile at Gus.

[Sixteen]

The antiseptic burned like shit when he held the gauze pad up to his scalp. Hissing in pain, he dabbed it a few more times.

[Eight]

"So what's the deal," Charlie asked, looking down at Gus' crayola'd family--a vast array of carefully labeled stick people. And, yeah, Gus could draw much more elaborate sketches with much better likenesses, but what was the point? He'd still get the same 'A' the other kids did for way less effort. Besides, his art teacher was a fucking tool.

Gus followed Charlie's gesture and then eyed the other boy's picture with a snort.

"Like your picture doesn't have a bunch of extra people," Gus responded.

Nodding, Charlie reached out and stole the kelly green from Gus' box.

"Did I say you could use my crayons, asshat?"

"Dude, possessive much?" Charlie said, returning the crayon back under heated gaze.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a serious over attachment to your art supplies?"

"Yes."

"And they lived to tell the tale?"

Gus shrugged. Yeah, he knew all about Charlie and his weird ass family complete with five million dads, step-dads, ex-step dads, his mother, and multiple step mothers of divorces past. It was a wonder the kid could keep them all straight. However, while Charlie loved to talk about his family, Gus never mentioned his. One, it was hard to explain, and, two, his mothers always made him paranoid that some shit would go down because their family unit wasn't like a normal breeder's family...Canadian acceptance or not.

Not that they'd ever explain their über paranoia...

"My Pops' an artist."

"Cool," Charlie responded. "That explains your possession obsession, but what's the deal with all the little stick people."

"I don't like talking about myself."

"No shit, man. I've known you what? Four hundred years? And I have as of yet to go to your house or hear anything about you family...you ashamed of them or something?"

Gus closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten. Sometimes Charlie just didn't know when to stop prying.

"No. I'm not ashamed."

"Then fucking tell me already."

Gus rolled his eyes and launched into an explanation despite that nagging voice telling him not to.

[Sixteen]

The bruise on his jaw was already starting to form. Black and blues and purples in the shape of a fist.

Gus licked his lip and watched the cut there open. Small droplets of blood pooled to the surface, bright red against pale pink. It wasn't the first bruise that shit inflicted on him, but it sure as hell had better be the last.

[Sixteen]

"When you're home, you're not really here. You're always doing some lame domestic shit like cleaning the fucking windows, vacuuming the floors, or dealing with JR's latest crush issues. Well, guess what? While you were busy making this shithole Better Homes and Gardens friendly, I grew the fuck up. And you can call me angry or resentful or whatever the fuck helps you sleep at night because I'm done with this shit."

"Gus...," Lindsay started as she and Melanie closed in on him, trapping him in his attic made bedroom.

"Oh, no, you asked me to talk to you. You begged me to fucking communicate with you. Well, this is what you fucking get. I mean, seriously, you thought that picking up and moving from a much larger, much more comfortable house, good jobs, and the rest of the family just to be safe would be a good idea? How fucked is that?

"Things got a little rough and you got a little scared and you ran. Justin got fucking bashed in the skull and he nearly died in that fucking bombing, and what did he do? He stayed put. He fought for what he believed in. Yeah, he might not have always made the wisest choices, but whose message is better? My Mommies who run when things get rough or my fathers who stand and fight," Gus said, stalking towards his mothers' wide eye stares.

"You want to be safe? Become an agoraphobic spook dressed in a fucking bulletproof vest and hard helmet because god knows there's no such thing as carbon monoxide poisoning or gas leaks," Gus screamed, loud voice filling the small space.

"If you want me to be that fucking safe, then you should find a way to cover the house in a fucking condom."

He'd seen the fucking slap coming, but he didn't stop Mel from doing it. The weight of the blow snapped his head to the side. When he turned his heated, hate-filled gaze on Melanie, he watched her shiver.

[Sixteen]

He pulled the sink's plunger into place, tossed his shirt into the sink, and began scrubbing at the bloodstains--some his own and some David's.

His mothers had always harped on him to clean up after himself.

By twelve, Gus had found his niche-computers. Not only had he managed to master several programming languages, but he hacked his middle school's computer system and changed his last name from Peterson-Marcus to Kinney. He might have also changed a few grades here and there for friends, but the school could never conclusively prove he'd done either, and, yeah, he had been paying attention to Mel's dinner diatribes about prosecutors who lacked anything but circumstantial evidence.

That summer, he hacked into Kinnetik's interoffice network one afternoon while left in his father's office. It really wasn't his fault; his father's meeting had run too long and he was bored.

When his father caught him blind carbon copying Paul in graphic designs' near pornographic instant messages with 'hot4itbigboi,' he give his son an odd look and asked him if he could show the idiots in systems administration how the fuck he got in.  After work, Brian and Justin took him for Thai. The food had just arrived at the table when his father cornered him with a smirk.

"So...your mother mentioned there was an incident at the school."

Gus smiled outright. "You mean the grades being changed or my last name being changed to Kinney? 'Cause...you know...I don't know anything."

"Of course not."

Brian should have taken that day as a fucking omen because, after that, his kid became an über-hacker. Gus started with small stuff like magically erasing any mention of said hacking from his school record. Then, he moved on to larger things like hacking the airline's database and rearranging seat assignments so he was nowhere near his bratty sister and expunging Justin's speeding ticket. Of course, while he was crawling around the Pittsburgh PD's records, he came across the file on the bashing.

It was something only mentioned in hushed whispers in the family. He'd only been fed a vague outline as a cautionary tale, but there it all was in its polychromatic glory--evidence photographs. Deep crimson pools against dirty cement, splatter patterns, and a baseball bat were all carefully notated and catalogued along with statements from physicians. Ugly words like blunt force head trauma, seizure, and cardiac arrest were splashed across his screen along with time served and community service.

That was the moment Gus understood why his father had told him on more than one occasion that words were bullshit, and, Gus silently added, law was bullshit, too.

A hand clasped his shirt collar and spun him in place, sneakers squeaking across linoleum. Gus released a gasp of surprise and then pain when the back of his skull hit the jagged metal slats in his locker full force.

"I told you to stay that fuck away from my girl, Kinney."

Gus rolled his eyes in defiance. This shit was getting old.

"Christ, Entes, she's my lab partner not my fuck partner. Considering all the shit she's carrying around, I got no interest in that snatch."

This time, he was prepared for the fist. Ducking his head ever so slightly to the side, David Entes' hand connected with the metal of the lockers rather than Gus' face. The shock of pain made Entes instantly release his hold on the smaller boy.

Gus turned quickly, stepping back as far as the gathered crowd would allow.

"You are so fucking dead for that," Entes threatened, shaking his fist to ward off the pain the locker had inflicted.

"For what? Calling your girlfriend the poster child for STDs or showing everyone how pathetically bad you are at landing a punch," Gus volleyed.

The ever growing crowd snickered.

"You worthless, cock sucking, son of a bitch. You're trash now, and you'll always be trash."

"Really original, David. Let me guess; you and your vacuous little friends spent all night coming up with that little retort."

"Probably just like how long it took your Mommies to come up with your name. So, Gus, what are you going to be when you grow up? A grease monkey? A fluffer like your whore father? Or maybe a fabulous painter just like your other fag Daddy."

Gus' jaw ticked in anger but he stood stock still watching the other boy circle him.

"You know shit all about my family," he replied.

Blood, already pooling from the wound to his head, began dripping down his neck and onto his shirt. Gus ignored it and the slow woozy feeling he was getting as he continued to watch David showboat.

"Really," Entes' replied, drawing out every vowel sound. "Well...let's see. You're poor as dirt and would probably be homeless if it wasn't for your Daddy paying the bills. But your Daddy doesn't really love you, does he? Not as much as JR's does because he never visits. Just takes you in during the summer when the Mommies pawn you off on him."

Gus swallowed thickly at the words. Hurt evident on his face, David continued to taunt him.

"Poor little Gus-sy. The boy his Mommies are always fighting about."

Eyes filled with hate turned upon the only person in the crowd that knew all that shit about it--Charlie. That was the opening his opponent was waiting for. David tackled Gus to the ground, landing on him full force. Air whooshed out of Gus with enough force to make his earlier wooziness a full fledged dizzy.

The moment David's first punch landed on Gus' jaw, he shut down, body going rigid. In surprise, David stopped, fist raised in the air as he locked his gaze with Gus.' The absolute dead cold, empty stare gave him pause.

"You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?"

Raising his knee hard, Gus hit David square in the groin. Smiling in satisfaction at the 'oof' of pain the other boy released, Gus flipped them over so that he was on top. That was when he began pounding his fists into the other boy's face.

He didn't stop when his hands were covered in blood and aching. He just grabbed the boy's head and began beating it against the linoleum floor with all the force he could muster.

Cruel hands wrapped around his forearms, forcing him back and off the other boy. He clawed for purchase against his attacker, furious that they were keeping him from finishing his task. His father might not have been able to kill a football player, but he sure as fuck could.

The metal of the cuffs bit into his wrists as he sat in the hallway waiting for his mothers to appear. Maybe this time they'd fucking believe him when he said he wasn't going to play butt monkey to anyone's shit anymore.

13: Routine

By the time Gus was nine, they had a system; Brian would take the first two and the last two weeks of Gus' summer break off work, and they'd spend it pretty much however Gus wanted. Usually, there were shopping excursions to get new clothes for the school year and trips up to the McFarlane farm to go riding. Occasionally, Brian would take the kid to some amusement park or to New York if Justin had a show.

When Brian had to go in to the office, Gus was babysat by other members of the family.

At Deb's he learned how to cook enough pasta to feed a small army and all about QVC--the latter being something his father didn't particularly care for especially when the commemorative coin of George W. appeared at Briton in all its hand-painted, individually numbered glory.

Brian took one look between Bush's smiling face and his kid trying to suppress a laugh and knew the little shit was behind it.

When he started dragging Gus down the hallway by his belt loop, the kid tried to apologize. The affect was, of course, ruined by frequent breaks in his words for laughter.

The door swinging open to Justin's studio was enough to make him jump.

"Jesus, Brian," Justin said, wiping paint-streaked hands on a cloth.

Gus watched as his father crossed the room in like three strides, and thrust the coin beneath his partner's nose before saying:

"Look at what your son bought with my platinum card."

Justin licked his lips to try and hide the smile that almost escaped.

With mock sincerity, Justin nodded. "I agree. It is a horrible offense." A beat. "I mean who would waste their time painting George W.?"

Brian's eyes narrowed. "This is your doing. You're the one that said he'd be safe at Deb's."

"And you're the one that let him use your credit card number so he could buy shit he needed for school through the internet," Justin replied, smirking.

Releasing a puff of air, Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is why we have trouble disciplining the kid."

"No, we have trouble disciplining your son because the family keeps telling him all the things we did as kids. It totally gives him ideas," Justin said, moving to the sink to clean his hands.

"Why is he my kid when he screws up? He's been calling you Daddy almost as long as he has me."

Turning to look over his shoulder, Justin smirked. "I think we've had this conversation before."  

"Jesus. You two sound like a couple of old marrieds."

Both of his fathers turned to stare him down, and, yeah, Gus had made not one but two faux pas; the words 'old' and 'married' should never be used in reference to his fathers. Then again, he was already in trouble...

"Perhaps we should punish him," Brian suggested, tone light in that 'no-good-can-come-of-this' way.

Justin snorted. "By what? Making him work it off at the diner? He's ten for crying out loud!"

"Well...Gus' teacher did mention he was having trouble in arithmetic this year..."

And oh God! His father was smiling and Gus so knew where this was going and it wasn't going to be good.

Eyes growing wide, he started backing out of the room.

"No...no...NO! Don't do that to me Dad! Anything but that!"

Ted was all about numbers. (And not the tall, dark, and sexy kind.) He was the one that taught Gus all about multiplication tables and how to write in precise, cursive letters. It was also Ted that taught him how to tie his tie. (Not that Gus would ever admit that to his father.) Opera and a love of classical music was something else he got from Ted...well...more like a toleration.

Gus slunk in Ted's computer chair and began spinning in a slow circle. It was on the third revolution that he stopped and considered the computer on the desktop. Last time he'd been trapped at Kinnetik, he'd set Ted's computer to play "Tiny Bubbles" in a continuous loop, Cynthia's to greet her with a 'Good Morning, Sexy,' and his fathers to say 'I'm a twat' every time he needed to print something.

Of course, he'd totally gotten away without punishment because he may or may not have hacked into Stuller, Inc. and gotten information that his father needed to land the account.

And, yeah, with the bonus his dad got off of that one, Santa was awfully good that year.  

However, when Brian had dropped him off in Ted's office that morning, he'd warned Gus to behave.

The day was gonna blow.   

The minute Ted walked in and saw Gus, he started sputtering.

"I didn't touch your shit," Gus said, resuming his slow turn around in Ted's chair.

"Ah..."

"And, no, your computer isn't going to play mp3 files for hours or try to come on to you," Gus said, still spinning.

"Not that I don't mind you being here..."

Gus smirked up at the ceiling. "Yeah. You do."

Ted sighed in a way that Gus knew he was less than happy, but wasn't going to say anything because Gus was the boss' kid. And, yeah, Gus knew about the shit that went down with Ted and his college fund. He still couldn't wrap his head around that--Ted the Accountant in a starring role as Crystal, Queen of the College Trust Fund Snatchers.

"Apparently, you're supposed to teach me stuff," Gus said, finally looking up.

"Like what?"

"Dunno," Gus said, shrugging. "Momma mentioned you were good at 'working magic with money.' Dad mentioned you were 'pretty decent at not fucking things up.'"

Based on the way Ted huffed and hawed and preened, he figured he was on to something. All he had to do was get Ted in his corner, and then, maybe he could convince his dads that getting Em to babysit him was their idea (and therefore, the best idea ever.)

"I suppose I know my way around a stock portfolio."

Gus nodded, "So...does that mean you can show me how to make more money out of my savings?"

A week later, Gus became knowledgeable enough to help in the future.

He'd also learned enough of the lyrics to one of Ted's favorite Puccini arias to sing it loudly in the car on the way home. Based on the strange glances his father was giving him, he knew he was in the clear. Of course, it was confirmed later that night when he overheard his dads talking...

"Theodore's going to be busy next week with the Brown campaign."

Justin snorted. "You're just freaked out because your kid's becoming a mini-Ted."

"He asked me about my stock portfolio and whether or not I had considered investing in that new computer company that's supposed to be the next big thing."

"You did want him to practice his math skills," Justin reasoned.

"That was before he started singing in the car on the way home..."

"He always sings with the radio--"

"It was opera, Sunshine," Brian said, voice full of horror.
 

The next day, Brian dropped Gus off in front of Emmett's place with the usual warning--don't give him any shit.

As if he'd torture his favorite babysitter.

Besides, Emmett had this freaky way of knowing when Gus was about to pull something. He'd say something like 'I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Gus.'

Em never called him Gus. It was either Mr. Gus, Kinney-byte, or some Emmett-esque endearment. And, yeah, Gus would roll his eyes, but, the truth was, he kinda liked it.

As soon as he walked through the door that morning, Em put him to work as a personal assistant--complete with pen, paper, and PDA.

"You, my dear boy, are going to learn all about the finer things in life starting with food and wine. This week's soiree is for a bunch of little old ladies having a garden social. Now what does my newest associate suggest the theme be?"

Gus bit his tongue to keep his first suggestion--Geriatric Geraniums--to himself and went with something neutral.

"Pretty in Pink?"

Emmett cocked his head to the side. "Easy to get flowers, nice color scheme possibilities, Molly Ringwald tie in." A beat. "Not bad for your first shot," he said, nodding to himself as he wrote 'Pretty in Pink' at the top of his 'people to do' stationary.

Gus learned all sorts of important business skills through Emmett's party planning business...like how to keep a straight face.

Gus wasn't sure what was more unsettling--the client or the goldfish swimming in an endless loop. He swore the thing was possessed or something because it just kept swimming along the same fucking path--left side of the bowl, through the wrecked pirate ship, down to the treasure chest, and back--and every time it got to the left hand side of the bowl, it would stop and eye Gus for a good, long minute before starting again. It was fucking unnerving.

Side-eyeing Emmett, Gus watching in disbelief as his friend actually took notes and discussed a payment schedule. He swore he had to find a way to get out of working this party because he'd be damned if he was going to put up with more time watching the demonic fish.

Then again, Gus forgot the first rule of the universe--when you want something, the answer will always be no.

Gus was in the middle of setting the four millionth demitasse on the table at Mr. I Want to Give a Party for My Goldfish's Birthday when Emmett came swirling into the room.

"Hey, Em? You ever get a client that isn't totally old or clinically insane?"

A sly, slow smile broke across Emmett's face before he responded. "Well...let's see. There's been quiet a few Kinnetik parties, Drewsie's engagement party..."

"Drew? As in Mr. Hottie Honeycutt?"

The smile broke into a toothy grin, and, from that look alone, Gus knew he wasn't going to get a response to that question.

"Of course, the first party I ever planned was an opening for your Mom's old art gallery," A beat "Now that was a fabulous affair. Can-can dancers, Eiffel tower cookies..." Em said trailing off as he caught sight of Gus' sour expression.

"Yeah. Mom was happier there. At least until that artist guy came along," Gus said, face going sheet white the moment he'd uttered the words because oh shit he couldn't believe he'd just said that out loud.

The lassier-faire feeling of the room shifted. The easy smile on Emmett's face faltered and then disappeared as he stopped mid-motion, the napkin he'd been folding dropped to the table.

"How on earth did you hear about that?"

Swallowing hard, Gus looked up at Emmett instantly regretting saying anything because he so knew this was going to get back to them.

Big, wide, pleading eyes turned onto Emmett, stopping all questions on his tongue before they were uttered. And then, it all fell into place. Tilting his head to the side just so, Emmett paused before broaching the subject again.

"You know, when I was a little boy growing up in Hazlehurst, my mom had all us kids packed away in this house that was no bigger than the one you and your Moms are in now. There were some nights I swear I just couldn't sleep because the TV was too loud..." Emmett started, voice trailing off as he watched the little boy.  

Gus instantly looked down, small hands running over and over the smooth linen table cloth. The action was so small, but it spoke volumes; things were far from fabulous at the Peterson-Marcus home. Clearing his throat, he tried to consider his options because forcing Gus to reveal anything would just make him shut down.  

"One of the first parties I ever helped set up was your Moms' wedding."

Gus didn't look up, but Em could tell by the erratic breathing that Gus was fighting pretty hard not to cry.

"They had planned this big ceremony in their back yard, but it all sort of fell apart. Your Mom told your Momma that it was the universe trying to get to punish them for being gay," Emmett continued, watching the uneven breathing being joined by shaking.

"So...your Momma did the only thing she could think to do; she asked your Daddy for help." Emmett paused, waiting for what he'd said to settle before steering the conversation into more neutral territory.

"Of course, the ceremony your Dads were planning was going to be much bigger..."

"What," Gus squeaked, hands wiping away at the tears as he finally looked up.

Emmett smiled, relieved to finally see Gus' hazel eyes again.  

"Well...it all started about five years ago..."

. . . . .

Gus slipped into Brian's home office in the wee hours of the morning and quietly sat on the sofa. It was several minutes before his father noticed.

"Hey, Gus. What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

The little boy stayed silent for a long moment, fingers smoothing against the arm of his father's sofa. Taking in the motion and the heavy trepidation in his son's actions, Brian already suspected where this was going.

"Dad, can I stay here with you?"

An audible, shaky breath was drawn in as Gus looked up at his father. Something heavy settled into his chest as Brian watched his son's eyes water slightly because they both knew where this conversation was going to land; it was the same one they'd had a thousand times before. The fact remained that, legally, he had no rights to even visit his son, and that every summer the Munchers let his kid stay over was a fucking blessing. But knowing that and accepting that were two separate things, and every single time this question came up it fucking hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Gus," Brian started.

"Please, Daddy. I promise to keep my room clean..."

"You've been doing that, and I appreciate it, but..."

"I promise to take care of myself. I'll get myself up for school like I do at home and make myself breakfast and pack my lunch and make coffee for you like I do Momma..." The tone was so pleading it fucking broke his heart.

"You know I would keep you forever if I could, but your Moms are the ones that are raising you. Their place is your home. And there's school and..."

Gus started crying outright because he fucking knew all this already.

A heaviness in his gut was joined by a lump in his throat as Brian blinked hard to keep his own tears at bay. Standing, Brian crossed the room and sank into the sofa beside his son. In an instant, Gus had wrapped himself around his father's chest.

"Please, Daddy. I won't ask you to bring me to see Cabbage anymore. I won't ask for anything. Just please don't make me go back."

Brian held his son for a long moment, feeling the boy shaking in his arms.

"Gus," Brian started, voice soft.

Pulling back and wiping at his face with the back of his hands, Gus looked up at his father with red-rimmed eyes.

"Why don't you want to go back?"

"Daddy Justin told me that, if you want something, that you have to go after it..."

Brian had to smirk at that one because, yeah, Justin being a tenacious little shit was why Brian had kept him around. Not that he'd admit it or anything.

"That's true."

"And Auntie Em said that people need to know when to ask for help."

"He did, did he?"

Gus nodded, biting his lower lip. "I don't like Canada, Dad." Gus started, voice resolute. "The house is so small and Mom and Momma are always working or taking care of JR," he said, pausing. "And, when they are there, they're usually yelling about money or whatever JR did that day."

"They yell lot?"

Again, Gus nodded. "It's scary sometimes, Daddy. And the things that they say..." Gus continued, voice trailing off as fresh tears started down his face. Sighing, Brian wiped them away with the pad of his thumb.

"I promise I'll talk to them about it, okay, Gus," Brian said, pausing until his son nodded. "And I want you to promise me that you'll tell someone when you're upset about something, okay? Because nothing can get fixed unless you tell someone."

Gus nodded as Brian sat, marveling over his own piece of advice. Shit, if Justin could have heard the two of them he'd be laughing his ass off. Brian Kinney suggesting someone talk through their issues.

"I guess this means you're gonna send me back, aren't you?"

Brian nodded. "But you have my word that I'll be up there as often as I can to see you, and, next summer you'll spend right here with me."

14: Tennis

[Age: 10]

The blinds on the window fluttered, casting odd shapes on the ceiling. As he lay on the bed and stared at them, he listened to the sound of JR breathing nosily beside him.

Ever since he'd come home two days ago, she refused to leave his side. His own living, breathing, life-sized teddy bear.

The cast weighed down on his chest more than he thought possible, and, yes, it probably was psychological. He'd Google it if he felt like moving.

"You know, Mary Jacobs' Daddy doesn't talk. She says it's cause he's deaf. You're not deaf are you Gussy Gus," she asked voice vibrating through him.

He lay there and continued to stare at the patterns. He wished he were deaf. Then he wouldn't have to hear the shit coming up through the vents.

. . . . .

"...well what do you suggest we do? Ship him off to some institution? We've already tried therapy. He wouldn't fucking talk except about inane shit."

"Dr. Walters isn't the only child psychologist in the city, Mel."

"Dr. Walters couldn't get through to him. We went with his pediatrician's suggestion and had him admitted to the hospital and that didn't work..."

"Maybe, if we asked..."

"We are not going to ask his fucking father for help. He's the reason that kid acts out."

"It's not Brian's fault and you know it!"

"Well maybe if you'd have picked a better sperm donor for your son none of this shit would have happened. Christ! We don't know what kind of shit was floating around in his jizz..."

"Brian is not to blame for Gus' behavior," Lindsay said, throwing her hands into the air. How many times was she going to have to repeat that?

"Like hell he isn't! Your son comes back after being gone for months and, within ten minutes, he's sending my daughter to the fucking emergency room."

"It was an accident..."

"Yeah. Sure it was. Tell that to JR. She's still in a fucking cast."

"That's not fair and you know it. Gus was provoked into acting out. It's a simple case of sibling rivalry gone bad."

"Sibling rivalry means yelling at each other for stealing their toys not this..."

. . . . .

Gus began to stroke his little sister's hair.

"Gus, do your Daddies fight when you visit them?"

Yes, JR, they do, Gus thought. But it's never this much or this often. His dads didn't fight like normal people. Sometimes they'd yell, yes, and sometimes it was just heavy stares and absence of touch. Sometimes they'd fuck, moaning low and long into the night. And sometimes Justin would disappear into another room in the house for a little while.

What made them different is that they made it a fucking point to keep the K-I-D out of it.

Instead of answering her, he continued to stroke her hair and watch as she sucked her thumb.

. . . . .

"Thing haven't been right for a long time," Lindsay said with a sigh, collapsing onto the sofa.

Lips thinned, eyes narrowed, Melanie spat out, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You and I. The kids," Lindsay said, motioning wide with her hands. "We'd just barely made up when we moved up here. Now we're constantly fighting..."

"We're fighting because your son..."

"Gus didn't start this. The move didn't start this. We did," Lindsay said, tone deflated.

"Oh? Let me guess...you're going to try and pin this shit on me again," Melanie said, crossing her arms.

Lindsay sighed and closed her eyes for a long moment. How many times where they going to have to go through this?

"What else do you want me to say? I thought we were happy when this started. When you fucked around behind my back..."

"No, it started when you decided to use Brian Kinney's sperm. Or maybe we should go all the way back to when you let him into your pants and fell in love with him."

"You still can't get passed that, can you? Christ, you're as bad a Michael!"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that Michael's still not over Brian fucking Ben and not him. Is it really that far of a stretch to say that Brian and I have done something that you and I could never possibly do?"

"I'm a dyke in case you haven't forgotten, sweetheart. I don't need a cock in my life."

"I wasn't talking about fucking. I was talking about him being able to give me a child."

. . . . .

Tiny fingers gripped and released the fabric of his shirt.

"Gus? Gus? Why won't you talk? Is it 'cause you haven't practiced in awhile? 'Cause if I don't practice tying my shoes every day sometimes I get lost."

Tensing beneath her touch, he looked down at his little sister's big, brown eyes, and shook his head no. It was the most he'd offered anyone in days.

"Is it 'cause you're sad? 'Cause when I'm sad, I call my daddy."

At first, he had been upset, now he was just pissed. Four and a half weeks of only speaking when spoken to, and never in the presence of his family. He sincerely doubted Lindsay remembered the warning to 'sit right there and don't talk or move until I tell you to,' but Gus sure as shit did. He was a smart boy, and he always did what his mothers told him to do.

If they wanted him to sit still and quiet while he and his little sister listened to them implode, that's exactly what they'd do.

. . . . .

"You want to explain away Brian? Fine! But that still doesn't excuse you from fucking that artist."

"Sam was a mistake."

"So was Marianne."

. . . . .

JR curled against him tighter as the voices rose two stories below.

How many times had they done this?

She'd get scared, sneak into his room, and curl up beneath his covers thinking he could protect her from the monsters under her bed, the closet, or, in this case, downstairs.

He'd always been amazed at how much of a shit she could be during the daylight hours, but, the second those two started there caterwauling, there she'd be in her Cookie Monster footies. And, yeah, if he were being honest, he'd say he loved her most of the time and hated her when she was fucking with his stuff.

"Maybe, if I called Daddy, he could come and scare the monsters away," JR said quietly.

Sighing, Gus continued to stroke his little sister's hair hoping she'd fall asleep before that little idea came to fruition. He could just imagine Michael's reaction to the news.

Then again, maybe it was time for a fucking intervention.

. . . . .

"First it was about the money and then about not finding work, and, when we did, it wasn't with a high enough salary..."

"What are you saying? You want to go back? Uproot the kids again?"

"I'm not saying that exactly," Lindsay said, fingering the wine glass in her hand.

Melanie hovered above her on the other side of the coffee table. Hands resting on her hips, she looked intimidating as hell.

"Then what are you saying, exactly," Melanie replied, pinning her partner down with an angry stare.

"I'm saying that we moved the kids up here to be safe."

"Well...we sure as shit didn't see this coming," Melanie shook her head and eyed the staircase just on the other side of the room.

"We can't expect to keep the kids safe from us."

"Oh...so now we're the problem? Christ, Lindz..."

"What do you think it's doing to them to grow up in a house where their parents are fighting all the time?"

"All parents fight. It's a part of marriage. You and I both grew up with that and we both turned out fine."

"Did we," Lindsay asked, burying her hands in her hair. "You and I can't seem to even be in the same room without yelling anymore. What is that teaching our children about relationships? That you stick with a person you barely get along with for the sake of the children?"

. . . . .

Curled up at his side, JR fell asleep in the middle of retelling one of the thousand or so Zephyr saves the universe tales. Christ, sometimes Michael forgot that Rage was supposed to be the super hero. Whatever. It still blew that he didn't know the ending though.

In a way, it was a good thing because the shit going on downstairs was a little too scary even for his taste.

. . . . .

"What do you suggest we do," Melanie said, sinking to the sofa beside Lindsay.

"You and I have been so busy running around for our jobs and our kids...it's like we don't know each other any more."

"So what? You want to move out again," Melanie said, sitting up.

"I'm saying maybe we take the time to fix us before we hurt the children."

. . . . .

There was a pause. A long fucking pause after Lindsay spoke that made Gus so fucking nervous because his moms were a lot of things, but quiet was never one of them. When Melanie spoke, however, it was with a voice so hallow and tear-filled that it terrified him.

. . . . .

"And what if we can't fix us?"

"I don't know."

. . . . .

Hours later, he heard them calling. Hushed voices whispering into the night. A signal, tightly spoken, 'Stay calm, Michael,' caught clearly. He knew his time was running thin.

15: Pit

[Sixteen]

His breath whirled like tendrils above his head as he exhaled a noisily. Hands red and chapped and fucking aching from wringing the mop out all day, clenched and unclenched at his side as he tried to straighten his abused fingers.

Community service blew.

2,000 hours of it fucking sucked.

They could have at least assigned him to KP duty or to helping patients out, but, no, Judge Poobah had taken one look at his cumulative folder, found out Gus had willingly volunteered at AIDS hospices and PFLAG groups, and sent him to this fiery hell--pseudo-candy striper.

Dealing with the pediatrics' ward had been all right. And, yes, he managed to get out of the old folk's wing with only a few thousand pinches to his cheeks and ass, but he fucking hated mopping the morgue. Gus knew that asshat attendant had locked him in there intentionally on his first day. 'Accident' his ass.

And the pylon-orange, striped 'I'm a juvie escapee' vest? Yeah. That was hot.

Of course, being a white color criminal had its advantages; he'd managed to get his cock sucked a couple of times, and that candy striper he'd bumped into in the NICU? They'd fucked in the utility closet. She was actually worth calling again.

Not that he usually got this much play. Being surrounded by death and disease and piss and vomit all day got to him. Like he wasn't fucked up enough.

Finishing the can of Pepsi, he set it beside him with an empty 'tink.' There was more mopping and scrubbing and whatever the fuck left to do, but he was officially on his lunch break. He sure as fuck wasn't going back in until he had to. There was shit all Nurse Ratchet could do, too because he fucking knew the law.

He heard the door to the roof 'thunk' open. Without even turning, he started to address the nurse-turned-warden.

"According to Mickey's hands, I still have eleven minutes, thank you very much."

"You still wear that watch," Charlie said, standing behind him, hands tucked safely into the pockets of his jeans.

Gus' eyes narrowed. "Don't mock the fucking Mouse, asshole."

"I'm just saying your dad's offered to buy you a fucking Jacobs, man, and you still refuse to give up the mouse."

He fingered the band. It was the watch Mel had given him for his ninth birthday right before he climbed on the plane to fly down to Pittsburgh. It was the last gift he'd ever received from her directly. Now, it was presents purchased, wrapped, and handed over by Lindsay. All of the gifts' cards written in his mother's hand. All of them read: 'With love from: Mom and Momma.'

"So...what brings you to this glorious joint? Come to soak up the fresh lemony scent of Lysol and death?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nah, man. Rehab. Waiting on Group."

Blinking, Gus looked over at his friend, and, for the first time, noticed the dark circles and shaky disposition of his friend.

"How's that working out for you?"

"It fucking sucks. I would kill for a cigarette right about now."

Gus snorted, rooted around in his pocket, tapped the packet, and held it out to his friend.

"Nah, man. They'd smell it on me and bust my ass for it. Shit, I'm not even supposed to be talking to your ass."

Gus snapped his glance from the parking lot twenty floors below to his friend's face.

"Why the fuck not?"

Charlie shrugged. "Some shit about us enabling each other. I don't know. The school, my mom, this whole place's been watching me like a fucking hawk. Telling me I need to make new friends. People that don't feed my addiction."

Gus nodded. At least he understood why Charlie'd acted like such a distant asshole lately. And, as if on cue...

"Sorry 'bout blabbing about your issues, man. Some of that shit came up in group, and some kid's mom sat through the session. All that shit got repeated..."

"'S all right. Shit happens."

"Yeah. Like Entes gets off with a slap on the wrist, and you're sentenced to janitorial duty for like years."

Shifting on the ledge, Gus looked down into the parking lot and the sea of cars that inhabited it. He wondered briefly it was a good idea for a kid that nearly offed himself a couple of weeks before to be standing on a roof.

"So. Who've they got treating you? Dr. Wozencraft?"

Charlie startled. "Yeah. How'd you know? You like clean up the psych ward, too?"

Gus shook his head. "Defender of miscreants everywhere." A beat. "Actually, she wasn't half bad. All smiles and smooth tones."

Poor Charlie. So slow to catch on. Gus watched with a carefully neutral face as Charlie worked through the information given.

"Whoa. You've seen her before?"

Rolling his eyes, Charlie tapped out a cigarette and lit it. Fuck hospital regulations and his and Charlie's interdependency issues. Drawing in a deep lungful, he paused.

"She treated me when the Munchers had me admitted."

It took her nearly a month to get him to fucking talk and even longer for her to realize it was only around the Mommies that he would shut down.

"Shit. You were in the psych ward."

Subtle, Charlie. Really fucking subtle.

Gus took another draw off of the cigarette, looked down at his watch. Seven and a half minutes left. Maybe he should go back early.

"She was the second quack that suggested I go live with my dads."

Charlie nodded, absorbing this. "Did she help you?"

Tapping the column of tar against the ledge, Gus watched the ashes trickle down the side of the building like snow.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

. . . . .

[Ten]

It was close to sunrise when he heard the squeak of breaks on the driveway. He knew what was coming, and he knew that it wasn't going to be pretty.

Gently, he shook the little girl that was flopped half-on/half-off his body. The hand on his shirt tightened as he shook her shoulder a second time.

He heard the single car door slam and knew exactly who it was.

"JR," he whispered.

The little girl looked up and blinked sleepy eyes at him.

"Gussy," she said sitting up on the bed, trying to get hear bearings.

"I want you to do me a favor, okay?"

Big, brown eyes widened.

"You remembered how to talk," she said, hugging him tightly.

A heavy pounding started on the front door. First a fist, and then the flat of a hand. A shiver passed through his back.

"I need you to keep that to yourself, okay," Gus said, looking at his little sister.

"'Kay," she said.

A light switched on, flooding the hallway with too bright light. Murmuring voices downstairs that turned more intense.

"Remember when we were really little and got scared how we used to hide in the closet," Gus said, standing and helping his little sister to the ground. He wrapped his comforter around her.

Heavy shouting followed by boots thunking up the stairs.

"I want you to wrap yourself up real tight and stay in my closet until I tell you it's safe to come out, okay?"

Voices in the hallway, louder, closer.

"It's barely six. Let them sleep, Michael," Lindsay said, stepping in front of the door.

Gus held the door open for his little sister and waited until she and the blanket were safely tucked inside. After kissing her forehead, he closed the door tightly.

"Oh, no, Lindz. I didn't fly all the way up here to not yell at the little shit."

The door to his room flew open and Gus stood in front of the closet, back straight.

"Yelling at him isn't going to accomplish anything," Lindsay said, stepping into the doorway.

Gus turned, eyes narrowed. Pot/Kettle.

In a blur of motion, Michael was through the doorway, grasping Gus by the lapels of his pajamas, and hauling him against the closet door with a thud. The squeak of fear from the other side was enough for Gus to close his eyes and swallow hard.

"That's right, you little shit, you oughtta be afraid," Gus blinked slowly, finally seeing the red haze in Michael's eyes.

"Michael," Lindsay said, pulling at Michael's unbudging arms "Put him down, or I'll call the cops."

Gus' eyes went from Michael's wild stare to his mother's.

This was his Uncle Michael, wasn't it? The guy that brought him and JR for ice cream on every visit? The one that told them totally lame stories about his childhood and superheroes. The guy that freaked if the meat wasn't cooked enough in his opinion or always had only one beer before switching to diet coke when he had to drive.

"Yeah. Call the cops. Have them start by arresting this little shit for hurting my kid."

Gus glared at his captor and then at the Mommies--at Lindsay who was vapor locked and Mel as she frantically dialed the phone.

"What's wrong? You can throw a four year old down a staircase, but you can't fucking explain why to her father?"

Michael 'thunked' Gus against the closet door a little harder this time. Closing his eyes, Gus started counting backwards from one hundred just like Justin had told him to do when he felt like he was going to have a panic attack because Uncle Michael wasn't supposed to do this. Wasn't supposed to scare the shit out of him or pin him to a wall like he was nothing.

Pain was blossoming in his hip from the doorknob digging into the bone. Tears were stinging the corners of his eyes. This wasn't...couldn't be happening. It had been an accident!

The voice that came from the doorway was deadly, low, and precise. "Put. him. down."

Gus looked passed Michael and was relieved to see his father there.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Brian screaming Michael's name, Justin trying unsuccessfully to hold Brian back as they both progressed through the small room--one leading and one being half-drug, JR sobbing for her daddy through the thin wooden door, and Michael dropping his tight hold on Gus.

The moment Gus' feet touched the ground, Michael pushed him aside to get to the closet.

"JR," he said, pulling the terrified little girl from the closet. "Don't tell me Gus locked you in there."

Gus would have glared or queened out about Michael jumping to conclusions if he'd been able. Instead, all he could seem to do was sink to the ground, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were vacant as he stared straight ahead.

JR squirmed her way out of her father's grasp and curled up beside as she had all along.

"Gussy Gus," she said, looking him in the eye. He didn't meet or even recognize her glance.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

"So...when were you here? I mean was it like during the summer? Or when I was off with my dad or something?"

Another glance at Mickey. Four and a quarter minutes.

"No."

Charlie shook his head. "What the fuck happened, Gus?" Wide blue-grey eyes pleading.

A long pause followed before Gus bothered answering. "It's not worth repeating."

"Try me," Charlie replied, smiling slightly with encouragement.

. . . . .

[Ten]

JR had been the bane of his existence since even before she was conceived.

First, there was the drama over who'd carry the little demon and then over who'd father the kid. Even after she'd been formed the fighting didn't let up. He and his Mom had moved out because it had gotten so bad, and, no he didn't remember any of that clearly. It was more like a vague familiarity to hiding under the coverlet to block out the sound of screaming downstairs. He did, however, remember moving back in because JR never stopped crying or loading her diapers.

There were other things. Little, subtle things you wouldn't notice unless you were looking. Debbie would always kiss and say hello to 'her fucking adorable granddaughter' before Gus or the way his old toys suddenly became community property. Looking back on that decision, he should have put his foot down a little harder to save Mr. Potato Head.

Of course, Gus was always a smart boy. He learned that, by doing his chores and taking on more and more responsibility, his mothers were slightly less stressed. Less stress meant slightly less fighting between his moms. Secretly, Gus suspected his usefulness was the reason that it took two years for him to be old enough to fly down to see his father.

Just another addition to the list of 1,000 reasons he hated JR.

By the time she was two, JR seemed to have a talent for getting into his things and ruining anything in her path. As the years passed, the worse she became. At five, she spent half the day terrorizing some poor kindergarten teacher and the rest bullying Gus.

In his summer long's absence, she'd ripped apart his action figures, his books, and torn sketches Justin had done for him off the wall.

She'd also destroyed his Daddy Bear.

It wasn't the only toy his father had given him, but it was one of the oldest and dearest. Gus had had it since he was in diapers. He'd carried that bear everywhere with him when he was a kid--especially after they'd moved to Canada.

It was one of the few tangible pieces of his old life he still had. He suspected it was why she'd picked that toy as her target.

Apparently, JR thought it might be fun to toss him around in the muddy back yard by the ears and arms--all of which were ripped off. He was missing one eye, his nose, and his leather hat was now perched on Miss Edith, her porcelain doll's, head.

The bear, or more accurately what was left of him,  was waiting for him on his bed when he returned from the airport.

JR looked between him and the bear, saw the tears in his eyes, giggled, and took off down the hall. Gus' watery eyes followed his sister out the door. Sometimes he swore the girl was possessed by some fucked up demon.

Lindsay placed her hand on his shoulder.

"We can get you a new one," she suggested.

Gus pulled away from her and carefully picked up his Daddy Bear's remains. Clutching it in his hands, he eyed all the damage JR had done to his belongings.

"Not necessary," he said, sucking in a shaky breath. Fingering the gaping hole where his arm used to be, he forced his feelings down into the pit of his stomach; keeping neutral kept JR from acting out even more and from causing his moms any more stress.

"But it was your favorite," Lindsay said, crossing the room towards her son.  When he saw him tense she stopped short and slipped onto his bed instead.

"It was just a silly bear," Gus intoned, setting the bear on his bedside table.

What he didn't mention was that he'd put the bear in his parents' room before he left, asking his Momma to keep him safe. Guess it goes to show that you can move something...hide it to keep it safe, but bad things will happen if it was meant to.

He turned and picked up his action figures. Noting that all of them looked gnawed on, he dropped them into the trashcan beside his bed before picking up the sketches Justin had done--portraits of his father, of his Pittsburgh family, of animals at the zoo. All of them were treasures. Now they were crunched up and colored on with crayons.

He smoothed out the creases caused by pudgy little fingers ripping them down off the walls, and each picture was carefully stacked into the drawer on his bedside table. It wasn't until he came upon the one Justin had sent him a few days before his trip -a horse so like Cabbage- he felt his breath hitch. As he picked it up, he watched in dismay as half fluttered to the ground.

Lindsay watched as the light she'd seen in his eyes at the airport slowly fade away. She was about to suggest that they call Justin and ask him to draw another when JR came tearing into the room and onto Gus' bed.

She began hopping up and down on the box spring.

"Gus! Gus! Gus," she screamed with every bounce.

Looking from the picture to the little girl on the bed, Gus' jaw ticked. Biting down every angry word on his tongue, he slipped the last ruined picture into the drawer before slamming it shut.

"Gus! Gus! Gus," JR continued before flopping down onto his bed to watch Gus unpack. Clean clothes were folded and placed into his chest of drawers, dirty went straight into the laundry hamper in the room.

Next, he unzipped the side pocket and looked wearily between the carved wooden horse his father had gotten him a few years before to the screeching little brat on his bed.

"You didn't bring me nothing? Daddy always brings me something," JR pouted.

"No. I didn't bring you anything," he said tersely. "You destroyed my shit."

"Momma," JR bellowed, "Gus said a bad word."

"Gus," Lindsay started.

The glare Gus shot Lindsay made her shiver.

"Yeah. Please punish me while the brat jumps on the bed and destroys the only things that mean anything to me. That sounds like a fair trade."

"Gus, you know that your sister..."

"Has attention deficit disorder and can't always control her outbursts...blah, blah, blah. You're giving her excuses for misbehaving. You know, there was a kid in my class last year that had it. No impulse control. Kept running around and screaming and you and Momma could never understand why I had so much trouble learning how to spell. Well...there's your reason right there, Mom. You spend so much time..."

From his peripheral view, Gus watched as a squealing JR pulled the figurine from the bag.

"Give that back," Gus said, lunging towards the little girl. JR laughed and took off down the hallway towards the stairs with her brother in hot pursuit. Gus grabbed her arm to stop her and watched, with horror, as she intentionally dropped the carved horse between the banisters.

From his vantage point, Gus watched it bounce several times on the wooden flooring before finally landing, shattered into several pieces.

Eyes white hot with anger, Gus gripped his little sister and started backing her towards the staircase.

"Why can't you just leave my shit, ALONE," he yelled.

"Let me go," she screamed, eyes filling with tears-from fear or from pain Gus didn't know and didn't care.

"Gus," Lindsay said, moving towards him with purpose. The sound of his mother's voice startled him and, letting go too quickly, they both watched as JR fell head over feet down the flight of stairs.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

Gus drew on the end of his cigarette. The tip flaring orange, ash column growing. Another tap against the filter, more gray snow falling from his hand.

"You're not my fucking therapist."

"I'm the closest you're going to fucking get. I know you Gus Kinney. You don't talk to people."

Turning a white-hot stare on Charlie, he watched his friend shiver and not from the fucking cold. "People are full of shit. They twist the fucking truth until there's nothing left but a lie."

"Then tell me the truth. Tell someone who'll fucking believe you!"

"Why? So you can repeat it in Group," Gus volleyed.

"I'm not gonna..." Charlie started.

"Like hell you aren't. You want to play a round of 'Whose Pain is the Worst?' It's a waste of time because you and I both know we'd fucking loose. There are people out there who've been beaten and raped and fucking tortured. Shit. Look at Hunter; his mom whored him out when he was a kid. I know I'm fucking lucky in comparison," he said, crushing the cigarette beneath his Doc Martens.

"That still doesn't make it any less painful. Any less wrong."

Gus stared Charlie down. "The truth is that you're the only person you should depend on. The only one that'll give a shit about your self."

"Bullshit," Charlie said, quietly. "There's always someone to turn to."

"If you fucking say God, I will never speak to you again," Gus said, rolling his eyes. Christ! They were brainwashing his friend in this place.

"No, you asshole. For me, it's always gonna be you. You're the one that knew to come over. You're the one that forced me to heave all that shit up. You're the one that called the fucking ambulance."

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'you love me,' or some other hideous, lesbianic bullshit..."

Charlie rolled his eyes before punching Gus in the arm. "I'm trying to be all deep and thoughtful so shut the fuck up and listen."

Motioning with his hand, Gus replied, "Then, by all means, please continue."

Grasping Gus' forearm to make sure he had his friend's attention, Charlie continued.

"Your dads give a shit, Gus. You know if things get bad you can always call them. Ask for their help."

Gus side-eyed his friend, and, face and voice totally devoid of all emotion, he responded, "Things are all ready bad, Charlie."

Charlie flexed his grip on Gus' arm before letting go. "Then fucking call already."

Lips thinning, Gus cast a regretful look at his friend before returning to his mop and bucket.

There's a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
And it's filled with people
Who are filled with shit
And the vermin of the world inhabit it

Sweeney Todd

16: Confront

 
[Age:16]

Tears pricked at the corners of wide eyes as they darted around the room. His mattress was bare and overturned. The drawers of his dresser and the entire contents of his closet were all empty, contents strewn across the floor into a messy pile. Empty hangers still swung slightly from the force of having clothing torn from them.

Shoeboxes were emptied, photos of times long past scattered and spread across the floor like they were nothing.

Everything he owned was in shambles.

Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he edged towards the dresser first, righting the drawers in their tracks before stooping down to scoop up his socks. Mechanically, he return each bundled cloth neatly into rows as it had once been.

He'd figured that they would do this--especially after they'd heard from Charlie's mom about what had gone down, but knowing and seeing were two different things.     

Hearing heavy steps on the stairwell to the attic, Gus quickly wiped the tear streaks from his face.

"Hey, Gus."

"Hey, kid," he said, returning his sister's weak smile.

"I tried to stop her," JR said softly as she began righting his box spring. "But you know how they get when they're in über-mom mode...especially Momma. She was all pale when she hung up the phone. Came straight up here. Started tearing everything apart."

"Where are they at?"

"Momma went to pick up Mom at the office."

Gus nodded grimly. No doubt to present a united front.

"And I suppose she reacted fabulously when she found my stash." Gus voiced, tone non-blasé. This shit got old.

"She kinda queened out at porn..." JR started, nose wrinkling in disgust. "I mean, seriously, Gus.  They're already worried you've lost your mind and then you go around with straight and gay porn..."

Gus snorted. "I already told you, Junior, I happen to be friendly."

"Friendly my ass! You had a fucking lifetime supply of rubbers in your closet." A beat. "And don't call me Junior, asshat."

Smirking, he turned to his little sister in time to see her smoothing his comforter over his bed.

"It wasn't a lifetime supply. More like a month..."

JR snorted in response. "It was enough to fill an entire shoebox, Gus."

He shrugged. "At least I'm being careful."

JR stooped down and carefully began sliding the pictures back into their case, her hands paused on one of a much younger Gus curled up on his father's lap, fast asleep.

"I miss you when we're here," she said suddenly.

Gus raised an eyebrow at her and continued to organize his drawers, refolding his sweaters and organizing them by color. And, yes, it was something that he'd gotten from his father, but he liked some order in his life. Even if it was only his dresser drawers.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean," he asked when his sister's explanation wasn't forthcoming.

"When we're in the Pitts, you're totally different than when you're here. You smile more. Laugh more. And, when we're here, you're hard, distant..." JR said, pausing.

Looking down at his sister's wide, trusting eyes, he debated telling her the truth, because, yeah, she was a good listener, but she had her father's ability to keep a secret.

"I'm not happy here," he said, honestly. "I'd rather live with my dads year round, but that isn't going to happen."

"Why not? I mean it's obvious they want you to live with them."

Shrugging, Gus looked down at his hands, chipping at the black nail polish he'd grown accustomed to wearing just to piss his parents off.

"Don't know. 'Fraid they'd set a precedent I guess."

JR's nose twitched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gus rolled his eyes. Sometimes she really needed to read something other than those ridiculous teeny-bopper magazines.

"They're afraid that, if they send me to live with my Dad, your dad might try to do the same."

She flipped her hair before responding. "Jeez. My dad's cool and everything, but I wouldn't want to live with him full time. I mean seriously. I was ten before I convinced him he didn't need to hold my hand to cross the street."

Gus snorted.

"Actually...I kinda blame your dad for that one."

"My dad? What about Deb?"

"Nana Deb might of planted the seed, but my Dad had like years to practice on Brian."

It did make sense in a sort of fucked up way. Not that Gus would tell her that.

"I wonder why your Dad hasn't asked..."

"He did. More than once," Gus responded instantly, flopping down on the floor beside her.

JR was blessedly quiet for a long moment as they both looked up at the mural Justin and Gus had painted on the walls an eon ago. The truth was there for anyone that bothered to see it--Gus hated it here.

"Why don't you just tell them the truth," JR asked in a quiet voice. "Why do you let them treat you like this...like you're some sort of freak?"

Gus turned to look at JR.

"Because it's what they see. It's what they expect."

She rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Gus. You're a kid; you're not supposed to be the martyr in the family. Climb down off your cross and fucking enjoy your life."

Sighing, Gus was silent for a long moment while he tried to get his thoughts together because, yeah, he loved his baby sister, and he tried to keep as much of the bad shit in this family from touching her. "How much do you know about what went down before you were born?"

JR shrugged. "Just what I've heard through the walls."

Gus nodded, lips thinning as he debated who much and what to tell her.

"When you were born, Mom and I moved out. Lived in this smallish apartment not that far from my dad's place. The Moms had some big blow up because, apparently, my Mom boffed some art guy..."

"Mom fucked a guy," JR asked, voice and eyebrows raising in disbelief.

Gus nodded absently. "And after I was born your mom fucked some chick. She moved out, and my mom lost her mind. Almost married some French guy."

Letting out of puff of air, JR mumbled "Jesus!"

"Our moms like to live in drama. They fucking feed off of it. It keeps them happy and focused."

"So what? You give them an outlet rather than them yelling at each other about past fucks or bills?"

Gus nodded grimly, eyes drawn to a photograph of their old house.

"When we lived in the Pitts, the family helped them deal with shit. Dad would see them struggling to make ends meet, and he'd throw some extra digits into his support checks. He'd see them fighting and just let my Mom talk her way through whatever she was feeling. But, here we're so far from the family that I think that they forget that sometimes you need to ask for help."

JR's hand clasped his forearm, drawing his eyes up from his little box of happy memories.

"You might be a Kinney, but you're not Brian. You don't have to take their shit. Just lay it out for them."

Clearing his throat, Gus turned and looked down at the stack of photographs. As smart as JR was, sometimes she missed the bigger picture.

"Yeah, I could tell the Mommies to stop treating me like shit, but asking someone to do something and having them do it are two separate things." A beat, his eyes softening with regret. "The minute I pushed you down the stairs, I turned into a fucking target, and I'll never be anything but."

JR's eyes snapped to his. "You didn't push me down those stairs; I fucking fell. It was an accident," she responded immediately, voice brokering no argument.

Biting his lower lip, Gus shook his head. JR reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up in a move way too like Deb's for his taste. Hell, he'd half expected her to lead with...

"Listen to me, you little asshole," she started, and, yeah, Gus had to smirk. She was turning into a mini-Deb. "You're not the fucking adult here. Taking on all the family shit is the parents' responsibility, not the kids," she finished, releasing her grip on him before standing.

"Now...we're going to finish cleaning this shit up and then I'll go over to my friend Tanya's house for the night so you and the moms can work this out without me playing audience." The 'or being drug into this shit' left said but heard all the same.    

They worked until everything was back where it belonged before collapsing onto the bed, both staring up at the slatted ceiling in silence. Neither moved until they heard the front door slam shut. It would seem that the Mommies were back from work.

JR offered a weak smile and kissed his cheek before leaving the room.

. . . . .

The clicking of heels cued him to their impending arrival long before the door being thrown open did. He didn't bother to look up when he felt them enter the room. Body stiffening in defense at their proximity and the fury rolling off of them in waves.

He sighed. Truth be told, JR did have point; he was fucking tired of playing the leading role in the 'My Son is a Brat' show.   

"Did you enjoy your little treasure hunt," he asked, voice devoid of all emotion.

A heavy cardboard box was thrown onto the bed beside him, springs complaining at the sudden weight.

"I'm so mad at you I don't even know where to start," Melanie said, stepping back and scratching at her forehead. It was a nervous tick of hers that he knew meant he was in deep shit trouble.

Melanie stepped into his line of site and began to empty the box's contents onto the bed. Smirnoff, Beam, Schnapps were all lined up side by side followed by a huge stack of porn, several boxes of condoms, lube, two cartons of cigarettes, and a small wooden box.

As each item was revealed, he felt the air in the room shift and become much darker. He knew what all this meant...the confrontation that was about to follow. Sighing, he sat up, shifting a hand through his hair. Maybe it was time after all.

"The porn we understand. You're young and curious...," Lindsay started, voice considerably softer than Melanie's.

Like he needed the fucking porn to fill in the 'curious' part. Jesus! He grew up in the fucking Liberty Avenue family. He knew more about sex--straight, gay, and undecided--before most of his classmates had even begun to realize that gloves and hard hats weren't the only type of protection out there.

"Condoms?" Lindsay said, eyes growing wide as she picked up one of the boxes. Gus figured she'd recognized the brand his Dad preferred because she sure as shit had seen them enough times around the loft. They all had.

Of course, if Gus still was hoping to avoid grounding until he turned eighteen, he would have pointed out the bizarreness of his Mom fixating on him fucking more than...

"...and the alcohol," Melanie said, voice rising enough to catch Gus' attention again.  "Never mind the fact that you're underage, but, with the alcoholism that runs rampant on Brian's side..."

"Mel..." Lindsay interjected, eyes hardening in that look Gus knew meant 'don't bring him into this' because, yeah, he'd fucking seen that look a lot.

"But that's not the 'best' part of my scavenger hunt. No. That came when I discovered this..." Mel started, removing the wooden box's lid and dumping the contents on the bed beside the half-drank bottle of Beam.

Dispassionate eyes followed the movement, watching as his stash of joints, tabs of 'E,' and uppers spilled out on his grey duvet.

"Christ!"

Eyeing Melanie's disappointed expression before looking at Lindsay's shocked one, he sighed.

"It's not like you haven't done any of this shit before. Hell, I grew up listening to the stories about all the things you guys did."

"Listening and doing are two separate things, honey," Lindsay replied instantly. Gus bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing aloud; he'd used almost that exact phrase not more than a few hours before on his little sis.

"Where'd you get the stash?"

Gus looked over at his mother. Correction -- Melanie. She didn't fucking give birth to him, and she sure as shit just barely tolerated his presence.

"Where. did. you. get. this. shit," she repeated, enunciating every consonant like he was some sort of fucking mute.

Eyes narrowing, Gus stared her down, challenging her to say what he expected. Mother Melanie never did fail to fucking come through.

"I bet it was your father. What'd you do? Raid his stash while you were visiting?"

Which, of course had to be followed by...

"Mel!"

The squeak of righteous indignation.

Like he could get through all that fucking airport security with his Dad's shit on him anyway.

"Fuck you, Ma! I scored that shit on my own. And those bottles? I swiped them from your Christmas party. You were both too drunk on margaritas to know you ass from your twat."

Melanie started to advance on him, eyes filled with a murderous glint. Lindsay stepped between them, looking between the two of them.

"Gus, you have to understand that we're concerned."

Rolling his eyes, Gus flopped off of the bed and walked around it to place it between him and his mothers.

"You're concerned," he repeated. "You want to communicate like a normal family? Fine. Let's start with every time you both take the time to ask me one of the tough questions, you fucking freak out when I start to answer, and, rather than sitting and listening to me...fucking hearing me out...you shut down. You stop listening and start ranting or you drop me off at Walter's Big Top hoping some fucking shrink can fix me, but you never once stopped to consider that you might be the problem."

"Gus, you know that we would listen..." Lindsay started, moving slightly towards him.

Casting weary eyes on his mother, he continued.

"Where do you want to start? The booze? Fine I got drunk off my ass once...maybe twice. Do I drink often? No. Just when your shit starts to get to me. Same thing with the pot," Gus stated, staring at his Mom with rapidly tearing eyes. She returned his stare with something akin to guilt. Good.

"When you're home, you're not really here. You're always doing some lame domestic shit like cleaning the fucking windows, vacuuming the floors, or dealing with JR's latest crush issues. Well, guess what? While you were busy making this shithole Better Homes and Gardens friendly, I grew the fuck up. And you can call me angry or resentful or whatever the fuck helps you sleep at night because I'm done with this shit."

"Gus...," Lindsay started as she and Melanie closed in on him, trapping him in his attic made bedroom.

"Oh, no, you asked me to talk to you. You begged me to fucking communicate with you. Well, this is what you fucking get. I mean, seriously, you thought that picking up and moving from a much larger, much more comfortable house, good jobs, and the rest of the family just to be safe would be a good idea? How fucked is that?

"Things got a little rough, and you got a little scared and you ran. Justin got fucking bashed in the skull and he nearly died in that fucking bombing, and what did he do? He stayed put. He fought for what he believed in. Yeah, he might not have always made the wisest choices, but who's message is better? My Mommies who run when things get rough or my fathers who stand and fight," Gus said, stalking towards his mothers' wide eye stares.

"You want to be safe? Become an agoraphobic spook dressed in a fucking bulletproof vest and hard helmet because god knows there's no such thing as carbon monoxide poisoning or gas leaks,"  Gus screamed, loud voice filling the small space.

"If you want me to be that fucking safe, then you should find a way to cover the house in a fucking condom."

Gus paused, angrily wiping at his tear-streaked face. Eyes darting from one mother to another, seeing them both in a similar state. He'd come this far, there was only so much further to go. When he started to speak again, it was with his eyes boring into Melanie's.

"The truth is that you see what you want to see--a miniature Brian Kinney who smokes and drinks and fucks, but that isn't who my father is and it sure as fuck isn't me. It's just what you want to see to make it easier to ignore me...to hate me.

"Maybe Dad isn't perfect. Yes, he drinks and he smokes and he's probably ingested way more toxic chemicals into his body than he should, but he fucking survived all that shit that happened in his family. He came out on the other side and fell in love with Daddy and he became a much better man." A beat. "But he was never this asshole you made him out to be. If he was, he wouldn't have agreed to father me, wouldn't have fucking signed over all those checks to help support me, wouldn't have fucking begged you for the right to visit me, and he sure as fuck wouldn't have signed over his parental rights. In fact, I think the only reason you hate him is that he was able to do the one thing you couldn't do with Mom--have a child."

He'd seen the fucking slap coming, but he didn't stop Mel from doing it. The weight of the blow snapped his head to the side. When he turned his heated, hate-filled gaze on Melanie, he watched her shiver.

Gus picked up his backpack and pushed passed his mothers to get to the staircase. Before they could move, speak, react, he began pounding down the stairs. Long legs carried him miles. Tear streaming down his face, he paused briefly to wipe at them.

Red, glowing neon burned against the night's sky. The Rebel Inn--home to the only place in town that offered hourly rates and no questions for cash in advance.

After paying, he keyed his way into the room, and collapsed under the covers.

Sometimes, he just wanted to be five years old and hide in his fortress. It was dark and warm and smelled like his father...like safety. And there was his last, great truth. The only place he felt safe...felt like himself was with his fathers.

. . . . .

The next day at school, David Entes made the mistake of egging Gus into a fight.

A week later, Gus found himself mopping floors at the nearby hospital.

The Saturday that followed, he returned home to find that bitch from 'Save the Miscreants' on his mothers' sofa.

That was when Gus decided to take Charlie's suggestion; he picked up the fucking phone and dialed.

17: Prized

[Age: 11]

Where a kid can be a kid. Jesus. Even the jingle was warm and fuzzy and should have been an omen to the impending migraine to come.

"It's a nightmare. A bright, neon, dancing rat filled nightmare," Brian said, standing next to his wide-eyed son.

"Wow!" Gus said, bright smile pulling at his lips.

"Do you think it's too late to bribe him with a pony?" Justin asked, looking down at the boy between them who was practically skipping.

And, just when they thought it couldn't get any worse, Gus said:

"I wanna play in the game room."

As overwhelming as the entrance was, the game room was utter chaos.

"It's like a living version of The Lord of the Flies," Justin said watching ice cream covered children running around the room, touching everything with sticky fingers, and screaming.

Oh. God. The screaming.

"Gus, are you sure you don't want to go somewhere else," Brian asked, looking down at his kid and knowing it was a moot point.

Gus shot his dad a look that clearly read as 'are you stupid?' before shaking his head. "No way, Dad."

And then their kid left them to join the Tribe of Chuck E. Cheese.

"Remind me why we're doing this again," Brian said, taking it all in with a shudder.

"Because he asked," Justin said, smirking because he knew for a fact that the kid could have said 'I want to go to the moon for my birthday,' and Brian would have made it happen. Thankfully, Gus hadn't quite realized the scope of his powers.

Justin watched Brian gaze around the room and could just imagine the ad his partner was coming up with; Chuck E. Cheese in a g-string and the caption would read: wanna play?

Shivering at the thought, he eyed the parents' bench. Looking between the bored housewives who allowed their children to start The Tribe and the arcade, Justin made a snap decision and led Brian towards the skeeball machine instead--a move that would prove to fill the time with entertaining interactions and views.

An hour later, they were still there, and Justin was trying desperately not to laugh.

"This game is rigged," Brian said, watching the skeeball rolling into the '0' hole for the billionth time.

"You'd think you'd be better at sinking into tight, round spaces," Justin quipped, taking a sip from his Diet Coke and wishing for the thousandth time for something stronger.

Brian raised an eyebrow, and, with a smirk, handed Justin a token. "You try it."

 
An hour and a handful of tickets later, Justin met up with Gus at the prize counter.
 
"Skeeball?"
 
"Yeah. You?"
 
Gus scrunched up his nose. "I beat the high score at skeeball, foosball, and that lame basketball game. So...pretty much anything that's worthy of my time. Whack-a-Mole's still my favorite though. You know. Because of my 'anger' issues," Gus said, placing sarcastic air quotes around the word anger.
 
Justin snorted but chose to ignore that little comment. "So...prizes?"
 
Gus pulled a claim ticket from his pocket.
 
"A 27-inch color TV," he said with a bright smile.
 
"You won a TV," Justin repeated, tone flat with disbelief.
 
"To go with the bike you and Dad got me for my birthday."
 
"How did you..." he started, shaking his head. "Never mind; I don't want to know how you figured it out. Just don't let your dad know that you know."
 
"I might have also won a free teddy bear for JR," Gus said, motioning towards the enormous pink thing resting on the floor behind him.
 
"Jesus," Justin said, looking down at the handful of tickets in his hand.
 
"I'm sure you could get like...a glow pen or something."
 

 
After leaving the scowling attendant at the prize counter, Justin led Gus into the party room where a table was covered with presents, pizza, and a birthday cake. Gathered around the room was his pseudo-family, the whole singing, dancing Chuck E. Cheese crew and...
 
"Charlie?"
 
"Yo. Behold. The Gus actually was born and didn't spontaneously form."
 
"You schmuck," Gus said, hugging his friend. "How the hell did you end up here?"
 
"Your dad can be persuasive, man." A beat. "So...Chuck E. Cheese."
 
Gus laughed. "It's to torture my dad."
 
Charlie smirked; he knew the score. Gus was a prize whore. Totally crazy about the game room and plundering the awesome-o prize counter. Gus got some sort of thrill at calculating the right angle to throw the basketballs in and figuring out the exact tilt to the foosball table and how to use it to his advantage to gamble prize tickets. Of course, Gus was on like the most wanted list in a couple of the arcade joints in Toronto. Then again, the Pittsburgh branch had no clue how much damage his friend could do with a couple of tokens.    
 
"Kind of a pathetic showing man," he said, looking over the gathered gang. It was a running joke; they lacked friends other than each other.
 
"You're one of 'em, asshat."
 
"Too true. Not that I'd miss you hitting the unremarkable 1-0."
 
Gus snorted.
 
"And, dude, could your dad have gotten you any more shit," Charlie asked, motioning to the mound of gifts on the table.  
 
Shrugging, Gus said, "It's his thing. He buys me stuff. A lot of stuff. I think he does it to piss Momma off."
 
"I bet he's like a wet dream to Toys R Us, man."
 
Gus plopped down at one of the tables and started in on a slice of pizza before bothering to answer Charlie.
 
"Dad's a wet dream to a lot of people," he said, snorting. "But he'd never set foot in Toys R Us; he's all about FAO Schwartz."
 
"Whoa. Your room must be like filled like a toy store."
 
"Nah. Some of it'll come home with me, some will get shipped to JR, some stays here, and some of it I hand over to charity."
 
"I wonder if your dad wants to adopt me," Charlie said, laughing.  
 
"He tolerates me because he has to. You, on the other hand..."
 
"Nah, man. He tolerates you 'cause he loves your ass. Otherwise, there's no way Mr. Label would be sitting at a table with a plastic tablecloth surrounded by singing Rodents."
 
Charlie motioned towards the aforementioned Rodent and friends making their rounds of the party before making a quiet and hasty exit. Probably scared off by the lack of breeder undertones from the whole gathered group.
 
"So...you're like feeling better or whatever? 'Cause, last time I saw you, you were like there but not."
 
Gus turned his attention from the large pepperoni pizza he and Charlie had almost completely devoured to his dads getting cuddly in the corner and smiled. Some things never change.
 
"I'm getting there."
 
"Does that mean you're comin' back," Charlie asked around a half-chewed slice. "'Cause the fourth grade totally blows more than the third."
 
Lips thinning, Gus shook his head. "I'm staying here with my Dads until my Moms finish working through some stuff. My dad hired me this tutor." A beat. "And I sort of tested out of the fourth grade stuff."
 
Charlie offered a sad, half smile. "Not surprised, man. You were like married to the library last couple of years. I wouldn't be surprised if they named a wing after you or something."
 
Charlie sipped on his punch and watched the family circle the room. Or, rather, the small portion of it that did show--Emmett and his new beau, Ted, Blake, Hunter and his girlfriend of the second, and an uncomfortable looking Ben. Noticeably absent were JR, Michael, and Deb. Not surprising considering the latter two wanted nothing to do with him in wake of The Incident.  
 
He was about to question their absence when Gus, following the movement, said: "Don't ask."
 
Charlie nodded, lips thinning. "So...presents," he said.
 
Gus shot him a grateful look.

. . . . .

Gus hadn't moved in the several minutes since Brian had pulled the sheet off of Gus' main present. If it hadn't been for the large, awe-filled eyes and slack-jawed expression, he would have been questioning the obscene amount he outed for the thing.

Finally, the boy spoke.

"Do you know what this is," Gus said, barely above a whisper, as one hand reached out to gently touch the mint frame.

Brian smirked. "Two wheels, seat, handle bars...nope. No clue."

"This is like, the most. The MOST, Dads," he said, eyes not leaving the bike in front of him. "It's like poetry and art and everything so awesomely awesome in the world."

"Remind me to ask the tutor to work on his vocab skills," Brian quipped to Justin as he watched his son circle the bike for the fourteenth time.

"My god. Something actually stunned the chatterbox into silence," Justin said, sotto-voce to Brian.

That caught Gus' attention.

"It's not just any bike," Gus said, looking up at Justin for the first time since the sheet had been removed. "It's the bike," he said, edging closer to his gift than he dared before. "It's a 1935 Elgin Gull, original silver paint color, mint condition frame and chrome. Oh. God. It's so beautiful. I think I'm going to spontaneously combust or faint or something."

"So...it's an old bike," Justin said, nodding as he watched his son caress the seat like he was in lust.

"These things are like the Holy Grail of bikes. They don't come up for auction ever. There's only like...a handful of them known to exist." Gus paused, looking up at his dads.   

Justin elbowed Brian in the ribs. "You said you were going to buy the kid a bike. A normal, everyday bike, but, no, you have to buy him the most rare and expensive bike known to man," Justin said, tone light.

Brian raised an eyebrow silently asking 'did you just meet me?' "It was a good investment. Even Theodore thought as much."

"So...what do you expect him to do with it? Put it in his room and shrine it off? It's like totally impractical."

Brian tsked. "If the boy wants to ride it, he can."

The squeak of horror made them both look at the boy.

"I'm not riding it! It's like sacrilege. It's just...oh god. It's not right."

Brian nodded, lips thinning as if considering the problem. "Then your lucky you old man has a contingency plan," he said, watching Gus' eyes get comically larger in size.

"You didn't," Gus said, smile growing by the second. "Oh. My. God. You did," he said, watching Brian disappear into the seldom-used storage space in the garage. The bicycle's tires ticked on the surface as he rolled it out.

And there it was--a vintage style, pearl to absolute blue Schwinn Cruiser complete with Phantom style front fender, tank, and horn. That was the moment Gus totally lost his shit and started crying and jumping up and down like a little girl.

Which was closely followed by hugging the hell out of both of his dads with the most infectious, happiest smile they'd seen on his face in months.

Just as soon as the huggings started, they stopped. As Gus started to feel up the bike, Brian and Justin watched from the distance, clearly amused.

"Is it weird that he's stalking it the way you do with tricks?"

Brian smirked. "He's ten. This is the closest he's going to come to prowling, tricking, and orgasms for at least a few more years."

"How old were you when you went down on your gym teacher again?" Justin teased.

The glare Brian sent was downright spooky.

"I'm just saying..."

"We can only hope the boy retained some of his safe sex education," Brian said in a flippant tone that clearly meant otherwise.

"I seriously doubt he'll forget any of it. In fact, I'd say he's probably scarred for life." Justin snorted recalling that conversation complete with too-big-to-be-a-cock zucchini, condoms, and the wide-eyed, horror-filled stares of Gus.

Brian was about to comment when he noticed the kid had, as of yet, to actually climb on and ride the bicycle.

"Still in awe, Sonny Boy?"

Gus licked his lips and looked from his father to the bike. "Um. No. I mean...yes, but...um..." There was a long, long pause before he mumbled. "I just...I mean...Momma..." Gus started, paused, took a deep breath, and then said: "I don't know how to ride."

"I thought Mel was going to teach you."

Gus shrugged. "Between work and JR it's usually way passed dark out when she or Mom have enough time to show me."

Brian nodded, but didn't comment on this revelation because he didn't want his kid to know how much that little piece of information pissed him off. Grabbing onto the handlebars, he smirked at his kid.

"Generally one starts by climbing on top."

Gus rolled his eyes because everything even remotely important his father taught him was always buried underneath a couple of thousand sexual innuendos; that's when he knew to pay attention because it was important as hell. Of course, that didn't stop him from giving as good as his dad gave.

"What? No foreplay?"

Justin snorted. Brian smirked and said: "Just get on the fucking bike."

Gus looked warily between the bike, his father holding the handlebars, and the seat before obeying. Almost instantly, he felt the frame wobble beneath him.

"Whoa."

"Put your feet on the ground," Justin suggested.

The second his weight was distributed and the bike evened out beneath him, Gus released a puff of air.

"This is like the most potentially dangerous thing ever. I mean you're putting your whole life on like two pieces of rubber that are like what? Two inches across, tops? It's just so bizarre," Gus said, looking down at the tires.

"As opposed to fucking where things like STDs are no where near as bad as scraped knees," Brian volleyed.

"Need I remind you of the broken collarbone incident," Gus said, fear-filled eyes staring his dad down. Brian's eyes flashed to Justin's who shrugged.

"I didn't tell him about it."

Lips thin, Brian nodded. Gus could tell his dad was bothered at the idea of the K-I-D getting hurt and trying not to freak out it. Gus covered his dad's hands on the handlebars forcing Brian to look at Gus.   

"You can't protect me from everything, Dad," Gus said, big hazel eyes catching and holding his father's.

Pain flashed across Brian's face. No doubt from him thinking of the ugliness that followed 'The Incident.' Gus slightly squeezed his father's hands.

"That's not going to stop me from trying," Brian replied, smiling slightly at the kid.

Seeing the resolve in his father's eyes, Gus nodded once before getting back to the subject at hand--learning how to ride his shiny, new bike without landing on his ass too many times.

"So...I've mounted the thing, how do I get it to do my bidding."

"Well, any good top would wait until his bottom has adjusted before he starts anything." Brian replied, smirking. Gus rolled his eyes and looked at Justin for translation.

"Take off the kickstand, balance the bike between your legs and start peddling," Justin explained, watching his son's eyes get comically large at the 'start peddling' part.

"Don't worry, Sonny Boy. We'll go slow; I won't let go until you're ready."

"I bet you say that to all the virgins," Gus said, watching his father circle to the back of the bike and grab onto the rack to help Gus balance the frame.

"Only to the people I care about," Brian said, offering a soft look to Justin who returned the glance. It was a look Gus knew was their unspoken 'I love you.'  And, yeah, Gus knew about his Dad popping Justin's cherry and how ninety percent of what his dad said was non-verbal; Gus learned both from Justin. He also knew that only he and his Pops were the ones that totally appreciated that little quirk.

Smiling, Gus started going through the motions. "For the record," he started looking over his shoulder at his two dads. There was a long pause while he watched and waited for his dads to stop making out again. When he had their attention again, he continued. "If I die during this little excursion, I want you both to know this day has totally rocked."    

And, before they could respond, he started peddling down the driveway. The front tire cut a zigzag swath through dirt and gravel. Slowly, the blacktopped country road came into view.

Body rigid, Gus half-yelled in panic, "How do I stop this thing?"

"Stop peddling. Pull on the handbrake..." Brian started, watching the kid jerk back on the handbrake. Brian's steadying hand on the bike rack was the only thing that kept the bike from decelerating so fast that Gus would have flipped over the handlebars.

"I said pull. Not yank," Brian said, trying to remain calm.

"I'm young and inexperienced. Consider it me being over-eager."

Brian snorted. "Next time, pull slowly or drag your feet along the ground."

Gus nodded and started peddling again. As the blacktop came closer into view, Gus did as he was told. Throwing his legs down, he barely registered the cuffs of his jeans being coated in a fine layer of dust. That was until he looked over the shoulder and saw his dad was still there despite the dust cloud that was coating the ridiculously expensive jeans and wife-beater. Of course, being there as promised didn't mean his dad wasn't going to scowl about it. Which, in turn, made Gus smile; his dad was so predictable.

"Any cars coming?"

Gus bit his lower lip and shook his head no.

"Go to it then."

Digging in, Gus started peddling up the smallish hill. The wobbly balance of before slowly started to disappear. At first, he heard his father's steps behind his, felt his presence hovering behind him. Half a click up the road, he eased off the pedals and came to a slow crawl before throwing his feet down to stop himself. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw both of his fathers standing a good distance away, smiling.

Turning the bike carefully, Gus started peddling back towards them and the house. Just short of them, he slowed once again. Chest still heaving slightly from excitement and the subsequent adrenaline rush caused by fear, Gus smiled broadly up at his dads.

"I did it!" Gus said, goofy self-satisfied smile not leaving his face as his brows nit in confusion.

"You let go," he said, accusation filling his tone.

"You didn't need my help anymore."

"But what if I did?"

Brian shrugged in a way Gus knew meant his dad was trying not to freak at the question.

"You would have asked for it," Brian explained simply.

"I really just rode a bike."

Brian ruffled his kid's hair like he used to when the kid was much younger.

"You're capable of doing anything you set your mind to, Sonny Boy, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

18: Namesake

[Sixteen]

Even from the other side of the house, he'd been able to hear the screaming.  Not the playful, 'fuck this up, and I'll can your ass, Theodore.' No. This was the rare level of volume and pitch only reserved for two groups of people--the Kinney family and the Munchers.

As the heated words grew so loud he could make out half of what was being said, Justin set his sketchbook on his drafting table and padded down to the first floor's study. What he saw when he stopped in the doorway gave him pause.

Brian was sitting behind his desk, eyes closed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and the other still loosely holding the receiver. An angry, computer generated beeping warning the extension had been cut was the only sound in the room.

Grief and anger hung in the air, so palpable Justin feared what might have been said.

Gently, he took the phone and returned it to its cradle before wrapping a paint-stained hand around the base of his partner's neck. Thumb rubbing soothingly across the fine hairs there, he finally spoke.

"What happened?"

Startled, Brian blinked once...twice before looking up at Justin. A shaking hand ran across a stubbled face. Justin watched its decent from cheek to chin and knew what the agitated movement meant.

"Gus," Justin said, watching and waiting for Brian to meet his gaze. An unperceivable nod as his response, Justin started to reach for the phone. "I'll book the flight."

Nodding, Brian stood. "Toronto to Pittsburgh. One way. The sooner the better."

Hand curled around the receiver, Justin paused to watch Brian stand and make his way to the liquor cart.  

Fear sat heavy in the pit of his stomach as he watched his partner pour a hefty amount into the glass before collapsing onto the sofa.

After booking the flight and leaving the information with Gus, Justin sat on the coffee table across from the sofa and directly in Brian's line of site.

"We shouldn't have let him go back."

"The summer break was over, Brian. His junior year was starting in only a couple of days. He had to go back."

The remnants of whiskey were downed, crystal wobbling against the glass-topped table as Brian set it down forcefully.

"I didn't mean this summer. We shouldn't have sent the kid back after the Mommies had their little retreat."

"That was seven years ago, Brian."

"When Gus came back to us, he was fucking destroyed, Justin. And maybe they didn't do all that shit to him, but they sure as fuck had a hand in it," he volleyed, white-hot angry eyes locking on Justin's.

Sighing, Justin scratched the back of his head. It was an old argument; Brian blamed himself for all the wrong that befell Gus. Sometimes, it was his inability to parent because his own parents were shits, and sometimes it was Brian not protecting Gus from the evils of the world. The eternal tug-o-war with the Mommies didn't help either. Threats of blocking visitation were thrown around in heated arguments wherein Brian had pleaded with the Mommies to let Gus stay in the Pitts.

"We did what we had to do, Brian; we got him help. We listened to him when he finally opened up..."

"And then we sent him back. He was here for almost a whole fucking year, and he didn't act out once because he was happy here."

"How quickly we forget him hacking Michael's comic book site..."

Brian smirked at the memory of his once best friend's website emblazoned with the logo 'Red Crap Comics' complete with the animated graphic file.

"Okay, so the kid acted out a little." The 'but Michael deserved it' left unsaid but heard none the less.

Justin watched the smirk fade to a thin-lipped expression.

"This time though...this time he went too far." A beat. "Remember that Entes kid that was giving him shit?" Justin nodded. "Gus nearly beat him to death."

A gasp. Fists curling into balls in his lap, Justin recalled the last conversation he had with his son about Entes. They'd been sitting on the Muncher's stoop. Fresh from the boxing ring at the gym, Justin sat beside Gus, and, as the sun started setting, he told the boy about the man he'd put into a coma during his Posse days. The man he hated on principle because he acted and spoke like Hobbs. Who had Entes represented?

A shiver passed down Justin's spine; he'd been the one that turned Gus' hands into weapons just as Cody had done to him before.

The sofa groaned, the glass beside Justin rattled as a hand snaked out to pick it up, bare feet padded across wooden floors towards the liquor cabinet. The hand on the bottle of JD paused mid-motion. Brian closed his eyes, mind flashing to the uncommunicative boy that sat between him and Justin the entire ride from Toronto to Pittsburgh all those years before. The boy that walked and followed instructions but wasn't there. The one that took months to laugh and hug and interact with everyone again.

The voice that begged him to intercede that afternoon had sounded eerily familiar to the hoarse whisper spoken after months of disuse. This time, Brian had to wonder if they'd manage to patch Gus up again.

A sentence fell from his lips. Tone resolute.

"We're not sending him back there."

. . . . .

[Ten]

Laying in his bed, Gus stared straight up at the ceiling watching the different shadows the oak trees at Briton cast there. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to the tall figure beside the bed.

Gus smiled weakly as his father smoothed down his hair, trying to offer wordless comfort.

The boy had been withdrawn and uncommunicative for weeks. His mothers were throwing words around like behavioral medication, hospitalization and institutionalization.

But, unlike before, Brian knew what had happened; Michael had been 'kind' enough to start pounding on their door at four-o-eight in the morning, screaming about what a murderous brat Gus was.

It had taken all of Justin's strength to hold Brian back and prevent him from doing something he may or may not have regretted.

The next morning, all three men were on the first flight to Toronto.

It was a testament to how truly angry he was that Brian intentionally upgraded his seat and Justin's so that they would have several rows and divisions between them and Michael.

There was no way in hell a couple thousand trips to Mr. McFarlane's ranch could balm over things this time, and Brian hated to think that that haunted look would be in his kid's eyes forever because a ten year old shouldn't have that level of hostility directed at them.

"Daddy, how did I get my name?"

Brian blinked slowly, not believing he'd heard his son's quietly spoken words--the first since The Incident.

"Justin gave it to you the night you were born."

Gus sat straight up in his bed, back resting against the headboard, agitation clearly written across his face.

The building fear and panic Brian felt at not hearing his kid utter a word or show any sign of awareness of his surroundings for what seemed an age grew more intense by the palpable fear that was coming off of his kid in waves.

"But why'd he name me Gus?"

Brian's lips thinned. "Well...your Mom liked the name Gus and your Momma wanted to name you Abraham. I asked Justin which one he liked, and he said Gus."

Gus nodded as he considered this. The pause was long enough to scare Brian into thinking his son had returned to his silent state of not quite being. Of course, nothing could prepare him for the next question...

"Is that why Momma hates me?"

Brian's eyes darted to his son's, not believing what he'd just heard.

"What do you mean your Momma hates you?"

Shrugging, Gus turned to look at the painting his Daddy Justin had done of Cabbage years before. "I hear her and Mom yelling sometimes is all."

Unease growing as he watched Gus trying desperately to keep from crying, Brian sat straighter on the bed.

"What did they say?"

Gus was quiet for a long moment before answering. "They were fighting about JR getting hurt," Gus said, pausing to look up at his Daddy. "I didn't mean to listen, honest. It's just that all the sound in the house gets carried up to my room. Ben says it's pro'ly the vents..."

"It's okay, Gus," Brian said, voice calm and even despite the fact that he had a pretty good idea where this was going. Ever since that little incident, the extended family hadn't exactly been on the best of terms.

Nodding, Gus frowned as he tried to remember things exactly as they'd been said...

"Well maybe if you'd have picked a better sperm donor for your son none of this shit would have happened. Christ! We don't know what kind of shit was floating around in his jizz..."

"Brian is not to blame for Gus' behavior."

"Like hell he isn't! Your son comes back after being gone for months and, within ten minutes, he's sending my daughter to the fucking emergency room."

"It was an accident..."

"Yeah. Sure it was. Tell that to JR. She's still in a fucking cast."

"That's not fair and you know it. Gus was provoked into acting out. It's a simple case of sibling rivalry gone bad."

"What else did they say," Brian ground out, trying like hell to keep his voice neutral for Gus' sake.

Gus looked from his hands to his father's anger-flushed face and back. Tugging on a loose string on his quilt, Gus debated whether or not to tell the rest of what happened. Then again, his father could always tell when he was lying.

"I didn't really hear what they said after that. I did like I always do; I got my iPod, my book, and hid in the closet."

Brian swallowed thickly as he listened to his son repeat what his mothers had said. He clenched and unclenched his hands fighting the Jack Kinney streak in him that wanted to confront the Mommies right that instant. It was Gus' next question that broke through his blood rage.

"Do you think that if Justin had named me Abraham, Momma would love me like she loves JR," Gus asked, voice so filled with hope. "Maybe I could start calling myself Abraham...but then that would make Justin sad," Gus continued, voice trailing off as he considered what he'd just said.

Knowing how hard Brian was struggling to maintain his calm, Justin, who, having stood just outside the room, overheard everything, took this as his cue to enter. Twining his hand with Brian's, he answered for both of them.

"Do you want to know why I named you Gus?"

The little boy nodded and watched with watery eyes as his Daddy Justin sat down beside his father.

"When I was little, my mom gave me a teddy bear that I took everywhere with me--restaurants, parks, the zoo, even church."

"You did," Gus asked, eyes growing wide with disbelief. He didn't think his Daddies had ever been kids!

Justin nodded before continuing. "He was my best friend, and I told him all my secrets -- like how much I didn't like Molly when she first came home and how I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. And do you know what my bear's name was?"

Biting his lower lip, Gus shook his head.

"His name was Gus," Justin said, smiling at his kid, allowing a long pause for the information to seep in.  "But you know what? It wouldn't matter if your name was Abraham or Ishmael or SpongeBob, your Daddy and I will always love you."

Gus looked from Justin to his Dad and back for confirmation before launching himself into Justin's arms for a hug.  

The uncertainty in his kid's eyes was enough to stir the resentment inside of Brian. Yes, the boy had made a mistake, but it was the type of thing that happened to kids all the fucking time. It sure as fuck didn't give the Munchers the right to treat him like some sort of fucking leper.

Sensing the shift in mood, Justin turned a worried glance at his partners. Things had been shaky at best between the family for a while, and this sure as fuck wasn't going to make things better.   

19: Timeshare

[Seven]

As Spyro fell to a fiery death and 'game over' flashed on the screen for the tenth time in as many minutes, Gus turned slowly to check his mother's progress...or lack thereof. Seriously. How many times was she going to repack his bag?

At least his Momma was trying to talk some sense into her. Not that it would work, but anything to expedite the process because oh my god he couldn't get that stupid, purple dragon to land that last jump if they were going to keep rattling around his room for another forty minutes.

"I'm sure that, if you forget something, Brian can find it for him in Pittsburgh," Melanie reasoned.

Gus rolled his eyes. Like he hadn't tried that one an hour and ten minutes ago when all this shit started, but his Mom seemed utterly convinced that all stores had ceased to exist in the state of Pennsylvania or that his dad was too stupid to figure out how his credit card worked.

"I'm just worried; he's never been so far away from home before."

Because, clearly, Gus would die if he didn't have enough pairs of tighty-whities and those hideous shirts she was packing. Snorting, Gus hit the start button and resumed his game. His only hope was that his dad would see those clearly scary plaid monstrosities his mom bought and drag him to get clothes.

"You're the one that convinced me this was a good idea..."

"No. Gus did," Lindsay said sniffling and wiping away tears. "I just can't believe that he's leaving us."

Gus side-eyed them from the floor where he was flopped on his belly. Yes, blame the child. Because a seven year old is clearly capable of brainwashing his parents into doing his bidding.

And why the fuck did she have to make it sound like he was going to The Great Beyond instead of Pittsburgh? Like another country was another planet.

"He'll be back before you know it."

Lindsay looked up at Melanie, face suddenly so much more serious than before. "But one of these days he won't. He's going to go off and leave us," she said in a whisper the kid had to strain to hear.

Snorting, Melanie sat on the bed, smoothing a t-shirt into the bag. "At some point, I should hope so," she said, looking up to see Lindsay's startled expression. "All we can hope is that, by then, we'll have taught him what he needs to know to survive out there."

After finally hitting a save spot, Gus turned off his Play Station and got the hell out of there because he could so sense the queen out that was about to happen.

Not to mention the fact that he'd have to stay up late to repack his bag with stuff he actually planned on using.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

He had the boxes stashed in his room. Charlie had called it wishful thinking, but he'd known all along it would eventually come to this.

Clear tape spread noisily across the cardboard's seams as he smoothed his hands across it and the FedEx logo beneath.

Everything he owned was either in a box or packed away in luggage.

Despite what his mothers thought, he was never going to come back to this fucking city again.

"Gussy Gus, the FedEx guy's here," JR said, pushing the door open without knocking. And, yes, he'd been trying to break the little shit of that habit for a long time now. Of course, after today, it would be a moot point.

Looking up from the seventeenth and final box he'd packed, he saw JR and the aforementioned the delivery man he'd requested several hours ago looming in his doorway.

The dolly was loaded. All his computer equipment, all his winter clothes, all his books and papers were put into the truck with due care. All of them labeled for Briton.

He signed the paperwork, leaving a hefty tip when he asked they take special care with his computer. Yet another thing he'd picked up from his father. Another useful thing to have in his arsenal.

From the front door, he made a beeline to Mel's office where he routed around in her filing cabinet to find all his important papers--passports, visas, birth certificate, and his social security card. Anything and everything he'd need in the future.  

Pounding up the stairs, he heard his mothers in their room yelling at his dad through the speaker phone, and, for once, his father was yelling back.

Smirking, Gus continued to the third floor where he ran into JR sitting on his bed. Legs dangling off the end as she kicked them back and forth in thought.

"You're not planning on coming back, are you?"

Always the bright one.

Biting his lower lip, he sank onto the mattress beside her, eyes instantly locking on the small bag he'd packed; everything else was in a FedEx truck.

This was the only part of this whole endeavor that truly bothered him -- leaving his little sister in this chaos without himself as a buffer. He knew that she was trying hard not to get too worked up and that she was going to end up failing eventually. She was a Novotny after all.

"No, I'm not."

Before he could even register what was happening, he was mobbed by a sobbing little girl.

"I'm gonna miss you so much, Gussy," she said, hugging him tightly.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to ward off his own tears, he returned the hug. Truth be told, he had no clue when he was going to see her again.  

"I'm glad you're going though...'cause you're so miserable here."

His arms tightened around his little sister. Voice breaking, he responded. "I'm going to miss you so fucking much, Jenny."

She pulled back at that, lip trembling just a little because Gus never called her by her real name.

Hugging him tightly once again, she whispered, "Go do all the great things you were meant to do, but don't you think for one second you can forget about me."

Smiling a watery smile, Gus sniffled against his kid sister's shoulder. "How could I forget a brat like you?"

. . . . .

[Eight]

"You've got your sunblock? Because you burn so easily..." Lindsay asked as they started moving Gus' bags downstairs.

"Yes, Mom," he said, rolling his eyes for the four billionth time.

"And you have your passport, right? They won't let you back in to Canada without it."

"Yes, Momma," Gus said, patting down his front pocket. "It's right here with the vast sum of illegal drugs."

Melanie's eyes narrowed. "You'd better not say that shit to the TSA officer, or they'll do a cavity search."

"Kinky," Gus replied, smirking.

Melanie threw her hands up in the air before looking over at Lindsay. "And you want to send him to Brian's again."

Gus snorted. "Like I didn't pick up half my bugging street slang and hate for authority figures from school or anything," he said, picking up his bag and carrying it out to the car.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

Melanie's voice was clear and crisp despite the marathon screaming session she'd just had with his father over the phone.

In the distance, he heard his mother, his real mother sobbing like JR had a few hours before.

"I'm not happy about this one fucking bit," she warned in a tone so venomous he wanted to shiver. "You get a fucking free trip for misbehaving. Like your father can fix everything that's wrong with you."

Gus bit the inside of his cheek so hard he almost drew blood. He was far too close to getting out of here to screw things up now.

She looked around his room, noticing the empty closets, drawers, and the suitcase on the floor.

"You seem pretty fucking sure that we'd let you go."

Gus, a full foot taller than his mother, correction, Melanie turned his chin upwards slightly and looked his nose down at her.

"Let me go or finally be free of me?"

Melanie's cheeks flushed a guilty red a second before her eyes narrowed in anger.

"I don't like the things that you do, but I'll always love you."

Gus met her stare and saw truth and mutual understanding; they saw each other the same way. Probably always would.  

As soon as Justin called with the flight information, Gus was out the door. Halfway up the walk, he turned and saw his little sister in her window, waving at him.

Offering a weak smile, he waved back before drawing his eyes down the roof line where Lindsay and Melanie stood looking through their own bedroom window. His mother's face was ruddy and splotchy from too many tears. Melanie's lips were drawn thin and tight as her hand grasped the curtain.

Suddenly, he understood with perfect clarity why his father never looked back after he went through airport security; it was too fucking painful.

. . . . .

[Seven]

The little blue and red 'Delta: Special Delivery' button bounced against his shirt as Lindsay took Gus' hand and guided him through the busy airport and towards the appropriate gate.

"Mom, my legs hurt. Can't we get the little man on the cart to drive us?"

Lindsay immediately stopped and looked down at her son. "The cart is for people that have trouble walking, sweetie."

"Well I think everybody would have trouble walking across this place; it's huge! And why'd they have to put the check-in desk on the other side of the planet from the gate anyway?"

When he looked up and saw that she was about to cry again, Gus rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to be fine, Mom. Daddy will take care of me, or Momma will 'fuck him over so good he won't be able to sit down for a year.'"

Huffing a watery laugh, Lindsay smoothed his hair down. "What am I gonna do without you around?"

"Entertain yourself," Gus suggested, smirking, before taking his mom's hand and guiding her towards gate."

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

Tires screeched across tarmac as the earth hurled passed his windows. Blurred white and green became snow-covered pines. The plane jumped and jarred slightly as massive steel came to a halt at the gate.

The crackling radio gave way to an exhausted sounding pilot announcing their arrival, the local time, and thanking the passengers for flying Delta.

As the seatbelt sign clicked off and the flight attendants took their place by the door, Gus released a shaky breath as he wondered if things would be any different now.

. . . . .

[Seven]

Brian watched the little boy bound towards them from the gate and smiled.

"Daddy!" Gus yelled, only, at the speed the kid was running, it sounded more like "Aaaaaeeee!"

Kneeling, Brian held his arms out and was nearly knocked over when the little imp finally stopped.

"Missed you! Missed you! Missed you!"

It was said through two missing front teeth so it sounded more like 'miffed you,' but it still made his chest tighten a little at the oh-so-honest words.

Standing with due care, he made sure he had a tight hold of his son before wrapping his son's legs around his waist.

"What do you say we get you out to the car?"

Gus nodded into Brian's neck.

It wasn't until Brian had turned towards the exit that Gus spotted Justin. The kid instantly started squirming in his father's arms.

"Jus! Jus! Jus," the boy squeaked, reaching backwards for his other Dad.

"Hey, Gussy Gus," Justin said, smiling brightly at the kid.

The moment Brian set Gus down, the kid was squeezing the life out of Justin and the 'miffed yous' were repeated. Justin returned the hug, smiling broadly.

"I missed you, too, kiddo."

The boy, half jumping up and down, half strangling Justin, dissolved into a fit of giggles as Justin tickled his sides to get Gus to let go; it was a trick Melanie had taught him, and one he was grateful to know.

Brian stood back, watching with a shy smile as his son ran backwards and squealed.

"Daddy Justin, stop ticklin' me!" Gus exclaimed in between trying to catch his breath.

And, once he did, he didn't stop talking...

"Daddy? Do you think we could stop at the diner on the way home? They didn't feed me on the plane. Well...they did, but it was only a bag of pretzels and a tiny plastic cup of coke. Momma said you'd feed me when I got here 'cause it was too early to eat lunch and I'd already had breakfast, but I was kinda hungry when I got on the plane. The lady in the uniform was really nice, and gave me more pretzels when I told her I was still hungry. But she didn't have any cookies," Gus said, not stopping for a breath and not missing a beat when his daddies grabbed his hands and started guiding him towards the exit. Half way through the terminal, Gus started skipping between them.

"She told me that they didn't have peanuts any more because some people are allergic to them. I told her that Daddy Justin is allergic to everything, and she said that she hoped that didn't include me," Gus continued, pausing only long enough to ask: "You're not allergic to me, are you Papa?"

"Of course not, Gussy Gus," Justin replied, looking down at Gus with an alarmed expression.

"That's good because Mr. Broussard, Charlie's dad...his real dad, is allergic to cats. He made Charlie bring his new cat, Scruffles, back to the shelter 'cause it was 'a mangy little thing' that was always annoying him and 'costing him a fortune in vet bills and litter.'

"Charlie's Mom wouldn't take Scruffles either. She said either some nice family would take him in or he'd be put down," Gus continued, crinkling his nose in thought. "I don't know what 'put him down means,' but it doesn't sound very good." A beat. "You wouldn't put me down, would you, Daddy," Gus asked, looking up at Brian with thoughtful, hazel eyes.

Brian stopped dead in his tracks.

"Absolutely not," he started, pausing to kneel down in front of his son. "You will always have a place with Justin and me," he said, pausing to kiss his son's forehead and smooth a cowlick on the boy's hair before offering a smile. "I love you. Don't you forget that, okay?"

"I love you, too, Daddy," Gus said, smiling at his Dad before hugging him again. Brian shared a look with Justin over Gus' shoulder. Sometimes, he couldn't believe the things that came out of the kid's mouth.

Gus pulled back first, and waited for Brian to stand before taking both his daddies' hands again.

"Do I get to ride in your super cool car?"

"Yup. If you want to."

"And can we stop at the diner on the way home?"

"Yeah, Sonny Boy, I promise."
 

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

Brian found himself nervously pacing while he waited at the gate. Every year that passed brought new changes--whole chapters of his son's life that he missed because Mel and Lindsay decided to pack up their shit and run for the fucking hills.

It's just time, he'd told Justin an age ago, but it was different when things like time and fear and distance kept you from the people you love.

Gus had grown taller and leaner with each passing year. The Cat and the Hat was swapped out for Poe, Dickens, and Dante. Crayon filled letters were replaced with thought provoking emails about political views, literary analysis, and the occasional teenage angst like 'JR is an annoying twat.'

Mannerisms and interests were always changing and Brian found himself struggling to catalog the changes before the summer had slipped past and another nine months were gone before he got to see his son for any length of time.

This time was different, however. It wasn't summer. In fact, there were seven weeks of school left, but, with the school and the court's blessing, Gus had been shipped off to his father in hopes that he could straighten him out.

That thought alone fucking terrified him.

The entire conversation with the Munchers...the whole situation seemed totally surreal.

A few years ago, his son was so small and curious about the world around him. He'd run and laugh and giggle with joy when he rode Cabbage. Everything held some sort of interest and he'd take it all in with mischievous hazel eyes and questions Brian sure as shit wasn't ready to attempt to answer.

Like he knew where the fuck people went to when they died or how everything in the universe came to be.

The next thing he knew, his kid was getting busted for lifting cigarettes and hacking websites. And now...this shit with the Entes kid. It was like the Posse all over again.

A shudder ran down his spine.

From what Mel said, Gus broke the kid's cheekbone and nose and probably would have killed him if the principal hadn't interceded.

And all of it with his bare hands.

How had it come to this?

Mel had, of course, tried to lay the blame solely on his feet. He was the one that drank and smoked and cursed and fucked and taught his kid all the evils of the world because God knew there was no such thing as sin in the great, hallowed city of Toronto.

And even as she spewed caustic remarks through the phone line, even as he met her barb for barb by reminding her that the grass wasn't greener there and all that shit about rocks and glass houses, he couldn't help but hear the silent whisper in his mind...one that sounded distinctly like Jack:

'Everything you touch turns to shit, Sonny Boy. Don't you fucking forget it.'

Feet carrying him back and forth near the gate, he paced trying to calm his churning stomach because Jesus Christ what if he and Justin failed this time around?

The hand on his forearm stopped him mid-motion. Turning his attention to the gate, he watched as people from his son's plane began filing out. One by one, there were businessmen walking towards sign-holding drivers, separated lovers hugging, and children half-running to keep up with parents. Finally, Gus stepped into his line of sight. At least he thought that was his son...

Gus knew the exact moment his father saw him; he'd long since grown accustomed to the disbelieving stares he'd catch. Over the past eight months since he had seen his father last, Gus had streaked his hair red; pierced his nose, eyebrow, and ears; began dressing in all black; and had taken to wearing gloves in public to 'keep from leaving a fingerprint trail.' It was all done for shock value.

Of course, the school quack had used it to point to 'obvious distress over some aspect of his home life.' The caseworker from the Canadian equivalent of the department for child and family services assigned to him said pretty much the same thing.

So, here he was at sixteen in circa 1990s grunge-ware watching his dads watch him.

Justin was all bright smiles despite the raised eyebrow at the kid's fashion taste because, yeah, Gus knew all about the fugly khakis and cutesy t-shirts of the Ghost of Twink's past.

He laughed at Justin's expression and hugged him first.

"Hey, Jus."

"Hey, Gus Gus."

It was a totally lame greeting but it worked for them.

The moment that Brian saw him. He felt the air rush from his lungs. It wasn't the scary goth outfit, the deep cherry streaked hair, or the multiple piercings that made him shiver...well...maybe it was that a little bit, but the look in his son's eyes...

The ill ease grew in the pit of his stomach and burned more than any shot of whiskey could.

Swallowing thickly, he watched his first and only born hug Justin while offering a smile that never reached his eyes. Gus' movements were cautious, skittish, uncomfortable, and so like Justin was in the days after the bashing...

Taking a deep breath, he offered a flippant greeting to his kid.   

"Christ! I leave you to the Lesbi-moms for a couple of months and you forget how to dress."

A slow smile spread across Gus' face; he'd learned to read his Dad pretty well over the years.

"I missed you too," Gus replied, a small smile playing at his lips. He pulled his Dad into a hug, and, the minute his dad hugged him back, Gus felt something shift inside him. He felt calmer than he had in months.

Feeling the tension suddenly drain from his kid, Brian tightened his grip just a fraction, surprised to feel a lump in his throat.

How had it come to this? When had they stopped noticing the changes in Gus? And, more importantly, how the fuck did the boy get so good at hiding shit?

Releasing his hold on his son, Brian stepped back and grabbed his kid's bag before steering all three of them towards the exit. Once they were outside and moving towards short-term parking Gus turned to his Dad, and, with a smile, offered his standard greeting:

"So, you still driving the dick mobile?"

Brian huffed a laugh in return, grateful that at least some things hadn't changed.

The ride back to the ridiculously large house in the middle of nowhere was uncharacteristically quiet. Nearly every other time Gus had flown in for a visit, he and Justin filled the time with inane chatter, or, when he was younger, Gus would simply fall asleep in the backseat.

Peering into the rear view mirror of Justin's SUV, he shot a brief look at his son. Sunk down in his seat and staring aimlessly out the window, he looked sullen.

Noticing his partner's worried look, Justin turned slightly in his seat to look at Gus.

"You hungry? We could stop for something on the way home," Justin suggested.

Gus shrugged. "Diner'd be okay I guess."

Brian's eyes shot up to meet Gus' in the rear view mirror. "Deb's working today."

Gus nodded, understanding. Things between Debbie and he had been strained since The Incident. It didn't matter how many times he apologized. It wouldn't matter if he sat in a fucking church the rest of his life saying novenas, Debbie and Michael would never forgive him. Well fuck them. They could be added to his shit list right after his mothers.

"How about we get something delivered to the house?"

Shrugging once again, Gus uttered a clipped response. "I guess."

After ten minutes of nothing but an uncomfortable silence in the car, Justin began a series of stories about gallery openings and pieces he was working on. Occasionally, he'd ask Gus a question to get him to engage in some sort of conversation.   

Gus responded with a voice devoid all emotion, eyes not leaving the window. His answers were totally monosyllabic if at all. To be honest, he was only half listening.

Interlude - Coasting

[Ten]

A week before Gus was due to go back to Toronto after his nearly yearlong stint with his fathers, Brian and Justin took him to an amusement park. Not just any amusement park though...

"You've got to be kidding me," Gus said, smiling broadly at the massive sign.

"I agree. I was a bit mystified when I heard about this place from Daph, but it seemed appropriate."

Brian stood beside both of them trying to look bored, but, even the dark shades couldn't hide the amused smile tugging at his lips.

"Can I help it if some trick wanted to immortalize my amazing talent?"

Gus snorted. "The place is called Kennywood, Dad. Not Kinney's Wood."

"That's because the title had to get passed the Breeder Censors."

And, with those infamous words, Brian Kinney, anti-dad, anti-marriage poster boy lead his family through the gates of Kennywood.

"So. What do you want to ride first? The Kenny Karousel," Justin asked, looking over the park map.

"What am I? Five," Gus said, laughing as he led them towards the tallest coaster in the place--Phantom's Revenge.

Justin looked dubiously at the two hundred thirty foot drop in the massive steel coaster. As if seeing it wasn't bad enough, the sounds of terrified screams was even more proof that this was so not a good idea.

An hour later, the three of them were strapped in and the car was slowly ticking up the track towards the first drop.

An hour and seventeen seconds later, as they crested the highest of all the drops, Justin closed his eyes and prayed he wouldn't heave.

An hour and three minutes later, as the coaster screamed through the track at eighty-five miles an hour and took the eighty-two degree turn before dropping down beneath another coaster's track, Justin became convinced he was going to die. Briefly he wondered why he'd even gotten onto this thing.

And then he heard Gus beside him, giggling like a mad fool, and knew.

The things you do for your kids.

After the terror that was Phantom's Revenge, Gus announced he wanted to ride it again. Brian, sunglasses once again in place, glanced down at the kid before looking up at his rather green-around-the-edges partner. Silently, he agreed with the assessment.  

"What do you say we try them all out, okay Gus?"

Shrugging, Gus said, "We could ride the Thunderbolt. The map says it's wooden construction which means you can feel it moving beneath the car.

"Or, you know, we could go take in a show," Justin suggested, squeezing Brian's hand hard enough to let him know he'd be in trouble if he suggested Justin go on another Death Coaster.

Gus, having noticed the sickly pallor of both his dads and the death grip, laughed. "You're just bitter because they made you stand beneath the 'you must be this tall' line."

Justin glared at the kid over the show schedule. "We can't all grow up to be freakishly tall."

"You're right," Gus said, nodding, "Someone has to be low enough to reach the bottom shelves without bending."

Biting his lower lip to avoid laughing and leading to a total queen out, Brian finally interrupted.

"Tell you what, Sonny Boy. Why don't you go on the Thunderbolt, and Sunshine and I'll be at," he said, pausing to look at the schedule and sneering at what he saw there. "Jesus...Pirates Abound." A beat. "We'll meet you for lunch..."

"At the nearest place that doesn't break all your weird eating rules and hopefully serves alcohol," Gus supplied, adding, "And if I can't find you, I'll call you on my cell."

Justin started to speak making Gus roll his eyes once again. "And I won't hack anything, push anyone down any stairs, harm, maim, or otherwise get into trouble while out of your loving, supervising care."

And with that, Gus left them for Thunderbolt's line.

Justin looked between Gus' retreating back and the worried expression on Brian's face.

"We'll only be a few feet away in the staging area. He probably won't even make it through that line. Besides, how much trouble can he get into?"

Raising an eyebrow, Brian watched Justin process what he'd just said.

"Maybe we should go get him."

"Do you want to ride that thing," Brian asked looking at the looming tower of wooden terror.

Justin turned all sorts of shades of pale before shaking his head no.

"So...pirates," he said, grabbing Brian's elbow and leading him into the staging area.

As they wove through breeders with howling babies and benches encrusted with sun-baked candy and coke, Justin finally broke down and asked, "What's with the pirates? I thought for sure you'd go for that magic show."

Easing down onto what appeared a trash-free section of bench, Brian squinted towards Justin and offered a tongue in cheek look.

"A ship full of well built men, away at sea for months at a time without a woman in sight. No...I can't imagine why I'd find them more interesting then watching some guy in a penguin suit pulling rabbits out of his ass rather than Captain Morgan taking it up the ass."

It was said in that half-whisper of his he used when he wanted everyone to hear him. And hear him they did. The overweight mommie two rows ahead of them turned around and gave them both the evil eye. Which, of course, made Justin laugh into the back of his hand and Brian smile and throw his arm around Justin's shoulder to antagonize the breeders even more.

And who knew that pirates could get Brian all riled up like it was Lights Out Night at Babylon?

As soon as the curtain rose and the cast of the pirates, dressed in leather pants and equally tight shirts appeared on stage, they had Brian's rapt attention.

And, yeah, some of the guys were hot, but the set was totally lame. The backdrop's ship sails could use more shading and the single, pathetic steering wheel didn't make it a very convincing deck. Where were all the riggings for the sails?

Plot wasn't that well scripted either. The first mate lost the captain's parrot. How the fuck do you lose a parrot in the middle of the ocean?

Of course, the show got much more interesting ten minutes into the show when Brian's hand was on his knee.

Ten minutes and two seconds into the show, it started creeping up his thigh.

Fourteen minutes and eleven seconds, the touch had turned into a gentle massage. And, yeah, despite the sheer volume of breeders and babies everywhere, Justin got hard.

Which Brian discovered fourteen minutes and thirty two seconds into the show when he cupped Justin through his jeans.

Spreading his legs a little wider like a wanton, over-sexualized slut, Justin slid that much further into Brian's hand.

Licking his lips, Justin released a small moan as Brian began to whisper in his ear.

"See the wheel, Sunshine?"

Nodding, he bit his lower lip and closed his eyes to try and keep quiet as Brian slowly started to work his zipper down.

"If I were the captain," he started, easing the zipper all the way open. "I'd bend you over it," he continued, popping the top button open. "Tie your hot little hands to the spokes," he said, pausing to trail his hand agonizingly slowly beneath the waistband. "Rim your hole," he breathed, hot breath huffing against Justin's ear as his hand finally closed around Justin's shaft. "Fuck you with my tongue until you were open and dripping and fucking begging for my cock."

Eyes leaving the stage and locking on Justin's flushed cheeks and widely dilated eyes.

The kiss was spontaneous. Too quick. Too dangerous. This place sure as shit wasn't Liberty. Another quick kiss to the tip of Justin's ear before the rushed, heated breath and suggestive whispers returned.

"I'd fuck you against the wheel. Hard," Brian's slow pace began picking up. "Fast," Hand working beneath the material from base to tip. "Rough," thumb flicking over the head and smearing pre-cum all along the shaft as makeshift lube.

Eyes fluttered shut, breath ragged or not at all as Justin suppressed his usual moans of pleasure.

Smirking at the obvious affect he was having, Brian leaned forward until his lips were almost touching Justin's sun and sex-heated cheek.

"Let you ride my cock until you came so hard you saw white behind your eyes."

The hand working Justin's cock quickened its path as Brian shifted his own straining erection in his pants.

"I'd cum inside your tight little ass. All wet and sticky."

Brian licked a wet path from shell of Justin's ear to the lobe, which he gently bit between his teeth before whispering, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?  For me to fuck you raw. Feel my cum drip out of your hole."

Justin's hips rose up slightly, a long, low moan tumbling from his lips unchecked as he came. Thankfully, it was muffled by the sudden outburst of laughter.

The park map, which Justin had been holding in his lap to hide the view, was rumpled and crushed beneath Justin's tight grip. Not to mention soaked with cum. Smirking, Brian tucked Justin back in, took the map and set it on the other side of him.

Chest rubied and heaving for breath, Justin turned darkened, lust-filled eyes on Brian.

"Later," he promised, turning back to watch the hapless first mate try and find the missing parrot once again.

No sooner than the curtain calls began than Brian was pulling a laughing Justin into a nearby bathroom's stall.

Gus was waiting at the food pavilion when they got out of the show, bright smile across his face.

"So, Sonny Boy, how was Thunderbolt?"

"Awesome. They were all awesome," he said between devouring the gravy-covered fries.

"All," Justin repeated.

"Yeah. I bribed the attendants and cut all the lines." A beat. "There's nothing wrong with outing some cash to make sure your needs are met in a timely fashion."

Brian snorted, and Gus read it for what it was; his dad was proud he'd picked up business sense.

"And how much did this little venture cost me?"

"Depended on the ride and how stupid the kid working it was. Jack Rabbit only cost ten. Exterminator was thirty." A beat. "So...how were the Pirates?"

"Really gay," Justin said, laughing.

"Gay as in aggressively cheerful in a Barney the Dinosaur way or 'really gay' as in you fucked them behind the stage kind of way?"

"The First Mate was hot, but the Captain was a bit of a bear," Brian supplied.

Gus nodded, taking all this in. "As long as you don't fuck Kenny the Kangaroo, we're cool."

Picking through his salad, Brian nodded in agreement. "I'm not into Furries."

"Who'd want to be? They're total freaks, and it's not like you can tell what kind of ass they have beneath that suit."

"My God he is turning into a mini-you," Justin said, turning towards Brian.

"Yes, that would be ideal," Gus deadpanned. "That way, when I have kids, I too can bring my partner to an amusement park and fuck in the bathroom."

Justin flushed a lovely shade of pink. "We didn't..."

"Yeah. You did. The other families from the show got here way before you did, you're wearing you're 'just been well fucked' looks, you mentioned that the pirates were hot but not that you actually fucked them, and Dad's eating more than he usually does," Gus said, ticking each off on a finger. "I actually think it's cute that you're so in wuv."

Gus watched the corners of his dad's lips twitch into a shy smile and the barest hint of a guilty flush, and, yeah, his dad was so fucking opaque if you knew what to look for.

After eating his way through a generous serving of fries, a bacon cheeseburger, and Dip'n'Dots, Gus sat back from the table, sated and smiling.

"So...what next," Justin said, stealing an abandoned park map from a nearby table as nonchalantly as possible.

"We could ride a couple of coasters together," Gus started, watching the scathing glances. Smirking, he added, "I hear they've got kiddy versions of some of 'em."

"And I suppose that, at some point, you're going to enlighten us as to why you enjoy riding these death traps so much," Justin replied, not bothering to look up from the map.

"Roller coasters are deeply symbolic of life--highs and lows, twisting paths. Sometimes you can't see where you're going, but you know that, ultimately it will be okay because, as scary as it is, there's always a safety harness there to keep you from flying off course," Gus said, waving his hands for emphasis.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Unless, of course, you count the times the safeties fail and you go hurling towards the ground at two hundred miles an hour."

Gus shrugged. "Sometimes that happens. People get pancaked every once and awhile. It's how we learn. I mean how could we learn to forgive if we've never made a mistake ourselves?" Gus pushed the burnt fry through the mound of gravy not bothering to look up because he didn't want to see the look of pity on his dads' faces.

Brian watched the kid regressing into his normal little shit routine, and knew he was preparing himself to go back to the Munchers. The whole purpose of the trip was to avoid thinking about that shit.

"All right. Enough with the drama; if I wanted that shit, I'd've bought opera tickets."

Corners turning up in the barest hint of a smile, Gus abandoned the fry and looked up at his dad. "I heard they have an arcade."

Justin groaned, burying his face in his hands as he recalled the last time they went to Chuck E. Cheese. After Gus cleaned them out of good prizes for the sixteenth time, Brian spending over a hundred dollars trying to break Justin's pathetic score on the skeeball machine, and some breeder catching him and Brian fucking in the bathroom, they'd been asked to never return.

He didn't think he could deal with that today.

"I overheard this other kid say that they have all these old school games. Ring tosses, trivia games, the one where you hit the thingy to test your strength." A beat. "They also have a poker tournament."

Smirking, Brian turned towards his kid's look of faux-innocence. "That's just what you need--a new vice."

"Oh come on, Dad. You know I totally kick ass at poker."

"And I said no. There will be no gambling of any kind; I don't want to deal with the Mommies' shit."

Still pouting slightly, Gus changed tactics. All he needed was to get his dads in the general vicinity. The addictive nature of the game, the need to toast competitors would totally draw them into the game. And, of course, if they went first, he could so not be blamed.

"Well then, let's play the trivia game. I heard they've got this whole set up like Jeopardy!" A beat. "I mean Pops scored obscenely high on the SATs, and you're both like the smartest people I know..."

And, sadly, it was just that easy because, before he knew it, they were leaving the table behind and heading toward the arcade.

Jeopardy! turned out to be some fucked up breeder version where it was family against family. They were paired off with hippies from Northern California. Poor schmucks never saw it coming; they were totally smoking the board with them.

Of course, the set was totally awesome. All lights and sounds with tables facing each other so Gus could watch the faces of the Schnell family as they got their asses handed to them.

The thing that freaked his dad out the most though was the big, lighted, computer screen behind each group. Across from them was 'The Schnells' in some curly ass cursive handwriting, and, behind them, was 'Kinney-Taylor' in Gus' handwriting.

And, yeah, that was totally on purpose. I mean what did they expect? They let the kid sign them in.

It was also kind of funny to watch his dads' faces as he did most of the buzzing in. And they ragged on him for the hours spent playing video games; it's all about reflexes.

"The three goddesses that vied for the apple of beauty," The host said.

The buzzer was so his bitch.

"Who are Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite."

"Correct."

Gus smirked before looking over the board. "Ancient Roman Culture, 800."

"It was the road used to transmit goods from Asian countries to Rome."

As the last syllable left the MC's mouth, Gus buzzed in.

"What is the Silk Road."

"Correct."

"Slogans. 1000."

The minute the 'Double Jeopardy' logo showed up on the screen, Gus smirked, looked over at his dad, and bet their whole point total.

"Are you sure you want to wager it all," the host asked, looking at Brian.

"Might as well. We can earn it all back anyway," he replied, glaring down at the other team.

"This Remson Pharmaceuticals gained national attention with this one-word ad slogan."

Laughing, Brian said, "Honesty."

"Correct," the host said, eyes growing wide as their five digit balance turned into six digits.

"Of course it is; I made the fucking ad," Brian said, laughing.

After beating ten families, Gus looked up at his dads who were staring down the other families in the gallery, waiting for one of the pathetic bastards to step up so they could beat them, too.

That was when the host decided enough was enough and offered them the day's big prize to move on--open ended tickets to the park, three free t-shirts that said 'I ♥ Kennywood', their names placed on the score board 'Hall of Fame,' several coupons for free food, and a photograph.

And that's when the real fun began.

"And what sort of message would I be sending to my dear child? That you should quit while you're ahead so you don't hurt other people's feelings?"

Gus knew that tone. It was syrupy sweet and oh so deadly. Smirking, Gus and Justin stood back watching the master work.

While Brian had been ironing out the details of their compensation package, the park photographer had been called down to take a picture of the winning team, and, of course, he wanted to make it as breeder friendly as possible.

Clasping his hands together he stood, looking from Justin to Brian to Gus.

"Good. So why don't you all put on the t-shirts and..."

Brian raised an eyebrow as he looked from the cotton/polyester blend the park attendant was holding out to the photographer to Justin who was trying not to laugh to his son who was laughing and smiling so bright he was fucking beaming.

"Listen, Jim," he started.

"My name is John," he said, pointing to his name tag.

"Jim, this shirt," Brian said, pointing to his black wife-beater. "This shirt cost me more than you will probably make in two weeks. Whereas that," he said, pointing to the offending shirt. "That was mass produced in a sweatshop in some third world country. It has questionable dyes, is scratchy, and well below my fashion standards."

"But, Sir, I..."

"I'm not putting the shirt on."

Giggling, Gus grabbed his from the smiling attendant's hands and threw it on over his Stüssy shirt. Brian looked at the kid with horror.

"Come on, Dad. You know Mom'll just eat this shit up," he said, guiding his dad's until they were standing in front of the blue, back-lit, Kinney-Taylor sign.

Releasing a put-upon sigh, Brian followed his kid. Gus' smile never wavered because he knew his dads were enjoying themselves just as much as he was.

By the time they left Kennywood late that evening, Brian had suffered through several more rides, fucked Justin twice, gotten blown by one of the pirates, and developed a healthy tan.

Justin was slightly sunburned, had been fucked twice, had fucked once--also a pirate, and had developed an unhealthy addiction to the fries in gravy Kennywood churned out.

Although he didn't get to play poker because he was too young, Gus had ridden every ride in the place (some more than once) and was still decked out in an 'I Survived Kennywood' t-shirt much to his father's chagrin.

Following the well-lit lanes, Brian guided them back towards Justin's SUV. Just as they turned out of the driveway and into traffic, Gus said, "So...I hear there's a coaster on Coney Island..."

Main idea from:

Shout out to for the alpha.

Reasons for clipping Coasting:

Coasting was started to break up the angst. However, as I writing it, I didn't feel like it was forwarding the story along. There was no real connection to the previous and following chapter beyond the comparison of the rollercoaster to life and paying people off to get what you want.

20: Sheep

[Sixteen]

Gus eyed the man shuffling papers across the table warily. He'd never been a stupid kid; he'd seen this for the set up that it was the minute the court-appointed quack-in-tutor's-clothing appeared on their doorstep at too-early-to-function a.m.

And, yes, Gus could hack his own file in under a minute to discover Mr. Ewert's real agenda, but torturing the poor man was so much more fun. Not to mention actually legal.

Figuring out the guy's real occupation had only taken two questions. The first had been to ask Mr. Ewert to explain an advanced calculus equation to him. One that Gus had already solved in less than ten minutes. The second had been his casual mention that perhaps he was having difficulty because his logical-mathematical intelligence was probably not as advanced as his others.

The forty-three minute discussion of Howard Gardner's work which followed was all the proof Gus needed.

"...of course, that's not to say that people who are musically gifted--"

"So. How long have you been a psychologist?" Gus interrupted.

"I'm not..."

The balding, badly dressed man shifted in his seat looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Yeah. You are. Or you're studying to be. Because, honestly? Most people could give a shit about half the long-dead, way boring guys you've brought up while I finished this calculus shit you assigned me, which, by the way, I have no clue how you intend on checking since you're totally clueless."

Mr. Ewert offered a weak smile. "Fair catch," he said, pushing his glasses up higher on his pudgy nose.

"So the court assigned you to get my trust. Get me to open up. Share my pain with you," Gus started, leaning forward with anticipation as he went in for the kill. "One small problem with that," he started again, tapping his finger on the tabletop twice before leaning back in his chair. "How the fuck do you expect to be able to teach me if you don't understand the material yourself?"

The man sputtered for a moment before deciding to tell the truth.

"Your file actually suggested you wouldn't need that much tutoring, but I've had my graduate assistant grading your work."

"I see," Gus said, drawing himself up in his chair. "So my continued mental health is paramount, but my education can fall to pot?"

The pen Mister, correction Doctor Ewert had been using to take notes as Gus worked started tapping against his ratty yellow legal pad.

Amused, Gus fought the urge to smirk. For a quack, he sure as fuck wore what he was thinking in every action he took. Perhaps the good doctor needed a few lessons on how not to show his hand.

"And trying to gain my trust by tricking me? Yes, that was wise of you. Because lying from the first moment I met you was the perfect way to build a 'communication bridge' to heal the poor child," Gus snorted.

The communication bridge bullshit had come from Dr. Wozencraft on his first meeting with her. Yeah. She'd learned really fast that Gus Kinney wouldn't stomach her hug the world bullshit. Apparently, Dr. Ewert had a much lower learning curve.

"It's not like that."

"Oh? So you weren't planning on doing a nice little write up about my fucked up family for one of your pompous little journals? I'll bet your colleagues were all atwitter when you called them about the case."

"Now see here..."

That had been a shot in the dark. One of the big things he'd learned from his father was to always try to figure out what people wanted out of you and then figure out how to use that need to your own advantage.

Then again, the idea of turning his own problems into some sort of article so that others could watch him dance like some sort of fucked up monkey pissed him off.

"You want me to open up? To fucking share so you can write your feel good article about healing the fucked up kid, and I can get my letter that I've served me court appointed psychological time."

"That's what I had in mind, yes, but I wanted to do it in due time."

Gus shook his head.

"Take out your little fucking recorder, and listen up because I'm only going to say this once," Gus said, pausing as he watched the guy actually pull the damned thing out of his fugly coat pocket and set it on the table between them.

Leaning across the table to insure the microphone would pick everything up, he spoke clearly.

"Sometimes people mean to do everything right and get it wrong. Sometimes Mommies and Daddies love their kids, give them all the right lectures, all the right punishments, and their kids will still try coke or kill themselves or whatever the fuck. It might be their friends that pressure them to do it or the fucking school bully, but there's always a trigger."

"And what's yours, Gus?"

Gus leaned back in his chair and released a huff of air.

"Come on, Doc. You've read the file. What do you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It's what you perceive it to be."

The minute the words left the asshole's mouth, Gus felt his blood began to boil. Where the fuck did he get off telling Gus that he was right and Gus was wrong.

"What kind of double-talking bullshit is that? Seriously. Like what I think is any less valid that what you think the core of my problems are because you have a couple of letters after your name. Well, Mr. Head Shrinker, what if I told you that just because you sat through a couple hundred classes you're not a fucking expert on my life or my issues. I'm the one that fucking lived through them," Gus said, slamming his calculus book shut.

He stood and started packing his things into his backpack while a bewildered Dr. Ewert watched.

"You can't just leave, Gus," he said, reaching to stop the tape.

Gus eyed the doctor as he pushed the dining room chair in.

"You were asked to fill this position for two reasons--to assist me in completing my work for my junior year and to act as my therapist. Based on your inability to do the former and the fact that I seriously doubt you can do the latter, I believe your services are no longer required."

"But..."

"And, before you get all pissy, let me say that, yes, the court system might have been the one that hired you, but that's only with the understanding that you might, at some point, make progress. The fact that you lied to me from the start means that I won't ever trust you," Gus said, grabbing his bag and heading upstairs.

. . . . .

[Twelve]

Charlie went through one of those phases when he was twelve where he had to wear what all the other cool kids were wearing. The only problem was that neither he nor Gus could afford the latest fashions.

One day after school, he and Gus rode the bus over to the shopping center--the one all the 'right' people went to.

While Gus was four stores down gazing longingly at the Apple Store's new iPods, Charlie was lifting one of the too-expensive t-shirts.

As soon as he heard the alarms going off, Gus knew what had gone down. Seeing Charlie run past the bank of windows at full speed was a confirmation he really didn't want.

As inconspicuously as possibly, Gus slowly walked towards the exit of the store just in time to see the mall's security guards racing towards the main exit.

Yup. Charlie was in deep shit trouble. Hands in his pockets, Gus followed the mob out the front door, watching the security guards taking off down the street in the direction of the bus stop.

Rolling his eyes, Gus started off that direction. Only Charlie would go and wait for the fucking bus when there were rent-a-cops after him. Then again this was Charlie.

The closer he got to the bus stop, the clearer he could make out the three uniforms canvassing the area for his friend. Slowly, Gus looked over the same area the men were. Eyes coming to rest on the rooftop above him, Gus suppressed a snicker as he saw Charlie looking down and waving at him.

The next day at lunch, Charlie came up to the tree Gus was reading under.

"Thought you were going to be one of the cool people," Gus said, motioning towards Charlie's ill-gotten goods.

Shrugging, his friend plopped down beside him.

"Just wearing the shirt wasn't going to make you one of them, you know."

Pulling at the blades of grass beneath his fingertips, Charlie nodded.

"Yeah. I know. I just...I wanted to know what it felt like."

Carefully eyeing his friend over the spine of his book, Gus sighed.

"I highly doubt their shopping trips involved shoving shirts down their pants, running like hell, or scaling tall buildings."

Charlie snorted, hands still busily tearing at the grass.

"And what was that shit, man? Who did you think you were? A fucked up version of Spidy?"

Charlie's eyes narrowed.  "At least you could get your dad to pay for all the clothes you want."

"I could, but I don't because it's pointless. This whole thing," Gus said, motioning towards the school. "It's all pointless. You think ten years from now anyone's gonna give two shits about what labels we wore when we were kids?"

"Maybe not ten years from now, but now matters, Gus. Fitting in matters."

"Why?" Gus said, standing. "Why does it fucking matter? Because you want to be liked? Because you think that, by changing and acting and being exactly what they want you to be it'll make it any better? Because it sure as shit didn't matter for you. You fucking sold yourself to those sheep in there, and you don't even realize it," Gus said, grabbing his backpack and heading towards the school doors.

"Oh so that's it! Lord Peterson-Marcus projects his shit all over my life and suddenly I'm the one acting like the puppet? Fuck you, man."

"It's Kinney, Charles Absalom," Gus started, watching his friend's eyes grow wide at the mention of the unmentionable middle name.

"...and, yes, I realize I have my own problems, but that doesn't mean that I go around wearing hideous t-shirts that I fucking stole just so that the popular kids could ignore me some more. And, while we're on the subject, what makes you think that the cops aren't gonna come after you."

"It's a fifty dollar shirt."

"It's a fucking precedent. They don't catch you, someone else will try it."

"And again I say it's a fifty-dollar shirt. That's still a misdemeanor."

Gus shrugged. "Doesn't matter if they catch you now or later, but it'll eventually get back to you. It's the law of the universe."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You and your fucking books, man..."

"You've got my number. Call me when you grow the fuck up," Gus said, leaving his friend beneath the tree.

. . . . .

[Eleven]

The grass was cold with dew beneath his fingers as Gus raked his hand through the blades. Beside him, Charlie flopped on his belly, watching the other oh-so-happy families interact.

"Parents' Day blows. Like seriously, man."

"Only if your family can't make it," Gus said, looking across the gathered outcasts--the kids whose parents either couldn't or wouldn't take the day off.

"We should start a petition or something to stop this shit because it's totally lame. Like I need a reminder that my mom's never there," Charlie said, rolling over onto his back to block out the view of the father/son potato sack race.

"Think they would notice if you and I just took off?"

"Where'd we go?"

Shrugging, Charlie continued to stare at the clouds in the sky. "As far as the bus line'll take us."

"And then what?"

"I've always wanted to see what Pittsburgh looks like this time of year."

Gus snorted and lay in the grass beside his friend. "My moms would queen out, and my dads would send me back."

Pausing to consider this, Charlie reached up with his hand, tracing shapes in the clouds.

"It was a nice thought though, wasn't it?"

"We'll get to be where we want to some day, Charlie. You'll see."

Charlie smirked. "Yeah, Gus. Someday. But what'll we do until then?"

"Lament our lost youth?"

"You're a strange duck, Gus."

"Quack, quack," Gus deadpanned.

"Seriously, man, this is our youth. How are we supposed to be using it?"

Motioning towards the happy kids in the distance playing soccer and baseball and all the other family-unit friendly games, Gus said, "Who taught you how to tie your shoes?"

"You."

"And who taught you how to unbuckle your Oshkoshes back in the first grade so you didn't piss yourself?"

"You."

"Helped you with long division? Told you the rules of fucking, sucking, and drugging?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You."

Rolling onto his side, Gus glared at his friend. "Do you see the problem there, Tonto?"

"I'm not your fucking sidekick."

Gus' lips thinned as he continued to stare down his friend. "Didn't mean it like that, and you know it."

Smiling, Charlie replied, "Just yanking your chain, man, but, yeah, I see your point; my 'rents were the ones that were supposed to give those talks to you just like your Moms should have been the ones to talk to you. Instead we had to pick all this shit up on the streets."

Gus snorted. "My dads aren't the streets.'"

"And all eight-year-olds have their dads shoving condoms on zucchinis as a standard part of their summer vacation."

Shrugging, Gus watched the greyish clouds roll in from the south and wished to god the skies would open up so everyone else would be as miserable as he was.

"My dads just want me to be safe."

"And I repeat, no eight-year-old needs to know how to put a rubber on."

"And Sister Mary Abstinence has no right to tell me that the only way to be safe is to not partake of sin. Jesus. Like all the kids she lectures to are straight and can get married."

Charlie side-eyed his friend. "You trying to out someone because I'm all about the gossip."

"There's a couple of closet cases, but no one I need to out; they'll figure it out eventually."

"Because all eleven-year-olds have a well-developed gaydar."

Gus snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Hello. I don't believe we've met. I'm the project of a lesbian and her one-time fuck turned friend who, I might also mention, just happens to be gay himself. The only straight people I know are Cynthia, Deb, Carl, and the teachers I've had."

"And Deb doesn't really talk to you..."

"And I think Mrs. Whitehurst's head would spontaneously explode if I asked her what got her off."

"Cynthia would tell you."

Blushing slightly, Gus turned onto his back again. Of course, Charlie didn't miss the look.

"Oh. My. God! You've got a crush on Cynthia!"

"Shut up, man," Gus replied hotly.

Charlie started giggling.

Grabbing a clump of grass, Gus lobbed it at his friend. "You suck, asshole."

"I just think it's funny. I mean she's totally old."

"Just means she's experienced. Nothing wrong with a woman that can teach you things."

"Why can't you pick someone closer to your own age?"

Shrugging, Gus looked out across the assembled study body.

"Tom Schexsnider's pretty hot. So's Dora...especially in that little pleated number she's wearing today."

Laughing once again, Charlie turned onto his stomach again to eye the aforementioned classmates.

"Christ. You can't even pick a gender to go after. You're like gender confused."

Gus smirked. "Nah, man. I know who I am and what I want. I just don't like labels, man."

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

After the incident with Dr. Ewert, Brian had been livid enough to hire his own tutor and find a child psychologist that wasn't a total tool. Unfortunately, the guy was hand picked by his father so Gus couldn't exactly pull the wool over the quack's eyes.

Gus started with the tactic that worked best on Dr. Walters--absolute silence.

Dr. Roche sat across from him and stared back, eyes unflinching, hands empty. It was unnerving as shit.

Sighing, Gus leaned back in his chair and stared at the drop-roof ceiling.

"So...did you blow my dad or did he fuck you?"

It was the first thing he'd said to the other man since this whole thing had begun. The doctor snorted.

"What makes you ask that?"

"You're hot, and you're gay. My dad's fucked most of the guys that fit that bill," Gus said, looking up at the guy.

"It would be unethical for me to take you on as a client if I had been intimate with your father."

Gus snorted. "There's no 'intimate' with my dad when he's fucking a trick. He saves that for Pops."

"Does you father's tricking bother you?"

Shrugging, Gus resumed looking around the office--beige walls, sleek lines, white furniture, glass desk and coffee table. It reminded him of the loft.

"Used to. Doesn't any more. Nothing wrong with getting your needs met."

"And yet you seem to have a problem with your mothers' infidelity."

"Fuck that. My dads are out and honest about fucking around. My moms hold it over each other's head. Shit gets old," Gus replied hotly.

"So I'm correct in assuming that your mothers' arguing is partially at the root of your distress."

Gus snorted. "Kewpie doll for the Doc."

"The constant shifting between your fathers and mother's homes had some affect on you...not unlike children of divorce."

Gus started chipping at the rapidly disappearing black nail polish.

"I'd also wager that some event or series of events in your past culminated in your act of rage against young Entes."

Sighing, Gus gazed at the doctor with an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Aren't you the clever one."

Dr. Roche laughed. "That's what my father always told me."

"I hear that a lot, too. Usually follow by '...but you're just so anti-social' or '...but you'd go farther if you talked to people.'"

Nodded, the doctor continued his note taking. "The files sent over from your previous psychologists, the court, and statements from your mothers all make mention of several areas concern."

"Let me guess--drinking, smoking, fucking, drugging, not to mention the hacking, theft, arson, and several attempted murder charges."

Dr. Roche smirked. "You hacked your file?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Didn't need to; I've heard the song so many times I know it by rote.

"Well then...why don't we take each of these and discuss them independently of each other?"

Gus shrugged. "Whatever gets you off."

"Why don't we start with the drinking? Your mother mentioned that you said it helps you 'deal with shit.'"

"Or I could just tell you the conclusion you're going to reach anyway; my acting out, experimentation with drugs, alcohol, and sex are only partly for the enjoyment of the actual act," Gus said, staring the guy down, waiting to see him squirm in his chair the way the others had. "I use my negative behavior in a misguided effort to bait my mothers to get them to focus on me rather than them so that what little is left of their relationship will be left standing because, on some level, I believe that, if their crumbling relationship fell apart, it would impact terribly on JR."

"I see," he said, taking copious amounts of notes. Gus could just imagine what they said--self-admitted drug addiction, yadda, yadda, yadda, recommend Narcotics Anonymous, more bullshit therapy.

"Now what d'ya say we get to what you really want to ask me about so we can stop wasting each other's time."  

For the first time since Gus started talking, Dr. Roche set his pad and pen down on his desk.

"You're not wasting my time, Gus, and I haven't been asking about anything I didn't want to know."

Rolling his eyes, Gus slumped further in his chair. "Yes, because all adults want to spend vast quantities of time listening to my issues when my father's paying them to do so."

"Then, by your own description, shouldn't your mothers have listened to what was going on?"

Raising his eyebrows, Gus looked up at Dr. Roche with shock.

"I thought you were supposed to be impartial or some such bullshit."

Lips quirking into a smile, Dr. Roche said, "As you pointed out earlier, your father hired me for a reason; I don't do bullshit. Now why don't we do as you suggested and get to the point?"

"And what might that be? Me getting better? Getting in touch with my inner, loving self. Cleansing my aura or whatever the fuck you call it."

"The point is to find what's causing you distress and figuring out a healthy, legal way to deal with it."

"And what? You've turned into the Great Beyond-o and figured it out?"

"Sometimes, Gus, it takes someone removed from the problem to be able to help you to see things clearly."

Steepling his fingers and resting them on his stomach, Gus stared the psychologist down. "Enlighten me."

"You were correct in the assessment you made to Dr. Ewert--sometimes parents do fail. All four of your parents failed, but it was for different reasons. All four of them had differing views on what would keep you safe. Keep you happy.

"Your mothers believed moving to another country would keep you safe. What they failed to realize is that their own relationship and monetary concerns would affect you and your little sister.

"Your fathers believed it best that you return to your mothers despite all the negative elements occurring. Although I haven't heard enough about them, their situation, and their relationship between you and your mothers to form a complete analysis of that situation.

"What I haven't heard in all of this is what you want. What would make you happy?"

Gus was quiet for a long moment. The only outward sign that the doctor's assessment was making him uncomfortable was his fingers gripping the arms of the chair a little tighter than necessary. Inwardly though, he was a fucking mess. Stomach churning, sweaty palms, racing heart. Why the fuck did his dad have to hire someone he couldn't con, connive, or fuck his way to freedom.

Then again, maybe JR was right. Maybe it was time to lay all his cards down and see if the House won yet again.

"I want to live here in the Pitts with my dads," Gus said, meeting the doctor's eye before dashing away. "But that sure as shit isn't going to happen."

The minute he spoke it aloud, he started to feel sick. This was his shit to deal with. Not the doctor's because some quack sure as shit couldn't convince his mommies to let him go.

"Why do you believe that to be true?"

And that's when he fucking snapped.

"Oh. For fuck's sake!" Gus said, looking up and meeting the doctor's stare. The sudden outburst took Dr Roche by surprise. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Indulge me."

"It doesn't matter what I want. It hasn't since JR took a header down the stairs. Melanie, Michael, and Deb all think I pushed the kid."

"And you?"

"It was an accident. One I've been paying for, but they were fucked up before then..." Gus said, scrubbing at his face.

"We aren't talking about your mothers' problems."

"Aren't we? They're the ones that moved to Canada after just getting back together. They're the ones that keep screaming at each other..."

"They're the ones that moved you away from everything you'd ever known. And all for your own sake," Dr. Roche completed.

"Yes! And I fucking hate them for it," Gus whispered harshly. The words flew from his lips unchecked. The moment he said them, his mouth clamped shut and a blush colored his cheeks. He shouldn't have fucking said that.

Nervous energy drew his eyes across the burbur rug to the window just beyond. The view reminded him of the one from his bedroom window at Briton--pine trees, grass, flowering plants. It was all very idyllic and beautiful. Probably cost a fucking mint. Then again, based on how good Dr. Roche was at getting information out of him, he imagined the therapy bills probably more than covered it.

Gus heard Dr. Roche lean back in his seat, knew he was using the silence to gear up for the next leg of this fucking marathon session.

"How do you feel about your fathers?"

Gus smiled weakly, before turning back towards Dr. Roche. Now that was a transparent question.

"Why don't you ask what you really want to? Do I resent them for always sending me back to the Mommies?"

Smirking, Dr. Roche nodded. "All right. Do you?"

"Sometimes. Yeah," Gus said, finally sitting back in his seat. "I thought that, if my dad really wanted it, if he really believed me when I said I was miserable, he would have fought to keep me here."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming..."

Gus huffed a humorless laugh. "There was always something stopping him. My dad didn't have the best childhood, so he was probably afraid he'd screw me up. There's also the legal stuff--Dad signed his rights over to Mel and she sure as shit would do everything to block him from visitation. And, if it did get to court, all the shit Dad's done in the past wouldn't make him look like father of the year. I mean, Christ, you've probably heard half the gossip of things my dad's done," Gus said, watching the doctor nod.

"Sounds like you thought this all through."

Gus shrugged. "It took me awhile to get it. Really get why my dad hadn't fought harder."

"And now?"

"And now nothing. I'm happy here in the Pitts. I mean I miss my mom and JR, but it's better here."

"I notice you didn't mention Melanie."

Gus started chipping at his nail polish once again, and, yes, he realized it was a nervous habit and a dead give away. There was just something calming about focusing on something other than the fact that he was baring his soul to this relative stranger.

"When I was a kid, they separated. My mom and I moved out into this apartment near Dad's place," he started, looking anywhere but at the doctor. "I don't remember much. Just that it was a much smaller place and that dad came around a lot more." A beat. "I know that money was tight and Dad had to out cash to help her pay rent, utilities, and stuff, but we could have been happy there. Made it work." Another, much longer pause followed. "Sometimes...most times...I wish my moms would have never gotten back together."

"Do you believe the ultimate outcome of your life would have been different?"

Gus remained silent, looking out the window and at the garden beyond it as he considered the question. Shifting in his seat, he looked back up at Dr. Roche.

"I don't like playing the 'what if' game, Doc. You can make yourself crazy doing it." A beat. "And no, that wasn't a fucking admission."

Offering the barest hint of a smile, he replied, "I didn't say you were crazy. Troubled, yes. Crazy, no."

Nodding, Gus paused again, looking down for the billionth time at the fuzzy, tan leather chair. Smoothing his hand along the fabric, he finally answered, "It'd be stupid of me to assume that things wouldn't have changed if the Lesbi-moms stayed separated. I mean...them getting back together was the reason they were at that fucking Prop 14 meeting."

"Which made them even consider moving to Toronto," Dr. Roche finished.

"It's not just that. I think that, maybe, if Mom had stayed away from Mel, she'd have met someone else. Maybe fell in love. Been happy."

"I see."

Gus offered the ghost of a smile. "So what? 'I see' is your official, patented means of getting people to keep talking?"

Dr. Roche nodded. "It's proven highly affective in the past. Now, quit hedging the topic."

Rolling his eyes, Gus shifted in his seat again, eyes turning to look out the window once again. "Sometimes people fall in love with others who they aren't meant to be with. Ya know," he started, turning towards the doctor to make sure he was still paying attention. "It's like you're with them to learn a lesson...or learn how to be in a relationship so that, when the right one comes along, you recognize it for what it is. Ethan was that to Pops. Maybe Mel was that to Mom."

"Seems like an awfully long learning curve."

"How the fuck else would you explain why she'd stay with someone that she didn't get along with?"

"You tell me; you've done it for sixteen years."

Gus blinked slowly.

Any remaining bravado left him the moment Dr. Roche began dissecting his thoughts and put them on display for everyone to read. He felt raw, exposed, and fucking terrified because no one had the right to crawl into his fucking head the way that this asshole did.

He began chipping at his fingernail polish once again, watching his hands shake in his lap.

"You asked me what I want," Gus started, hesitating slightly before looking up at Dr. Roche's unwavering stare. "But it's moot because it'll never happen."

Leaning forward in his chair, Dr. Roche folded his hands neatly in his lap. Gus saw it for what it was; the doc finally thought that he had his big payoff -- the moment where Gus would reveal all the secrets of his issues or some shit. And, yeah, Gus thought about just shutting down, shutting up, and putting an end to the whole, uncomfortable thing, but he thought back to all the texts he'd read over the years. He knew this guy couldn't reveal anything without his permission.

But the idea of exposing himself anymore than he already did was a frightening thought. His words -- his admission of wanting something solely for himself -- hung heavy in the air, making an already edgy Gus even more nervous.

He sat in that designer chair with his shaky hands, sweaty palms, rapidly beating heart, clammy skin, and tears welling in his eyes, trying like crazy not to acknowledge his momentary lapse, his utter weakness. All of it caused by reliving and revealing too much, from being removed from his comfort zone and from one too many years of bottling all this shit inside.

The driving desire to run the fuck out of the room and never look back was so overwhelming, and he knew, without doubt that, if his father wasn't waiting just beyond the classy and expensive oak door, he would have done so long before now.

And then, Dr. Roche spoke that stupid ass prompt again--indulge me--and Gus found the words tumbling from his mouth.

"I want my moms to split, all right? I want my mother to move back here. I want to see my little sister again, and I fucking want Melanie and Michael and Debbie to fucking forgive me," Gus started, voice breaking as tears spilled down his cheeks. "It was an accident. A fucking accident."

Hands covering his face, face flushed red, his body shook with emotional release as long-denied agony worked through his system.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he started between broken sobs. "I was never supposed to be like this. Your parents are supposed to love you regardless of the shit you do."

For the first time since the session began, Dr. Roche approached him, drawing him into a hug.

It was cathartic and seemed to be never ending, but it felt so damned good.

And, as they sat there, Dr. Roche started his wrap up figuring that, if the kid was ever going to listen, now would be the time.

"Sometimes you have to fight for what you want, Gus, and, this time, you have to put yourself first.

"I think the place to start is with your fathers. Tell them what you've told me. Hold nothing back because the very fact that they've taken you in every time you've been in a similar state is a testament to the fact that they want to do the right thing."

Nodding, Gus sat back, using Kleenexes to wipe away the evidence of his total break down.

"I'm going to place a recommendation in your file that you stay with your fathers. I'm also going to suggest that you and I meet once a week until the matter of your future has been resolved."

Again, Gus nodded, hands shredding the ends of the tissue.

"Until then, I want you to talk to your dads, okay?"

"Yeah," Gus said, looking up at Dr. Roche. Face splotchy from crying, Gus offered an honest but weak smile. "I will."

Lie to me, convince me that I've been sick forever
And all of this will make sense when I get better.
But I know the difference
Between myself and my reflection.
I just can't help but to wonder:
Which of us do you love?
so I bleed, and I breathe no more.

Evanescence - Breathe No More

21: Deliver

[Sixteen]

Charlie was one of those freaks that still used snail mail. He said that, if you write something on paper, you can always burn the evidence, but, with a computer 'those crackerjack FBI dudes can find shit from way after you've deleted it. '

Of course, Gus realized it might also have something to do with the fact that his friend was paranoid that Gus would find out about all the porn Charlie had downloaded.

And so, with Charlie locked up in rehab, Gus was forced to actually physically write a letter, put a stamp on it, and run it out to the mailbox.

It was all so...antiquated.

The only marginally cool part was that he never knew when Charlie would get off his ass and respond -- complete with amusing addendums from his friend's psychiatrist.

Dear Asshat,

I don't know what the fuck your problem is; you finally got what you want. Now spank your inner moppet, get over yourself, and fucking make it work.

There was a break of two lines after Charlie's chicken scratch before a more refined, swirly handwriting took over.

Charlie--

I would appreciate it if you would rewrite this so it was less confrontational.

Thank you,

Dr. Wozencraft.

Yet another space followed, but it was shortened by several rude doodles before Charlie's blobby ink splatters returned.

Gus--

See how they oppress me, man? I can't even write a letter without them searching for hidden messages. (That stupid bitch reads everything before I send it, and, yes, I directed that at you, you nosy cow.) Like I'm gonna come out and say 'please include cigarettes, booze, and E in your next care package.'

The regal handwriting returned -- this time deep red ink.

Charlie--

This is your last warning. Sending and receiving mail is a privilege at Happy Recovery. I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making cruel comments and allude to 'care packages.' Please rewrite this letter while keeping in mind what we've discussed in your private sessions and group.

Thank you,

Dr. Wozencraft

Right. My therapist says I need to work on my 'anger issues.' Sound familiar? So, let me try to write without the fucking sarcasm.

My Dearest Augustus,

How many weeks have slipped passed since we have seen each other? Oh! How I miss you so terribly--your dulcet tones, your luminescent, hazel orbs that peer into my very soul.  

All those late night rendezvous in the park under the bright moonlight.

There is a hole in my day as I mourn your absence in my life, but I shall by happy for you, my dear friend, for I know you are in a FAR better place than I.

My only hope is that all things in your path will be cleared, and you will work through whatever issues are presently blocking you from your destiny.

All my love.

Your smoochy,

Charles Absalom Broussard
Prisoner Number: 42367-B

Laughing aloud at his friend's antics, Gus refolded the paper and started his own.

Dear Charlie:

Congratulations on coming out. I didn't realize you were queer.

When you get out, I'll throw your ass a party. You know, without the booze, bumps, or bimbos... Jesus. It'll be so lame your therapist will approve.

Speaking of which...

Hello, Dr. Wozencraft! As I'm sure my dearest, bestest (lamest) friend Charlie has mentioned, after two stints in juvie, my moms finally sent me packing to the Pitts where I've been staying with my dads for all of three weeks now. I've been seeing my own quack for all of one week. Unlike the first guy, he isn't a total tool.

Love and Kisses.

Your Favorite Stud Muffin,

Gus

Of course, his little sister also got into the act -- although her letters were emails. He imagined she probably had to sneak online under the dark of night to keep the Mommies from sneaking a peek.

To: Gus
From: JR
Subject: You suck!

Dear Gus,

I miss you. Your room is big and dark at night without you here. Yes, you read that right, Big Brother. I stole your room.

Not like you're ever gonna use it again anyway.

So how are your dads treating you? Showered you in presents yet? Got the pony you always wanted? I'm guessing, whatever it is that you're up to down there, it has to be way better than up here because you know...the total lack of emails in my inbox. :P

So what have you been up to? Momma said you had a tutor and all that community service to finish, but there has to be some down time. You know?

Speaking of tutors, schoolwork totally blows without you here to help. I'm totally lost with the solving of X. Seriously. The Moms are all on my case and neither one of them has the time/patience to sit down and work through this stuff with me. Like I need to know how many pounds of peanuts are in a hypothetical container of nuts anyway.

And, speaking of nuts, how are you doing really? And don't feed me some stupid, bogus answer, Gus Abraham Peterson-Marcus-Kinney.

Write back when you get the chance.

Love you,

JenBug

Gus leaned back in his dad's computer chair and smiled; he could just imagine the little shit sitting down in his room and holding a sit-in to save his mural.

To: JR
From: Gus
Subject: That's what all the guys in the backroom tell me.

Well if it isn't the illustrious Ms. JenBug. How are things in the frozen North this time of year? Are the penguins wearing parkas yet?

To be honest, I wasn't surprised about the room; you always did covet my stuff you little shit. :P

I'm sorry the math thing isn't working out for you. Maybe you could talk to your teacher or ask one of your friends for help? Push comes to shove, you can always go visit Charlie and ask him to help you; a sophomore in high school should (in theory) be able to handle sixth grade math.

If you do talk to Charlie, give him a big hug and tell him it's not from me because he's totally lame.

And, no, the Dads really aren't buying me all that much. I mean, you know, clothes to replace the shit that's worn out or totally scary (read: those flannel numbers Mom bought for Christmas), but, other than that, not really.

As to the pony, I doubt that. I mean why buy one when I can drive up the road to Mr. McFarlane's place, pay the fee, and ride one of those horses? (Not to mention save myself the chore of mucking the stall or the smell coming from the backyard.)

Yeah. I'm lazy. Deal.

And, no, me being lazy had nothing to do with my taking so long to respond. It's just a matter of my trying to deal with stuff.

As to how I really am...well. I have to say it's quiet here. I can think. The quack that Dad hired is asking me a lot of questions about stuff I don't really like to think about, but maybe it's time I did.

Love you bunches (even if you are annoying sometimes)

Gus Kinney
(Note the lack of hyphens in my name you little shit!)

 

And then there were the letters Gus didn't really want to open--those from his moms.

Lindsay's was filled with allusions to questions she wanted answers to but didn't want to ask.

Dear Gus,

Your father tells me that you've adjusted well there, and that you're doing well in your schoolwork.

Mel and I were both pleased that you're seeing a psychologist. Hopefully, Dr. Roche will help you through whatever issues led you to the incident with David Entes.

I'm sure that JR has mentioned that she's taken over your room, and that I'm using her old room as an office and studio for the time being. Of course, we won't have any trouble rearranging things when you get back.

I must admit to being a little concerned over several of the items that you shipped to your fathers' house. Just try to remember that your computer is for schoolwork only and to have an adult present.

Stay safe and be good. Try to use your head to stay out of trouble.

All my love,

Mom

Of course, Gus, being the smart boy that he was, translated the letter for what it really said:

Miscreant:

From the vague details your father told us, we are lead to believe you're happy in the Pitts, and, while we may have rearranged the house in your absences, we'll make do when you return. (Read: we might think about giving you a room again...eventually.)

I must admit to being a little bit disturbed at the fact that you took everything important with you. (Read: You're not coming back, are you? That's sort of why we gave ourselves permission to rearrange the room, you know.)

Please don't get into any more trouble.

I tolerate you because I have to,

Lindsay

Melanie's was concise and all business just like her handwriting. And, no, there was no need to translate anything; she was straightforward about how she felt.

Gus,

The final terms of your transfer to your fathers/the American juvenile court system has been dealt with. I faxed the information to Brian and have attached a copy of the scan to this letter. Please note that all the terms are the same save the location of your community service. After this week, you are to transfer from Allegheny and begin work at the Vic Grassi House.

Please refrain from getting yourself into any more trouble while you're down there; I'm not certain I will be able to cut another deal now that you have an act of violence on your record.

Sincerely,

Melanie

The letters sat open on the kitchen counter for three weeks while Gus contemplated answering them because he sure as shit didn't want to deal with it. And, yes, to be perfectly honest, he was half-hoping his dads would get curious, read them, and respond to them so that he didn't have to. Of course, there was only so long he could put it off before his dads called him on it, and, in typical fashion, Brian left a post-it on Gus' laptop.

Gus shook his head. Warnings on the laptop meant 'deal with it now or I'll queen out on your ass.'

Write to your mothers. I don't give a shit if it's an email, a letter, a phone call or a fucking carrier pigeon. Just fucking do it.

And then there was the more subtle letter taped to his Lucky Charms complete with sketch of Rage's profile:

Gus--

Please write or call your moms when you get a chance.

Love,

Justin

Rolling his eyes, Gus booted his system, opened Thunderbird, and fired off the appropriate responses.

The first was to his mothers. He decided to go for typical teenage brevity rather than off-putting, cold, harsh truth because the last thing he needed was for them to come down to the Pitts to collect his ass.

To: Lindsay Peterson
CC: Melanie Marcus
From: Gus Taylor-Kinney
Subject: update-o-rama

Parental Units:

As per your request, I have stayed my ass out of trouble. Unless, of course, you count the several armed robberies, stealing candy from a baby, and the four cases of Chivas I boosted from the liquor store on the corner.  

I'm nearly finished with all the work the school assigned me. It was mind-numbingly easy and overly repetitive as always.

JR mentioned she's having trouble in math. Get off your asses and help her, or find someone to do it. Unless, of course, you want her mathematical development to be so stunted that she can only function in a job at the Golden Arches.

Both Dad and I received the schedule for community service. Only 1,643 more hours to go. Woo.

I figured about the room; JR always did have a secret yen for it.

I believe that should count as enough of an update for now.

Gus

To: Brian Kinney
CC: Justin Taylor
From: Gus Taylor-Kinney
Subject: Yellow Post-Its

The Yellow Post-It Fairy seemed to have visited me twice this morning.

Message received and sent. The Lesbi-Moms should be all atwitter with the fact that I actually wrote them back.

BTW: We're out of milk and that nasty-ass wheat shit you call bread.

Your Loving and Brilliant Son,

Gus

22: Path

 [Age: 16]

The pamphlet on the table between them looked innocent enough, but it was what it represented that scared the shit out of both of them.

Hope Gardens.

The couple's retreat of last resort.

It was the place all the therapists in the area suggested as the last step before a divorce, and they both knew it.

"We leave two weeks from today. I booked the flight this morning."

Lindsay scratched her head in thought. "But can we afford to..."

"We can't afford not to," Melanie interjected, slamming her coffee cup down as her patience wore thin.

Lindsay's eyes snapped to Mel's. "I'm the one that makes out the checks each month. Don't tell me we can afford it because I know we have barely enough to cover plane tickets to..." she paused to flip the brochure over and spy the address. "...West Virginia let alone make the car payment."

"It's covered," Mel said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"And how the hell did you manage that? Sell off some antiques? Borrow some money?"

Mel instantly looked down at the mug in her hands.

"Jesus," Lindsay breathed. "Who the fuck did you ask? Brian," she asked, pausing before adding, "We're not going to be able to get the cash together to pay them back."

"He doesn't want to be paid back," Mel replied instantly.

"So it was Brian," Lindsay sighed, burying her hands in her hair.

"No," Melanie said brusquely. "It was Teddy."

Lindsay shot Melanie a heated look. "Don't tell me you were telling him about our problems."

Melanie shrugged. She didn't have to; gossip was currency in their messed up family unit. "He told me he understood what it was like to need help and not be able or ready to get it."

. . . . . .

Face totally ashen, Gus came out of Dr. Roche's office, tightly gripping the handful of snotty tissues.

"Jesus," Brian mumbled watching the kid cross the waiting room and head straight for the restroom.

Giving Gus a couple of seconds to himself, Brian stood and followed his son. From the threshold, he watched as Gus splashed his face with cold water before gripping the edge of the counter.

"Well that totally blew," he said, forcing a laugh that sounded harsh even to his own ears. "Don't suppose I could convince you to let me flake on the rest of this."

Walking completely into the bathroom, Brian handed the kid a handful of paper towels to dry his face with.

"Absolutely. And then I can come and visit you in Rikers," he deadpanned.

Gus sighed, willing his breathing to return to normal. One session down. Hundreds more to go.

The car ride was slow and deadly silent save the sound of Gus' sniffles and the catch-breath of him staving off any more tears, but Brian Kinney's a fucking expert when it comes to speaking with actions. And, yes, Justin might have the copyright on 'reading' the lines of silence, but he invented and unfortunately schooled the boy in this particular language.

But even with the unique credentials to his name, Brian didn't have to be a fucking expert to see what was going on; he could feel it. Misery and pain and a boatload of other emotions were coming off his kid in waves.

Pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine, Brian side-eyed Gus who was silently picking at the remnants of the black nail polish once again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Gus' eyes shot to his father's. The deer in headlights look slowly abated to a grateful smile. Even with the post-therapy shocky feeling coursing through his veins, Gus knew his dad hated these types of conversations. The fact that he was willingly starting one spoke volumes.

"No," Gus said quietly. "Not yet, but soon." A beat as Gus watched Brian nod, lips thinning as the key ring twirled through his hands. "I just need time to get things straight in my head first."

. . . . . .

JR sat at Deb's kitchenette set, legs dangling and tapping against the chair as she swung them back and forth.

"So...do you understand why your Moms sent you down here before the summer break officially started?"

It was said in that mothering tone Deb used on everyone regardless of their age. Repressing the urge to roll her eyes because Nana Debbie would so cuff her, JR nodded her head.

"'Cause the moms need to work through their shi...problems," she corrected, scrunching up her nose. "Sorta like Gus I guess."

All three adults turned towards JR, curiosity tingling the air.

The moment the words left her mouth, she groaned inwardly. She'd so screwed up again which was evident as the adults around the tiny kitchen exchanged a look.

Gus was going to fucking kill her again, or, at the very least, queen out all over the place.

"And what might they be, sweetie," Debbie said, laying the casserole in the center of the table. JR recognized it for Debbie's patented tactic number one - June Cleaver complete with term of endearment and heaps of food. Most often, it was used to disarm a child or Michael and send them into a false sense of security by letting them think that the adult was too distracted to really be listening.

Shrugging, JR started to perfectly align her silverware to her plate before responding with the appropriate vague answer. "Just stuff."

"What sort of stuff?" Ben asked, setting the carb-attack French bread in the center of the table. His tone suggested the topic wouldn't be dropped.

"I'm not supposed to tell," JR said, scrunching her nose up. "Gus, his dads, and the moms all said it was nobody's business but the family's."

"And what the fuck are we?" Debbie said, thumping the salad bowl down beside the casserole.

And that would be Debbie, stage two--anger.

"Deb," Ben said, motioning with his eyes to JR in that 'do not expose the child to the evils of profanity' look adults master. JR had always wondered if it came as standard equipment or what. Like a person hits a magic age and ZAP! they instantly get the 'don't screw up the K-I-D look' with the matching 'if you spell it they won't know' expansion pack.

"Sorry," Debbie replied, blushing a little.

JR shrugged. "Not like I haven't heard the moms screaming it through the vents."

"What do you mean, honey," Michael asked, trying to not look freaked out and failing.

Biting her lower lip, JR looked anywhere but at the gathered adults. Maybe Gus was right; maybe she couldn't keep a secret. And oh if this conversation continued her dad would so be calling the moms. So. Not. Good.

"Oh. You know. This and that," she not-quite-answered before adding, "Dinner sure looks good, Gran."

It was a last ditch effort, and she totally knew it wouldn't work. In fact, it hadn't worked since she was still in the single digits and could con people with a hug and a smile. Well...most people. Brian, Justin, and Gus never fell for her shit.

"Thank you," Deb said, smiling before affixing a hard stare on her grandbaby. "Now stop stalling."

Sighing, JR finally looked up to meet her father's worried expression. There would be no getting out of it this time.

"The moms fight a lot," she started, licking her lips as she tried to puzzle out how to best word things so she wouldn't be in too much trouble.

"Sometimes it's about Gus. Sometimes it's about money," she continued, watching all three adults pale a little. Sighing, she began elaborating. "Mostly it starts out that way and just gets louder until one of them either goes up to their room and slams the door or one of them leaves for a couple of hours," she said, tracing her finger through the bread crumbs that had spilled out of the basket and onto the table cloth.

"And Gus' been having some bad stuff happening to him and his friends, but I'm not s'ppose to talk about it. I promised Gussy Gus I wouldn't."

Her tone was so mournful as she spoke that it made the adults realize it was serious.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if..."

JR's eyes snapped up to meet Michael's, eyes pleading. "No, Dad. He told me not to 'cause he's afraid you and Gran would try to keep us apart. Gussy Gus needs me right now. Even if it is only phone calls and emails and stuff."

"He didn't hurt you again, did he?" Ben quietly asked, touching JR's arm gently.

Shaking her head, she said, "No. Gus'd never do that on purpose. It wasn't even meant to happen," she said, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head slowly as she spoke. "It was totally self-defense. That nasty boy's been pounding on Gus for years and all that stuff with Charlie and the yell out with the moms all got to him and..."

JR stopped, tears forming in the corner of her eyes as she covered her mouth with her hands. She'd promised Gus all this stuff wouldn't be repeated, but her mouth was always faster than her brain.

All three adult's expression softened.

"And?" Debbie prompted, sliding into a seat opposite JR.

"And nothing. I'm not repeating what's going on because you're just gonna give Gus more shit to deal with, and he's already had enough," JR said, trying on her hardest stare and failing miserably because it just made Ben and her dad sit at the table too.

"We just want to help, JR," Ben said.

JR bit her lower lip. She knew things in the family had been strained since that whole stairs crap when she was like four. Her dad and Brian were never really able to deal with all the shit that went down after that. Same thing with Deb. They all just appeared civil for her sake when they visited.

"You remember when I told you that Tanya was kinda weird 'cause she didn't really talk to people and that she had that accent," JR said, pausing until she saw Debbie nod.

"And you remember how you told me that maybe she didn't talk to people that much because of her funny accent," JR continued looking from her grandma to her dad.

"Well maybe Gus doesn't have an accent, but he does have his own issues. I mean ever since the accident people haven't been treating him that great," JR said, eyeing her father to keep him from interjecting as she continued. "I mean you scared him so bad he didn't talk for weeks, Dad. He totally felt bad about it happening. Then the moms yell at him and glare at him like he's evil because I lost my balance and fell, and, rather than dealing with him, the moms just send him off to his dads' to fix him so they can use the time to hopefully fix themselves," JR said, pausing briefly to gauge the situation.

Her father looked pale and refused to meet her gaze. Debbie was snapping on her gum in an effort not to interrupt, and Ben...well...she never could get a good read on him. Hunter called it the 'Zen Zone' because Ben didn't project his emotions at all.

Sighing, JR locked her gaze on the French bread, staring at it until the lines on it became an unfocused blur.

"It did work. At least for a little while. But it was like he came home and Momma never let Gus out of her site when he and I were in the same room together. It wasn't long that they started to fight again.

"And then Gus started getting into fights with Entes 'cause he was always calling Gus names. And the moms were yelling at him for getting into trouble and saying it was his dad's influence and saying he wouldn't get to come to the Pitts for the summer," JR paused, looking up at her family, hoping that some of this was getting through to them.

"Gus loves his summers here. He lives for them," she said, motioning with her hands. "It's like, when he's here, he's free to be himself. To be happy.

"But, when he's up there, he's always getting into trouble," she said, pausing.  "It's like he does it on purpose. He gives the moms someone else to yell at other than each other. Knowing what a total drama queen he is, I think he thinks he keeps them together that way. Probably does it for my sake which is totally fucked."

"JR," Michael warned.

She rolled her eyes; leave it to her father to focus on something totally pointless. "I know. I know. Thou shalt not curse. It goes against your delicate ears or whatever. Which makes perfect sense. You know you wouldn't want your kid to curse, but it's totally okay for you guys to fly up and lay into my brother for an accident that happened six years ago," she said, watching them squirm in their seats.

"Like hell it was an accident," Michael started.

"How would you know? Were you there? Because I was," JR replied, pinning her father with an angry stare. "Mom scared him, he let go of my wrist, I stepped back to get away from him, and I misjudged the distance between him and where the landing ended. End. of. story. Or, at least you think it would be, but all you 'adults' have labeled him some sort of criminal. Gus doesn't need that shit. Neither do I. But you guys just keep heaping it on him. Year after year. I mean do you realize the type of damage you did to him?"

"Jennifer Rebecca!" Debbie interjected, but JR railroaded over her.

"Charlie tried to kill himself, and Gus found him. On the floor. Almost dead. Gus had to call the ambulance himself. I mean sitting on the floor next to your best friend thinking that he'd almost succeeded in doing it..." JR said, shaking her head.

Michael felt his stomach lurch because, yes, he was familiar with it. Too familiar with it for his own taste.

"And, instead of talking to Gus about it, the moms tossed his room. Totally laid into him when they got home so Gus let them have it.

"I guess everything just sorta got to him so he went to school and Entes started in on him and Gus started taking out all this shit going on in his life on the kid."

"So all this is over a fight at school," Debbie summarized.

JR nodded. "He beat the asshole up pretty good, too. Said Uncle Justin might not have been able to get the guy that hurt him, but he did," she explained, watching the adults around the table's sober expression.

"Gus told me that words are shit. That people lie all the time. He said that the only thing he ever got from most of his family was that love is conditional," she said, pausing to refold the napkin. "He said to tell you and the moms thank you for that particular lesson. That he and I both learned it."

JR paused, looking up at the table full of adults and the heaps of food between them. "I don't think I'm hungry anymore," she said, standing and pounding up the stairs before any of them could say a word.

Long after JR had fallen asleep. Long after the barely-touched casserole was put away in the fridge, the three adults sat around the table talking.

. . . . . .

The living room was near pitch black and silent. The only light cast across it was from the waning moon's light.

The fridge's light cast just enough illumination into the room for Justin to catch the slight movement from in front of the French doors leading to the backyard.

Squinting, he made out a Gus-shaped shadow. Foregoing the bottle of water, Justin walked towards his son.

Legs pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around knees, and head resting across his forearms, Gus sat on the hard wood flooring. Eyes never leaving the pool, he spoke.

"I'm glad Dad bought this place; it's quiet here."

Sinking onto the floor beside his son, Justin took a similar pose.

"Anyone ever tell you why he bought it?"

Shrugging, Gus said, "Em told me it was an engagement gift."

"Sort of," Justin said, corners turning up in a half-smile. "Actually, this is the place he proposed. Right over there by the fireplace," he said, turning and pointing to the spot. Gus' eyes followed, eyes growing wide.

"So he bought the house before you said yes?"

The half-smile grew into a full-scale one as Justin thought back to that night. "Have you ever known your Dad to do anything halfway?"

Gus smirked, voice quiet as he responded. "No."

They were quiet for a long moment, watching the wind ripple the surface of the pool's water.

"He bought this place for me because I fed him some stupid line about wanting a manor with stables. He was so freaked out about the bombing that he actually hunted this place down."

Gus snorted. "Sounds awfully hetero to me."

"I claim temporary insanity on that one." A beat. "But, in a way, it was a good thing. It's a place for you to have your own space and a studio for me."

"And plenty of rooms 'to test out,'" Gus quipped in his best Brian impression. Justin snorted but didn't deny it.

"You know you're a lot like your father," Justin said, quietly.

"Yeah. We're both...tall."

Smirking, Justin turned to look at his kid. Maybe Gus really had spent too much time around Em.

"You both like quiet. You both internalize what you're feeling."

"We both drink and smoke and fuck..." This time, it was a Melanie impression, but, unlike the last time, Justin glared at him.

"There's a difference between doing those things and using them as a crutch."

Offering a self-deprecating smile, Gus replied, "From your lips to the Moms' ears."

"You really shouldn't be doing half the things you have; none of that will make you happy."

"Psych 101, reloaded." Tone clearly amused.

"And sixteen years of living with a Kinney," Justin volleyed.

There was a lull in the conversation as Gus stared out the window and Justin watched Gus.

"I want you to see something," Justin said softly, before standing.

Gus followed Justin up the staircase to the third floor and his Pop's massive studio. Bypassing the easel and the projects currently in work, Justin walked purposefully toward one of several storage rooms. Keying the deadbolt open, he snapped the light switch on and stepped into the room filled with canvases.

Gus stood in the doorway, taking it all in. This place. This one storage room was the only space he'd never been allowed in.

As a kid, he was convinced his fathers had hidden the bodies of the previous owners in there--a line that Hunter had fed him and he'd never forgiven the shit for. Of course, Justin's non-answers only fed Gus' fears; when asked, Justin would get really quiet and just say 'the past' before changing the subject.

Maybe Charlie was right; maybe he did watch too many crime centered dramas.

After all these years though, Gus was expecting something more than sketchbooks and tarp covered canvases.

From the depths of the very far, back corner, Justin dug out a series of several small computer generated sketches and a couple of canvases. Before he set them out into view, Gus watched his father take a deep, audible breath and let it out.

"I don't come in here often. I don't like to relive the things in here."

And, with that ominous prelude, Justin began laying his work out for Gus to see. First, he started with the larger canvases.

"Do you remember when you were twelve and found that file?"

Gus' eyes locked on the painting. Swallowing hard, he nodded slowly. Gray cement scarred by deep crimson. A single pillar, covered in blood spatter. A naked light bulb shining down. Familiar blues and reds mixing and forming violet in the center--an ambulance just outside of the macabre scene.

"When I came out, everything in my life changed."

The parking garage was joined by others -- a sketch of Jennifer, hands wringing the strap of her purse; Emmett, drawn without his ever present smile; Deb with teary eyes and thin lips looking everywhere but at the figure in the bed. But the most gripping was the stark interior of a hospital room and the ghostly figure hovering just outside the window.

"When I was bashed, I changed."

The boxes behind the canvases were covered with the heavy-handed, anger-filled sketches Justin had completed with his graphics program. The same sketches that got him back in to PIFA. The same ones that, even after all these years, were painful to look at.

Gus stared at the amassed artwork. Years of Justin working through his demons. On some level, Gus was jealous his father had an outlet.

"That's the difference, Pop," Gus said, looking squarely at his father. "When you hurt, you paint. You create something beautiful that lets people see how you feel. One look and they know and can't fucking deny it."

Justin offered a crooked smile. All these years of the family telling Gus about his fathers and not once did the gang ever bother to fill in all the blanks.

"I painted all of these because no one would listen. Everyone told me not to think about Hobbs and what he did to me, but it was all I could think about," Justin said, pausing as his eyes raked over his long-hidden artwork.

"I couldn't stand to be alone for too long, but having too many people around would freak me out. I couldn't sleep because, every time I closed my eyes, he'd be there. I had these awful headaches. I could barely sign my name let alone draw..." Justin said, voice breaking slightly as he turned towards Gus.

The sick feeling in his stomach grew even more as Justin spoke; it was one thing to suspect these things, but it was quite another to actually hear them.

"And I couldn't stand to be touched," he said, pausing as his voice hitched.  "It was months before I let Brian inside me again."

Gus looked, really looked at Justin for the first time and felt so much pain and love and worry bubble inside him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Gus whispered.

"Because I survived, Gus. I'll never be who I was; I'm a lot more pessimistic, short tempered. I'm always waiting to see how people will disappoint me, and I sure as fuck don't trust most people. When it's cold out, my hand will shake a little more, and, the headaches my allergies trigger are always going to be intense. And, no, I might not have fully accepted it, but I've tried to move on."

"And moving on means painting a couple thousand canvases that you keep hidden away? What the fuck kind of moral is that supposed to be," Gus asked, voice rising.

"You can hide something. You can lock it away, but you'll never escape it," Justin replied in an even tone.

Gus stared at his father for a long moment, knowing that, if Justin was going to reveal anything else, it would probably be hidden beneath his responses.

"Then why keep these in here? Why hide them away where no one will ever see them?" Why not talk it through? Why don't you force yourself and others to face it? Why not take your own advice?

"They're too personal to sell." No one has the right to my thoughts.

"Then why not hang them? The house sure as fuck's got enough surfaces." Even your partner?

"Because the bashing changed your father, too," Justin replied, exhaling a shaky breath as he addressed Gus' questions directly. "It made him more cautious about everything including letting people in, loving them. It was a reminder that things can change in an instant."

Justin watched as Gus' gaze wavered from him to the painting of the hospital room and back, a sad smile forming on his lips when he saw recognition flickering through Gus' eyes.

"You're saying that Babylon getting bombed did the same thing to the Moms."

Justin nodded.

Gus continued to stare at the painting -- heavy handed anger and grief filled strokes covering the canvas - became superimposed over the actual crime scene photos he'd seen all those years before. Grizzly grays and reds forming simplistic shapes, but, unlike the painting, nothing is ever that simple.

"The bombing might have been the excuse to move up North, Pop, but it wasn't the reason they started fighting," Gus responded quietly. "And them fighting is why I act out...why JR does, too."

"I know."

"Things back home haven't been good for awhile," Gus said softly.

Justin felt something twist inside him. The kid might not be his blood, but it was as close to a son as he was ever going to have.

"What happened?"

Gus released a puff of air. "It'd probably be better if Dad was there to hear this, too. I don't really want to repeat it."

Lips in a thin line, Justin nodded and led Gus back downstairs to the kitchen nook. For the first time ever, he didn't lock the storage room door.

. . . . .

"Plotting world domination," Brian asked as he sat down in front of his kid.

"Something like that," Gus said, making his way through his second cup of coffee.

"What did you hack this time? DMV? Department of Defense?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "As if. The DOD would totally throw my ass in federal forever if I tried that shit."

"As opposed to juvie where they just sentence your ass to how many hours of community service?"

"Cute. I try to be serious, and you mock me."

"I'm not the one with the record," Brian smirked.

"Fuck you, Dad. I know about all those parking tickets and trips to the drunk tank so don't even start," Gus replied before looking at Justin over the rim of his coffee mug. "And don't think that I don't know about you and that trespassing charge. How lame is it for your own Dad to throw your ass in jail?"

Justin shrugged. "I never claimed Craig was anything other than a homophobic jerk." A beat. "Now. Quit stalling."

Gus fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup. "You know about all the stuff that went down with Charlie, right?"

Both Justin and Brian nodded; Gus had called them from the hospital totally freaked out.

"And you know all about David's shit, right?" Gus asked looking from Brian to Justin whom he'd confided in and asked to teach him how to fight.

"Well...the day after Charlie was hospitalized, I got into this big blow up with the Moms. They trashed my room. I mean everything was out all over the floor..."

"And they found things that they were less than happy with," Brian supplied in a neutral tone. Mel had mentioned the whole laundry list of items when they'd last screamed on the phone.

"We started arguing about stuff. Things that had been going on."

"You called them on their shit," Brian translated. "What I'm looking for is specifics, Sonny Boy."

Nodding, Gus started to stack the sugar cubes on the table into an even pyramid.

"I barely see either one of them. It's like they're either racing to work or fighting about money or busy having 'Mommy Time' which I so know is code for fucking and have been totally scarred for life listening to it through the vents," Gus started, finishing his sugar cube pyramid and moving on to perfectly aligning the artificial sweetener packets.

"When I do see them, it's all about them disciplining me or telling me to do chores or run errands. Between working and going to school and taking JR to all her stupid after school shit... Not that I mind dragging JR's stupid ass everywhere. It just gets old," he continued, abandoning the packets to straighten the newspaper's creases.

"I mean I'm sixteen, and I can't even remember the last time I went out on a weekend to go clubbing or out with friends because I'm busy working or helping around the house or because I can't afford the fucking cover charge because I needed some fucking cleats. It's like where do all my responsibilities stop? When do I get to be a fucking kid? I mean, Christ, I didn't sign on to be a third parent."

"Gus..." Brian started, but Gus railroaded over his father's voice.

"You just don't get it, Dad. It's bad. Really fucking bad. They're always fighting. Always saying shit like it's your influence on me and that I shouldn't get to go see you in the summer. But coming here? It's the only thing that keeps me sane."

"You can't keep acting like you do though, Gus," Justin said.

"I just get so angry," he admitted. "It's like I can't even think straight, and every time I try to talk to either one of them about the shit going on in my life, they interrupt and get all judgmental. I'm afraid that they won't like what they hear," Gus said, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to keep the tears at bay because he didn't want to fucking break down until all this shit was settled. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"I mean there's a lot going on, you know? David was always after me, and Charlie's stuff at home was getting worse. He was drinking and drugging like you wouldn't believe. I was worried about him.

"And then there's JR. With the Moms always yelling and her friends filling her head with stories of nightmare divorces and never seeing their brother and sisters again... She spends entire nights in my room hiding out worried that they're gonna split." A beat. "And sometimes I think they are going to go through with it." Another, much longer pause. "The stuff I overhear sometimes..." Gus said, closing his eyes.

Brian and Justin both sat quietly, waiting Gus out.

"It's like I love them because they're my family, but, sometimes, I don't like them very much. And it's like...I feel this guilt because of it, you know?"

The corner of Justin's mouth quirked as he shared a look with Brian. He was all too familiar with the concept.

"I just wish we hadn't moved to Canada. It was a fucking mistake and neither one of them are willing to admit it."

Brian released a puff of air. Yeah, that was still a sore spot.

"Have you tried to talk to them about this stuff," Justin asked, watching Gus begin re-aligning the sugar cubes again.

Shaking his head, Gus answered, "It just makes it worse. Stirs shit up. Gives them an excuse to start screaming," he started. "Like they need one," he muttered under his breath.

"It's like, when I'm here, I have both of you to talk to, and Emmett, most of the gang," Gus started, pausing. "And don't feed me that 'just a call away' shit because there's been plenty of times when I've just been overwhelmed, you know? And it's like yeah, I could call, but I'd totally freak you out. Last thing I needed was for either of you to show up on the doorstep to fix the Lesbi-moms' drama."

Gus looked down at his hands, chipping black fingernail polish with his thumb.

Brian cleared his throat, forcing Gus' eyes to meet his.

"How bad is it, Sonny boy?"

Gus was quiet for a long, long time because he knew the moment he responded, things would get ugly. Swallowing thickly, he responded, "Before I left, Momma hit me. Slapped me."

"Son of a bitch!" Brian slammed his coffee mug down and started stalking across the room, hand scrubbing across his morning stubble.

"She hit you?" Brian asked, waiting for and receiving his son's nod before repeating it. Brian slammed the flat of his hand onto the countertop making both Justin and Gus jump.

Shooting a glance between Gus' pale face and Brian's frame, shivering with all the emotions coursing through him, Justin stood and made his way towards his partner. The moment Justin touched Brian's shoulder, Brian's head sunk down towards the counter he was braced against.

"I asked her one thing," he started, spinning around to look Justin in the eye. "One fucking thing--to keep Gus safe. So he wouldn't grow up in with the same type of shit that I did." As the words tumbled out, Brian's voice broke. The fury coming off him in waves and the palpable grief were things Gus had never seen in his father. And, to be honest, it was fucking terrifying.

A long moment of silence followed where the only sounds heard in the house was that of the refrigerator clicking on and the coffee maker gurgling out a second pot. Finally, his father let out a long, low puff of air, before standing at his full height.

"It was a mistake. I fucking antagonized her," Gus said, trying to back track because he was suddenly all too aware of the fact that he had the same temper and strength his father did.

"It is never right for anyone to hit a child." A heartbeat passed and then two while Brian obviously struggled to rein in his temper. "Now, I want you to start at the very beginning and don't leave a thing out until I tell you to."

Nodding, Gus did as he was asked. Starting at the fights when they first arrived to the quickly dissipating bliss after his return after 'The Incident', the substance abuse and fucking, Entes' shit, Charlie's overdose, the fight with his mother and the subsequent night at the Rebel Hotel. Anything and everything that was relevant right up to him waving at JR before leaving for the last time.

Gus knew this time was different because the distance between his words when he paused to regain his thoughts weren't filled with their normal, easy banter. In fact, beyond the occasional clarification question, his fathers didn't really speak.

Gus wasn't stupid; he knew his father was cataloging shit to use if this all came to trial. That their lack of participation in the conversation was to appear impartial and to keep Gus from feeling uncomfortable.

The funny thing was that he'd had this conversation with his fathers in his head a couple thousand times before, and not once did it ever last this long.

By the time he finished, it was nearly noon. Though his voice was hoarse from misuse, his throat dry, and his stomach gurgling, he felt freer for the first time in a long fucking time.  

23: Paradigm

 [Age: 16]

Justin had this freakish obsession with grocery shopping wherein he played the destitute student that only shopped on Double Coupon Thursday and always came armed with said coupons. Brian found it amusing when he didn't actually have to participate, and Gus...well...at first he thought it was embarrassing as hell. Now, he just found it annoying.

Double Coupon Thursday brought out two types of people--the penny-pinching grannies and the moms with so many kids they don't know what to do. Both groups would club you to death with their purses for the last, un-dented can of tomato paste.

It truly was Wild Kingdom, but, it made Justin happy, so Gus was stuck on grocery shopping duty with his Pops.

To be honest, if there was a way to weasel out of it, Gus would have tried, but the terms of his parole were clear--community service, computer access only by supervision and only for schoolwork, therapy as requested by his doctor, random drug testing, tutoring twice a week until school term over, and, his personal favorite, he couldn't be out of his parents' sight for more than two hours at a time.

Which was why he was at Bloomfield Foodland at 9am on a Thursday, surrounded by grannies and screaming children, pushing a buggy that pulled to the left.

Gus side-eyed Justin as he checked off items from the list. Everything about these shopping trips was freakishly organized, too. There was a System. They'd always start in the middle of the store with the heavy items--canned goods, booze, soda--and then move to the freezer section to fill in meats and cheeses before going to the more perishable/easily squished items like fruits and breads.

Yes, Justin had a system, and, when the market moved anything, there was always that five second queen out when the carefully figured map in his head went awry. It was actually comical to watch -- the slow blink as he processed the change, the scratching at the back of the head, followed closely by looking down at the list again.

Of course, the Powers got even with Gus for so many things. Finding this amusing among them. Because, no sooner had he pushed the buggy into the produce section then he spotted Debbie. Groaning, he stopped at the end of the aisle.

"I'm gonna go try and find that thing you were looking for back in the cereal aisle," Gus said, pointing over his shoulder, but, of course, Debbie had to use that moment to look up and spot Justin. Which was quickly followed by...

"Sunshine!"

And her rapid approach. That is until she finally noticed...

"Gus." Tone so carefully neutral it was almost amusing.

The snap of gum, a pointed acrylic nail, and a disapproving look later, Gus was shifting from foot to foot before standing up tall behind the buggy. At 6'5" he knew he looked menacing as shit when he wasn't slouching.

"What the fuck's he doing here," she asked, pinning Justin with a stare that let him know she'd keep at the subject until she found out.

"Let's see...produce, shopping cart...I'm thinking clog dancing," Gus quipped, fingers wrapping a little tighter around the handle.

"Still a sassy little shit, I see."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Well, as the school guidance councilor always told me, it's best to find what one is good at and focus their energies there."

Justin licked his lips to avoid laughing, which just made Gus' sarcastic smile inch into an easier one.

It was Deb's turn to roll her eyes.

"I mean in the grocery store in the middle of a school day," she explained before adding, "Although I might pay good money to see you clog dance. You know, with those cute little shoes."

Gus' eyes flickered to hers, confusion spreading across his face. Had she just said something nice to him?

Smirking, Gus replied, "Well...if anyone could pull them off as a fashion accessory, it'd be a queer."

Deb snapped her gum again and laughed. "Like father, like son," she said, tone light.

Gus shrugged, "Nothing wrong with that."

"Just don't pick up his bad habits," she said, smile a little forced.

Justin felt Gus bristle behind him, and he knew his time was running thin. Before he could intervene, however, Gus chimed in.

"No. We wouldn't want me to grow up and use my skills to make myself a financially independent businessman who owns his own company."

"That's not what I meant and you fucking well know it," she said, staring him down angrily with her hands and on hips. It was a stance Justin recognized well--one usually directed at Brian.

"I just want to be sure that you're being careful. That you won't do anything stupid while you're on probation," she said, watching Gus' momentarily shocked look school itself into neutrality.  

"JR told us you've been getting into trouble," she explained, voice and expression softening with something akin to pity.

"Fucking little twat," Gus breathed.

"Not that I'd say it's a surprise with all that other shit going on..."

Gus' eyes shot up from the buggy's contents to Debbie's again as he searched her face, growing even angrier at the knowing look there. The whoosh-thud of his heart picked up as barely controlled fury surged through his body.

JR never did know when to keep her big mouth shut. Like he needed more shit from the Novotny clan.

Clenching his hands around the handle of the shopping cart to keep himself from doing anything stupid, he finally tuned back in to what she was blathering on about.

"But you've got to learn to control your temper..."

Eyes narrowing, Gus stared her down. "Funny that you should be offering me advice after ignoring the fact that I exist for six years," he said, pausing to let the words sink in. "And I kept my mouth shut for JR's sake, but I'm not about to let you bad mouth me or Dad this time around."

"I'm not putting down either of you. I'm just saying I saw the shit that your Dad went through when he was a kid...I just don't want you to repeat his mistakes so you don't end up going through all the fucking drama he did."

The expression Gus gave her was so hard it made her visibly shiver. "My father might have made mistakes, he might have been through hell as a kid, and, yes, he has his addictions, but all of that led him to the path he's on now. It made him strong enough to survive cancer and crazy enough to gamble everything on stopping Stockwell, and it put him on the path to meeting Justin. I don't think he regrets any of those things for an instant. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't give a shit what you have to say."

Offering another hard stare to Deb, Gus turned the shopping cart towards the checkouts despite the fact that they still needed garlic, carrots, and green apples.

And, to be perfectly honest, he was a little surprised to hear his Pops harshly whisper to Deb, "Just leave him alone, Deb; he's got enough shit going on in his life," before catching up to him.

While unloading the cart, Gus looked up at his father and said, "You do realize she's just going to call the moms and stir up shit over this."

Mouth in a tight line, Justin added the bottles of Beam and JD to the conveyor.

"Yeah."

"So what's my punishment? No computer time whatsoever? Tacking on more community service?" Gus asked, adding forty-billion boxes of condoms to the check out lane while actively not thinking about the fact that his fathers would go through said condoms.  

Justin paused and looked up at Gus with that hard set jaw and eyes he'd get when they were practicing in the boxing ring.

"No one has the right to make you feel like shit. Family included."

Gus nodded, pushing more things around on the conveyor to make room for the rest of their crap.

"Does that mean you're not going to queen out for yelling at Debbie that way?"

Handing the cashier his pile of coupons, Justin looked at his kid with a sad smile.

"Contrary to what she may think, you're smart enough to understand that, sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself."

Nodding, Gus watched Justin eyeing the bag boy suspiciously. God save the man that loaded bags into the cart incorrectly. Yet another one of Justin's freakish obsessions.

"It's just...you know...I'm like this black sheep of the family, and, with all the shit that went down, they might totally not let me see JR when she's here. Not that they would have before but," Gus trailed off, scrunching up his nose in thought. "I mean what if I have to wait until she's 18...or what if I have to go all scary stalker just to see her, you know?"

Justin gripped the grocery list in his hand a little harder than he intended because, yes, he did know; there were whole months he didn't get to see Molly after his father threw him out of the house. And, yes, she was going through her annoying, bratty little sister phase, but he still wanted to see her every once in awhile.

Meeting his kid's stare, Justin said, "I promise your dad and I will do everything we can to make sure you see her."

And, even with the resolve in his voice, they both knew there was only so much Justin and Brian could do in this case.

. . . . .

His anger was palpable as the glass door to his office flew open, marking Brian's own invasion from the Novotny tribe with Cynthia hot on his tail.

"I'm so sorry, Brian. I was in the middle of confirming the Brown meeting, and he walked right past me," she explained, watching Brian's reaction carefully to gauge whether or not to call security.

"Michael! To what do I owe the displeasure," Brian asked, voice filled with faux-sincerity as he watched his former best friend edge into his office and Cynthia out, closing the door behind her.

Ignoring the barb, Michael stood behind one of Brian's client chairs, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

"Did you know Mel and Lindsay were having problems," he asked in a hurried tone.

Keeping his face neutral despite how much hearing the accusatory tone pissed him off, Brian continued staring Michael down for a long moment. Like Michael couldn't have spoken to the Munchers himself instead of darkening his office's door.

"Let me guess; they finally confessed to Father Mikey," he spat.

"You knew," he replied tone less than surprised.

"Why yes, Michael. I used my amazing ability to read minds," Brian deadpanned, smoothing down his tie. The truth was that the distance between Mel and Lindz had been there if anyone had bothered to notice it. Not that Brian was going to point out that little tidbit; he didn't feel like dealing with the outburst Michael would no doubt have at the insinuation.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Michael nodded to himself and replied, "Gus told you." A beat. "Did he mention that Mel and Lindz were going to some couple's retreat in West Virginia?"

Brian's chest tightened slightly at the implications that little phrase brought up. Jesus. "And you're telling me this because?"

Reading the interest beneath the carefully neutral tone, Michael flopped into the seat opposite Brian's desk. Eyes narrowing at the action, Brian remained silent; the sooner Michael worked through whatever the fuck he wanted, the sooner he would be out of his office.

"JR told me that she and Gus could hear them fighting all the time," he continued before his eyes dropped to his hands. "She said Gus said 'words were bullshit and that love was conditional.'"

Swallowing hard, Brian nodded, not willing to let Michael know just how much that little kernel of insight bothered him. "So the little one has finally seen the world for the truly ugly place it is, and what? You thought you'd come and lay into me since you can't get to my kid?"

Michael narrowed his eyes. "No. I came here to tell you what I know..."

"And thought that I would willingly compare notes with you," Brian interrupted, anger seeping through his tone which Michael seemed either oblivious or unwilling to recognize. "This isn't high school we're talking about, Michael," Brian said, standing. His executive chair slid out from behind him and slammed into the wall.

Michael shivered at the look Brian sent his way.

"Don't you think I get that," Michael exclaimed, meeting Brian's heated stare evenly. "I don't expect you to do anything," he replied pausing as he threaded a shaky hand through his hair. "It's just...JR told us about stuff that's been going on that has me really worried," he continued, meeting Brian's gaze with one that begged his old friend to hear him out.

"I'm not going to send my kid back to them until I have some fucking answers."

Brian sighed, anger only slightly ebbing. "And thought what? You'd come to see if I had any of them. That I'd feed you tidbits about my kid so you could use them against him or the mommies? Sorry Mikey, but I'm fresh out."

"I know Gus was in trouble. That's not what I'm here about. I'm just worried about Mel and Lindz. The stuff JR's been telling us," Michael paused, shaking his head and looked down at his hands before asking, "Are you planning on keeping Gus, too?"

Brian eyed Michael suspiciously.  

"I fail to see why I should answer your questions since you've shown shit all interest in my son for six years.

"In fact, I'd say that you and your mother have made it abundantly clear what your opinion of him is; you tried to kill him," Brian said, shaking his head to clear the memory.

His heartbeat increased, blood pulsing in his temples as the beginnings of a headache blossomed. There were no words to describe what he was feeling. Furious, no murderous at Michael's sudden appearance. Confused by the Mommies' lack of communication about their intentions. Scared for Gus' future.

Brian watched Michael blanch as he spoke. Quite frankly, he didn't give a shit if he hurt his former best friend's feelings or not. Michael might have been a good father to JR, but Brian's relationship to the man stopped there.

"I've let you and your mother and the fucking Munchers dig your claws into my son once too often. Now, get the fuck out of my office," Brian screamed, stalking across the office and opening the door completely.

Michael swallowed heavily before meeting Brian's heated stare. "It was wrong. What I did. I had no right to hurt Gus the way that I did."

Brian's jaw ticked in anger, blood pooling into his head as the migraine spread behind his eyes, blurring the vision.

"I know I should apologize to Gus, and I will," Michael said, pausing to scratch his forehead. "I just heard that JR was hurt, and I couldn't see or think straight. I just kept thinking about how much they didn't get along and..." he trailed off, side-eyeing Brian, noting his stare was only slightly less venomous and the door, still wide open, had attracted a few eavesdroppers.

"I didn't realize things were as bad as they were. I mean it explains a lot," he continued, eyes shifting back and forth in thought, hands moving as he spoke. "I mean JR didn't like to stay around the house when we visited. And she'd taken to acting up in school..."

Reading the sincerity in Michael's words, hearing the worried tone he used to speak about JR, Brian felt something inside him shift. Even if he couldn't forgive the man for his actions, he did understand the concern he was having because of the Munchers' state of affairs.

Brian stepped away from the door letting it fall closed. "I didn't see it either," he replied quietly. "At least not at first."

Michael looked up with miserable expression.

"I know you and I aren't okay...that we might not ever be again," he said, pausing to look up at Brian with pleading eyes, "But our kids are brother and sister. They deserve to see each other," he paused once again, eyes following Brian as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of his desk. For the first time since their visit began, Brian had visibly relaxed.

Sensing that Brian was finally willing to hear him out, Michael released a relieved sigh before continuing.  "Before they signed in to that resort, they sent JR to stay with Ben and me," he said, pausing, letting the information sink in. "We're going to stop in at the diner tomorrow for lunch," he said, letting another, longer pause pass before adding, "Maybe you and Gus could stop by?"

Brian affixed a heated stare on Michael, judging his sincerity. There were a lot of things Michael might be willing to do but using his daughter as a pawn wasn't one of them.

Sensing Brian's reluctance, Michael quickly added, "We don't have to sit with you; JR and Gus could sit at their own booth...It's just...I want things to be right with them."

Brian, lips thinned, still eyeing Michael, nodded slightly. "Yeah. I think Gus'd like that," he responded quietly, smiling a little at the olive branch Michael was offering.

Without another word, Michael smiled a little, stood, and left Kinnetik.  

Long after the glass door clicked closed behind Michael, Brian sat on the edge of his desk as he processed the information Michael had just given him.

Slowly, he stood and made his way to his chair.

Ad campaign long forgotten, he sat, drumming his fingers on his desk once, twice before his hand fell on his mouse.

Right clicking on the start menu, he opened up a word document he swore he'd never actually use.

The cursor blinked for a long moment beside the title before he took any action. This would change everything if he used it.

Closing his eyes, he thought of the little boy that clung to him in the airport, begging him not to make him go back...and to the evening Gus arrived back in Pittsburgh a few weeks before. He'd sworn to himself and to Justin he wouldn't send his kid back this time.

Fingers flying across the keyboard in rapid patterns, names, dates, and events were added to the long list. It was nearly two hours later that he sat back, releasing a sigh as he drew his fingertips across tired eyes. Hitting the save button, he swerved in his chair, tugged the desk drawer open and rummaged around for a card he'd been given some time ago.

His fingertips came to rest on the raised, black text of the grey business card. Lips thinning, he considered, blinking slowly from the screen to the card to the chair Michael was just in to the framed picture of Gus on his desk.

Mind made up, he picked up the handset and dialed the number on the card: Austin Burdette, Child Custody Law.

. . . . .

The lights around the ring were low. Only a few, uncovered light bulbs dangled from the ceiling casting an unnatural yellow glow around the room.

His knuckles and wrists, wrapped in tape, were bruised, bleeding, and aching, but he didn't stop.

His opponent's fist flew towards his face, but Gus raised his forearm, blocking the attack.

"Again," Justin prompted, moving towards Gus' left.

Another fist flew towards him. This time, Gus saw it coming; Justin dropped his shoulder slightly.

Feigning left, he ducked right and his father missed him completely.

"Good," Justin replied, tone clipped as he lowered his hands to his sides. "Now, you've only got one thing left to learn."

Gus followed suit, dropping his defensive posture and shaking out the pain. A hand reached for his brow, wiping the sweat pooling there before it fell into his eyes.

"And what might that be," he asked.

Justin stood, looking from his son's determined stare to the bruises forming around Gus' neck. The ones David Entes had inflicted. Swallowing hard at what they represented, he met Gus' stare evenly.

This was something that Cody hadn't taught him. In fact, it took years for him to make peace with it...

"If someone hates you enough, you'll never stop fighting with them," Justin said, pausing. "You've just got to learn to deal with what's happened so that you can move on."

Maybe Gus wouldn't understand it then, but he would someday.

24: Hope

[Pre-Gus]

He tried to remember how she'd backed him into this surreal conversation because he sure as shit didn't see it coming.

It was early evening. He'd only been home for a few hours after yet another day of grinding out ads for Ryder. This time, it had been a campaign for diapers.

He should have fucking seen it as a warning...a precursor to Lindsay's little floorshow.

But, here she was, sitting beside him on his sofa, gently stroking his arm like he was some sort of wild animal about to spook. Then again...

"I happen to think you'd make an amazing father," she said, perfectly pink tinged lips curling into a smile.  

Brian bit lower lip and pulled away slightly before standing and snatching up a bottle of Beam from the coffee table. This conversation was stirring up all kinds of shit he wanted no part of.

If she wasn't going to read between the lines, then maybe cluing her in to them might help.

"Because I know so much about being a father from watching my old man," he muttered, slamming down a deep draught from the bottle.

Unfazed, Lindsay barreled forward. "You have a lot of great qualities..."

"Yeah," he huffed out, smiling sadly at her. "Like my large checking account."

Lindsay stood and crossed the room, hand wrapping around Brian's bicep, forcing him to look at her. "Despite what you might want people to believe, I see you, Brian. I know you have an amazing heart..."

"Don't you mean cock," he interrupted, sneering a little at the self-deprecation filling his tone.

Lindsay's eyes narrowed.  "I meant heart," she said, pausing to let the words sink in and consider her next line of approach. "I know that you'd treat our child well...that you'd make sure he or she was happy, healthy..."

The words were so easily and surely spoken that he felt something shift inside himself. Some small kernel that he was too fucking scared to label 'hope.'

Brian was silent for a long, long moment as he sat, picking at the label on the bottle of Beam, considering what Lindsay was offering...and all it would entail; a child of his own...a Kinney that wouldn't grow up in a household full of alcohol driven screaming matches, fists, and fear.

And, unlike Jack and Joan, Mel and Lindz wanted this kid; they'd gone out of their way to have him or her.

"What do I have to do," he asked finally in the most put upon sounding voice he could muster.

Lindsay couldn't keep the broad smile from her face. "First, you'd have to be tested..."

Brian nodded; he'd expecting as much.

"Not just the normal stuff, but also to check your sperm count...check for compatibility problems...that sort of thing," Lindsay explained.

Lips thinning, Brian nodded once again despite all the thoughts that little phrase stirred up.

"Then, when I'm close to ovulating..." Lindsay continued, smiling at Brian's obvious discomfort at the science lesson, "You'd have to abstain for a couple of days...

Brian blinked slowly and then groaned a little.

Laughing at Brian's obvious distaste at the idea, Lindsay explained, "It's to make sure that volume of sperm in the sample is high enough."

Brian shook his head in disbelief. How did he let himself get talked into these things?

"I can make all the appointments. You won't have to do anything..." Lindsay backtracked in that soothing tone she always used to get her way.

"Just check my schedule with Cynthia," Brian interjected, voice abrupt. The 'and don't tell her or anyone else about this' went unsaid but heard all the same.

Lindsay nodded in agreement. Collecting her coat, she walked towards the door before he could change his mind.

Just as she was tugging the door open, Brian's voice stopped her.

"Just promise me one thing," he said, lips thinning in thought once again.

Lindsay turned towards him, eyebrow raised in question.

"Don't ever let anything happen to the kid," he said, pausing to lick his lips. "I don't want him..."

Understanding flashing on her face, Lindsay nodded "That's why you're going to make a good father," she replied, smiling as she tugged the loft door closed behind her.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

Austin Burdette didn't earn the nickname 'Bulldog' just for his less than stellar looks; he was the most successful divorce and child custody lawyer in the state of Pennsylvania.

Brian had first heard the name from a client bitching about his split from the sixth or seventh misses, and, while he typically tuned out all the extraneous bullshit clients gabbed about, there was something about the way the man talked about Burdette that piqued his curiosity.

With the trauma of 'The Incident' fresh in his mind, Brian felt compelled to take the appropriate steps to protect his son and that path started with setting an appointment with the man.

Burdette was the one that suggested starting the file.

"Because you were concerned enough to see me," he'd said, locking his gaze with Brian's. "This won't clear up on its own. You and I both know that."

Six years later, Brian found himself being lead into Burdette's office by his administrative assistant.

. . . . .

Brian walked into the bedroom, loosening his tie before collapsing onto the bed with a groan.

At the loud thump and groan, Justin looked up from the sketch he was working on and smiled. "How was your day, dear."

"Bizarre," Brian answered, toeing off his shoes. "You'll never guess who stopped by my office this afternoon."

Justin continued sketching, not bothering to look up. "Let me guess...some hot, new model that you bent over your desk and fucked."

"That was Tuesday," Brian deadpanned.

Justin snorted, but didn't respond otherwise; they both knew Brian was full of it.

"Today, I had the great pleasure of having one Michael Charles Novotny appear," he said.

Brow knit, Justin replied, "Ah."

Shifting on the bed, Brian looked across the room at Justin. "You sound less than surprised."

Justin shrugged. "Ran into Deb at the supermarket. She was almost nice to Gus," he explained, intentionally leaving out the showdown that followed.

Brian ran his thumb along his bottom lip, digesting the new information.

The extended silence made Justin glance up. "Let me guess; he wanted to blame you for the rain last week."

Brian sighed.  "Because downpours can be so disastrous when planning a happy hetero picnic."

Justin side-eyed Brian at the sigh knowing it was one of exhaustion. He knew there was much more to their exchange.

"He apologized for what happened...after that shit with JR went down...and wanted to know if Gus could come for a play date with JR," Brian explained, trying to keep tone flippant but fear seeped through.

Pencil stopping mid-motion, Justin looked up, clearly alarmed.

Brian offered a sour expression. "My reaction exactly," he said, sighing again, scrubbing a hand over stubble. "He seems to think that we shouldn't take our shit out on the kids," he continued, motioning with his hands.

Shifting the sketchbook to his side, Justin stood and walked the distance of their bedroom before sitting carefully beside Brian.

"You're worried he's going to use it as an excuse to snipe at Gus," Justin surmised.

Brian released a long, low breath, but didn't respond.

"Do you really think that Michael would do that?"

Brian shot Justin a disbelieving look.

"Right. Forget I said that," Justin backtracked, scratching the back of his head in thought.

"But to just walk into your office and say it...I mean maybe he's trying to make things right."

Brian huffed a laugh. "Because Novotnys are known for forgiving and forgetting."

Justin bit his lip, carefully considering what he was about to say. "Look at how many times he forgave you," he said, softly, no hint of malice in his tone. And yeah the weirdness of playing devil's advocate in favor of Michael was not lost on him...

"And how much shit he's given you over the years," Brian volleyed.

...or Brian apparently.

"We've had our differences of opinion..."

Brian snorted.

Eyes narrowing, Justin continued, "But there were times he really did help me out."

Lips thinning, Brian nodded, hand absently stroking through Justin's hair.

Smiling a little at the unconscious act, Justin said, "Maybe having JR around forced him to grow up...get over himself. I mean I've heard these things happen when a person becomes a parent."

Justin turned, giving Brian a meaningful look.

Brian smirked. "Or when he found...what is that hideous phrase? True wuv."

Justin rolled eyes and bit his tongue to keep from telling Brian he'd starting to sound like Gus...and visa versa. "What exactly did he say?"

"He wants us to meet him, the professor, and Mary Ann at the diner."

Justin laughed. "Who does that make Mikey? Gilligan?"

"The more important question is who does that make you," Brian asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Batting his eyelashes, Justin said, "Ginger, of course."

Brian laughed a little at Justin's antics. "I was thinking more along the lines of you playing the role of Mary Ann--all sweet and innocent on the surface," Brian said, pausing to fish out a cigarette and light it before adding, "You'd look hot in those little shorts."

Justin laughed a little. "I thought you already made JR Mary Ann. You can't double cast roles."

Pointedly ignoring Justin, Brian continued, "Emmett could be Mrs. Howell..."

Justin rolled his eyes and shook his head. "And let me guess...you'd be Ginger."

Brian began ticking off reasons on his fingers. "Designer clothes..."

"Which were so practical on a deserted island," Justin interrupted.

"Perfect hair."

"Which is easy to come by with the massive amounts of hair spray that magically appeared..."

"That's what the professor is for," Brian replied, eyes narrowing.

"Then where did all those clothes come from?"

Brian offered a shocked expression for pointing out the obvious plot gaps.

"Are you nearly finished casting Queer-again's Island?" Justin asked, unable to stop the bright smile from creeping across his face.

Brian sniffed indignantly which just made Justin laugh.

"Do you want me to dress like Mary Ann and then let you fuck me?"

Brian took a pull from his cigarette, trying to keep his face neutral.

Reading the expression for what it was, Justin continued. "Because I'm only going to do it if you dress up like Ginger. Dress. And. All."

Brian tried not to pull a face but failed. "Jesus! How the fuck did we get to dressing in drag and fucking?"

Justin shrugged, snatching the cigarette from Brian and taking a deep drag.

"How we always end up talking about it - Michael," he said, pausing. "I'm sure it'll make Gus happy. So long as you don't try to strangle Michael."

As the silence ticked by, Justin side-eyed Brian not at all comfortable with the look he found there...like Brian was actually considering the idea.

"Of course, the diner's a public place. Lots of witnesses," he said, handing the cigarette back to Brian.

Licking his lips, Brian took a drag before speaking, smoke pouring out as he did so. "We're sitting in separate booths. The kids can have their own so they can talk...plot...whatever the fuck they want."

Justin nodded. "I can drive Gus into town tomorrow."

Brian gave a small, grateful smile before kissing Justin softly.  

Justin returned the smile when Brian pulled back and hovered slightly over him.  

The both sat quietly for a long moment. Eyes tightly closed, Justin curled up beside Brian on the bed, fingers ghosting across Brian's dress shirt as Brian began to stroke his hair.

"Why is JR here so early? I thought her school didn't get out for a couple more weeks," Justin asked, voice seeming perversely loud in the room after such a long stretch of silence.

"Apparently the Mommies are at some couples retreat," Brian replied, tone bordering on almost bitter.  

Shifting slightly, Justin looked up at Brian before asking what they were both thinking. "Think this one will stick?"

Brian ran his tongue along his teeth, biting back the half-dozen pithy comments that came to mind before responding. "I hope so for their sake," he said, pausing. "Otherwise, Michael plans on keeping his kid here in the Pitts."

Justin's eyes instantly rose to Brian's. "Seriously?"

Brian nodded solemnly. "He'll probably have an easier time since he didn't sign over parental rights to Lindz," he said, sighing, intentionally locking his gaze on the exposed beams above their bed.

"Yeah, but they have that old custody order on the books..." Justin reasoned.

"It'll still be easier for him than it will for us; Michael's a fucking saint compared to me."

Heartbeat speeding up slightly at the quietly spoken words, Justin lifted his head from where it rested in the crook of Brian's shoulder, eyes searching for confirmation of what he already suspected.

"You contacted that lawyer, didn't you?"

And, when Brian nodded, he felt the air being sucked from his lungs because, as serious as this conversation had been before, this upped the stakes tremendously.

"Gus isn't going back. I don't care if I have to move to some fucking third world country and buy off a dozen government officials; I'm keeping my kid," Brian said resolutely.

"Living in a villa off the beach, fucking in the sand, being waited on by barely dressed cabana boys..." Justin said, smirking a little as he tried to lighten the mood.

"It'd be like a year round White Party..." Brian said, offering a crooked smile.

Justin turned on his side and wrapped an arm around Brian's waist. "Has all the makings of a movie of the week."
 

Brian laughed, linking their hands together, unconsciously seeking comfort.   

"It won't come to that," Justin said, voice suddenly serious.

Lips thinning, Brian nodded. "There's a good chance it might get ugly. They might start dragging up all kinds of shit."

Justin kissed Brian's temple. "We've been through worse," he said, pausing. "Just do what you need to do."

Brian released a puff of air in relief. "We need to talk to Gus."

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

After coming in from his morning run, Gus looked from Brian to Justin and then rolled his eyes.

"Christ. Not another life-altering conversation. Do I at least have time for a shower," he asked, not waiting for a response before pounding back up the staircase to his bathroom.

An hour later, decked out in Frosted Flakes flannel bottoms and a SpongeBob Squarepants t-shirt, Gus sat opposite his fathers with an enormous bowl of Lucky Charms and a gallon-sized coffee mug. The kid was a study of commercialism.

"You do realize that you're defeating the purpose of running every morning by eating that shit," Brian said, eyeing the sugary cereal.

"The running is practice for my COPS debut," Gus deadpanned.

Justin snorted. "Just don't let your parole officer hear you say that."

"Is it my fault that the world can't see the greatness that is my sense of humor," Gus laughed, the sound dying out when he saw the straight, serious expressions on his dads' faces.

"Okay...what is it this time? No...wait...let me guess; you decided to go all scary religious and are taking a vow of abstinence. As long as poverty doesn't go with that...we'll be cool," Gus said, smirking a little.  

"Your mothers are at another retreat."

Gus' stomach flip-flopped a little at the idea. "And you expect them to actually stick it out this time," he snorted.

"I'm not sure," Brian said, pausing to watch Justin wrap his hands around his coffee cup. "But we need to discuss the possibility that Mel and Lindsay are going to want us to send you back."

The spoon in Gus' hand clattered back into his bowl. Okay...so maybe he hadn't been expecting that. "No way! You promised. You fucking promised."

"I will do everything within my power to keep you here, Gus," Brian said, eyes burning into his son's. "But you have to realize that things might get ugly...you might have to testify against your mothers..."

"I don't give a shit. I'll do it now and every day after that," he said, pushing back from the table.

"There's more," Brian said, pausing as he watched Gus' eyebrow raise in an expression that clearly read 'what now.' "Michael doesn't plan on sending JR back."

Gus felt his stomach drop. Mouth open, jaw working, he struggled with what to say.

"Good," he said, softly, looking down at the rainbow and clover marshmallows floating in his bowl. "Good," he repeated once again, voice just above a whisper as he tried to convince himself that it was for the best.

Pushing the cereal bowl away from him, he stared down at the grain of the wood on the tabletop.

"Do you think it'll work this time," Gus repeated, this time there was no hint of joking in his tone.

Draining the last of his coffee, Brian set the mug on the table in front of him. "I don't know, Sonny Boy."

"Do you really think keeping me here will cause trouble," Gus replied, tone almost apologetic.

Alarmed, Brian's eyes shot to his son's. "Probably," he answered honestly, leaning forward slightly, "But I'll do everything to make sure it doesn't touch you more than it has to."

Biting his lower lip, Gus nodded. "And JR?"

Sighing, Brian sat back in his seat. Part of him wanted to tell his son the truth; Gus was his only concern. But JR was his little sister...

"Her circumstances are a little different, Sonny Boy. She's younger..."

"And not a trouble maker..." Gus said, nodding as the picture cleared a little.

"I'm sure Mikey will do everything within his power to make sure that she's okay."

Gus' eyes rose to his father's before dropping back to the tabletop. "I hope so."

"Michael mentioned that he's willing to let you see her," Brian said, pleased to see the happy flush color Gus' face.

"He is," Gus said, smiling slightly before his brow knit slightly. "You're sure? He's not going to call it off...and when did you two talk? You're like civil and stuff now?" It all tumbled out so fast it took a moment for his fathers to process it.

"It would seem that the littlest Novotny was quite convincing..."

"JR talked Michael into it," Gus asked, voice filled with amusement.

Brian nodded not daring to mention the meeting scheduled for the next day in case Michael had second thoughts and called it off.

After a long pause, Brian started to stand and to make his way to the coffee pot.

"Actually there's some other stuff I need to talk to you about before you start any big plans about my future and stuff."

Brian raised his eyebrow before slipped back into his seat. "Let me guess...it's chock full of drama"

Giving a slightly guilty look, Gus shrugged his shoulders. "This time, it's actually something positive," he continued, pausing for a brief moment before launching into an explanation.

"All I need is one credit in English to graduate," he tested, pausing to gauge their reaction before continuing. "There's this program at Carnegie Mellon. It's like early enrollment that'll let me go to school during the summer, get the last couple of credits for high school, and have it go towards my college curriculum," Gus said, watching his father's eyebrow rise.

Brian smirked. "The boy's a genius," he said, looking over at Justin.

Of course, Justin, ever more practical brought up the one thing that Gus didn't want his dads to think about.

"Have you talked to your moms?"

The rolled eyed response took away the need to say anything. "Because the Moms and I have such an open communications system in place."

"But you should still discuss this..."

"I am discussing it; I'm talking to my parents right now. When the moms threw my ass to the curb, they lost the right to have any say in my life."

"Even to be able to attend, you'd have to take the SAT..."

"Did it."

"And apply..."

"Did it."

"And?"

"I scored ridiculously high, and I've already been accepted."

"And how do you intend on paying for your little education," Brian asked, visions of the Mommies screaming at him for going along with this little plan.

"I've actually saved enough to go to college, grad school, and get a car."

"Jesus."

"Remember that summer where you made me spend all that time with Ted?"

"This shit is Ted's fault?"

"He is a good accountant; you said so yourself," Gus said, smirking a little.

"So...you had this whole thing all figured out," Brian replied, tone carefully neutral. Truthfully, he was a little stunned...and amused, but part of him could see the writing on the wall; the Munchers would be pissed that he'd allowed Gus to plan and execute all this shit on his watch.

"It wasn't like that," Gus defended. "I sure as shit didn't plan on all that drama with Entes going down. He's the one that started that fight. He's the one that's been terrorizing me since kindergarten."

"But you've obviously been planning your early escape from Chez Muncher..." Brian interrupted, alluding to the FedEx truck, filled to the brim with boxes that had arrived the morning after Gus did.

"It's not like that. Things there were just...bad. I wanted out. I thought you'd be happier that I went for an early graduation rather than chasing my life down a fucking bottle." The 'like Charlie' left off but heard nonetheless.

"Gus," Brian breathed. The allusion terrified him.

"I did everything. All that was left to do was for you to say yes..."

"Gus..."

"Please, Dads. I need to do this for me," Gus explained, eyes darting from Brian to Justin's and back. "It's the only thing that's kept me going half the time...that and getting the fuck out of Toronto," he admitted, voice so soft it was almost hard to hear.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache that was forming. All of this shit was starting to sound too familiar for his taste...except he didn't have someone like Ted around when he was a kid to guide him into a financial aid free future.

Sitting back in his chair, lips thinning in thought, Brian looked over at Justin who'd remained suspiciously silent. An entire conversation passed without a word--Justin's worried expression but determined stare. It was Brian's call; he'd respect the choice and completely back him.

Shaking his head slightly, Brian looked back at his kid. "When's your orientation or whatever the fuck."

Smiling broadly, Gus replied, "Two weeks from tomorrow."

Nodding in silent agreement, Brian stood and crossed the room to get more coffee, the topic of telling the Mommies tabled for the moment.

Justin's eyes tracked the movement before turning to look at Gus.

"So...have you picked out a major yet?"

Laughing a little, Gus started tucking his way through his slightly soggy Lucky Charms again. "I was thinking Computer Science."

Justin hid his smile behind the rim of his coffee cup. It was just what the world needed - another well-trained hacker.  

25: Liberty

 [Age: 16]

After spending as many years as they had around Brian Kinney, both Lindsay and Melanie should have been able to read between the lines of Hope Garden's brochure.

"We provide an environment free of distractions..."

Which translated to not only the utter lack of phones or television but also...

"A tent? You expect us to sleep in a fucking tent," Melanie said, eyeing the pack dubiously. For the price Ted had paid...

"What did you expect? A five star hotel and a round in a spa," their counselor replied. "You came here to face your problems not distract yourself from them by indulging."

Mel hated him instantly.

"Plenty of opportunities to work on your communication skills..."

"I can't believe they're only feeding us plain oatmeal," Melanie said, poking at the gooey mass with her spork.

"Well...since you seem to think of yourself as the one that wears the pants in this family, why don't you go out and find something more palatable to eat."

"Oh...you'd like that, wouldn't you," Mel said, glaring. "For me to be a man...or maybe one man in particular."

"You have no right," Lindsay said, tone indignant.

"To what? Point out the obvious?"

"Mel..."

"That's what I am, aren't I? I mean I think like him, talk like him...it's why we don't get along and it's why you fell in love with me," she said, tone hollow. "I'll never be him. Maybe it's time we both realized that," Mel continued, slamming the oatmeal down on the ground before stalking off into the forest.

"...activities that allow for open, emotional dialogues..."

They'd been trudging up the steep hillside all morning, the thirty-pound sack of gear and supplies strapped to their back. Melanie followed one of the camp's counselors up the path, eyes locking on his pack rather than looking down the jagged rock face.

Behind her, she heard a gasp of shock and the sound of debris scattering roughly. Pivoting at the waist, Mel turned in just enough time to see Lindsay stumble. Her eyes flickered towards the path where her partner was struggling against the slick coated, fallen tree leaves to regain her grounding.

Concern...the need to help Lindsay, gnawed at Melanie's conscious. Just as she started to reach out, Lindsay finally righted herself, dusting hands against her jeans.

In her peripheral vision, Lindsay caught sight of Mel's outstretched hand and the accompanying worried look. She felt something in her chest catch and squeeze slightly at the action, but it wasn't hope.

Seeing the change flash in Lindsay's eyes, Mel let her hand drop and her eyes narrow as she quickly went on the defensive.

"You shouldn't have packed so much."

Lindsay eyed her hotly. "You could help me."

Pausing to consider, Mel watched that careful sneer of disdain fill Lindsay's face. "You packed it. You deal with it," she replied, feeling an instantaneous flush of guilt.

"That's how it's always been with us, hasn't it," Lindsay responded, feeling a familiar flash of sadness.
 

Mel's eyes flickered away from Lindsay to the couples stopped ahead of them. "Not always."

...Individual counseling...

"What would you say is at the core of your relationship issues?"

"Fear. That she'll leave me. That she already has. That I'm not and never will be what she needs," Mel responded, looking anywhere but at the counselor who was carefully nodding and taking notes."

"Change. We aren't the same people we once were. Having children contributed to that. She resented me for being the mother...for picking Brian as the father..."

...as well as relationship counseling is at the core of our approach...

Their counselor leaned forward, stoking the fire with a long branch. The flames flared up, licking across the wood, leaving black scorch mark patterns across the bark.

"You two have been circling the issue, but you haven't really landed on it."

"Oh? And what might that be," Melanie asked, tone filled with venom.  

"Trust," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Or lack thereof," he added, pinning both of them with a pointed stare.

Lindsay opened her mouth to protest, but their counselor spoke before she could.

"The whole time you've been here, you've talked to me about your relationships with other members of your family, but very seldom about your interactions with each other.

"When you do bother to do it, it always comes back to the same thing--trust. You've both cheated on each other. Neither of you has forgiven the other for it.

"And what would we gain by admitting it," Melanie asked, voice carefully neutral as she avoided Lindsay's stare.

"Maybe because it would force us to talk and listen rather than reverting to your usual form of communication - screaming," their counselor said.

Lindsay shrugged. "I never forgave you for cheating on me," she said, meeting Melanie's stare head on. Her voice was impassive, bordering on sounding bored when she spoke.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "So what? That's your excuse for running off with Sam?"

Glaring at Melanie, Lindsay replied, "I think we raced back into our relationship without dealing with the issues that caused us to split up in the first place."

"That's funny because I thought that we had," Melanie said, staring Lindsay down.

Shaking her head sadly, Lindsay replied, "No. The first time Brian came rushing to the rescue..."

"Only after you threatened us both with marrying that French frog," Melanie interjected.

Bristling slightly, she replied automatically, "He was good to Gus."

"It was a farce. It went against everything we've been fighting for - the rights of homosexuals to have families," she said, pausing before adding, "He was going to adopt our son."

Lindsay looked away guiltily. "We needed to make it look real."

"Even if it meant keeping his other mother and his real father at bay? I mean, Christ, Lindz, think about it; would the courts have even let Brian and I see him if you didn't?

"I apologized for all of this," Lindsay replied, voice slightly cracking with emotion as she looked anywhere but at her partner.

Melanie shook her head at the memory. "I heard that asshole's voice on our answering machine... It was like you were erasing everything that there ever was of me in your life," she said, clearing her throat a little at the end to hide the quiver in her voice.

"I might have cheated, but I sure as shit didn't deserve that," she added, pausing again before continuing. "And to think Brian was the one who had to put things right again..."

Melanie shook her head, suddenly realizing the enormity of what she just said.

"But I guess he can't fix this. Not this time."

Lindsay glanced up from the fire with watery eyes. "What are you..."

Blinking slowly, Melanie looked up to meet Lindsay's expectant ones. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, she said,  "Maybe we're better off without each other..."

"You can't mean that..." Lindsay said, voice breaking as tears began streaming down her face.

"It was too much too soon. JR and the pregnancy, all the scares carrying her...and you fucking Sam," Melanie said, pausing to duck her head long enough to wipe her own tears away. "It's like the only thing we're really good at is fucking and fighting," she sniffed.

"You can't mean that."

Melanie looked at Lindsay with saddened eyes, before taking her partner's hands in her own. "When was the last time you were happy? Really happy?"

Lindsay bit her lower lip.

"If it's been so long you have to think about, then you already have your answer."

"Then what are you suggesting? We get a divorce," Lindsay asked, eyes darting across Melanie's face.

The great black shadow that had been hanging over them had finally fallen and both of them felt their chests tighten at the idea...at the words.

Swallowing hard, Melanie said, "We never really tried separating. It was a couple of months and then you were living in the attic..."

Lindsay nodded. "And then we made up a couple of months after that..."

"JR and Gus aren't little kids anymore," Melanie said, pausing to squeeze Lindsay's hand a little. "Things are a lot different now."

Lindsay pulled back, eyeing Mel nervously. "So what? We sell the house? Move into apartments in the city? Go our own ways?"

Melanie shifted back from the fire, let out a long, shaky breath, and ran a hand through hair. "Maybe it would be best."

...with special attention to meeting the individual needs of each partner...

They were dropped off on their own 'individual experience', which translated roughly to a sleeping bag and a campsite that they had to ready themselves.

The idea was that, without outside forces to distract them, the participant would be able to have more than enough time to think about the state of things.

As their counselor left each of them alone at their campsite, he challenged them with one statement:

"If you could plan the perfect future for yourself, what would it be?"

The smell of sulfur was heavy in the air as Melanie lit her fourteenth match of the night; it had taken the first thirteen before she'd realized that the wood she was trying to use was either too green or too wet.

Within moments of her fire finally catching, every mosquito in the vicinity took it as a flashing 'victim here' sign and began attacking her with zeal.

Alone, in the middle of nowhere, she became increasingly aware of her surroundings--the sounds of twigs breaking and animals howling. It would be just her luck to get attacked by some rabid creature.

She could picture her obituary.

Melanie Marcus, mediocre partner, mother, and lawyer, was killed in a freak accident on Thursday. Officials blame a pack of wild rabbits on the attack.

Brian would, of course, write it and pick the most unflattering picture he could find to display.

Probably those porn shots from college.

Maybe Lindsay would find some random guy to fuck on her coffin.

Groaning in misery and at her own overgrown sense of self-pity, she climbed into her sleeping bag. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture her own perfect future, but, rather than images, all that came to mind was a list: a small home, a position in a prestigious practice, JR doing well in school.  

And a partner she loved and trusted.

Lindsay was warm and content as she lay back on her sleeping bag. All around her the forest echoed with owls hooting, wings flapping, animal scampering, and the wind rustling through the branches. Above her, the sky opened up. Thousands of stars twinkling in constellations she half-memorized for an astronomy class in college.

Slowly, she closed her eyes, and let her mind drift to her 'perfect future.'

Heels clicked across the wooden floor's surface as she directed workmen setting up a new opening. The sound of hammering, crates being torn open reverberated across the empty surfaces.

It was more than just brilliant white walls and spot lighting. This place was hers. Her own gallery. It was trendy boutique with an enormous pull for talent. She hand picked art to grace its walls, and, among all the other well-known artists, hung some of her work.  

And then, there was her apartment. It was small and clean, with an attached studio and situated right in the heart of The Village.

Gus would be over every once in awhile to have dinner with her. He would be happy and healthy and doing well in college...and staying out of trouble.

A smile tugged at her lips at the images circling in her mind. The same sort of dreams she had as a silly schoolgirl.

Thirty years ago, she'd thought it still possible. She was young and unfettered and just discovering herself thanks to her newfound friend, Brian Kinney.

Twenty years ago, she was forging her life, teaching, falling in love, and marrying.  Within a blink of an eye, she had had Gus and had given up her job; her marriage was crumbling for the first time. And there was Brian again, rushing in to spread his truths and forcing her onto the path she was meant to stay on.

Fifteen years and she finally found her way back to what she loved and thought she'd lost-her art. She was finally working at a gallery. Finally happy.

And then it all seemed to be repeating again - another child, another split, another reunion, and giving up her whole way of life again to move.

But Toronto hadn't been paved with gold.

Somewhere along the way, she'd started to second-guess the choices she'd made. Near top of that list was moving to Toronto.

Just above it was not giving the separation a fair chance...allowing their family to push them toward something they clearly weren't ready for.

As the fire hissed and crackled, Lindsay continued to stare up at the night sky, trying in vain to avoid the great, elusive truth that had been circling her for years now.

She loved Mel, but she wasn't in love with her anymore.

...to ensure that you're placed on the correct path to healing...

Melanie silently stood on an outcropping of boulders as she watched Lindsay packing her things in the distance.

"I thought this place was designed to repair relationships. Not tear them apart," she said, voice quiet.

The counselor turned his head slowly and remained quiet for a long moment watching Melanie watch Lindsay gathering her things. The absolute pain etched across her face was easy to read even to an untrained eye.

"Some relationships are capable of being re-formed...others it's better for both parties to go their separate ways. What matters now is working on being civil...not only for you, but for your children," he replied softly.

They were both quiet for a long, long moment as they watched Lindsay struggling to roll up her sleeping bag. Neither realized it was because her eyes were so flooded with tears it was difficult for her to see.

"Do you remember what I told you your first day here?"

"That we should leave if we're going to waste your time," Melanie replied, tone self-deprecating, a ghost of a smile forming on her lips.

Their counselor shook his head. "No. I said you both had to be willing...you both had to want it."

Realization of his statement dawning on her, Melanie turned and eyed him wearily. She felt so fucking battle-worn...exhausted, but not that surprised as she said, "She didn't want it."

"No," their counselor shook his head. "She might have convinced herself otherwise, or she might have come out here out of consideration for your feelings," he continued, motioning with his hands to avoid the oft-repeated cliché that would be forthcoming-some relationships are not meant to be.

Melanie nodded, finally understanding. "The exercise...the 'individual time' in that tent..."

The counselor side-eyed Melanie, but remained silent as she worked through the last great truth he needed her to have.

"I wasn't in her perfect future, was I?"

Her chest tightened as she spoke, eyes never leaving Lindsay as she packed her bags into the SUV that driven up to get her.

Their counselor shook his head. "No," he said softly, pausing before adding, "If you remember correctly, she wasn't in yours either."

Melanie's head snapped towards him, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"You said you wanted a partner who you loved and trusted and gave those things in return."

Swallowing hard, Melanie turned her attention back to the SUV Lindsay was climbing into.

Both silent, watching taillights fade into distance.

"You're wrong," she said, long after the car was no more than a speck in the distance. Turning slowly, she met his eyes, "I did still love her."

Nodding, their counselor said, "Then you'll have to learn how to live without her."

. . . . .

Scuffed boots 'thunked' heavily against the ground. Head hung low, hands tucked into his pockets, it was more than obvious to anyone on Liberty that the kid was less than happy to be trailing his father.

Even beneath the hoodie, Gus could feel his dad's worried gaze.

Sensing his father stopping, Gus looked up to see the door looming in front of them. Swallowing hard, Gus looked from it back to his dad.

"You sure they're not here?"

Sighing, Brian tugged the door open, and, yes, Gus knew full well he'd already asked that question eleven times before. He just didn't want another scene.

"I called before we left," Brian said, motioning his son ahead of him.

Releasing a nervous breath, Gus nodded and walked inside. After spotting Justin's bright blond hair, Gus tucked his head down and quickly walked to the back of the diner.

Sliding into the booth across from Justin, Gus' eyes began traveling over the face of every patron and diner worker.

"They're not here," Justin said, offering a weak smile.

"I still don't get why we have to come here."

"To get your daily dosage of artery clogging grease," Brian replied before signaling for coffee.

"I could get that from McDonald's," Gus replied, flipping his coffee cup over.

Gus felt his father glaring at him and knew why; it was the principle of the matter. Brian had had at least three meals in the diner a week since he was fourteen, and he wasn't about to stop because of a family feud. He also wanted to teach Gus the importance of not backing down. Whatever. Like he needed to fan the flames or some shit.

Fifteen minutes after their food had been served, the bell over the door dinged. And, as the new patrons entered, Gus felt the air around him shift. Even without looking beyond his fathers, he knew.

Burying his head in his hands, he groaned. It was all so laughably predictable.

Scrunching low in the booth, he covered his head with his hoodie praying Michael wouldn't spot them. Then again, Michael had always had a spooky connection as far as keeping track of Brian went.

The thing that Gus didn't count on, however, was Michael actually bringing his kid sister like he'd promised...or that she'd scream his name.

"Gus!"

Sliding from the booth, he felt the kid wrap her arms around his middle and squeeze the hell out of him.

"I missed you so so much."

And yeah, it probably made him a total pussy, but he hugged her back just as hard.

"Missed you too, Jen Bug."

She sniffed against his chest. "You're still totally lame."

Smiling faintly at the familiar greeting, he replied, "You're lamer."

Pulling back, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Some things never changed.

"I can't believe you're really, really here."

"Me either, kid."

She sniffed again, wiped her eyes on her sleeve again, and then pulled him down into an empty booth away from Brian and Justin's.

"I've got so much to tell you!"

Laughing a little, Gus allowed himself to be pushed into the booth by his much younger, much smaller, and freakishly strong sister.

Taking a deep breath, JR opened her mouth and plunged into the drama that was her life, talking nonstop for what seemed like hours about anything and everything that seemed of relevance to a twelve-year-old girl. Namely the 'totally hot guy that works at Barnes and Noble,' the outrage at Ben and Michael hiring a babysitter to watch her, and Michael still trying to hold her hand when they crossed the street.  

Finally, she wound down enough for him to get a word in edgewise though he suspected it was the plate of food dumped in front of her more than anything else.

"So...how's life in merry stepford land?"

"Weird...quiet," JR said, plucking her way through her fries. "Ben's like über school man. Seriously. I told him about my essay on Steinbeck, and he went all scary lecturer man. Oh...Charlie says 'Yo, man.' And told me to tell you that you're lamer for sending your little sister to rehab to get math tutoring."

Gus snorted. "I can't believe the moms let you go."

"Let me go nothing; they bought me a bus pass. I used it," she said, smirking.

Bristling, Gus stared her down because they had so been over the 'don't ride the bus without me' lecture forty million times. "You need to watch that shit. You'll end up in lock-up."

JR positively beamed back at him. "Well then, you can keep my ass company."

"Twat," Gus said, flicking a burned fry at her.

"Asshat."

"Twerp."

"Jailbird."

Gus rolled his eyes. This shit could go on forever. "Speaking of flying the coop, Dad mentioned the moms are in some couples boot camp?"

"Yeah. Not far from Briton I think," she said, shrugging.  "I don't know. They didn't really tell me much. Just put my ass on a plane."

Despite her nonchalant tone, Gus could tell she was still upset about the whole thing from the practiced nonchalant tone and the suddenly un-animated facial expressions. When JR was upset, she just shut down.

How lame could he be? The first time he'd actually seen his kid sister in a fucking age and he was already pushing her to talk about stuff she didn't want to. He decided to go for overly vague in cause she wanted to shirk out of the conversation.

"How were things?"

Gus didn't miss how she pushed her plate away from her a little or how rigidly straight she was suddenly sitting.

Eyes not meeting his she mumbled, "After you left?"

A guilty flush spread across his cheeks at her crestfallen expression. Without her speaking a word, he knew.

 "It got worse," he surmised.

"Don't go and blame this on yourself," she quickly replied. "They're the adults. They're the only people responsible for their own happiness."

Gus snorted. It was so like her to try to make him feel better.  "You sound like my therapist...or worse-- Ben!"

His tone was flippant, and JR read it for what it was - Gus desperate to change the subject.

"Ben's actually pretty cool," she defended, looking across the diner to where her father and Ben were sitting with Brian and Justin. "He's a pretty good listener. I mean Dad is, too, but he's calmer."

"Which, translated roughly, means he won't go all ape shit at the idea of his 'wittle' girl not being all innocent and stuff," Gus replied, fiddling with the straw in his coke, suddenly nervous.

"Actually, he totally backed me post-smackdown. They all kind of did, but he was all 'your power of persuasion is quite remarkable,'" she explained, scrunching her nose in thought.

"Smackdown," Gus asked, eyebrow raised with interest.

"It's how I arranged this whole thing," she said, motioning with her hand towards her dads before launching into a reenactment of the fight she'd had with the Novotny-Bruckner tribe over him.

"...so then I was all 'Dad, you're being totally lame. Gussy Gus would never do anything to hurt me. If anything, you totally have to worry about Uncle Brian because he could so kick your ass.' And then Dad was all 'I suppose I'd deserve it.' And I was all 'Yeah. You would, but you could try to make things right.' And he was all 'How could I do that Oh Great One?' And that was when I suggested the sleepover."

"Sleepover?" Gus asked, voice incredulous. "Already made friends here in the fabulously dull Pitts?"

JR rolled her eyes theatrically at her brother like he was the dumbest person in the world.

"Come off it. You totally love it here. And, duh. How thick can you be? I meant sleep over at Brian and Justin's place."

"I don't think they're into chicken," Gus deadpanned.

"Gustaficus, you really are a blockhead sometimes."  

The corners of Gus' mouth quirked a little not only because his sister had a flare for drama but also because he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her.

"I meant spend the weekend over at your place. It'll show my Dad has some faith in your dads, give us time to plot the great big, evil plans we were meant to, and give me some breathing room because oh my god Dad can be clingy!" JR said in what seemed like one, long, continuous breath before pausing to move her silverware to the appropriate side of her plate.

Gus watched the action-so like his mother's that he felt a pang of loss-before turning his attention back to JR who'd begun speaking again.

"Besides, I have a ton of schoolwork left to do. I'm totally lost, and, unfortunately for you, you're the most when it comes to tutoring."

Gus' eyebrow rose. "Come off it. There's no fucking way your spazz-tastic dad is ever going to let you spend an hour let alone an entire weekend."

JR smirked. "Clearly you have underestimated my mad persuasion skills."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the diner...

Michael and Ben stood uncomfortably beside Brian and Justin's booth, watching their daughter drag Gus into the only unoccupied booth in the diner.

"Hey," Michael said, nervously rocking on his heels.

"Michael, Professor," Brian said, nodding.

"Ben and I'll just..." Michael started, pointing over his shoulder towards the crowded counter.

Rolling his eyes, Brian motioned to the side Gus had just vacated. "Sit."

Smiling a little, both did as they were ordered.

"I'm glad you agreed to do this," Justin ventured. Ever the peacekeeper.

"Well...JR can be quite persuasive when she wants to be," Ben explained.

"Probably gets that from Ma."

"Maybe you should get her a red wig," Brian said, smirking a little.

Michael's eyes opened a little wider at the image. "She doesn't need any more encouragement, thank you very much. Jesus Christ. You have any idea what it's like to have your ass handed to you by a fucking kid?"

Brian and Justin exchanged a look. "Nope. None at all," he replied with that tongue-in-cheek look that was achingly familiar to Michael.

It was the first of many such looks and interactions. All throughout the politely made conversation-cautious topics like the weather and work and Liberty Avenue in general-there were slightly strained reactions to underlying teasing that was always so prevalent in their interactions before 'The Incident.' Now it all seemed so foreign--the way Michael was able to complete Brian's amused statements, the look that passed between them. Complex and multi-layered, at its core was the truth.

They weren't friends anymore.

But, based on their cordiality and attempts of same for their children, they weren't completely enemies either.

And so they sat, chatting about nothing and avoiding, through unspoken understanding, the elephant in the room.

"JR mentioned you have a show coming up," Michael asked, clearing his throat a little before speaking.

Justin's eyes shot up to meet Michael's not believing he was trying to make small talk especially about art.

"It was last week actually. Some benefit auction in SOHO for cancer research..."

"Admirable cause," Ben said, smiling a little.

Justin returned the smile, realizing all too well how much the occupants at the table understood why he'd agreed to participate.

Brian's hand, which had been resting on the back of the booth, came to rest on the nape of Justin's neck, thumb stroking slowly across the skin as a silent 'thank you.' Justin leaned into the touch ever so slightly.

"I've got another show coming up in a couple of weeks that I've got to pull some pieces together for."

"You've already got closets full of amazing work."  Tone filled with pride Brian didn't bother concealing.

"And you'd know all about my closets, wouldn't you," he said, tone teasing.

Brian snorted at the horrible pun, the corners of his lips twitching into an amused smile.

"Actually, I'm going to be showing some of the work locally..." Justin explained, addressing Ben and Michael while side-eyeing Brian. He hadn't actually mentioned this showing just yet for a number of reasons. First and foremost was the subject matter.

And, although Justin felt Brian tense, he remained silent.

"Oh," Ben asked.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Justin vaguely responded, "Something Gus mentioned about not hiding things."

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat, obviously gearing up for something. "Speaking of Gus..."

Brian's eyes snapped to Michael's, danger and warning written all over his expression.

Seeing the heated gaze, Michael swallowed hard, but forced himself to continue.

"Ben has a conference in Boston next weekend. He and I were planning on going, but, with JR here... I mean she's a great kid, but with work and the way JR is a little..."

"...Exhausting? Rambunctious? Exuberant?" Ben suggested, smirking a little.

Eyes narrowing at Ben, Michael continued.

"I was thinking maybe she could spend the weekend with you guys," he explained, nervously adding, "I mean...if that's okay with you."

Brian's eyebrow rose in disbelief; Michael could never lie for shit. And, yeah, it was completely obvious to all that Michael had practiced that little speech a dozen times, but neither Brian nor Justin called him on it.

A slow, cautious smile edged across Brian's face as he recognized the olive branch for what it was.

Turning towards Justin, he said, "Why do I get the feeling we've been set up by midgets?"

"Hey!"

"I meant the children, but, now that you mention it," Brian started, clearly amused at Michael's outrage.

And there, once again, was another look of familiarity that passed between them. The humor in the situation that would have once been laughed off with an eye roll and a tongue-in-cheek expression.

Clearing his throat, Brian leaned forward in the booth and met Michael's stare evenly. "You mean this? Because I don't want to promise Gus..."

Michael shook his head slowly. "One weekend. We'll see how it goes."

"Which translates roughly to he'll be calling every five seconds," Ben said, smirking a little. "He does that with every babysitter he leaves JR with."

There was a short pause while Brian released a slow breath before responding in his best, put-upon tone, "I suppose we might have space for the littlest Novotny," he started, pausing to pin Michael with a hard stare. "On one condition."

Michael smiled a little, holding up his hand. "I was planning on doing that anyway," he said, slipping out of the booth.

Three sets of eyes watched Michael walk across the diner.

A shadow fell across their table, making JR pause mid-sentence as both eyes were drawn to Michael.

The feeling suddenly shifted, becoming tense and uncomfortable.

Sliding his hands beneath the table, Gus looked across at JR, silently asking her to deal with things. Catching the suddenly haunted and unsure look that crossed Gus' features, JR turned to address her father.

"I was just telling Gus how you set the kitchen on fire," she said with a smirk

"It was an over mitt, and Ben caught it before it spread," Michael explained, tone indignant.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Lame, Jen Bug. Seriously. You made it sound like a four-alarm fire."

"That'd be hot-all those firefighters rushing in..." JR said, laughing.

"Christ! Three minutes with Gus, and you sound like Brian," he said, teasing.

"A fate worse than death," Gus deadpanned.

Michael smiled a little before turning to address JR. "Could you give us a second?"

Eyes nervously traveling from Gus to Michael and back, she said, "Okay, but if you do anything stupid..."

Nodding, Michael stood back and both watched her slide out of the booth and walk across the diner to where Brian, Justin, and Ben were sitting.  

Sighing, Gus threaded a shaky hand through his hair.

"Let me guess; you want me to stay away from her."  The tone was so flat and defeated sounding it made Michael feel sorry for the kid. How had they all missed it?

Michael shook his head slowly. "No. I think being around you helps," he said, watching her hugging Brian and Justin and say something that made the whole table laugh.

He felt his gut twist and tighten from pride for his daughter to disgust at himself when he looked from her to the miserable looking kid in front of him.

"She's a good kid," he said, eyes locking on Gus'. "I know you played a part in that," he continued, closing his eyes and biting lip as if trying to work out what to say next. "The way she makes it sound..."

Heart speeding up, Gus shifted in his seat and looked away, catching his dad's worried glance. He knew Brian would be at his side in an instant, and that one thought let him calm down somewhat.

Michael followed the action, grateful that Gus was willing to hear him out, but, even so, he knew his time was wearing thin. Rather than hedging to make himself feel better, he came out and said what he meant to.

"I'm sorry, Gus."

Gus' eyes shot to Michael's. Slowly, he blinked, not believing what he'd heard.

"If I'd known what was happening..." Michael trailed off, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions...or hurt you the way that I did."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Gus watched the regretful expression on Michael's face and remembered the broken, murderous look on his dad's face not too long ago when he mentioned the slap Melanie had dealt him. If Melanie had been in the room at that very moment would his father have acted any different than Michael had all those years ago? Then again, Melanie was an adult and a parent. He'd only been a ten year old kid...

"On some level, I get why you did it. But I don't know that I can forgive you," Gus said, honestly, pausing to look up and meet Michael's stare evenly. He was so frightened he'd say the wrong thing and then start another feud in the middle of the diner again. Then again, his father had always told him that being your own person is paramount.

"I'm not expecting it, either," Michael interrupted.  "I'm just...I'm trying...shit," he said, pausing to scratch his forehead.

Gus sat quietly, watching Michael floundering for the right words to say, and he couldn't help but feel a small tendril of hope in his stomach. Was this really happening?

"I don't know what I'm trying to do. I can't make it right, but I am going to try and make things better," Michael continued, watching Gus carefully.

Swallowing hard, Gus met Michael's eyes, nodding a little. "I'd...I'd like to see JR again," he said, finally, voice breaking a little.

Michael smiled a little and nodded "I think she'd like that, too."

Gus breathed out a shaky sigh of relief and hesitantly returned Michael's smile.

With a final look that was filled with obvious regret, Michael slipped out of the booth and headed towards the back of the diner to collect JR and Ben before returning home.

The moment the bell rang to announce their exit Gus was back in the booth opposite his fathers. Just from his cheerful greeting, they could tell that Michael had kept his promise.

"Look at you! In a booth with Comic Book Boy for two whole hours, and you didn't strangle him."

Eyebrow rising with a meaningful look, Brian calmly took a sip of coffee. "Too many witnesses," he quipped.

Despite the intended nonchalant tone Brian was trying for, both Gus and Justin read it for the bullshit statement it was. Brian's tell had always been his eyes. This time it was made all the more obvious as his were locked on the three retreating forms walking down Liberty.

They allowed him his elongated silence before Justin carefully touched Brian's elbow.

"I'm going to take Gus back to the house. You want a ride back to work?"

Brian jarred a little at the touch and softly spoken words. Lips thinning, he stood, dropped a few bills on the table to cover their own check, and followed his family out to Justin's SUV.

He stopped a few inches shy of it; the depth of what he'd just thought shaking him.

The eighteen year old that had left his parent's home and rarely looked back had never intended to add some words to his vocabulary, but there it was all the same. His partner. His son. His family.

Watching the keys dangling from Justin's hand and his son bouncing on his heels, still reeling from his visit with his kid sister, Brian couldn't help but smile a little.

Maybe he hadn't gotten everything right the first time 'round, but he'd make it right this time.

26: Mend

[Age: 16]

The door creaked open slowly, revealing first JR then Michael who was dragging a large suitcase behind him.

JR smiled brightly at the form looming in the door.

"Your house is so awesomely awesome, Brian," she said voicing her thoughts in a manner so close to Gus and Charlie that it made him smile.

"So the realtor told me," he drawled watching Michael struggle with the massive case up the drive until he was standing nervously beside his daughter.

Brian, face unreadable, gave a cautious nod of acknowledgment before saying, "Mikey."

Smiling a little at the greeting, he responded, "Hey, Brian."

JR rolled her eyes, and mumbled to herself, "Hello, JR. So nice to see you. My how lovely you look on this fine day."

Michael ignored her completely as he set her luggage down and reached for several folded papers in his pocket

Instantly recognizing the act because Michael pulled this shit on her every single time she was babysat, JR groaned and covered her face with hands.

Brian's eyebrow rose at the girl's antics.

Having looked over what appeared to be an enormous checklist, Michael met Brian's eyes evenly. It was abundantly clear that he'd gone into father mode.

"Okay...so her bedtime is 10," he started, pausing to shoot a pointed look at JR before adding, "and not a minute after."

Which was, of course, met with an eye roll from JR and an answering scowl from Michael before he turned back to Brian. "She's allergic to eggplant and shellfish so be careful where you order food from."

Lips thinning, Brian nodded rather than pointing out that the girl was perfectly capable of voicing these problems.

"And she has asthma, so if she has any problems, she has an inhaler," Michael paused, turning towards his daughter once again, he said, "You packed it, right?"

JR made a strangled noise of annoyance in the back of her throat, and, in the most put-upon tone she could muster, said, "Yes, Dad."

Nodding but still clearly worried, Michael turned back towards Brian again. "If she has a really bad attack, just take her to the ER. Don't wait to call me. Just go."

"That's only happened like four times the whole time I've been here!" JR interjected, tone indignant.

Michael, finally recognizing her presence again, turned to look at her. "And, if you're outside for too long, remember to put your sunblock on."

"Or I'll burn like a crisp, yes, I am familiar with the concept," JR said, nodding indulgently before turning to look at Brian and saying, "It's not just you; he queens out on any adult he leaves me with."

Brian, catching Michael's eye, said, "So...let her smoke all the pot in the house, run around with scissors, and eat nothing but sugar."

It was met with JR's giggles and Michael eyeing Brian wearily. Clearly ready to say something, JR placed her hand on Michael's elbow to stop him from snarking.

"I'll be fine, Daddy. Brian and Justin know what they're doing, and I promise to be good," she said, kissing him on the cheek before walking past Brian into the house.

Michael watched her go with a wistful expression written on his face.

"She'll be fine, Michael," Brian said resolutely.

Nodding slowly and clearing his throat, Michael handed a stack of papers to Brian as he explained each one. "This is the contact list--it's got her pediatrician and all of our numbers on it. This one has all the stuff she's allergic to and these are copies for Justin," he said, pausing to pull a purple container from his pocket. "And this is her backup inhaler. In case the other one runs out or she loses it," he said, pausing once again. "She's always losing hers," he said more to himself than Brian. The worried edge to his voice was hard to miss.

Brian felt something shift and soften inside him as he watched Michael growing ill at ease. He was all too familiar with what Michael was experiencing - fear from leaving his child behind. However unfounded, he couldn't fault him or mock him for something he'd felt every time he'd dropped his own kid off at the airport.

"If you have any problems..." Michael said, handing the enormous bag over to Brian. Surprised by the weight of it, his arm faltered for a moment, bag drooping towards the ground. The two of them exchanged the shortest of amused glances before Brian responded to Michael's request.

"I'll call."

Nodding, Michael slowly walked back to the car, turned the engine over, and backed out of the driveway.

Brian's eyes watched every action feeling a twinge of sadness in his gut.

The minute that Brian stepped back into the house, he heard the squeals of girlie, giggly laughter...and not all of it was coming from JR. Apparently, she had an unforeseen power - the ability to turn his hard-edged, brooding son into a 12-year-old girl.  

"I can't believe you pulled this shit off, you little twat!" Gus laughed.

JR threw her arms out and bowed theatrically.

"I prefer being called Houdini," she said, hugging Gus so tightly he let out an 'oof' of surprise.

Recovering and returning the hug, Gus asked, "How long am I stuck with your whiny little ass?"

"Four days," she said, pulling back to thump him on the chest. "And I can't help being whiny! I'm a Novotny!"

Gus snorted at yet another of their old, ongoing jokes.   

Shouldering the weight of JR's bag, he motioned for her to follow up the staircase to the second floor's guest room. After very gratefully thunking her bag onto the bed, he flopped into a nearby chair and watched her start stashing her stuff around the room.

Her hand paused on the purple inhaler she'd just pulled out of her coat pocket. The corners of Gus' mouth twitched slightly; he could see her winding up for yet another rant.

"You should have seen Dad! I thought he was gonna have a nervous breakdown the whole time I was packing."

"You mean like Mom when I was always coming down here?"

Though he'd meant the first time he'd flown down, the moment the words left his mouth, he knew both of them were thinking of the absolute last time-heated words, angry stares, and all.

Gus' eyes shifted from his little sister's to the floor not wanting her to read the pain there. Of course, he'd forgotten two things - she was quite adept at Gus to English translation and, of course, she knew when to drop shit.

Slowly shaking her head, JR laughed. "It was worse! The second we got here he has to go over 'The List' with your dad," she paused, shaking her head. "Like Brian doesn't know all that shit already."

Gus smiled indulgently.

"You know how it is, Jen Bug; parents are all about protecting their offspring."

She rolled her eyes and flopped onto the bed. "You have issues. Serious Mommies issues."

"That's what my therapist says," he said, tone nonchalant.

"Like you'd need a degree to figure that out."

He laughed. The sound of it made JR tick her head a little to the side and smile.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said, pausing. "Just haven't heard you laugh in awhile."

Smiling a little, JR turned the conversation to more mundane things like her latest crush (the boy at the video store) and her super cool, too girlie (and therefore perfect) room.

The next morning, Brian found JR sitting at the kitchen table, eating oatmeal, and reading the Sunday business section. Any maturity she might have gotten from these was totally negated, of course, by her outfit - a tank top with the word 'Twink' in a blue, glittery swirl, Hello Kitty flannel pajama bottoms, and fuzzy lion slippers.

Brian did a double take as he neared the table with his coffee.

JR smiled broadly as Brian sat across from her, stirring in obscene amounts of sugar into his cup. "Did you want me to fix you something?"

Brian raised an eyebrow in question. "Isn't it supposed to work the other way around?"

JR rolled her eyes. "As if Nana Deb would let me get away with not knowing how to cook."

Brian smirked because, yes, he was familiar with Deb's method of enlisting people into cooking. It usually started with something as simple as 'hand me that fucking can, would you?' and escalated into being deemed her little kitchen helper for the day.

JR set her spoon down in her bowl, clearly gearing up to something. Of course, if Gus had been there, he'd of warned Brian she was wearing her 'I'm about to lecture you because, clearly, you are a clueless adult' face.

"I'm glad my dad and Nana Deb got over themselves long enough for me to see Gus," she said, smiling brightly before adding, "Of course, I kinda had to hand them their asses to get them to do anything, but, you know...necessary evil."

Brian's eyebrow rose once again.

"I took a page from your book and called them on their shit," JR explained, folding the newspaper and setting it aside.

Smirking, clearly pleased but trying not to let on, Brian tried and failed to hide his reaction behind the rim of his coffee cup.

"Careful. They might label you yet another asshole in training."

JR snorted. Brian was so predictable. "As if. You'd be surprised the shit I get away with."

Interest written all across his face, Brian set his cup down.

"So how did this miraculous little reunification take place?"

JR shifted nervously in her seat. Okay...so she'd expected him to ask about it, but she was totally hoping he wouldn't. "I told them what's been going on."

"And what? They suddenly decided my son didn't try to murder you," Brian replied, a sharp tone coloring his voice.

JR heard the hidden request beneath; he wanted to know what was behind the Novotny tribe's sudden, inexplicable forgiveness, and he knew she was the only one that would give it to him.

Seeing the heated and oh-so-scary business look Brian had pinned her with, she released a nervous puff of air.

"I told my father he was an asshole for traumatizing Gus. That his shit and Deb's didn't help--especially with the Moms always fighting. Then with Entes going after Gus and Charlie nearly offing himself...I guess it got to be too much, and Gus snapped," she said in a quiet voice as she smashed the remainder of her oatmeal with the back of her spoon.

Letting out a long sigh, she added, "I mean how much can a person take?"

The sharp intake of air made her look up, and she'd be a liar if she tried to admit she was surprised at what she saw - Brian looking pale and a little frightened. She'd assumed Gus had glossed over the facts. Then again, hearing this shit all over again from another perspective probably only helped in cementing the badness in his mind.

And, yeah, she totally should have foreseen his reaction. Then again, she always did blow at subtlety...and keeping her mouth shut.

Brian swallowed hard, heart beating a little faster, stomach flip-flopping as he met and held JR's gaze.

She took it as her cue to continue.

"I know my dad's been a total tool. You remember how he gets; he tries to protects the people he loves even when he ends up doing something totally uncool."

Lips thinning, Brian nodded because, yes, he was familiar with Michael acting like an idiot to protect him. It had happened countless times over the course of their friendship and usually involved Michael broadcasting his emotions or Brian's secrets in very public forums, and, while Michael has always been well meaning, those confrontations had always had the opposite affect of driving Brian straight towards whatever perceived cliff Michael had been trying to save him from.

Shaking his head slowly to clear his thoughts, he tuned back in to what JR was saying.

"...and then he kept hearing these stories from the Moms about the shit Gus' been doing without getting all the back story..."

"And he assumed that my son turned into some crazed criminal," he surmised, tone dry.

JR nodded sadly. "I mean it was all based on half-heard stuff, but you know how Dad is--instant queen out."

"And he tells Deb who tells everyone else..." he supplied, rubbing his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a headache stirring beneath his temple.

"He did what you would have done in the situation -- what he thought was right...what would keep me safe," JR replied in a quiet voice, pausing to watch Brian stare at his rapidly cooling coffee cup before continuing. "It doesn't excuse what he did. It doesn't make it right. And, yeah, you and Gussy Gus and Justin have every right to be mad at him forever, but, for what it's worth, he feels terrible. They all do. And they're trying to make it right...even if it's only with me and Gussy Gus."

Seeing the thoughtful look crossing Brian's face, she knew he had heard her and was considering things. Brian was all about actions. She'd seen it herself on dozens of occasions which was why she'd suggested the sleep-over; it would show that Michael was willing to trust Gus and Brian with the one thing he held the most dear - his daughter.

Knowing she'd said all that she could, she slipped from her seat and kissed Brian on the cheek, startling him.

His eyes, no longer foggy from hours of sleep, met hers.

A smirk curling at the corners of her mouth, she said, "The horror! A straight girl kissed you."

Laughing a little, she was relieved to see small smile from Brian. Returning it, she cleared her place at the table and left to get Gus' lazy ass out of bed so he could help her do her science homework.

Hours later, when Michael called yet again to check on JR, Brian found his hand curling around the receiver a little less tightly than before.

"Your daughter's a fucking pit bull," he said in greeting.

"Let me guess. She handed you your ass, too?" Michael replied, tone clearly amused.

Brian smirked. "I'm not sure who she reminds me of more - Deb or Mel." A beat. "But she's a good kid."

The line fell silent for a long moment before Michael replied with a wistful, "Yeah...yeah she is."

27: Sealed

[Four]

Smoke swirled in tendrils through the night sky. The burning tip of his cigarette amber against the dark. Behind him, the sounds of Justin's going away party spilled out into Mel and Lindz's backyard.

He'd been outside for so long his fingertips, nose, and ears had grown numb. In truth, he really had just gone out for a cigarette, but, as the sounds of laughter eased through the door, he felt his chest cease. There was such finality to it all - the presents, the well wishes, the tears.

The door creaked open casting odd shadows across the yard. Soft footfall followed by boots appearing beside him. An exhalation of breath and Lindsay was seated beside him on her steps, taking the cigarette from him to draw a pull into her own lungs.

She expelled the tar, smoke mixing with her own breath to form a foggy cloud.

"You've been out here awhile," she ventured. "People are starting to think you aren't coming back."

Brian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying what he was really thinking - Justin was the one that wasn't coming back. Speaking the words aloud would just make him pathetic.

"You know...if you really don't want him to go, you just have to ask him."

Brian snorted, taking the cigarette back from Lindsay's laxed hand.

"I'm not going to keep him from doing what he wants," he said, voice giving away nothing.

"And what if all he wants is to be with you?"

Eyebrow raised, Brian stared her down. She was the one that brought in that art critic. She was the one that pushed Justin to go to New York to be the next Warhol. She was the one that practically pushed that magazine down both their throats. And she was the one that was packing his kid off to Toronto.

It was quite the accomplishment - taking almost everything important to him out from under him without him seeing it all coming.

"He's talented," he explained. The words sounded lame even to his own ears.

"Yes, he is," Lindsay said, nodding her head indulgently at him. "But he loves you."

He side-eyed her with disbelief. What kind of a fucked up, mixed message was she trying to give?

"If he doesn't try, he'll be left wondering his whole life." A beat. "I'm sure you're familiar with the concept."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" She bristled.

"It means that I remember another blonde twenty-something that was planning on taking the art world by storm, but stayed behind for love." A beat. "And I'm not forcing him to choose me over his art."

Lindsay gasped. "Is that what you think I did?"

Brian shook his head. He already knew the score; Lindsay didn't have Justin's talent or drive. Whether or not she was willing to admit it...

"The Lindsay Peterson I met in college wanted to work in some major gallery in New York."

Her eyes narrowed. "Well...this Lindsay Peterson needs to pay the bills."

"You were perfectly fine living off of ramen and weak tea," he started, flicking his ashes into the yard before staring her down. "At least you were until you decided that true love was more important than your dreams," he drawled in the most condescending of voices. In some fucked up way, he blamed her. Wanted her to hurt as much as he was.  

"But then you were in a relationship," he started, spitting out the word like it was dirty. Beside him, Lindsay shifted uneasily. "And working as a teacher because 'it's a much more stable job' and 'benefits are important when you're starting a family.'"

"Not all of us have our own companies. Not all of us can come and go as we please."

Brian glared at her. "You chose the life you have. You put yourself into this little happy, hetero life, but you can't tell me you don't regret it sometimes. Watching him pack up and leave..."

Lindsay shook her head. "You're right; I did. I do. A part of me is a little envious," she said, shrugging. "But, just like I did, you can choose the life you want."

"What I want," Brian started, voice colored with anger. His eyes left hers, returning to the swing set in the distance. "What I want," he started again, voice back to being carefully neutral, "is for Justin to be happy."

"So you just martyr yourself to the Justin Becomes an Artist campaign?"

He flicked his cigarette into the grass and stood abruptly.

"I love him enough to give him time to see this through," he started, voice so icy it made her shiver. "And, as you so eloquently pointed out, I own my own company. If he needs to stay in New York, I'll move there. If he wants to come back home, he'll have a place in the loft," he said, pausing to let the information sink in. "But I'm not going to force him into marriage."

Tugging the door open, he walked back in to Chez Muncher, effectively cutting off all conversation.

As the door slammed back into place, Lindsay couldn't help but hear what he left unsaid - he wasn't going to force Justin into marriage because he believed in and supported his talent...his art...his choices...and his life.

There was a small part of her that wanted to admit that she hated how easy Justin and Brian made it all look.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

The spike was driven into the earth, sign twitching madly in complaint against the rapid motion. From a distance, she stood, arms crossed, as she watched the suited man completing the task.

He stepped back, surveying his work with a smile.

"Well, that should be good," he said, smiling at Melanie who was nodding grimly at the sign.

"It's a fairly popular neighborhood, and your house is in excellent condition. I don't imagine it should take too long to sell," the realtor added.

"The sooner it's sold, the sooner we can get on with our lives," she said, excusing herself back inside where she was packing.

. . . . .

[Seven]

The loft door sputtered across its tracks and echoed through the loft. Brian's hand hovered just above the touchpad on his laptop as his eyes rose from the screen to the figure in the doorway struggling to get his massive suitcase in.

"Hey," Justin called out, a smile across his face. "Your offer still stand?"

"And which offer might that be?"

The smile grew even wider as Justin released the bag. "I believe you mentioned something about drawers for my drawers?"

Brian sniffed, fighting against his own smile as he saved his file, stood, and crossed the loft in tentative steps.

"I might vaguely recall making such an offer," he said, resting his arms on Justin's shoulders.

Justin's hands came to rest almost automatically on Brian's waist, fingertips grazing the skin just above his jeans.

As if he was afraid it was a hallucination, Brian leaned forward and tentatively brushed just the barest of kisses across Justin's lips. Justin read it for what it was - hello, I've missed you, and I want to hear the rest of what you have to tell me.

"I've got a couple of shows coming up after the New Year that I'll have to fly back for. And the occasional party or opening to be seen at, but, other than that..."

Brian's eyebrow rose. "You mean to tell me The Great Justin Taylor has taken on the wilds of New York and is willingly returning to Pittsburgh?"

Justin returned the kiss, eyes mischievous as he pulled back.

"I just wasn't as inspired there," he replied, giving a pointed look.

Brian snorted with mock-disgust at the statement that was a little too lesbianic for words. Rather than calling Justin on it, he smiled shyly.

"You're home for good?"

Returning the smile, Justin nodded. "I went. I schmoozed. And now I'm back," Justin explained, punctuating each sentence with a kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than the one before it.

Heart skipping a beat or two, Brian pulled back, meeting Justin's stare.

"I'm glad you're back," he whispered.

Offering a crooked smile, Justin flexed his fingers against Brian's waist.

"I missed you, too," he said, softly.

. . . . .

[Sixteen]

The pen was heavy in her hand. Ink rapidly drying over initials and signatures. All of them lined up beside ugly words like settlement, alimony, custody, and divorce.

How had it come to this?

Page after page of blue-inked names.

Lindsay, tightlipped, pale, and shaking sat at the polished wood table opposite her.

Part of Melanie wanted to scream and rail out against her soon to be ex-wife for being so fucking calm compared to her. The other part...the much larger part wanted to hold Lindsay and pretend this whole thing wasn't happening.

Then again, they'd broken every single wedding vow up to that point. Why not break the having and holding bit? Everything else would be dissolved in a moment anyway.

"Just one more page," the lawyer motioned. Post-its pointed to every blank.

Melanie's hand rested on the page beside the final sticker. Eyes dashed from Lindsay's signatures to her expectant expression and back.

The pen edged across the page in careful script. The moment she dotted the 'i' in Melanie, she dropped the pen from her hand as if it burned.

Nodding to himself, the lawyer collected the document and slipped it inside an envelope.

"I'll have these copied and sent to all interested parties."

Smiling weakly one last time at her ex-wife, Lindsay stood, grabbed her purse, and quickly left the room. The sound the door made when it clicked back into place sounded so fucking final.

It wasn't until Lindsay was gone that Melanie realized her ex hadn't even bothered to take off her coat.

28: Consequences

[Sixteen]

"Bill...bill...credit card application...Save the Sea Turtles...Out," Gus mumbled shuffling through his dads' mail until...

"Jackpot!"

Tossing the rest onto the counter, Gus edged his finger under the envelope's flap and pulled out the letter inside. He reread it four times before he actually started to feel anything but numb at what it was saying.

Gus -

So my therapist has decided that it's time to send out reconciliation letters. I've already written my mom and dad's. (His bounced back. Big surprise!) Of course, yours is a lot harder to write since I put you through so much shit.

I just don't know what the fuck to say to you, man.

You're the one that told me to stay off that shit.

You're the one that was actually there for me - tripping or no. And I fucking burned you. Probably led to your own self-destruct.

I'm so fucking sorry, man.

I don't expect you to forgive me for the shit I put you through. I just hope that you're still willing to talk to my worthless ass.

Charlie

PS What's this shit with your house being for sale?

Like he wanted to relieve that shit that went down in the bathroom. And what was with that postscript? Maybe it was something Charlie had smoked or something...some weird hallucination.

Ripping a couple of sheets out of his notebook, Gus fired off a reply while trying not to be weirded out that he was actually hand writing a letter rather than typing an email.

Asshat -

You idiot! I forgave your dumb ass ages ago. Now climb down off your fucking cross to make space for me! :P

I'm glad you're making progress. Just be sure to keep your ass clean when you get out.

And what the fuck do you mean my moms' house is for sale?

Gus

The reply came a week and some change later, but it sure as shit didn't make him feel any better.

Gustaficus -

I'll stay off my cross if you stay off of yours. Speaking of, how goes life with the dads?

No clue about the house. My mom just said she passed by it and saw a 'for sale' sign.

Charlie

The smile that he'd had at the greeting slipped from his face the moment he saw the second mention of the 'for sale' sign. Charlie tripping and dreaming up the sign would make it easy to explain away, but Mrs. Broussard didn't play with the alphabet like Charlie did.

An internet search didn't yield any hits; apparently, there was a ton of realty places in Toronto.
Once again, Gus replied though, this time 'round, it was with a lot more agitation than normal.

Charlie -

My house is for sale? WTF? Last I heard the Lesbi-moms were off at some couples camp to rekindle their strap-on or whatever the fuck.

Things with the dads are good. I finished my junior year and am about to start at Carnegie Mellon to polish off my senior year. (Or should that count as senior semester?)

I kind of expected the dads to queen out or fight about it, but they kind of seemed pleased.

I finally did get off my ass and talked things through with them. Between telling them about all the shit that happened and the moms shipping JR to Michael, Dad kind of freaked. He kept saying that my moms had promised they'd keep me safe.

When I told them about CMU accepting me early and not wanting to go back to Toronto, he kind of looked relieved and then promised he'd do everything he could to keep me here.  

I know it's horrible to say, but, when he said it, I was actually happy.

The weirdness continues. Michael and Deb are actually being nice to me...in that 'I tolerate you because I must' sort of way. I suspect that JR had something to do with it.

She spent four days at Britin with the dads and me. Somehow, she weaseled into it.   

Weirder still - Deb, Michael, and the dads are all on talking terms again. They're not ready to completely forgive and forget all the way around but at least it's something.

I'm probably going to curse myself for even writing this, but things are getting better.

So...when are you getting sprung?

Gus

The reply to his letter came a lot slower than any other had in the months previous. Gus had a pretty good suspicion as to why - he'd finally (and rather poorly) told Charlie that he'd be staying in the US indefinitely.

And, yeah, giving a suicidal, recovering addict something to freak out about probably wasn't the wisest of moves. He was all prepared to call and make sure Charlie hadn't done something totally stupid when a letter finally arrive in the mail.

Gus -

I'm glad you finally talked to your dads and that you're finally starting to get this to work. (Didn't I fucking tell you to talk to them like an age ago?)

Michael and Deb are talking to you guys? Jesus! JR is more of a persuasive shit than I thought!

I get sprung a couple of days before my junior year starts. Hopefully.

The listing for your moms' house showed up in the newspaper. (I put it in the envelope with the letter. Don't kill the messenger, man.) Looks like it's really happening. You heard anything from them?

You know...it might not mean anything. You said yourself that they couldn't really afford the place, and, with your ass in the Pitts, maybe they opted for something smaller that they could afford?

Charlie

Gus reread the letter twice to see if Charlie really was as okay with things as he sounded.

Before even glancing at the listing (because he so wasn't ready to see it yet), Gus wrote and addressed his response.

Charlie -

So you're escaping in what? Two...three weeks? I'll start planning the bacchanalia. :D

Considering all the stupid shit JR's talked you into doing in the past, I'm surprised that you're surprised. (Halloween two years ago ring a bell?)

They listed the fucking house? Jesus. I've heard shit all from the moms since they sent me those letters and that was months ago. I'm going to have to check in with Jen Bug and see if she's heard anything.

Gus

Once he'd sealed the envelope and set it in the outgoing mail stack, he picked up the torn newspaper listing. A miniature picture of his house was centered above a block of text. Beneath it was the number to a Toronto firm.

Frowning at it, still not willing to believe it true, Gus picked up the nearest handset and dialed his home phone number.

"We're sorry...the number you have dialed is disconnected or no longer in service..."

He still wasn't totally panicked; they'd had the phone cut off twice before because they couldn't pay the bills.

Without giving himself time to second-guess himself, he dialed the number on the clipping Charlie had sent.

"Gossamer Reality, Jessica speaking. How may I help you today," an overly perky voice asked.

"I'm calling about the property up for sale on Meadowbrook."

"Oh yes! That was listed several days ago."

Gus bit his lower lip. There were a few houses on Meadowbrook that kind of looked like theirs...

"What can you tell me about it?"

"It's a Victorian style. Three bedrooms, two baths, converted attic, den, cozy living room with fireplace..."

Heart hammering in his chest, he went for the cincher.

"Why did the owners list the property?"

The realtor paused. "Oh. I assure you it has nothing to do with the property. The present owners are just separating."

Gus' stomach lurched. Just separating. Two words had never seemed so ugly before.

"Would you like to schedule a tour," she asked, tone hopeful.

But Gus was barely paying attention. His mind was whirling. Were they actually going to do it? And what the fuck did that mean for him and JR?

"I'll just need to check my wife's schedule," he replied absently.

"Of course. That's no problem, Mr..."

"Kinney," he said automatically. "Thank you for the information."

The moment he hung up the phone he began biting his thumbnail in thought. He needed...wanted something more concrete. Surely his mothers wouldn't separate and sell the house without a word to their kids?

With growing trepidation, Gus dialed Melanie's cell phone. Her voicemail clicked in after the first ring. Lindsay's did the same. He tried both their offices only to find them gone to voicemail, too.

He began pacing around Brian's den, eyeing the computer there. It would be easy to hack the phone company files...find out what was really going on, but, if he was caught, he'd be in some serious shit. His dads' didn't deserve him bringing the cops down on them, too.

Sighing, he threaded a hand through his hair.

He was left with only one option.

Picking up the phone once again, he dialed information and requested contact information for his mother. Neither the number nor the address was one he recognized.

Pausing, he asked for a second set on information on a whim.

"And Melanie Marcus? Same location."

There was a beat while the sound of clicking keys was heard in the background. The moment the operator's voice came over the line, Gus felt his queasy feeling magnify tenfold; they didn't match.

Gus dialed the number he had been given for his mother praying that the voice that answered wouldn't be hers. And then, after several rings, an answering machine picked up.

"Hello. You've reached the Peterson residence. Please leave a message at the tone."

He knew that voice. He'd heard it his entire life.

Eyes narrowing, heart beating rapidly, voice shaking, he left his message.

"So. I heard from JR that you two were off to make things work. Next thing I know, Charlie's sending me a realty listing for the house," he started, pausing to collect his thoughts.

"Thanks for keeping your children up to date. I assure you that I love to hear things second hand.

"Of course, I'll probably get to hear all about how you two fucked or popped another kid and are miraculously back together again from someone else, too. So, for future reference, keep in mind you're not just fucking up your lives but JR's and mine as well."

He hung up the phone with a little more force than was necessary, grabbed the clippings and new numbers off the counter, called a cab and waited outside for it to arrive.

He needed to talk to his father in person, and he wasn't willing to wait until that evening to do it.

At the sound of someone entering his office without knocking, Brian's eyes flew up from his computer screen towards his office door fully ready to chew the idiot out for their breach of manners. The protest, however, died on his lips the moment he saw the state his kid was in - anger, confusion, and grief were coming off of him in waves.

"Gus?"

Rather than saying anything, he slammed the real estate clipping onto his father's desk.

Leaning forward to view it more carefully, Brian eyed it with the same disbelief his son had not an hour before.

The newspaper was joined by another slip of paper. This time, it was of two Canadian numbers in his son's writing.

Gus dialed Lindsay's new number, putting it on speakerphone. After listening to the outgoing message and hearing the 'beep,' Brian hung up.

Brian was quiet for a long moment, and Gus stood silently, watching several emotions cross his father's face before settling on barely controlled rage. After a long moment, Brian finally broke the silence.

"Have you told JR," he asked, tone totally businesslike and in control. It was what Gus had needed...wanted once he'd started to put the pieces together.

Blinking slowly, Gus was surprised to feel the sting of tears in eyes. Wordlessly, he shook his head 'no,' sniffing a little as he flopped down into the seat opposite his father's desk.

"How did you find out?"

Keeping his head down, Gus launched into a detailed explanation that was halted several times when his emotions got the best of him.

It wasn't until he was finished that his father finally spoke. This time, it was with a much softer tone.

"I want to check into this...make sure it's true before jumping to conclusions, okay?"

Gus' head shot up, narrowed eyes meeting his father's evenly.

"You want me to lie to JR?"

"I want to give your mothers a chance to explain," Brian started, pausing to see if what he was saying was sinking in before adding, "I never thought that I would say this, but Charlie might be right; they might have moved somewhere else because they couldn't afford the house."

"But why two addresses?"

Trying and failing to look nonchalant, Brian shrugged. "Maybe your mother rented a studio."

Gus shook his head. It was implausible that, if they couldn't afford the house, she'd rent a studio.

"Maybe they're getting a divorce like that realtor said."

"Or maybe they're doing another trial separation as part of their therapy."

"And you want to know which it is before you tell anyone else because they'll totally queen out," Gus said, nodding in understanding.

Brian edged around the desk and set his hand on Gus' shoulder. "I'll call them. I'll figure out what's going on, and we'll decide what to do from there."

Wordlessly, Gus stood and hugged his father. He was so fucking grateful that he was being included...that he wasn't being dismissed.

Brian pulled back first, smiling a little awkwardly. Gus returned it, clearing his throat.

After an uncomfortable pause, Gus shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back onto his heels.

"So...is Cynthia around? I haven't flirted with my girlfriend in awhile."

. . . . .

The rocks and shells in the driveway crunched beneath her boots as she neared the front door. After the angry messages left from Gus and the less than cordial ones left by Justin and Brian, she wasn't sure what kind of a greeting she was going to receive.

Especially after that morning's exchange; she'd called to explain about the house...and the divorce. Justin's reply had been clipped, their conversation brief.

It had never even occurred to her that Gus would find out about what had happened so soon...especially since she, herself, hadn't really had enough time to process what had happened over the last few weeks.

After smoothing her hair down a little and tugging her collar into place, she reached forward and pressed the doorbell. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by as she stood on the stoop, craning her neck to see through the ivy-covered windows. Finally, she heard the lock turning and the door creaking open.

Brian, shirtless, jeans half-undone, hair in disarray, covered in a light sheen of sweat stood in the doorway looking shaken. The emotion was quickly concealed however.

"May I help you?"

His tone held a slightly angry color.

Smiling a little unsurely, Lindsay said, "I came to see my son."

Answering with his own sardonic smile, he responded, "Demanding as ever. I thought all WASPs were supposed to have good manners."

Bristling at the put down, she tried to push passed him. "You can't keep me from seeing Gus."

"He's not here," he explained, casually dropping an arm against the frame and blocking her path, Brian met her confused stare with a heated one. "Which I would have told you had you bothered to call first."

"He wouldn't have answered if I called," she said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
A sharp intake drew her eyes back to Brian's which were suddenly so carefully schooled. Unreadable.

In truth, he hated the small part of himself that felt sorry for her. But, more than anything else, he was furious. Weeks with no word. Phone calls that weren't returned. He and his son trapped in a permanent state of limbo as they waited for the fall out.

"I fail to see how this is my problem," he replied finally, tone bored.

Jaw ticking in anger, eyes narrowed to slits, she spoke again, "The terms of the agreement..."

"Entitles you to progress reports while he stays here and heals from all the shit he went through up there," Brian interjected, pausing to let his words sink in before adding, "I am not going to force my son into talking to you if he doesn't want to."

"Like convincing him to talk to his mother for a few minutes would be hard to do."

"If I wanted to force him, no, it wouldn't be difficult, but the kid already has trust issues," he replied, shooting a meaningful look as he pushed away from the doorframe.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Her tone, scolding and angry, just fueled his rapidly building fury. For the second time in his life, he was the hairsbreadth from hitting her. Unfortunately, this time, she was within striking range.

"When you asked me to be his father, I asked you one thing - that you keep him safe," he started, rising to his full height to stare her down.

"Now, not only do I find out that you and your wife took turns screaming at him and each other, but she fucking hit him."

Lindsay blanched at the words. Looking anywhere but at Brian, she began to fiddle with her purse strap.

"It was an accident. She didn't mean..."

Clenching and unclenching his fist, Brian continued to stare at her. This time, when he spoke, the neutrality in his voice gave was to the iciest tone he could manage.

"Funny. That's what my mother always used to say when the cops showed up my place."

"Mel and I are not your parents," she countered, tone indignant.

Brian stalked towards her, watching her recoil in fear at the expression painted on his face.  

"His friend was fucking self-destructing. He was self-destructing, but, instead of listening to him, being there for him, you tore his room apart. You threw him out of the house..."

"I didn't throw him out; he left!"

"Did you even bother to go looking for him? Or did you just let him wander the streets, alone, in the middle of the fucking night?"

Shaky, skin ashen with shock, Lindsay stared at him, mouth working slowly, silently for a long moment before she could come up with a response. "He was so angry. Even if we did manage to find him..."
The whoosh-thud of his heart hammering in his chest intensified a thousand fold as he stared at this woman he once thought of as a friend.

Furious and desperate for something he slammed the flat of his palm against the doorjamb making Lindsay jump with fear.

"What the fuck did you expect? You just stood there and watched when Melanie hit him."

Lindsay opened her mouth to respond, but Brian railroaded over any comment she could make.

"No. You're nothing like Jack and Joanie. At least with them I knew exactly what to expect," he said, voice low and even and deadly before he slammed the door in her face.

Brian leaned his forehead against the cool wood, expelling a long, low puff of air. He was furious at himself for losing control. Angry at Lindsay, Melanie, and himself for allowing things to get this bad.

But, more than anything else, he was fucking terrified. Not just of losing his son but also because of how close he'd come to beating the hell out of Lindsay...for making her feel a fraction of what Gus had.

. . . . .

The longer Brian took to come back to the living room, the more concerned Justin became. Fishing his pants from where they'd been discarded on the floor earlier, he pulled them on and padded across the house towards the front door.

From the rigid stance, he could guess who'd just dropped in for a visit.

Confirmation came soon enough as the carefully colored words gave way to deliberately cruel, returns. And, though they'd discussed Gus and his mothers on numerous occasions, Justin had to admit that he was more than a little scared as the conversation progressed. He'd only seen Brian that angry, that out of control, a handful of times.

And so he hovered, ready to jump in if necessary, but knowing that Brian needed to tell Lindsay all the thoughts that had been haunting him.

The moment he slammed the door shut, Justin breathed a sigh of relief and set about doing what he'd come to be good at after all these years of battling 'the family' - putting the pieces back together again.

Slowly, cautiously, he walked towards Brian and smoothed a hand over his spine before kissing his partner's shoulder blade.
Brian released a shaky breath.

"You needed to do it," Justin said, softly.

Pushing away from the door and Justin, Brian went straight for the liquor cart, poured a drink, downed it in one, and ran a shaky hand over his day-old scruff.

"Doesn't mean that I should've done it."

"Fuck. That. She's a part of this. A big fucking part."

Smiling weakly, Brian wrapped a hand around the nape of Justin's neck, fingertips grazing the short hairs, making him shiver.

Reading the action for what it is -- a silent thank you -- Justin smiled reassuringly.

Brian returned the smile and kissed Justin softly.

Expression changing to a mischievous one, Justin deepened the kiss into a longer, lingering one.

Pulling back regretfully, he whispered, "Later," against Justin's lips at the sound of the front door being keyed open.

Gus came tumbling through the door carrying several bags with JR close behind, laughter and JR's booming voice following them as they entered.

"Did you see that woman with the day-glow fuchsia hair? What the fuck was that about?"

Snorting in response, Gus passed the kitchen were Brian and Justin were speaking in hushed tones and walked towards the dining room table.

"Need I remind you that you tried to dye your hair blue after Charlie's experiments with Kool-Aid?

JR gasped. "That was two years ago," she squeaked, making two years sound like an eon. "And you so swore that you'd never mention it again."

"Consider it payback for you telling Michael all about that shit you promised not to repeat," Gus said, voice absent of all malice.

"It worked in our favor didn't it, asshat?" JR replied, preening a little.

"Oh ho! You've spent far too much time around Charlie; you're starting to sound like him."

Even with his back turned to her, Gus knew JR was sticking her tongue out at him.

"Pot/Kettle."

Following Gus' path, JR stopped short at the sight of Brian and Justin, inches apart in the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, she decided to announce it to Gus. "Your dads are making out again."
 

Gus, pausing to set the shopping bags on the table barely batted an eye. "That's because they're so in wuv," he responded in a teasing tone shot over his shoulder at his dads.

Still hopped up on sugar and the joy of shopping, JR came skipping into the dining room to where Gus was sorting his stuff out from hers.

"It's kind of weird -- two people who've been together since the Stone Age are still going at it."

"Hey," Justin cried in protest. Beside him, Brian just snorted and smiled softly.

"You've got a point," Gus said, pointedly ignoring Justin. "Sixteen years with a minimum of drama. It's like...amazing."

JR nodded, following Gus' lead.

"The moms should so take lessons from them."

"Isn't that what Camp Hugs and Gropes is for? Bringing back the warm, fuzzy memories of their yesteryears so they're more inclined to stay in their family home?"

JR rolled her eyes. "You may be smart and like über-hacker boy, but you totally blow at writing ad copy.

Snorting, Gus pushed the overly fluffy, too girlie for words purchases towards JR.

"That's because I have a deep-seeded problem with feeding people anything but snark-filled truth. It's my gift."

Turning on his heel, he finally cast a glance towards his father, hoping that they'd finished...whatever it was they were doing because Gus had so learned the 'make lots of noise before entering a room' rule very early on.

The quip he had about deep seeded people died on his lips the second he saw his dads' miserable expression. Gaze shifting from Brian to Justin and back, he asked, "Who died?"

Clearing his throat, Brian took a hesitant step forward. "You might want to sit for this."

Gus' eyes widened at the tone and the total and utter lack of term of endearment.

Shaking his head slowly while edging into one of the dining room chairs, he replied, "No good ever comes from those words."

The second that Brian and Justin eased into chairs opposite of JR and his, Gus shot a pointed look at Brian.

"You're not sick again, are you?"

Eyes growing large, JR pinned first Gus and then Brian with a hard stare.

"What the fuck do you mean 'again'? When were you sick?"

"It was before your annoying ass came along," Gus answered absently.
JR narrowed her eyes at Gus for a split second before looking at Brian with concern. "You're not, are you?"

"No," Brian said, clearly shaken that someone had told his son about that little chapter of his life.

There was a slight pause while Brian and Justin watched both children look visibly relieved at his response.

And then, Gus straightened in his seat as he figured out what it all meant.

"Let me guess; the silver thing that sped past the taxi was one of the moms looking to collect her lost sheep," he said, tone bitter.

"Yes."

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Gus sat back in his chair.

"And we have a record for shortest counseling session, too," Gus said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop in annoyance. A couple of weeks at some stupid camp and suddenly they were ready to 'handle' him again. It was a little too like last time 'round for his comfort.

Seeing the agitation coming from both kids, Brian leaned forward in his chair, took a deep breath, and revealed what Justin learned from his phone conversation a few hours earlier.

"Your moms are getting a divorce," he said, watching them both to gauge their reactions.

JR's reaction was immediate and obvious. A look of shock spread across her face at the same time she released a brief, strangled gasp.

"What?"

She breathed, throat burning and closing down.

Blinking slowly in shock, Gus' eyes flitted briefly with quickly concealed pain.

"Told you that 'Hug the World' shit is worthless," he mumbled to himself.

JR sniffed repeatedly beside him. The truth in his statement a little too much for her to bear.

Side-eyeing her, he said, "You didn't expect them to stay together, did you?"

Rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve, JR met Gus' stare for a moment before ducking her head back down. "No. But hearing it..."

Seeing the flushed, tear-streaked, utterly distraught face of his little sister, Gus felt his stomach clench and a sick feeling flood him that he tried desperately to hide from her.

It wasn't just hearing it finally spoken out loud or knowing just how devastated it made JR.

As melodramatic...as hateful and cruel and single-minded as it sounded, the only thing Gus could think was how dare they.

How dare they pick the one moment when things were finally starting to fall into place.

How dare they try to wrest him from the tiny bit of happiness he'd etched out for himself. To snatch him away from his fathers. To use him as they had before -- as a whipping boy, as a catalyst to fight.

He hated his mothers more in that moment than he ever had.

Beside him, JR shifted in her chair, arms wrapping around his neck and clutching at him in fear and agony just as she had when she was younger and the moms were fighting. Smoothing his hand through her hair and down her back as he'd done on countless occasions, he whispered long and low into her ear what he knew she wanted to hear - more lies.

"It probably won't last. They'll be pawing at each other before the summer's through."

From the opposite side of the table, they watched the two survivors of the Peterson-Marcus household cling to each other.

Justin could feel the agony coming off of Brian in waves. He knew his partner blamed himself for what had happened. What was continuing to happen.

Slowly, cautiously, he reached out across the table and covered Brian's hand with his own.

After startling a little, Brian looked down at their hands -- left over right -- and intertwined their fingers. Feeling the flesh-warmed ring against his fingers, Brian gently squeezed his partner's hand.

Maybe he didn't get everything wrong.

After a pronounced silence, JR finally pulled back from Gus' shoulder and wiped away the tears from her puffy eyes. Sniffling again, she offered her brother a watery smile of thanks that he returned.

The moment was broken when Gus turned to look at his father for the first time in what seemed hours, and, in a hoarse voice, asked, "What's going to happen to us?"

Meeting his son's stare evenly, tone absolutely resolute, he replied, "There's no way in hell Michael and I are going to let either of you go back to them willingly."

29: Penance

[Sixteen]

"Charlie's the one that figured it out," Gus started, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. "It was one of those weekends where his father actually remembered his kid and his first wife long enough to come for a visit.

"Charlie and I were nine? Maybe ten at the time. The second Charlie's dad rang the doorbell, his mom ordered us into the backyard. Even way up in Charlie's tree house we could hear them going at it. And, the longer it went on, the greener Charlie got. Like he was so upset by hearing them fight he was going to cry or heave or something."

[Ten]

The wooden slats of the tree house were well worn and grayed with age. Sunlight spilled though them, catching the dust and pollen molts swirling in the air. Gus sat, straight-backed against one of the walls watching Charlie pace in agitation.

"They'll work it out; it's what parents do," Gus murmured in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

Charlie paused mid-stride, pushed a hand through his hair, and turned to look at his friend.

"But what if they don't? What if all this just makes him disappear?"

Gus bit his lip and swallowed his original thought - that Mr. Broussard would just do that anyway - and focused on trying to comfort his friend who was, apparently, five seconds from total meltdown.

"Grownups always fight about crap. Mostly money and stuff."

"But they fight every time he comes to see me. And his visits are getting further and further apart," Charlie replied slumping onto the floor beside Gus. The despair and under-riding bitterness in Charlie's voice weren't even the least bit shocking to Gus' ears; he'd heard it from Charlie before and he'd lived through it personally.

Thinking of his own situation, Gus responded, "At least your parents are split."

Charlie's gaze shifted from the tree house's slatted floor to his best friend's expression and saw the look of utter sadness and understanding there.

"It'll happen for you, Gus."

[Sixteen]

"Charlie got it into his head that he was going to go into the kitchen and drag his dad off to take us to that wannabe Chuck E. Cheese arcade/pizza place that used to be down near the mall. Diangelo's...Dominico's...whatever the fuck," Gus said, motioning with his hand.

"He got halfway down the tree when he fell..."

[Ten]

Gus stood in the grass, staring up at Charlie as his much shorter friend tried to scale back down the tree.

"Come on, Grandma. I'd like to get there before they close," Gus taunted.

And then it happened. The push/pull of time as it seemingly slowed down and sped up. Charlie twisted, making a rude gesture with his hand. His face went from annoyance to horror as his sneaker slipped from the low branch it was resting on.

"Charlie!" Gus cried, watching helplessly as his best friend plummeted from the tree house towards the ground.

He landed on the earth with a thud and a crack as a bone in the arm Charlie had thrown out in an attempt to break his fall bowed to gravity and weight.

Gus sank onto the ground beside his friend, knees becoming instantly soaked with dew and grass stains.

"Charlie? Charlie, can you hear me," Gus asked in a panicked-but-trying-to-hide-it voice as he checked to see if his friend was breathing.

Blue eyes met concerned green as Charlie blinked slowly. His gaze was drawn from Gus to the tree and back as if trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

"That fucking tree hates me," Charlie groaned, shaking his head a little. "'M fine. I just-" Charlie's response was bit off when he tried to move. That was when they both noticed his arm was laying at a strange angle.

Apparently that was the signal his body was waiting for to recognize the pain.

[Sixteen]

"He just screamed," Gus continued, closing his eyes and shaking his head at the memory. The sound was inhuman, terrifying.

That moment swirled and collided with other less than pleasant memories: of another fall; of bone breaking and shrieks of pain; of contemptuous looks and harsh words; rage-filled eyes and clawing hands that manhandled him by his lapels until his feet were dangling off the ground; of recriminations, helplessness, and, most of all, fear.

But Charlie's fall was just like JR's -- an accident.

"What happened next," Dr. Roche prompted.

Gus shook himself from the stupor he was in, forcing himself back into the present.

"His parents came running out the back door. I don't remember if it was because of the sound of him hitting the ground or his scream, but they were there working together to get Charlie in the car and get him to the hospital," Gus said, pausing a beat before adding, "And they'd stopped yelling."

Closing his eyes again, Gus pressed his forehead against the office's window and let the memory wash over him.

"It was quiet the whole way there. Mr. Broussard was just focused on driving and Mrs. Broussard just kept telling us both that Charlie'd be all right. And, Christ how I wanted to believe her," Gus continued, shaking his head before turning to look at Dr. Roche's impassive glance. He threaded his hand through his hair.

"We got there and everything was okay while they were filling out insurance forms, but, the second they got to the 'waiting' part of the whole waiting room experience, the arguing started again."

[Ten]

"This is all your fault," Mrs. Broussard screeched, rounding on her ex-husband with a finger pointing at his face.

"My fault? How the fuck's Charlie falling out of a tree my fault," Mr. Broussard volleyed, pulling himself up to full height. His voice boomed, harsh from one too many packs of cigarettes.

"You were so busy explaining why you couldn't pay what you owe me--"

"Not this child support bullshit again," he interrupted, throwing his hands up in the air.

"-that we didn't notice the boys climbing that tree," she finished, eyes narrowing at him in annoyance.

"And how many times have they climbed that tree and not gotten hurt? Jesus Christ! Next you're going to blame me for planting the tree that was there when we moved in. Or how 'bout teaching the boy how to climb up it? Or maybe you're just sore you got a kid to fall out of a tree in the first place?"

Gus shivered; the whole argument was becoming just a little too familiar for his taste. Shifting in the hideous, orange bucket chair, Gus looked at his friend. Charlie was pale-faced. His lips were thinned, arm cradled against his chest, in obvious pain.

Managing a weak smile, Charlie said, "At least they're talking about something other than money."

[Sixteen]

"So they began fixating on another topic and that was what drove you to acting out," Dr. Roche interrupted, voice incredulous as he tried to follow Gus' thought process.

Gus shrugged, eyes never meeting the psychiatrists' as he began playing with his cuff again.

"When my moms were fighting about me, they were focusing on something else. Something that wasn't tearing them apart," he replied, already sensing how feeble it all sounded.

"Gus, the fighting is what did that. It was a symptom of a bigger problem; their marriage was falling apart."

Abandoning the fraying edge of his sleeve, Gus began running his hands over the chair's smooth upholstery. Dr. Roche had been pushing him towards this truth since the first time they had met, and, now that they were getting so painfully close to it, his stomach was clenching with stress. It was something he'd never intended anyone to know.

"I was a kid," Gus explained with a miserable shrug. "I understand it now, but, back then, all I was concerned about was keeping them together."

Dr. Roche leaned forward, setting his teacup down so roughly that some the liquid it held tipped out over the rim.

"But why?"

The question was asked with such an edge to its tone that Gus felt the answer spilling from his lips unchecked:

"Because someone needed to be there for JR -- to make sure she took her medicine and got to school okay, to help her with her homework, to talk to her, and to make sure that she didn't do anything stupid," Gus ground out, feeling all the self-hatred, self-doubt, and fear bubbling up inside. Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to continue. "Because I couldn't bear to just see my kid sister on holidays. And I sure as shit didn't want to leave her alone in a household like that!"

Gus licked his lips and blinked slowly, surprised to find his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He shook his head, forcing himself to finish his thought aloud; he knew Dr. Roche would continue to push him if he didn't.

"I did it because I love her," Gus revealed, finally meeting the doctor's stare. There was an odd twinkle there. Something Gus could almost label as pride.

"But what about you?"

Gus closed his eyes, letting tears slip down his cheeks unchecked as he thought of Charlie, ghostly white with pain as his parents continued to argue. Sucking in a breath, he realized just how close he was to his last, greatest secret.

[Ten]

"It's my fault," Charlie said after several minutes of silence.

"How'd you get there?"

Charlie shrugged. "The whole time we were up in the tree house I kept wishing something would happen to make it stop. To make them stop. And it did. At least for a little while."

[Sixteen]

Gus looked down at his hands - long, slender fingers he'd inherited from his father. He used them to write computer code, to hack files, to do endless chores, and he'd used them as weapons. They'd caused JR's accident. And they'd nearly taken Entes' life.

Both times he'd simply wanted it to stop. All the noise. All the torment. The feeling in his gut that it was all his fault. That he'd never be good enough.

He supposed he also inherited his father's temper as well.

"I thought that I deserved it. For JR's accident. For wanting something to happen to make it all stop," Gus admitted quietly. "And it did. Sort of," he continued.

Looking up at Dr. Roche's comforting gaze, he finally let slip the reason behind it all:

"It became my penance."

Dr. Roche's face paled slightly. "Gus..."

The boy shook his head to stop any words of comfort. He'd come this far. It was time to finish the path set before him. Taking in a shaky breath, he continued.

"It started as penance. Then it was just habit. And then it became too much."

. . . . . .

She'd settled into a daze of not-really-living. Routine was all that kept her going. Endless days of waking up, going to work, and returning to the tiny apartment she'd rented after the house had been sold, after the divorce.

The only change in her schedule fell on Tuesdays when she visited with the psychologist she'd been recommended. But, even then, she'd carefully closed herself off from everything but the routine, forcing herself to block out the torrent of emotions the total upheaval in her life brought.

And then she came home one night to a message on her answering machine that threw her carefully built denial into chaos.

And, of course, who better to force her to face her demons than Brian Kinney?

The answering machine blinked and beeped, a furious voice filled the room.

"I don't know where the fuck you think you got the right to hit my son, Melanie, but I swear to God if you ever lay a hand on him again, I'll fucking kill you."

Shaking, heart pounding in her chest, she sank onto the sofa. Her eyes fell onto documents that had sat on the coffee table for some time. She'd flip flopped on her decision more than a dozen times. Fear had kept her from sending it. Fear of being left behind, forgotten. Fear from the fact that her life seemed to be spiraling out of control.

A self-deprecating laugh fell from her lips as she replayed Brian's warning, forcing herself to realize the truth; she'd lost everything. And, while Lindsay was partially to blame, it wasn't entirely her fault. Nor was it Gus'.

Melanie had contributed to her current state.

All she could do now was try to make amends.

. . . . .

The screen finally faded to black as the final slide in his latest client's PowerPoint presentation ended. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Brian forced himself to offer a congenial smile before whisking the client out of the meeting room and beating a hasty retreat towards his office. Fortunately, he could leave Theodore to finish wooing what was arguably the most boring businessman he'd ever met.

Brian had intentionally scheduled three important meetings that day to distract himself from the fact that Gus would be meeting with Lindsay that afternoon. On some level, it had worked. Although, in hindsight, he should have distracted himself in less productive but much more enjoyable ways.

Bypassing the direct route to his office - he didn't want to encourage Mr. 'I-will-show-you-my-slides-by-God' to follow him - Brian turned the corner and bumped into a FedEx deliveryman waiting outside his office.

"Brian Kinney," the driver asked, already fiddling with his electronic package tracker.

Nodding absently, he signed for the envelope and walked straight into his office without a second glance, Cynthia hot on his heels to confirm future appointments

Normally he would have tossed the packet aside for later; he was in a hurry to get home before his kid so that they could deal with whatever shit Lindsay was trying to stir up, but something made him tug open the envelope.

A thick legal document tumbled out with a smaller notepaper clipped on top.

He'd recognize that tiny scrawl anywhere. This was Melanie's work.

Rage bubbled through him. First, she terrorizes his kid, then she refuses to return his calls, and now she was sending him legal documents?

He wanted to rend her apart for what she'd done before, but now she had the fucking nerve to bring up some sort of legal action?

Admittedly, calling and leaving a threatening message on her answering machine probably hadn't been the wisest of moves. He did, however, still have a hell of a lot more of Jack Kinney in his veins than he wanted to admit to.

Reflexively, he wondered when the next flight to Toronto was before forcing himself to read her letter.

It was handwritten on stationary from an unfamiliar law firm - Madison, McGovern, Malcolm, and Pierce.

Brian:

I always hated the way you forced me to see the truth. It almost seems like a cosmic joke that Gus became a master of dazzling Lindz and I with such bullshit that we didn't see we were imploding and that we were taking our kids with us.

No. That's only partly true; we didn't want to see the problems in our marriage. We let ourselves be drawn in by Gus' problems but only so far as to argue about them.

It's passed time it stopped.

After what I did, I don't expect Gus or you to forgive me; my behavior was inexcusable. In fact, I would consider myself lucky to ever see him again.

Since Lindz and I split, I honestly can't tell you what she's planning on doing - leaving Gus with you and Justin, forcing him back to Toronto, or moving back to Pittsburgh. I hope it's the first of those options.

Somehow, I doubt she's as willing to admit that Gus needs more stability in his life than she can provide.

I failed Gus more times that I can count. I figure it's about time I did something right.

You signed papers like this the first time Lindsay and I split. It almost seems fitting we do it in reverse. Only, this time, I'm doing it out of love rather than a fear of being left behind.

Much as it pains me to admit it, you're a good father, Kinney.

Take good care of him.

Melanie Marcus

Brian felt his knees give buckle as he sank inelegantly into his computer chair.

Attached was paternity paperwork that returned his rights back to him. All that was needed was his signature and to file them, and Gus would legally be his son again.

As much as he had grown to hate Melanie for all that she had done to his son, in that moment, he was so fucking thankful because she had given him an unbelievably huge gift. Lindsay wouldn't be able to drag his kid off to the frozen North. Not on his watch. Not without a legal fight

. . . . .

Meanwhile, across town, an answering machine had just clicked on:

"Hi! You've reached the Novotny-Bruckner residence. Please leave a message at the beep."

"Michael? This is Melanie. Listen...I know we discussed JR only spending a couple of months with you. I was wondering if she could stay a little longer.

"You've probably heard by now that Lindz and I are splitting," Melanie said, pausing to gather her thoughts.  "And what happened with Gus.

"I need to take some time. Get myself together. I'm in therapy and taking anger management classes...I just need the time to get my head together.

"Just call. Let me know if you can keep her there."

The answering machine beeped once, twice, and turned itself off again.

Beside the low table that held the machine, a dazed JR sat, eyeing it with disbelief and relief.

. . . . .

A mail truck rumbled down a narrow, twisting country lane and stopped at the postbox near the street.

Among the seemingly endless catalogs, bills, and junk mail, was a letter addressed to Gus postmarked from Toronto.

30: Release

[Sixteen - Past]

The Formica table was cool beneath his touch. Fingertips drummed across the chipped surface with impatience. This staring game was getting old.

The interrogation room they locked him into was cold, sterile, and unremarkable -- institutional beige cinderblock, steel door, and a two-way mirror. It was all so...expected.

The detective shifted in the seat beside him, wooden slats creaking with complaint.

"Gus Peterson-Marcus, correct," she asked.

Like the principal, campus security rent-a-cops, teachers, and students hadn't called his name out in disgust, in cheering support, and everything in between when the cops had arrived to haul his ass downtown.

Gus sneered at the woman, spreading the skin on his lips, breaking the scab. His tongue darted out, smoothing the line of blood bubbling up, trying to ease the pain.

The cop quickly cut her gaze from him to the file in front of her.

Snorting in amusement and her apparent discomfort, he scrunched down in his seat, desperate to get comfortable despite his arms being handcuffed behind his back.

"You're going to be charged with assault and battery."

That got Gus' attention. Entes had started that shit.

"I can see you already have an extensive file. Some interesting charges...hacking, shoplifting...arson."
Gus felt his skin bristle at the mention of arson. Charlie had pinned that shit on him. He'd fucking taken the fall on that one and that son of a bitch kid goes and blabs all about his life to that fucker Entes.

"Your school counselor listed you as antisocial, disruptive, troubled...at risk."

Eyes narrowed, he responded, "Words and labels are bullshit; a child only becomes 'at risk' when you tell him he is."

The detective ignored his comment, clicked her pen, and began taking notes.

"Since you've been through the system before, you don't need me to tell you what happens next," she started.

Rolling his eyes, Gus shifted again, rotating first one wrist then the other trying to regain some feeling.

"First, you talk me to death while you wait for my mothers to take their sweet time getting down to the station. Meanwhile, your friends watch me through the glass making notes about my hostility and how my odd upbringing might contribute to the mess I've become."

The cop's eyes cut from Gus' to the window and back.

"There isn't anyone..."

Gus rolled his eyes yet again. Christ they sent a newbie to work his case. What a laugh. "Of course there isn't. You just keep looking over there for your health," he said, pausing. "I'd also remind you that, legally, you can't question me without a parent, guardian, or advocate present."

"Well...aren't you the smart one," she said, snapping his file shut. "We'll see how smug you are after going through central booking."

The door to the interrogation room opened almost immediately as several cops came into the room. One grabbed him roughly by the cuffs, hauling him to his feet.

Already abused flesh tugged and pulled against the metal confines, pain searing his wrists. A groan of pain escaped his lips, before he pulled himself upright and twisted out of their grasp.

The walkway was long. Linoleum squeaking under rubber soles, they led him past the pit of desks where uniforms and plain clothed cops spoke with handcuffed perps giving statements, where telephones rang shrilly, and fluorescent lights beamed across a sea of beige and brown and black and blue. It was all too bright and too loud. Overwhelming and heart-poundingly terrifying.

A heavy metal gate was buzzed open in front of them. Steel pins squeaking in protest as the door swung wide and then banged shut behind him.

There was a low murmur of voices and then, blessedly, his handcuffs were being keyed open. Almost instantly, he started rubbing at his wrists, absently watching the red welts that had risen on his skin.

"Place you left hand on the scanner, and your right on the counter."

In his peripheral line of sight, he saw the cop that had dragged his ass out of the interrogation chair, resting his hand on the butt of his gun. The message was clear; try something, and I'll strike you down. The moment was surreal.

Nodding, Gus complied, watching the lighted box glow and hum and dump his prints into the computer it was attached to. If he hadn't been scared out of his fucking mind, he might marvel at the technology.

"And the right," she prompted.

He switched, watching the process repeat just as before being led behind the camera. The flash clicked. The camera snapped and dumped his updated photo into memory.

A large, plastic container appeared from nowhere.

"Empty your pockets."

He cleared them out, watching the cops watch him while the clerk inventoried every object audibly.

"One cell phone, one wallet - high school ID, one city bus pass, seventy three dollars cash - Canadian dollars, eleven dollars - American, three condoms, one small tube of lubricant," the clerk paused, eyes meeting Gus' with obvious disapproval.

Gus bit back every acerbic comment he had--pissing off the help wouldn't help matters.

"One packet of gum-three sticks remaining, one lighter, and half a package of cigarettes," she said, making notes in his file.

"And now, your...jewelry."

Eyebrow, nose, and nipple earrings were all removed, catalogued, and sealed in a large envelope and then, suddenly, the cuffs were slapped back on before he was guided through a second heavy, steel gate.

They marched him further down the line of holding cells. Institutional beige suddenly became flaking blue. The air heavy with filth and fear.

His feet were suddenly leaden. The sick feeling that had been growing in his stomach grew several notches. Last time, they'd locked him up in juvie. He'd been out in a couple of hours.

This was real.  So fucking real.

"Open 36!"

An answering buzz filled the silence of the hall. Steel bars rattled and complained and finally slid
back. He felt himself being nudged inside, the cuffs being removed, the door rattling shut.

He looked expectantly from one guard-the one that manhandled him to the older, graying one.

"Your arraignment's been set for tomorrow morning, 9 o'clock. ''Til then, you're in lockdown," he explained.

Panic set in as he gripped the bars. Battered, bruised knuckles screaming in pain that he ignored.

"What about seeing a lawyer? Or my moms?"

The look the kind-faced guard offered him was one of pure pity.

"Your mom has already been by, kid. She said she'd heard all she needed to."

His heartbeat increased ten-fold. The whoosh-thud drowned out everything. Weak-kneed, he stumbled backwards onto the bed.

Closing his eyes, he flashed back to the interrogation room and how the cop kept glancing at the mirror expectantly. Mel had probably been on the other fucking side playing the mother and lawyer card.

She had to know how fucking terrified he was. Maybe she thought it some sort of fucked up punishment...revenge or something.

Sighing, he threaded his hand through his hair. Fuck her. He'd take care of this himself. Maybe his real mother...or his father could do something.

"Don't I get a phone call?"

The guard nodded again. "I'll come and get you in a few minutes. Got a couple of people ahead of you, kid."

Gus stared at the phone for a long moment contemplating whom to call. His father was in Tokyo on business and he'd taken Justin with him as an 'I don't recognize things like anniversaries' anniversary/business trip.

And, according to the guard that dragged him down the hall, it had to be a local number.

That left one person.

The phone was picked up on the first ring.

"Gus? Is that you," a tiny voice filled the line.

"JR?"

A sigh of relief filled the line. "Gussy Gus where are you? Momma came home, and they started yelling. And it's so loud and scary here without you."

In the distance, over JR's sniffling and hiccupping, was the sound of furious voices.

"Where are you at, Jen Bug?"

"Outside. On the stoop." A beat. "Gus what happened? Why aren't you here? I got home from school and nobody was here.  

"They took forever to get back from wherever they went, and they left me here by myself. It was getting dark out, and I was so scared. And now they're yelling, and they haven't stopped." A beat. "Momma said you tried to kill someone." Another beat. "Gussy what happened?" JR said, voice raising and speeding up as she spoke, sobbed, and hiccupped her way through.   

Gus felt his throat close, his chest tighten until he thought he couldn't fucking breathe. Licking his lips, he released a shaky breath before responding.
"I got into a fight at school."

"With that Entes boy?"

Sighing, Gus threaded his hand through his hair. Hands itching for a cigarette. Anything to help him calm down because, if he freaked the fuck out, his little sister would, too.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"But it's more serious than last time?"

Always so perceptive.

"Yeah, Jen Bug, it is. Listen, can you ask Mom to get me a lawyer...see if I can get sprung before tonight."

There was a short pause at the end, fabric rustling and sneakers squeaking on cement. The signal got a little weaker as JR moved from her spot. If Gus closed his eyes hard enough, he could just picture her pacing and puzzling everything together.

"That's what they've been fighting about. Momma's acting as your lawyer. She's the one that insisted you spend the night. That's what they're fighting about, Gussy. She thinks it'll scare you into behaving."

Gus groaned, resting his head against the wall beside the payphone.

"And what did Mom say?"

JR paused, and he knew it was because she was thinking of how to phrase things delicately.

"The truth, JR."

"They're too busy fighting over whose fault it is. Momma seems to think it's Brian's."

Jaw ticking in anger, Gus felt the stabbing pains of a headache blossoming behind his temple.

"I need you to do me a big favor, JR."

"Anything," she said, quickly.

"My arraignment is tomorrow at 9 o'clock. If I don't get released...if you hear anything about Melanie willingly leaving me in this fucking box another day, I want you to call Cynthia..."

"But why not your dads?" JR interjected.

"They're in Japan, remember?" He said, pausing a second before continuing. "I want you to call Cynthia. The number's in my room..."

"Taped under your keyboard. Yeah. I know."

Gus smiled a little. Only his nosy, twatty little sister would think to look for shit there.

"Tell her that I'm in lock-up. General populations. Adult lock-up. They booked me on assault and battery..."

"Oh, Gus," she breathed into the phone.

Her anguished voice cut him to the quick. He might have had to deal with worse shit at her age, but he tried like hell to keep it from touching her. They all did-Michael, Ben, Deb...

She was, however, the only person in a position to help him that he trusted.

"You promised me, remember, kid? Don't fall apart on me, okay?" he said, gripping the phone tighter.

He heard her sniffle a little before a more confident voice filled the line.

"What else?"

"It was self-defense; Entes hit me first. Half the fucking school saw it happen," he paused, feeling the familiar anger flood his veins. "I haven't seen a fucking lawyer," he breathed into the phone. "Mel never even came into the fucking room."

"Should I tell him about the other stuff, too?"

Gus squeezed his eyes shut, fingering the bruise on his cheek that Mel had left.

"Yeah, kid. Tell Dad anything he needs to know."

There was a short pause while they just breathed into the phone. Gus absorbing JR's strength and JR his.

Gus cleared his throat, suddenly thick with raw emotion.

"Since I'm not going to be there in the morning to remind you, you need to make sure to take your medicine. You know you can't focus properly in class without it. And, if you miss the school bus in the morning, take a cab to school. Don't take the city bus; there's way too many weirdoes on it in the morning. If you need cab fare or lunch money, there's some..."

"...in your room, in the Pringles can. Got it. Thanks, Dad," JR said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She had enough parents thank you very much.

Gus bristled slightly. "Do not tell me you just compared me to Michael."

"If the shoe fits, asshat."

"I won't even dignify that with a response."

JR smirked.  "And you should try not to drop the soap...unless your roomie's hot."

Sometimes the things that came out of that girl's mouth were horrifying. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gus responded. "One - you need to stay away from your Dad's other video collection."

"I saw it at Em's," she interjected.

To which Gus made a mental note to cuss Emmett out the next time they spoke because he so had no right leaving an impressionable, inquisitive, mischievous little shit in the same room with his 'collection.'

"Two," he continued, "I'm bunking alone."
"So it's the right hand rodeo?"

And she definitely needed to spend less time around him and Charlie and more time around girls her own age because twelve year olds shouldn't be thinking about the logistics of male masturbation.

"Three-Even if I wasn't alone, I'd never do anything so stupid as to fuck raw," he continued, looking pointedly at the guard who was obviously listening to his side of the conversation.

The laughter that filled the phone line covered the sound of the guard clearing his throat in discomfort. It did not, however, stop Gus from catching the guard pointedly tapping his watch.

"Glad to hear some of your Dads' brains rubbed off on you."

"And four-this conversation is too warped for me to contemplate. Now...I've got to hang up. Time's running out."

"Be careful, Gus."

"You too, kid."

"We'll get you out of there, Gus. Even if I have to bake a file into a fucking cake."

"Love you, Bonny," he said, smiling weakly.

"Love you, too, Clyde," JR replied instantly.

The moment the receiver was back in its cradle, the guard was grabbing his arm to march him back down the cellblock.

The cell was dark and cold. Every surface threadbare. The floor had been worn in the small, narrow walkway between the gate, along the bed, and the 'bathroom' tucked into the corner.

Flopping back onto the flimsy mattress, he stared up at the cracked ceiling. The spider's web of broken, caking tile was giving way under snow-brought water damage. From further up the cell block, he could hear sounds of life--his neighbor who was muttering in his sleep, the guy two cells down who was praying, the one near the gate snoring loud enough to wake the fucking dead, and, in the cell beside his, the boy scarcely older than himself, sobbing. And then there was the step-squash-swish of cops patrolling the cells every half hour to make sure no one had offed themselves.

Endless hours of nothing but the same sights, smells, and sounds all blurred into white noise.

He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, wondering if this was his future.

. . . . .

The next morning came with a vengeance. Hot sun blazing through his barred window, a tray of lumpy oatmeal pushed under his door, and the noise of shift change.

He scooped up the tray, grateful even for the gelatinous mess since his last meal had been lunch the day before. He'd nearly finished it and his orange juice when a shadow fell over his cell.

"Open 36," a voice called down the hall.

The door clanked and clanged along its track, and the shadow entered, lengthening across the floor. High heels clicked along the ruined cement.

Gus closed his eyes, letting out a breath, but he didn't lift his head from his bowl; he wasn't that relieved to see her.

"I trust you've been treated well," she said, voice flat and all businesslike.

Jaw ticking in anger, nodded once, curtly.

"I spoke at great length with the prosecutor last night and called in several favors to get your sentence reduced."

Gus' head shot up. "It was fucking self defense."

Melanie's eyes met his. Calm, cool, collected to his white, hot, and burning.

"The first punch or two perhaps," she said, lips thinning. "But everything after that was attempted murder. Given your propensity for violence..."

Leave it to Melanie to bring up JR falling down the stairs again.

"That was a fucking accident."

Her chin rose and jutted out.

"Based on your previous record and the way you acted after being arrested..."

"How the fuck did you expect me to act? I got handcuffed and dragged from school in the back of a patrol car. I sat in that fucking interrogation room for hours...you never fucking showed up."

"Based on your actions, it was highly unlikely that you wouldn't be tried as an adult offender. You could have been locked away for a year, minimum."

The air whooshed out of his lungs, the shaky feeling of the previous night returning and intensifying. Christ! Were the walls that close to his bed before she'd come in?

"I've managed to get a plea bargain. You plead guilty to a lesser charge, do some community service, counseling, and, when you hit 18, the records are sealed," she said, handing him the agreement to sign.

He noticed, dispassionately, that his hands were shaking, but utterly missed the barest softening of Melanie's stare.

"Your mother and I have already signed."

He looked from the post-it pointing 'sign here' to their signatures at the bottom of the page.

Gus' eyes shot up to Melanie's. "Mom's here?"

Eyes narrowing, Melanie nodded. "She and JR are out in the car."

He looked from her hard stare back to the paperwork and began reading over it, his eyes landing and lingering on the word 'guilty' for several minutes before flitting forward to the sentencing agreements. Finally, he reached the base and the waiting signature line.

Without a word, she held out a pen for him to sign. He took it with great hesitation. His eyes met his mother --correction -- Melanie's.

"If I were anyone else...if I were another paying client, would you tell me to sign this?"

She gazed at him oddly before nodding once. "It's a fair trade."

 "Would it make any difference to you if I said I didn't mean to do it?"

Lips thinned, she looked through him, but said nothing.

Gripping the pen, he scrawled his name across the bottom line and handed the folder back to Melanie.

She didn't look at him as she gathered it from his grasp, mumbling about the guards taking him to collect his things before hurrying towards the open cell door, her heels clicking down the hall in her wake.

He'd never felt so utterly alone.

[Sixteen  -  Present]

Rubber soles pounded against the asphalt. Air burned through his lungs. Sweat pooling, pouring down his spine.

The sun was rising in the distance, blood red against rose pink.

Headlights turned around the curving lane, bouncing off the road's reflectors. Behind him, he heard the breaks squeak as the car slowed down. The low grind of a motor broke through the silence of the morning, window rolling down.

Gripping his cell, he dug in and picked up the pace, easing from the shoulder of the road to the forest's ends.

"Gus!"

The moment he heard that voice, he doubled his efforts.

"Gus!"

Britin loomed in the distance. Close but out of touch.

The car inched up the road.

"Gus! I just want to talk to you."

He stopped just short of the forest proper and stared her down. Chest flush and heaving from excursion, he turned towards her to see the triumphant smile. Like finally getting him to obey was some victory.

"Get in. I'll take you for some breakfast."

Like hell he was going to play by her rules...her timetable.

"What hotel are you staying at?"

She blinked in confusion.

"I've got shit to do today. I'm not willing to rearrange my schedule because you suddenly decided to play mommy dearest again."

Face flushed with anger, she stared him down.

"Get in the car," she ordered, voice brokering no argument.

Unfortunately for her, the days he would have been cowed by that tone were long passed. He sure as shit wasn't going to allow her to trap him into anything. He was through being anyone's puppet.

Jaw twitching in anger, he stared her down. "Unless you plan on beating the shit out of me like your precious wife and dragging me into the car, I suggest we go our separate ways because I. Have. Shit. To. Do," he said, watching her visibly flinch at his harsh honesty.

He felt a guilty flush cover his cheeks before he shook his head. She'd deserved to hear the truth, the consequences of her and Melanie's actions no matter how brutal they might be. Turning his back to her, he started running up the road again.

The car's engine lurched as she caught up. He expected as much.

"Please, Gus."

Oh...the pleading tone.

Gus shook his head, deciding to throw her a crumb. "I have school and court appointed community service. I can't miss either. So, again, which hotel are you at?"

Biting her lower lip, she said, "The Hyatt. Room 311."

He nodded curtly.  "I'll call you when I get done. Set up a time to talk," he said, turning and starting off through the forest before she could stop him.

He was nearly home when he realized that she'd come after him. She'd actually fucking sought him out to talk. Pity it had come only after she'd been called out by both him and his fathers.

. . . . . .

Gus went through his day in a haze. He walked, talked, and acted appropriately, but his mind often wandered to his impending confrontation with his mother. All too clearly he recalled the words he'd spoken to Dr. Roche weeks before about his desired future -- to live in the Pitts, to see JR, for his mother to move back. In the time that had passed, he'd revised his thoughts; he wanted to live with his dads, he wanted to see JR, but he wasn't so sure about having any contact with his mothers.

He was happy here. Things were finally going right.

And then Lindsay had shown up at Britin.

Was she planning on moving back? Was she planning on dragging him back, or would she be willing to leave him in the Pitts with his fathers? Would she force him back into high school? Would he be able to see JR again?

The more he thought about it, the more the sick feeling in his stomach twisted and turned. Absolute fear clawed at him because, ultimately, she was the one with legal rights, and Christ how he resented that.

After speaking with his fathers and Dr. Roche at length, he called her and arranged a meeting.

He met her on his own terms - not in her hotel room because it was as close to 'home turf' as she could get in the Pitts and certainly not the high brow restaurant she'd suggested as her second choice because he didn't feel like toning down anything he had to say to her for the sake of propriety. Not that making a scene ever bothered him before, but he was going to be damned if she got her way.

Instead, he met her at the one place he knew she'd feel off-kilter - the park he spent many an hour in during his early childhood.

Arriving on time, he waited on the bench overlooking the jungle gym. It didn't take her long to show up wrapped in some big, light pink overcoat.

Despite her carefully tailored look, he could tell just how much the past few months had worn on her; her face was pinched and lined with worry, her cheeks a little more hollow looking than normal, and it looked like she hadn't slept in days.

A part of him felt guilty. That ridiculous streak that took the blame for every fight he'd witnessed between his mothers. Time and distance, however, proved him wrong. If he and JR had learned nothing from their own fathers it was that, if you want something to work, you make it happen.

Gus took on the role of the gentleman, and stood as she approached. He kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, and greeted her.

"Hello, Mother."

Even if she had treated him poorly in the past, she was still a parent, and he still loved her.

"Hello, Gus," she said, smiling. Some of the worry lines on her face lessened.

They exchanged pleasantries; Gus asked how her flight was, and Lindsay questioned him about his community service, his therapy, and how he was fairing since his return to the States. Slowly, patiently, he finally wound his way towards the divorce.

Softly spoken and with only the barest hint of sadness, he asked, "Did you even try?"

"What..." she startled, looking up from her gloved hands to his face. At first, she hadn't expected him to be quite so direct, but, of course, he was his father's son she reminded herself.

"Did you and Mom even try to work things out at this couples' resort?"

"Yes. We both did," she replied, wringing her hands nervously.

Anger flashed across his eyes. It was the only 'tell' he had anymore. Over the years, he'd become a master at hiding his feelings. What had happened to the little boy that wore his emotions so openly?

From the guilty flush to her cheeks, he knew it was a lie. That fact alone rankled him. He was fucking trying. He was playing by the rules - her own and by the ones his therapist suggested, but lying to him outright...

"What happened?"

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from pointing out the obvious - that, when his mothers stopped screaming about him and all the bad shit in their lives, there was nothing left to say. What she did respond with was a semblance of the truth.  

Lindsay took a halting breath. Biting her lower lip, she struggled to put into words what she'd felt all those weeks before at the couples' resort.

"I realized that, even though Mel and I still care for each other, I don't love her anymore."

Pity, relief, and guilt flooded through him like waves only to be followed by an emotion he'd grown to recognize only recently - anger. It spread like wildfire as he watched his mother -- correction Lindsay -- struggling to regain her composure.

It had taken sixteen long, agonizing years to get to this place. For her to finally see the fucking truth. And Christ how he'd planned this moment. All the things he was going to rail at her for. Every single indignity. He'd thought he'd want an apology at the least - for her giving up on him; for her not protecting him from Melanie, from JR's tribe, from himself; for looking the other way when he'd come traipsing in reeking of sex and booze and drugs; for fobbing him off on his fathers to fix him like a fucking broken toy rather than the son she'd begged, cajoled, and then willed into existence; and, the most grievous of all, for forgetting that she loved him once, that she'd promised to put her children's safety and love above all others.

He looked at his mother again. She was an utter mess -- face drawn and pale, eyes rapidly refilling with yet more tears, and her body was trembling.

He could still hear Dr. Roche's words of warning in his head; they'd spent a good portion of his last session planning out how to approach the coming confrontation.

'Try to remember to see if from her perspective, Gus,' Dr. Roche had warned. 'She's spent 20 years in a relationship only to very recently face what it had become. She has a child that is emotionally scarred whom she believes hates her and wishes no further contact, and, with the poor outcome of her marriage, she has essentially left herself without anyone to lean on.'

Slowly, Gus shook his head and turned his gaze skyward. He felt pity for her and guilt for contributing to her pain, but, even though he still loved her, he wasn't going to let that pull him into an all too familiar role of whipping boy.

He was far too damaged himself for her to lean on.
  

'Therein lies the crux of the situation,' Roche continued. 'For your own peace of mind, you have to convince her to let you go, to seek help on her own.  

Gus felt humorless laughter bubbling up in his throat; he'd always thought words were bullshit. How ironic that they were the only way to force his life into the mold he needed to survive.

And, in that instant, he felt all his righteous anger bubble away.

Suddenly, he felt so fucking tired.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he was surprised to find tear tracks on his cheeks. And that did make him laugh. It was all just so fucking absurd.

"It took you this long to figure that out?"

He'd been silent for so long. First watching her with a look of scrutiny that he'd clearly picked up from his father and then, finding whatever answer he'd been searching for, he'd turned to look at the sky. It was a look that was so purely Gus that she felt her heart twist a little.

When he was young, he'd lie out in the backyard and make shapes out of the clouds, telling funny little stories to JR who was so small she could only coo in agreement. As he got older, he only did it when he was deeply upset or lost in thought.

The weeks leading up to the attack on Entes, he'd done it nearly every day, and never once did she stop and ask him what was wrong.

Lindsay's stomach clenched a little at the thought.

She was here now though.

Scooting across the bench, she reached towards him. "Gus," she started.

Startled, he backed away, hands up to deflect words and touch. "No," he replied, blinking back tears. "I'm done with this. I'm so done with this," he said, rising from the bench to pace agitatedly.

His heart was slamming in his chest, breath coming in rapid gasps. He knew he was moments from a full-out panic attack. Admittedly, he'd been on the verge of one all fucking day.

He should have taken up Dr. Roche's offer to have this discussion in his office or brought Justin or hell even Ben along. He'd chosen not to, however, because his father would have shredded her into little pieces by now and stormed off. And, to be honest, there was a small part of him that was perversely glad his father had gotten his pound of flesh. Lord knows it was tempting as hell.

He shook his head, shaking hands threaded through his hair roughly. Getting too upset might blow the whole thing. Saying the wrong thing might make her shut down, and, once that happened, no matter how much he might beg her to see the 'right' side of things, she'd refuse out of sheer stubbornness.

That's why he'd always liked computer programming; coding never changed, never wavered. It did what it was supposed to do when it was supposed to do it.

But his mother...his mother was like a whole jumble of variables that...

A voice...a voice verging on hysterical cut through the chaos in his mind.

"Gus, you don't understand. Things will be different this time."

Laughter -- harsh, cruel laughter -- bubbled up inside of him and escaped. He watched Lindsay flinch at the sound. For a moment - one perverse moment - he was glad for the reaction. Glad that he had made her hurt.

"That's what you said last time."

That laugh - if you could call it a laugh - frightened her more than she cared to acknowledge. Granted, she'd expected a negative reaction to moving back home - angry yelling, morose glaring, but this...

He was pacing agitatedly, aimlessly. Occasionally, he'd cast her a weary, calculating glance. With every second that ticked by, she could feel not only the physical but also the emotional distance between them so much so that it almost seemed like a tangible thing.

Shaking her head, she ignored the ill-at-ease feeling that had been growing and barreled forward.

"I've got a new place and a good job," she said, rising and touching his shoulder.

The feel of Lindsay's gloved hand on him forced the white noise in his mind to become a super fine focus. Launching away from her, Gus stumbled a step or two before righting himself.  

"Don't," he whispered, holding his hands out in front of him to stop her from coming near him again.

Her eyes met his. The hurt, accusatory look melted into a startled one. Gus could guess what she saw - the wild, fearful look he'd worn when he'd first arrived back in Pittsburgh. The one that caused his father's face to fill with such sadness and Justin's with a knowing, understanding gaze.

Shaking his head, he forced his mind to snap into the present. This was important; his whole fucking life...his happiness was riding on this one conversation.

Gus took a deep breath and then another. Closing his eyes, he counted backwards from ten just as Justin had taught him to combat panic attacks.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and forced himself to look at Lindsay. The nervous expression, the wringing of her hands, none of it was enough to stop him from what he needed to say. He could only hope she'd fucking listen this time.

"You don't get to just come in here, and pull me back into your land of unstable badness just because you think it's safe," he said quietly.

Instantly, she was a whorl of activity - the straightening of the spine, the clenching of the hands, and the elegant, haughty tilt of the head. He vaguely wondered if she realized she'd passed these traits on to him.

"I'm your mother," she said, starting up what was arguably going to be a weak response.

Anger flashed through him once again, clawing and screaming in his chest with raw rage to fucking hurt her.

"And that's what? Carte blanche to just uproot me again? Just like last time? Well take a good look, Mother," he said, spitting out her title like a curse, throwing his arms out wide to drive the point home. "You pulled me back when I was a kid, and left me a fucking mess," he continued, dropping his hands to his side before advancing on her, eyes narrowing.

"I'm happy here. It's quiet and safe, and it makes sense. I can do what I want. I can be who I want to be and not what people expect of me," he explained, eyes softening, pleading with her to understand.

The vehemence in his tone gave her pause.

"You can do that in Toronto," she replied but with such uncertainty.

It was enough to buoy him, to make him plunge forward with the truth even though he knew it would hurt her. He owed it to his fathers for fighting for him, to JR for sticking up for him even against her own family, and, most importantly, he owed it to himself.

"I can't go back. I can't face the same thing again," he said, voice breaking a little. "It'll all be same; you waiting for me to screw up, you and Mel fighting over stupid shit, me dragging my ass to that fucking school," he said, closing his eyes briefly and thinking of Charlie on that hideous linoleum floor. Of his own desire to take his friend's place. Of how close he was to doing just that before he'd returned to the Pitts.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, allowing the tears brimming in his eyes to fall once again.

"I hated my life there, Mom. I hated it from the first moment; it was too far from home, and it brought out the worst in everyone."

Lindsay stepped forward and clutched his hand in hers.

"So you'll go to a new school...we'll see a family therapist. It can be a new start for both of us."

There was so much hope in her face. He felt his resolve flicker for the barest of moments. Squeezing her hand once, he stepped back and swiping at the tear tracks on his face.

"You just don't get it. I've already got my new start; it's here," he started, watching the smile on her face falter and then fade.

"I've got a job," he said, smiling weakly. "It's a stupid little part time thing at this art supply store," he said, pausing to laugh and shake his head a little. "Pops was dragging me there or sending Dad and I practically every day while he was working on his latest gallery opening...the manager said, if I was going to be there so often, I might as well help out around the store.

"And school's here," he said, pausing once again to judge her reaction. Thus far, she'd remained suspiciously silent for which he was grateful; it made it easier to plunge ahead. "I got early admission to CMU."

Lindsay released a shocked gasp. "Even with the..." she motioned, either not willing or able to mention either 'The Incident' or his confrontation with Entes.

Smiling a little, Gus nodded. "Yeah."

Expression softening, Lindsay smiled. "Why didn't you tell us?"

There was hurt in her tone, but, by far, the overwhelming emotion was pride.

Gus ducked his head a little, unaccustomed to the look his mother was favoring him with. "I would have told you, but the whole not returning phone calls..." he replied, motioning with his hand.  

The tips of Lindsay's ears and her cheeks colored slightly with guilt.

"I'm majoring in computers," Gus explained, returning to the bench and taking a seat.

Lindsay snorted a little and followed Gus' actions rather tentatively. The tense feeling between the two of them shifted and changed. Gus felt himself finally relaxing just a bit.

"I thought I'd go into computer security systems. You know...hack legally," Gus continued, tone filled with an edge of teasing.

Lindsay nodded, brushing away tears. Gus pointedly didn't turn towards her until she'd gotten her emotions in check.

Clearing his throat, he continued.

"I've still got about nine hundred million hours of community service which totally blows. The head admin guy assigned me to the entertainment committee this month. He so hates me. Totally made me shake my ass, and do karaoke yesterday," he said, pausing as his mother began to laugh, and, if it was perhaps twinged with a hint of hysteria, he didn't mention it. He just smiled.

"Pops couldn't stop laughing. Dad said 'as long as you don't strap on a pair of wings' whatever the fuck that means."

His mother's laughter grew a little, but Gus just shook his head and barreled on unsure of how to deal with the whole change of feelings in their 'conversation.' His mother was laughing and actually listening to him. Weirdness.

"JR actually laughed at me, too. Stupid little twat'll probably show up with a camera one of these days. Like there needs to be more blackmail worthy pics of me floating around," he continued, the fondness for his little sister obvious as he spoke.

"How is JR," Lindsay asked quietly.

"Annoying," he replied automatically. Then, seeing his mother's worried look, answered truthfully. "Adjusting."

Lindsay nodded absently.  "She's always had you, Michael, and Ben around to help her," she said, speaking carefully.

Gus sat up a little straighter and instantly began plucking at the hem of his sweater to focus his nervous energy elsewhere.

"Yeah...well...someone had to be around to annoy my ass," he replied, tone filled with affection and pride. "She turned out to be a good kid." The 'despite all the shit you put us through' heard but not said.

"You've seen a lot of her then?"  The surprise was very evident in her tone.

Gus shrugged "JR smoothed things over with Michael 'n' Ben."

Smiling fondly, Lindsay turned away from him to glance out across the frozen playground "She must get that from Mel."

"Yeah. Melanie's fucking fabulous at making deals without people knowing."

Gus expected a harsh retort for the scathing remark. What he got was silence. A long moment of silence that stretched out between them. With his fathers, it would have been comfortable. With Charlie, it meant his friends was working up the nerve to talk about something difficult. With JR and his mothers however, it meant they were either thinking of things that would bring Badness or gearing up to lecture him on unpleasant things.

Crossing his arms to attempt to regain lost body heat, he leaned back against the bench. He didn't want to rush her so he drank up the silence, let himself regain hold of his own raging emotions.

He breathed in one deep lungful of air after another, watching his breath curl in tendrils, relishing in the burn as he did so.

Beside him, Lindsay shifted, her hands wiping at tears before they could fall. Gus made no motion to comfort her.

Finally, after what seemed like a fucking age, his mother finally spoke.

"You can't possibly imagine how sorry I am for the things we've done to you, Gus," she said, her voice so quiet he almost didn't hear her. "All these years..." she started, shaking her head a little. "I just didn't see it."

Her words threw him. He'd expected denial, a steadfast refusal to take the blame, or for her to demand an apology for the shit he'd put them through. But an apology from her? He'd always assumed it was on 'The Great Big List of Things You'll Never Get.' Like an explanation of why his dads never went anywhere near Taylor Electronics...or why Deb got scary quiet when she found those rooster towels in a box in the attic.

"You didn't want to see it," he corrected gently.

"When did you get to be so wise," she replied, a wry smile twisting at her lips.

"I am what you made me."

Lindsay's eyes closed, a pained expression filling her face. Gus knew his words had torn into her, opening yet more invisible wounds to the ones she already carried.

"I know you have these grandiose plans to make things work...make things better between us, but it's going to take time. I don't think...no...I know I'm not ready to forgive you or Melanie yet."

Swallowing thickly, he ignored the iron-hot guilt in his gut her expression caused and continued. He needed to do this.

Slowly, tentatively, he took his mother's hand in his. The relief that flooded her face and the small squeeze of thanks she gave made him smile somewhat. Maybe just maybe there was hope for some sort of future between them, but he wasn't ready for it just yet.  

"I'm not ready to go back. I don't know that I'll ever want to," he started again. "I'm happy here, Mom. More than I've been in so long. Things are good. I'm seeing Dr. Roche twice a week. I'm keeping up with my studies...It's quiet here. It makes sense," he said, pausing again.

"And I'm healing," he confessed, voice above a whisper.

Lindsay took an audible, shaky breath. Gus felt the pain...the grief slowly taking over both of them. He could feel himself trembling.

"Let me go, Mom," he whispered, squeezing her hand in his. "Let me live my life. Do this one thing for me. For both of us."

Lindsay looked at the boy -- correction -- young man sitting across from her. It was rather startling to take in the happy flush to his face, the easy smile and realize it had all but replaced the angry, haunted haze in his eyes that had been so prominent before his fight with Entes. In truth, he did look happier and healthier than she could remember in recent years. He sat tall and proud and so achingly sure of himself.

Just like his father.

Most of all, she felt his hope. It filled his eyes and oozed out of him as if it were a tangible thing.

How had she missed this? How had he grown up without her noticing?

And, when the answer came, it was not at all surprising; she'd simply stopped noticing. She'd turned a blind eye to his pain and confusion because her own was too much. She'd put herself first, and, when he fell apart, she failed him.

Nodding slowly, she said, "I'll need to talk to your fathers."

The joy...the utter joy on his face and the tight hug he gave her made her chest tighten. This time 'round, she'd make the right choice; she wouldn't abandon him to his own devices. No matter how much it hurt her in the process.

. . . . . . .

When he arrived back at Brighton, Gus wasn't at all surprised to find both of his fathers waiting anxiously in the sitting room.

His father took one look at his expression -- the sheet white shock of his face, the trembling of his hands and whole body, the tear tracks on his face, and pulled Gus into a hug.

"She said I could stay," he whispered into his father's chest.

Five words and he felt all the tension flee the room.

The arms around him tightened, and Gus finally allowed himself to cry.

He was fucking free. He was healing. He was no longer alone. And that made all the fucking difference in the world.

31: Missing Pieces

[Sixteen]

Gus sat on the deck chair, chain smoking and staring moodily out at the backyard. The sun had long since set, blue pool water turning black, and there was still no word from his fathers.

Tucked away in Austin Burdette's swanky downtown office, they were putting everything in writing...hopefully. Even though his mother had seemed resolute in letting him remain in Pittsburgh, the cynic in him wouldn't be surprised if Lindsay suddenly changed her mind.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one whose thoughts followed the same path; his fathers set all of their work aside and immediately rushed to a meeting with her.

Even with Brian's parental rights reinstated, both he and Lindsay on equal footing - a fact that made Gus more nervous than he cared to admit. This could still go pear-shaped quickly and disintegrate into something less than pleasant.

The phone's shrill ring pierced through the night's silence. Once...twice...three times before Gus snatched it off the patio table.

"Hello?" His voice was deep and throaty from disuse and cigarettes.

"Hey, Gus! You'll never guess who called today!"

The enthusiasm bleeding through the phone was grating on his already frayed nerves. Biting down on the half dozen retorts that came to mind, he responded with the first name that came to mind.

"Lindsay."

"No..." JR replied, drawing out the word.

"Melanie," Gus guessed.

At the name, his eyes were drawn to the envelope he'd received that afternoon. Even after the shocking news that she'd signed over custody, he still hadn't had the strength to read it. Some wounds were just far too raw.

"You're a total killjoy," JR sniffed with annoyance.

Sighing, Gus took an uneven breath and let it out. Even thinking about his parents -- or ex-parents as the case may be -- made him nervous as hell.

"Sorry," he muttered, pausing to take a drag from his cigarette. He purposefully decided to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking. After pausing slightly to regain some control of his thoughts, he asked the obvious:

"What did she want?"

"She just wanted to check in..."

Anger flared in his chest. Of course she called. Probably to see if his latest machinations were progressing as she expected them. He idly wondered if handing back parental rights to his father was all part of some big plan to get back at Lindsay. He wouldn't put it passed either one of his mothers to do something out of spite; he'd been a party to their actions against each other before.

He shook his head slowly. Even if it was, Gus didn't give a shit. At least now he'd have half a chance of remaining in Pittsburgh if Lindsay suddenly felt maternal again.

"After several weeks without giving a shit," he interjected, voice icy with disdain.

"Are you going to let me tell this story or what?"  Words clipped, tone huffy. JR never did appreciate people interrupting her narrative flow.

Gus rubbed his forehead. The lack of sleep and hours of emotional turmoil were forming a massive migraine behind his temples. He'd been on edge for hours, and, as much as he loved JR, he really would rather be talking about something else. Anything else.

"Continue,"  he grumbled in a tone much gruffer than he intended.

"Jeez. All right. She called. She asked if dad and Ben minded keeping me a little longer."

He breathed out smoke from his lungs, considering her words carefully, not wanting to get his hopes up. "Define 'a little longer.'"

JR exhaled noisily through the line, and, to be honest, Gus wasn't sure if it was in annoyance at him or if she was nervous about his reaction to the news.

"She told them to enroll me here, in the Pitts."

Gus heard the warmth in his little sister's voice and his heart lurched. There were a lot of times the little shit had pranked him in his life, but she'd never lie about this.

Swallowing hard, he asked, "Did she say why?"

JR was quiet for a long moment, presumably to form her thoughts in such a way as to avoid hurting him.

"She said she needed to get her life straightened out. Get some help," she started, pausing a beat. "I think hitting you...breaking up with Mom kind of freaked her out. Made her wake up."

The confusion over Melanie's actions - the silence and signing her rights back - suddenly clicked back in to place. It was her way of apologizing, letting him go.

Closing his eyes, Gus released a puff of air. His chest suddenly felt lighter. He hadn't believed it when his fathers had told him, but there really hadn't been time for much of a conversation after he'd gotten home from the park. Two phone calls later -- one to Lindsay and one to their lawyer, Austin Burdette, and they were racing downtown to iron out the details.

He hadn't wanted to believe it, but, hearing a second confirmation...

Gus swallowed thickly. Christ! It was really fucking happening.

He felt the air knocked out of his lungs, noting absently that he was trembling now and seconds from what felt like a full-blown panic attack.

"Good," he whispered, and, for the first time, he truly meant it.

"Yeah," she breathed into the line. She'd clearly read that there was something else going on beneath the interaction, but she was giving him time to process it before pushing him. The weird, semi-omnipotent skill JR had with regards to him was one of the many reasons Gus loved the kid.

Clearing his throat, Gus took a final drag from his pilfered cigarette before stubbing it out in the overflowing ashtray. It was time to explain what was happening in his world before JR tried to turn into scary Sherlock Holmes girl.

"So I have some interesting news," he started, laughing a little self-deprecatingly before launching into the tale of his earlier conversation with Lindsay and the ensuing trip to Brian's lawyer that had resulted. The words spilled from his lips, and, as they did, he felt the weight in his chest lighten significantly. Yet another one of JR's skills he supposed.

When his tale finished, there was a slight pause on the other end of the line while JR processed everything he'd told her. Slight being the operative word. JR being JR meant a long pause in talking was all of ten seconds.

"Whoa! How long've they been downtown?"

Scrubbing a hand over face, he asked, "What time is it?"

"Dunno. Around nine I think."

Gus grunted in shock. "Four? Five hours?"

JR gasped. "What the fuck could they be talking about?"

"Probably her flip-flopping on her decision," Gus blithely replied.

JR snorted something that distinctly sounded like 'issues.'

"With cause," Gus replied hotly.

"Yeah," she replied softly. A beat, then: "I really hope this works out for you."

Gus bit his lower lip, silently agreeing, but not speaking the same aloud for fear of jinxing it. Clearing his throat, he started, "So..."

"So," she repeated, pausing for a second. Gus knew it wasn't hesitation; she was reloading, searching for something to tease him about to lighten the mood in her own, bizarre, JRish way.

"What've you been doing all this time? No...wait....let me guest. Sitting in the dark like some sort of spook, chain smoking?

Gus laughed as he eyed the packet he was currently tapping to get the next cigarette out of.

"You're such a broody fucking twink," she said, snorting.

"I learned from the best," he said, with a smirk.

"Oh ho! That's my line, asshat."

Despite his nervousness caused by The Great Wait, Gus found himself smiling fondly at his little sister.

"You want some company? Dad and Ben won't mind," she asked, voice suddenly serious.

There she went again - acting like a scary mind reader. Gus sat for a long, silent moment. In truth, he wanted her there, needed her there. She'd always been there when truly scary shit had gone down. It was probably how she'd gotten so fucking good at reading his silences.

The problem was he was afraid of the scene that would follow; his peace with the Novotny-Bruckner clan was tentative at best.

"Oh my god, Gus! If you want me there, I'll be there. You know what? Never mind. I'm coming over," she huffed over the line like she was talking to a small child and using all her patience to do so.

At the muffled sounds of her walking down around her house, Gus panicked.

"I don't want you to get in any trouble."

"Fuck that, Gus. You need me. We take care of each other, remember?"

The vehemence in her voice threw him for a moment; he'd forgotten how protective his kid sister could get when it came to him. Then again, it wasn't that often she'd had to stand up to or for him.

Swallowing thickly at the reminder of just how much she loved him, he found himself gripping the phone a little tighter.

"Yeah. Just...just stay on the phone okay?"

The rustling sound on the other end of the line stopped at his pleading tone. He knew she understood. Knew she could hear the desperation and just how close he was to a panic attack. Only she and Charlie and his fathers had ever been allowed to see him this out of sorts before, and, given the state of things, she was the only one he could reach out to now.

"Okay," she replied. The only signal that she understood was the slight strain to her voice.

Gus breathed his relief into the line, grateful once again that Melanie and Michael had chosen to give him a kid sister.

What seemed like hours passed as she prattled on about non-consequential things - her friends, the shopping trips Michael and Ben had taken her on, how cute the mailman was, what a total tool the secretary at the middle school was. And, if he didn't contribute more than the occasional noise of understanding, she didn't call him on it.

As she talked, he felt himself calming down. This was familiar. Her voice and all the inane little things important to a twelve year old. The way she saw the world - a touch of optimism that she got from her father and the cynical, glib part she got from him.

Finally what seemed like hours later, he heard the front door opening. He stood, quickly reentering the house.

"They're back," he breathed, interrupting her mid-sentence. "I'm gonna...I'll call you back and let you know."

He heard her take in a sharp breath to demand he stay on the line, but, apparently thought better of it. After a brief exchange of goodbyes, he thumbed off the phone and set it on the table.

His dads followed the action, already guessing whom he was talking to. Their lack of facial expressions was making him nervous and the cold panic from earlier was starting to set in again.

Apparently, they'd both sensed the change because, suddenly Justin was smiling and his father was trying desperately not to.

Turning to look at Justin, Brian said, "Congratulations, it's a boy."

There was a moment of silence as Gus absorbed the news. He felt his knees give out from beneath him as he fell back into one of the dining room chairs. Seeing the small, warm smile his father was offering him finally allowed him to accept it as true. This wasn't some fucked up dream; it was real.

"So I'm officially a Kinney again?"

Brian rolled his eyes.

"As if there were any doubts," Justin said, snorting.

Gus stared at paper spread across the tabletop with disbelief, his fingertips tracing the edge, waiting for it to dissipate.

"So that's it? It's all done? Just like that?"

Both of his fathers nodded slowly, suddenly, Gus felt tears building and threatening to fall. He shook his head.

"Sixteen years of this shit and it's finally over and it's like a couple of pages of paper and POW! my life lands where I wanted it to."

His voice was tight, words strained. He closed his eyes, trying -- and failing -- to regain control over his emotions, and, in doing so, missed the flash of understanding that crossed Justin's face.

"You expected her to fight for you."

Startled, both Brian and Gus turned to look at him - Gus with relief that someone understood and Brian with a questioning gaze.

"It's stupid...I know," Gus mumbled, face flashing with guilt. It was a ridiculous notion. One that went against everything that he wanted -- he'd dreamed of living with his fathers for years -- but some small part of him had wanted him to matter enough to his mothers to go after him, to fight for him rather than against or about him.

Ducking his head to avoid his fathers' steady gaze, he missed the wistful smile Justin had and the angry scowl Brian was wearing.

"Sometimes the best thing to do is to give the people you love the time and space to become who they were meant to be, and trust it's the right thing to do," Justin replied, casting a meaningful look at Brian that Gus missed the meaning of entirely.

. . . . .

Hours later, after emotionally charged conversations with both his dads and his baby sister, Gus found himself sitting at the desk in his room, staring at the letter he'd received earlier that day. He'd already read the contents several times. Slowly, slowly he allowed himself to feel. To mourn for all the things he'd lost - his mothers, his childhood, and, to some degree, his sense of self.

He knew they'd both given him a gift that day - the time and space to become the man he was meant to be. And he also knew that someday he'd respond to her letter, but not now. Not for a while. He had his own head and heart to sort through.

Gus:

By now, your dads have probably told you that I've signed my custodial rights back to Brian. I did it because I want to make sure that you're in the best place for you to be - be it with Lindsay here in Toronto or in Pittsburgh with your dads. The important thing is that you and Brian have a choice in the matter.

I know that your Mom and I screwed things up. In fact, I'd say we did just about everything wrong, but we especially messed up when it came to you kids.

I had no right to treat you the way that I did. Yelling at you, hitting you, never taking the time to help you sort through what you were going through... I screwed up, Gus, and I'm sorry.

I don't expect you to accept my apology. I don't even expect to hear from you again; I'd like it, but I'm certainly not expecting it.

Just know that I am proud of the man that you're becoming. Even if I didn't exactly help you get there.

I hope you find happiness be it there in Pittsburgh or with your Mom in Toronto.
 

Best Wishes,
 

Melanie

 

32: Serenity

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

[Ten]

He'd been locked in that awful room that smelled like piss and fear and sweat for hours. Stripped of his clothes, he'd been forced to wear a hospital gown, and go barefoot; apparently, they were worried he'd tried to kill himself with his shoelaces or belt.

And he'd been drugged.

Glorious drugs that left his mind so muzzy and his muscles so relaxed that he felt like he was floating.

Gus shifted against the mattress, frowning at the straps that protruded on the sides -- enormous buckles and padded, leather straps. In any other context, it would have been hilarious -- a ready-made bed for the insane and the sexually kinky.

But he was here. He'd been committed.

Of course, his ER pediatrician had called it 'overnight observation.'

Another physician's assistant came in and Gus scowled at the girl who ignored him completely. The needle she carried tore a hole in his flesh to add to the dozen others already marring his bicep.

A ten year old.

With track marks.

The drug soared through his veins and his eyelids began to droop.

He wondered if this was why his fathers used 'recreational drugs' on occasion.

All of this because his mother ordered him not to speak that night.

Like a good little boy, he was still obeying.

Was he still a good little boy? He hadn't meant for JR to fall had he?

He was lucky, wasn't he? His mommies hadn't told the doctor to put him in a straight jacket like they did on TV.

But they hadn't been looking at him when they left him there. They hadn't even touched him.

Gus' chest tightened a little as he remembered that. Did they even still love him any more?

Oh...it was all just so muddled.

He wanted to be in his little backyard oasis -- under his tree. Or with his daddy.

Daddy still loved him, didn't he?

But, no. Melanie had said he was 'an awful, ungrateful, horrible child' and that his father 'had better things to do than come flying to Toronto because he was feeling sorry for himself.'

Curling up on the bare mattress, Gus closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.

[Twelve]

Gus eyed the bottle wearily -- amber liquid, glass bottle, white label -- everything about this situation screamed 'bad idea.'

"I'm not...I'm not so sure we should do this," he murmured just as Charlie filled the shot glasses.

"Oh come on, man. My dad swears by this stuff. Says it makes even the shittiest of situations better."

It was on the tip of Gus' tongue to point out that Charlie's dad was a shiftless, jail-hopping, philandering, worthless piece of flesh that had caused his family nothing but trouble and was, therefore, not a role model.

Then again, the man lived seemingly without regrets...

...and this was a rite of passage anyway. Or so he'd heard.

"All right then. On three," Charlie said, passing one of the glasses closer to Gus' hand.

"One."

Gus closed his eyes. His mothers would probably find out and lay into him.

Not that they needed an excuse to yell at him.

"Two."

At least, if he was completely smashed, he wouldn't have to think about it for awhile.

"Three."

The liquor burned all the way down and Gus struggled not to vomit. His eyes watered, breath a little shaky. Within seconds, everything seemed a little off.

Oh. He knew he'd pay for his indulgence in spades -- through a hangover, through his mothers throwing a fit -- but, for this small moment, all there was left was the unpleasant burn of alcohol edging off a bit and leaving only a floaty, muzzy feeling.

[Fourteen]

He'd spent years chasing after that same high he'd felt back in the psych ward, but he never thought he'd find it again. That quiet calm that hummed and burned through his veins.

The long lost floating sensation.

The utter relaxation and the insignificance of his mothers' hate for him.

Oh what an utter fool he'd been.

He should have thought to dip into recreational drugs sooner.

[Fifteen]

The dealer looked Gus up and down, taking in the bruised jaw and split lip. Entes had been particularly relentless that week.

"Ran into trouble?"

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Gus mumbled, "Nothing I can't handle," while fishing a stack of bills from his pocket.

"Same as last week," the dealer asked, patting down the insides of his jacket.

Biting his lip, Gus shook his head.

"I was hoping for something a little stronger."

With a smirk, the dealer surrendered some of his secret 'party mix' and a bag of blow.

[Sixteen]

Eyes closed, Charlie was sprawled out on the grass green, shag carpet. The glass coffee table between them was covered in drug paraphernalia -- a mirror, a straw, and a card used to draw out lines of blow -- and a couple of bottles of liquor at various stages of being emptied.

Gus eyed the remnants of powder and then the expression on his friend's face unable to shake the feeling of wrongness.

They'd done this shit before but only at infrequent intervals.

This time...this time Charlie didn't hesitate. Line after line, drink after drink.

Casting another glance at his friend, Gus couldn't help but shiver.

Something was off and he couldn't help but think whatever 'it' was would be rearing its ugly head soon.

[Sixteen]

Gus clutched Charlie's hand in his own, offering what little comfort he could. Inside though, he was a jangle of emotions -- furious his friend would try to commit suicide, guilt that he hadn't spotted the warning signs, scared that the ambulance wouldn't arrive in enough time...

...and he was jealous. Oh so fucking jealous that he hadn't thought of it first.

[Seventeen]

The glass doors slid open, momentarily blinding the man leaning against the black SUV. His hand came up, shielding his eyes.

"Well...you look better than the last time I saw your sorry ass," he said, carefully eyeing the figure that had just exited the building.

"Same to you, asshat," Charlie said, a slow, disbelieving smile creeping across his face. "I think I need to go back 'cause you standing here's gotta be a sign that I'm trippin'."

Gus shrugged, the smile, not leaving his face. He'd missed Charlie. "A promise is a promise."

The corners of Charlie's mouth quirked. It was true Gus had promised to be there when he got out, but, given the state of things, he'd just assumed he'd be cabbing back to his mom's house. Then again, Gus hadn't broken a promise yet.

"Yeah, but aren't the Federalies going to come after you for breaking parole?"

Gus shrugged once again. "Only if I get caught."

Charlie nodded, shifting the bag on his shoulder. His stance was clearly read; Charlie wasn't entirely sure how to act around Gus. Given the less than friendly nature of their last in-person encounter, Gus couldn't blame him.

"Come on. Get in the car," Gus said, pushing off the side of the SUV.

Charlie hesitated, shifting from one foot to another. Gus turned his head, lifting his eyebrow in question.

"I don't want to get you in any trouble," Charlie explained.

The smile Gus gave his friend was disarming. It had to be a record of some kind; Charlie trying to talk Gus out of doing something stupid and potentially illegal.

"It's cool; my dads brought me for the weekend."

The tension in Charlie's shoulders eased visibly.

"Cool," he replied, climbing into the backseat with Gus.

"Hey, Mr. Kinney," Charlie said, nodding to Justin who, in turn rolled his eyes. It was a long standing, completely lame joke.

"So...you mentioned something about a Bacchanalia?" Charlie prompted, rubbing his hands together.

"...without the booze, drugs, or dancing girls," Justin added, shooting a meaningful look in the rearview mirror.

"So where are we going?"

Gus was positively beaming as he said, "Chuck E. Cheese."

. . . . .

The sun was just setting in the distance. Angry reds, oranges and pinks surrendering to whites and blues. Charlie was draped inelegantly across one of the hotel's chaise chairs while Gus sat poolside, legs in the water and fingertips grazing its surface.

"This is the most pathetic party we've ever had, man."

"What the fuck are you talking about? That dads took us to Chuck E. Cheese," Gus replied, offering a cheeky smile.

"Yeah and we partied wicked hard," Charlie deadpanned, pausing to adjust his sunglasses. "Seriously, man, when was the last time you and I had like deep conversations while sober."

Gus rolled his eyes. Even if Charlie did have a point there was a good reason they weren't well on their way to being lit out of their minds.

"The closest either of us are going to get to being high is sucking down pixie stixs because your ass needs to stay clean, and you and I both get random piss tests courtesy of the courts."

"Point," Charlie said, waving his hand lazily towards Gus. "And what a pathetic thought. The Great Gustavicus reduced to sugar highs. It's against all the laws of man."

Snorting, Gus flopped back onto the tiled surrounds of the pool, silently soaking up the peace surrounding him.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said, quietly.

Charlie smiled, dragging a hand through his shaggy hair. "I'm glad you are too, man. I don't think I've ever seen you look this happy. Shit. I can't even remember the last time you laughed before today."

"The dads have been good, and Dr. Roche isn't a fucking tool..." Gus shrugged.

Charlie's smile became a knowing one. "And JR got out, too."

Biting his lip, Gus nodded, not quite meeting Charlie's gaze.

They fell into a comfortable silence -- Gus watching the sunset as Charlie watched Gus. Twilight had nearly melted into night time when Charlie finally hesitantly spoke.

"You going to visit Melanie while you're here?"

Gus sucked in breath, not expecting the question. "She...she sent me a letter," he started, pausing to look up at Charlie. "I got it the same day Lindsay agreed to let me stay in the Pitts."

Charlie nodded encouragingly, face carefully blank. Sighing, Gus plunged ahead full well knowing the subject wouldn't be dropped until his friend was convinced he knew everything. Charlie could be oddly like JR like that -- a fact that drove him crazy.

"She apologized...said she doesn't expect me to forgive her."

Again, Charlie nodded, hearing what Gus -- and Mel -- weren't willing to say; Melanie was expecting Gus to write back to her at some point in the near future, forgive her, and probably offer up his own mea culpas. Gus, on the other hand, was finally realizing his self-worth and still was harboring a whole wasp's nest of emotions about his moms not the least of which were anger and confusion.

"It's weird. To know someone, to love them, but to not like them," Charlie said, finally. His eyes looked into the distance as he thought of his father.

Swallowing thickly, Gus nodded, not trusting his voice.

"At some point though..." Charlie started, voice trailing off as Gus looked up at him. The panicked, broken, pleading look gave Charlie pause. "At some point, you'll have to deal with how you feel about both of them so you can work out how you can forgive yourself for putting yourself first and move passed all this bullshit."

Gus smiled wanly. It wasn't something that he, himself, hadn't considered before. "When did you get so smart?"

Shrugging, Charlie said, "Hanging around your lame ass...and about a million and one group sessions."

"God grant me the serenity..." Gus said, rolling his eyes.

"Better not say that shit too loud. With all the crap you've gotten into, God might smite you."

Gus snorted and flipped Charlie off. "You'd be next in line, asshat."

. . . . .

When they returned from Canada a week later, Gus found the letter sitting innocently on top of the desk in his room. Sighing, he forced himself to sit down and write.

It might not be what his mother wanted to hear, but it was all he could offer her.

Dear Melanie Momma:

It's weird to know someone as well as I know you and not have a fucking clue how to address this.

Charlie, brilliant fuck that he is, told me that, in order to forgive myself for moving on, I had to deal with what happened to me in the past. For once, I'm taking his advice rather than waiting for everything to blow up in my face.

I can't offer you forgiveness yet. I don't know if I ever will be able to. There are so many wrongs and so much pain on both sides, and pride is a difficult thing to overcome.

Part of me -- a big fucking part -- wants to just say 'fuck it all' and never deal with it again because I'm happy here, Momma. I'm so fucking happy. Things here make sense, and, for the first time in forever, I'm free to be myself.

I've stopped smoking and drinking. I'm clean, and I plan to stay that way. I see JR all the time. She and I are both doing well in school. She's turning out to be so fucking amazing. She's bright and funny and already has a whole new gaggle of giggly girls she's friends with...

I spoke with Mom the other day. Did you know that she's in New York? She's working at some up and coming gallery as an assistant. She's got a tiny apartment and a cat. She sounds happy.

JR tells me you've made partner. Can't say I'm surprised. You always did enjoy your job.

Try not to work too hard and continue your work with the therapist you're seeing. I know I used to say counseling was bullshit, but, after all the help Dr. Roche has given me, I can only hope your own therapist is helping you find the peace I have.

Thank you for giving Dad his custody back, for giving us both a choice, and thank you for loving me enough to let me go.

Take care of yourself.

Gus

The letter sounded more like 'goodbye' more than anything else, but, as Gus addressed the envelope, he couldn't help but feel better.

As he'd told Lindsay, the time was long since passed when he looked out for others before himself -- especially at the cost of his own happiness.

Epilogue: Sketch

[Seventeen]

The posters had been up for days. Simple, tastefully done, four-color spreads touting the return of Pittsburgh's own to the Bloom Gallery. The title was the largest and yet unobtrusive - A/B Sketch. But even the vague title took backstage to the artwork on the poster, itself -- just in the barest whispers of a partially formed profile, mixed and formed from the browns, greens, and blues.

The newspapers picked up the story quickly, honing in on the theme - the autobiographical sketch of the artist. And, just as expected, the story of his bashing reappeared. All of it was done tastefully and all of it with Brian as the ringleader.

Who better to promote what he'd jokingly referred to as Justin's 'Coming Out' than Brian Kinney, himself? But, even through all the joking comments, Justin saw through to the truth; Brian understood how important this show was to his partner. He wanted to be a part of it, and he wasn't going to leave publicity in the hands of some unknown.

After overseeing every aspect he could, Brian was not, however, prepared for what he'd see when he arrived for the opening.

The moment he walked through the doors, all the caterers, gallery assistants, and publicity aids disappeared as his eye traveled from one piece to the next.

There, lined up on the vast white walls, was their life together.

Crude, naïve sketches of himself, Gus, and Daphne moved quickly to angry, heavy-handed, computer generated ones. Color pallets became darker until his eyes finally fell on Stockwell's posters, the Posse days, and a couple of Rage portraits.

The colors shifted again, became swirled, chaotic messes.

He recognized them as the frightened works that poured out during the long nights after chemo treatments when Justin had been too worried about his partner's health to sleep.

There were others, too.

Vic and Deb in their tiny kitchen cooking, Michael marching in Pride, and dozens of men dancing in Babylon. Christmases past and of the first trip that they finally took together to Vermont.

Of days spent at the zoo and trips out to the McFarlane farm. Summer days lost by the swimming pool or in the arcade. And of a little boy that so looked like him slowly growing into a man.

All of them filled with love and loss and anger and chaos and an even greater sense of time. Of the seventeen years they'd spent together.

It all took his breath away.

Justin spotted him the moment he walked in; the glass door casting odd shadows across the walls where he was supervising the installation of his final pieces. He'd turned out of instinct, and caught the look of shock and awe so clearly painted across Brian's face.

Slowly, cautiously, he walked across the distance of the gallery. Hands tucked in his pockets, he offered a shy smile.

"What do you think?"

Brian shook his head, slowly surfacing from whatever trance he'd been in.

"They're fucking brilliant." A beat. "But I wouldn't expect anything less."

Justin smirked. "Of course they are. You don't think all those critics would be willing to fly down from New York for velvet Elvis do you?"

The corners of Brian's mouth ticked, fighting an amused smile.

"If he was hot enough," Brian quipped, watching Justin roll his eyes theatrically at his backwards compliment.

"So...do I get the guided tour or is that for the critics only?"

Justin bit his lip, looking from Brian's suddenly serious expression to his artwork and back, wordlessly asking if Brian was sure he was up to it.

With just a barely perceivable nod from Brian, Justin linked his elbow through his partner's silently marveling at how far they'd come in a few short months.

. . . . .

He found Justin in his studio in the far corner, knees resting against his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, eyes locked on the artwork learning against the opposite wall.

The moment Brian saw those paintings, he found himself unable to move, to fucking breathe.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Brian tore his eyes away from them to his partner. Justin was silent, despondent, and seemingly unaware of his presence. The fucking grief in the air was palpable.

Swallowing down his own emotions, Brian forced himself to cross the room and sit beside Justin. Without thinking he reached out, hand wrapping around the nape of Justin's neck, smoothing across the short hairs there, silently offering comfort.

Finally, after what seemed an age, he felt the tension begin to slowly ebb from his partner. Biting back every acerbic comment he had about the stupidity of going through these works especially with no one in the house, he tried (and failed) for levity.

"Cleaning out your closet? You could just use one of the empty rooms if you needed more storage space."

The attempt at levity fell flat, and Justin read the underlying worry there. A small, ironic smile edged its way across his face. Years ago he might have teased Brian for caring about him, but those days of insecurity had long since passed. It was time that this, too, was dealt with. Taking a deep breath, he decided to follow his son's example and plunge ahead into the unknown. To fix things for once rather than simply ignoring them.

"Your son can be a persuasive shit when he wants to be," he started.

Brian turned his head slowly, eyebrow raised in question as much as the comment; Gus was only referred to as 'your son' when he'd done something decidedly cunning, devious, meddlesome, or borderline illegal.

"He reminded me it was rather hypocritical of me to expect him to face his problems when I wasn't myself," Justin explained, motioning towards his artwork.

"And your response was to stare at paintings all night?"

"My response was to agree to a show."

The silence stretched as Brian processed what Justin had just said. The unease in the room intensified.

"A show," Brian repeated, carefully, as if testing the words for the first time. Slowly, Brian turned his attention from Justin's face and back to the painting opposite them. The unasked question of why hung between them.

Following Brian's gaze, Justin forced himself to look at the image he'd captured - a parking garage drenched in chaos, pain, and blood - before answering.

"I told myself that I'd moved on. That I'd accepted what happened, but I never did. I stopped talking about it. We all did," he said, forcing the answer from a suddenly too tight, too scratchy throat. "The truth is that part of us has been stuck there," he said, motioning towards the painting.

"Every time things are going good with us, it's like this thing hanging over us. We just keep waiting for something to happen..." Justin continued, shaking his head to regain his thoughts.

"I spent so long being angry. I thought it was just because of Hobbs bashing me. At myself for not standing up to him, for letting him get away with trying to kill me," he said, pausing to look at Brian before continuing. "At you for not telling me you loved me."

There was no accusation in the tone. It stung, yes, but it was an old hurt. One of the few he'd managed to rectify. Swallowing thickly, Brian's eyes drawn from Justin's softened gaze to the grouped paintings: the post bashing portraits with the heavy handed graphics filled with anger and absolute sorrow; the overly romantic, starry-eyed sketches of one artist falling in love with another; the rage-filled angst of the Posse days...

His perusal was cut off when Justin began speaking again. In truth, part of him -- a huge fucking part of him --  didn't want to hear anything else because he knew, he fucking knew where this was headed. It was a topic they'd broached right after the bashing and only danced around thereafter.

"I spent so much time trying to forget what happened, to move on that I never realized what was missing. What we lost in that parking garage," Justin paused, turning glassy eyes to meet his partners. Shaking his head to dispel his own chaotic thoughts, Justin murmured one of the truths he'd learned the hard way.

"That night in the garage changed us both. In ways I couldn't, wouldn't understand," Justin started, biting off the train of thought to look at Brian, this time to find his partner's eyes were suspiciously bright.

"It took me forever to figure out why you never wanted to talk about that night."

Lips thinned in an attempt to suppress the reeling in his body, Brian broke eye contact.

"You knew it was only a matter of time before it all hit me. How much Hobbs had taken from me. That it was only a matter of time before I fell apart." A beat. "And you knew that if you didn't keep your distance that you would fall apart, too."

Brian's gaze rushed back to Justin's, eyes wide with surprise. The corner of Justin's mouth twitched at Brian's reaction. After nearly two decades together, he'd more than learned to read Brian Kinney.

"So you did it quietly instead. Fell apart in your mind because you blamed yourself for coming. For doing something so ridiculous. And all in the name of love."

Brian sucked in a deep, uneven breath at hearing one of his deepest and most poorly kept secrets was revealed.

"We tore ourselves apart so many times because we let ourselves be blind." A beat, as Justin shook his head again.

Slowly, with deliberate caution, Justin reached out to cup Brian's face before drawing him into a chaste kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft with unspoken love and reassurance.

"It's time we forgive ourselves," he whispered, resting his forehead against Brian's.

His only answer was a small, barely perceivable nod, but it was enough.

. . . . .

The whole family came. Every single last member of the gang. Despite the awkward moments between them, they still 'oo'ed and 'ah'ed and paused at some to laugh and talk about people and things they'd forgotten.

Justin played the perfect host, working the room like a seasoned pro.

Brian barely left his side, calmly deflecting lines of question from sensitive topics to those he and his partner were comfortable with.

. . . . .

Gus watch all this from a shadowy corner, amusement clearly evident on his face as he watched the overly perfumed, clearly clueless patrons wander passed. To be honest, he wanted no part in being there; the show was, in theory, an autobiographical sketch of Justin's life, but, given how closely wound his life was to his fathers'...

Not to mention that both his mothers decided to come show their support.

And so he'd carefully avoided looking at everything and hid in a corner hoping not to get spotted. It was, in theory, a good plan. There was, however, one glitch.

"Gustaficus, if you honestly think you're going to get away with hiding in the corner, mocking people and feeling sorry for yourself you've got another thing coming," JR scolded, linking her elbow through his before giving a tug. "Now. Be a gentlemen and escort me around."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he complied.

They worked their way through the exhibit, JR a silent, reassuring presence at his side as they walked through the gallery to take it all in.

Nearly every framed work took his breath away.

So much love and pain was splashed across the walls for all to see.

There were works of him as a child, curled up and asleep on his father's chest. And his father...he had this look on his face of utter wonderment that made Gus smile.

There were pencil sketches of him as a small child, gaping at gorillas and tigers. His father's face alight with amusement at Gus' exuberance. Those made Gus blush and JR chuckle.

And one, small oil painting of his father holding a small, yellow teddy bear. The absolute lost expression on Brian's face gave Gus pause. He didn't recognize the bear, but, based on the timetable, he could only assume it was not long after he'd been packed off to Canada.
Gus felt a tightness in his throat and chest. So much lost to fear.

Another sketch and then a canvas. This one done with precise brush strokes. A small, paint splattered Gus stood in front of a partially finished mural, looking up at Justin with wide, questioning eyes.

The corners of present-day Gus' mouth quirk in amusement. In a few hours' time, he'd be giving himself permission to call Justin his father.

He paused in front of the next painting. A seemingly innocent one of a gnarled, ancient looking oak. He knew that tree. It was his oasis. The calm he sought out when he was growing up.

Closing his eyes, he took in a shaky breath and allowed himself to remember.

[Sixteen]

The backyard had always been Gus' sanctuary when he was growing up, and the space behind the ancient oak tree was his favorite spot. The tree was wide and tall and hid him from view of just about every window in the house. He could lie out on the grass, stare up at the sky, and be alone for hours...at least until JR learned how to walk and talk.

Then it became their spot.

The place they went to when the yelling got too bad. Gus would flop on his back near the base of the tree, JR would curl up beside him, and he'd point out shapes in the clouds, telling her ridiculous stories about them.

Sometimes, weeks would pass without such a meeting and others it was a daily event.

The pattern didn't change until JR was old enough to understand what was happening.

As much as she loved her brother for doing what he did, she also hated him for putting his needs second. And so, the afternoon Gus signed his plea bargain, she was waiting for him at the base of the tree.

"You're an idiot," she said in lieu of a greeting.

Rolling his eyes, Gus flopped down onto the grass beside her, accepting her presence.

"Hello to you too, JenBug," he said closing his eyes and folding his hands in his lap.

Her fingers ran through his hair trying and failing to smooth it into place. In truth, he looked like hell -- dark bags under his eyes from too many nights without sleep, pale skinned, sunken cheekbones...and his skin that still bore the bruise from Melanie's wrath. How could his mothers have missed the state he was in? How could they  let him stay in Canada if he was so miserable?

"I'm worried about you, you know."

An eye cracked open and looked down at her, the corners of his mouth upturning into a sad smile.

"I'm worried about me, too; all those hours of community service are definitely going to put a cramp on my social calendar."

JR groaned. "Lame. So lame. You take my brilliant, Hallmark-worthy moment and make a joke out of it."

"'JR' and 'serious' are two words that don't belong in the same sentence, JenBug."

He took one look at her thin-lipped stare and knew he was in trouble. Oh how he hated lectures from his little sister.

"Honestly Gussy Gus. This needs to stop."

Gus opened his mouth to protest, but JR held her hand up to stop him.

"Your friend...your best friend nearly killed himself, and, rather than being there to support you, our parents ransack your room, hit you, and then let you spend the night wandering around Toronto. And, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, they make you spend the night in a jail cell," she said, pausing to take a deep breath, reign in her temper, and swat away the tears that were falling down her cheeks.

In truth, from the moment she'd gotten Gus' call, she'd been on the edge of falling apart -- scared and angry for her brother, furious with her mothers, and so sad that he'd had to live through all of this. Shaking her head, she took Gus' hand in her own.

"Gus, I love you. I like having you here with me, but, God this place...the Moms...everything here is tearing you apart. Promise me...promise me that, if you get a shot to get out of here, you'll take it."

Frozen in place, Gus turned to look at his sister's honest, open expression. She genuinely wanted this for him, and Gods above it hurt. It hurt to see her in so much emotional upheaval because of him.

"JR," he started.

"No," she said, squeezing his hand. "You've put me first too many times. I'm old enough to take care of myself. But, you...you can't keep doing this Gus. You'll end up hurt...or worse," she said, pausing as her throat constricted almost painfully at the idea. "I'm not stupid, Gus. I saw the way you looked when you got back from visiting Charlie in the hospital. I can't lose you like that."

She paused again, breathing heavily to keep her tears at bay.

Gus smiled weakly at her, squeezing her hand in support as she had done just a moment before.

"You promise me that, if you get the chance to get out of here, you'll take it. Because, once I know you're safe, I can weasel my way to Pittsburgh, too."

Not trusting his voice, Gus nodded his agreement.

"Good," JR said, drawing Gus into a hug. "That's the way it should be. JenBug and GusBus against the world."

Gus snorted and opened his mouth to smother her pathetic attempt at a nickname before she took it upon herself to use it in public, but, to his dismay, she shook her head stubbornly.

"We're having a moment. Don't ruin it by being a prat."

[Seventeen]

A tugging at his elbow drew Gus back to the present. Offering JR a small, thankful smile, they continued on passed the gloomy portraits of New York and startling bright patches that both teenagers could only assume meant a visit to Pittsburgh. They wound their way through the increasingly sophisticated abstracts and landscapes that followed Justin's artwork being discovered and widely displayed in New York, murmuring their amazement at how far Justin had come over the years.

But it was an older portrait of Gus done in grays, blacks, and whites that made them pause again.

Silent and shadowed, curled in the corner of his room. It radiated sorrow and pain and utter horror.

Beside it was a wild-eyed Michael holding Gus against the closet door in a bruising grasp, fear evident in the little boy's eyes.

The portrait beside it also in black and white with a splash of green in Gus' eyes. It was the night he first spoke after months of silence. There, curled up in his father's arms, he'd allowed himself to cry. To have hope.

The real life version of sucked in a breath and stepped away from the painting. His hands were shaking and his eyes were filled with pinpricks of light. It was that time frame. The one where everything went to hell. JR had fallen down the stairs and the mothers were furious. When he'd failed to speak for days on end, they'd dropped him off at the psych ward...

He heard a soft, audible gasp beside him followed by a tightening on his elbow and an 'oh, Gus.'

Turning slowly, he watched the emotions spread over his little sister's face -- anger, resentment, disbelief.

"You were in the closet when it happened," Gus supplied, voice suddenly weary.

"And the Moms?" Outrage colored her voice.

"Standing in the room, watching the show."

Despite the rising desire to rant and rave on her brother's behalf, JR took one look at Gus' face and tugged on his elbow to drag him away from the portrait of Michael.

She edged him towards the portraits that followed and diverted his attention from the wait staff carrying trays of wine and champagne when he began eyeing them a little too long.

Eventually the impassioned red-toned abstracts, grey skyscrapers of New York, and the occasional holiday scene gave way to another series of portraits of Gus.

A much older Gus, dressed in torn jeans, a band t-shirt, multicolored hair, holding a defiant expression in his eyes as he asked Justin to teach him to fight.

Bruised and bloodied hands in a sink, rinsing away blood.

A grief stricken Gus holding Charlie's deathly pale hand while the latter lay in a hospital bed.

He paused in front of that one, blood draining from his face. Gus knew Charlie was alive and well in Toronto, but Christ it had been close. Closing his eyes, he drew in a shaky breath.

His fathers had been careful to show him the all the artwork before it was sent off to the gallery, but this was different. This was real. People were in the building, laughing and talking and drinking and judging their lives.

Gus looked down at his hands. Where they had been swollen and bloodied months before after his tangle with Entes, now they were calloused from hours of community service and stained with ink from all the notes he'd taken in class that day.

They wouldn't be stained by blood again because Entes was thousands of miles away...

And his family...his real family was here, in Pittsburgh.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look at the painting Justin had done of him, and, with a startling moment of clarity, he realized he wasn't that boy anymore.

Oh...he still had multicolored hair, piercings, and grunge clothing, but he wasn't that angry, scared boy who felt he had no one to turn to.

And that was enough to give him hope.

JR watched the slow smile spreading across her brother's face. It wasn't the haughty smirk that precluded some ridiculous innuendo or the self-satisfied one that usually preceded him getting into a spectacular amount of trouble.

This one was one of the ones she'd come to associate with the Pittsburgh version of Gus. He was pleased. Happy even.

Taking this as her cue to action, JR took his hand in hers and squeezed.

Gus had always been the strong one. The one with all the answers. The one that fixed things in her life when everything fell to shit. But, as she'd come to realize, while she had had Gus to guide her, Gus had had no one that was constantly there for him.

They had done this to him.

They had alternately torn verbal stripes into his flesh and ignored him and sent him away like the damaged goods they made him just so that he could return and start the cycle all over again. They had neglected him and beaten him and pushed him to this point.

She was angry at Gus for not fighting back harder. For not forcing them to see. For not telling his fathers the extent of what was going on.

She was also furious at herself for not doing it herself.  For hiding behind her youth rather than stepping up as Gus had done.

But, in that moment, when Gus gripped her hand in silent thanks, JR had her own moment of perfect clarity; Gus might have started this road alone, but she was damned if she'd let him see it through without her. And she knew in her heart of hearts that he'd never be alone again.

Brian had done it by contacting a lawyer and forcing Lindsay into an agreement to insure Gus would stay in the US.

Justin had done it with silent support.

Gus had done it by demanding his freedom from his mothers.

And she'd done her part -- in her own small way -- because her brother mattered.

The fact that he could talk about it...could cry about it meant that he was healing. And, no matter how long it was in coming, she would be there every step of the way because she loved him. He was worth the time. Now, if she could just convince the stubborn prat of that and to help her with her science fair project, everything would be perfect.