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Oddly enough, it was Gus who brought things to a head, so to speak, and started them traveling down this path with their eyes wide open instead of merely drifting along as they had been.  As they very well might still be if tide, time, and the hand of fate in the form of an angry, surly eleven-year-old hadn’t conspired to change all that. Of course, that’s not to say it had been easy, or even pleasant, to hear the acid-coated truth in Gus’ words.

But then again, the most important things in life are seldom simple and never easy, and so it was that this was no exception, and that the three of them had their worlds turned on end one cold December morning…

Brian had heard it said that January was the cruelest month, and life seemed determined to convince him, convince them all of that fact.  How else to explain the series of events that rocked them all, destroying their family, because it was a family, unconventional though it was, leaving everything in tatters?  If he could, he would have ripped the month from the calendar, somehow erasing all the pain and starting the year over the way he wanted to, the way he should have been able to do.  But of course he couldn’t: couldn’t erase, couldn’t forget, and couldn’t stop wondering how they would survive this.

Survive Michael’s death.

A New Year’s Eve party that none of them had attended, a drunk driver that none of them knew, and a hit-and-run that left Michael lying on the sidewalk with his neck broken.  It was all so random, so senseless.

Debbie, of course, was utterly destroyed.  Brian and Ben held her up at the service, and Brian wondered how many tears one person could shed before they simply dried up and withered away.  She was quiet in her grief, and that was more troubling than any of them wanted to admit.

It was a simple, elegant eulogy that Ben delivered, and if his eyes were too-bright and his lips trembled, his voice was strong and clear.  The snow fell steadily as he spoke, and when it was time to leave there was a soft blanket of white covering the casket, hiding the starkness of the dark wood and darker earth.

One last, whispered “Goodbye, Mikey,” and Brian turned to go, his numb fingers pressed between Justin’s gloved palms, leather to leather.  The rest of the day passed in a blur of tears and grief, and the muted hum of conversations started in futile attempts to try and ease the silence, ease the loss.  Looking back, Brian wondered that none of them saw the threads beginning to unravel.

In March, Debbie announced she was moving to Florida.  Though unexpected, the news made a certain kind of sense.  With Vic and Michael both gone, the only thing tying her to Pittsburgh and its brutal winters was the band of friends and lovers that Michael had brought into her life.  Of all of them, Brian understood the most.  Why stay, when every street you passed and every face you saw reminded you of what you’d lost, stabbed the knife deeper into your heart?

Every encouragement to stay, every urge to reconsider, merely bolstered her resolve, until they finally drove her to the airport on St. Patrick’s Day.  Emmett was, of course, weeping enough for the lot of them, and Brian felt a perverse satisfaction in knowing that Debbie could never delude herself into thinking any of them were glad or ready to see her go.

When it was time to say goodbye at the terminal, Gus clung to her, sobbing into her coat.  Brian watched as confusion and shame darted across her too-still face, and made no move to help as she tried to pry Gus’ arms from around her waist.  It was Lindsey who finally stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him firmly back.

“Don’t go!” He wailed, and Brian watched Debbie’s face crumble as she whispered her last goodbye.

That night, Brian was summoned out of bed by insistent knocking on the door.  Expecting Lindsay, or maybe even Melanie, with a distraught Gus in tow, he was shocked to slide back the heavy metal and see… Ben.

Ben, who looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Ben, who shivered with cold, in a shirt and jeans with no coat and with red, chapped face and hands.

Ben, who stared at him with blank, weary eyes.

Brian opened the door the rest of the way, stepping back to allow Ben to pass, and when he made no move to enter Brian took hold of his arm and tugged him inside.  Ben made no protest, following almost blindly as Brian led him over to the sofa and pushed him into it.  He turned toward the kitchen, almost bumping into Justin who had padded soundlessly into the room to drape a blanket across Ben’s shoulders.

Twenty minutes, two shots of Beam, and another blanket later Ben finally spoke, his voice a raw, broken whisper.

“He’s gone.  Michael’s gone, and I miss him.  So.  Much”

Really, there was nothing to say to that, no words of comfort that didn’t sound trite and insulting, and so Brian said nothing, and Justin merely rubbed Ben’s shoulder in understanding.  And maybe that’s why Ben had found his way to the loft, to them, to the only friends who knew and loved and mourned Michael who wouldn’t lie to him and tell him it would all be better soon.  Who would grieve with him and allow him to grieve without feeling the need to try and make the pain go away when it couldn’t go away, not yet.  The next morning Brian woke to the sound of Justin’s gentle snores, and found no trace of Ben.  Just two neatly folded blankets on the back of the sofa, and a rinsed-out glass in the sink.

With Michael and Debbie gone, the gang slowly drifted apart.  Emmett still haunted Babylon, and Ted still worked at Kinnetik, but the days of hanging out until dawn, of dancing and dining and bragging together, were a thing of the past.  Without the Novotny glue to hold them together, they fractured.

It was a gradual, subtle process, and one that was almost completed before any realized it was happening.  With Gus, by contrast, the changes were immediate and apparent to all.  Fights at school.  Fights at home.  Obscenities yelled at Lindsey and Brian, and a punch aimed at Justin.  Walls and furniture destroyed, clothing burned, and assorted other acts of rebellion that shouted his displeasure to the world.

Brian tried distracting him.

Justin tried talking to him.

Lindsey tried bargaining with him.

None of it worked.  Surprisingly, or perhaps not in retrospect, it was Ben that seemed to be able to reach him, to talk with him and get him to release some of the grief and rage that was eating him alive.  They started biking together, taking long walks through the leave-strewn park, and it was as if Ben helped fill a tiny bit of the void left by Michael’s death and what Gus saw as Debbie’s desertion.

Oddly enough, as the rest of the world seemed to be falling apart, Ben seemed to be putting himself back together.  He was a regular fixture at the loft now, arriving unannounced at least three nights a week, but to Brian’s surprise he was never an inconvenience, never an intrusion.

They talked, often about Michael but also about life, about politics and business and art.  Ben and Justin liked to cook, and at least one night a week found them moving in concert in the kitchen, mixing and matching ingredients to concoct some exotic, delicious fare that Brian would eat and enjoy, all the while complaining about calories and carbs.  Ben had an eye for commercial appeal, which he laughingly chalked up to having to “sell” curriculum to students every year, and was genuinely interested in learning more about the business side of advertising.

Whatever the night held, it often ended with the three of them sitting on the sofa, Justin in the middle, curled against Brian’s side, while Ben lounged in the other corner.  Sometimes they watched television, the flickering glow casting light and shadows on their faces, and sometimes conversation wound down until Brian and Justin went to bed, or until all three dozed off on the sofa.  In the morning, Brian knew Ben would be gone, as always, but he also knew that he would be back.  The latter certainty was one that he, and Justin, had grown unsettlingly dependent upon, and the key that was pressed wordlessly into Ben’s hand one night was a carefully ignored reality among the three of them.

Christmas was fast approaching, and this year Justin was insistent that they have a tree.   No amount of grumbling, avoidance, or outright hostility from Brian made him falter in his determination, and so Brian found himself at, of all places, Justin’s old high school, scavenging the pitiful selection for a halfway decent tree on the evening of December 21st.  Justin had, of course, insisted on coming along, his insinuations that Brian was likely to bring home the most pathetic tree out of spite if left unsupervised delivered with a cheery grin.

“Fuck.  This.” Brian muttered, his fourth choice having been summarily dismissed.  “Pick out the fucking tree, Justin, and let’s go.”

“Brian, watch your mouth.  There are kids around.”  Justin chuckled, but there was enough seriousness in his words to rankle.

“Well, honey, fuck them, and fuck their parents, too.  If they’re hot.”  Delivered with a leer, and punctuated with a grab at Justin’s ass, Brian’s retort had the young mother to their left frowning in disapproval, and dragging her daughter away.

Justin sighed, shaking his head in mock-exasperation, and finally decided on the small fir in the corner.  Money was exchanged, the tree was hoisted into the back of the car, and the trip back to the loft was made in relative silence punctuated only by the low, off-key humming of Jingle Bells that Brian would never admit to, and random comments regarding who was giving what gift to whom.

Grumbling again as he wrestled the tree into the elevator, Brian couldn’t resist one, last protest.

“I don’t see why we have to have this thing in the loft, stinking up the place like Pine Sol and shedding all over the floor.”

“Because, Brian.”

“’Because’? What are you, my mother?  What kind of fucking reason is that?”

“Because of Gus, all right?  Because your son is already halfway to hating the entire world this year, and the least we can do is try and give him a normal Christmas at the loft!”

And, really, there was nothing more he could say after that, and Justin knew it. So, he brought the tree inside, and helped decorate it without protest, and when it was done he grudgingly admitted that it did look attractive, blinking soft colors against the wall and sparkling with tinsel and ornaments.

Of course, the fact that he was buried in Justin’s ass, sweat trailing down his face as he traced the patterns of color against Justin’s skin might have had something to do with his newfound appreciation of the tree.  The slow, rocking movements of Justin’s hips echoed the rhythm of the lights, and his faint moans sent the tinsel fluttering against his lips.  Brian shivered, muscles lax in the aftermath, and pressed a damp kiss to Justin’s shoulder.  Justin sighed beneath him, easing away and padding to the bathroom on bare feet as the door started to rattle open.

Brian rolled to his back, a cushion from the sofa carelessly grabbed and placed over his groin as he tipped his head back to look at the door.  Ben walked into the room, pausing for a moment at the sight of Brian, nearly naked and sprawled on the floor, the air heavy with sex and sweat.  He smiled, waving a hello and turned to drape his coat and scarf by the door before moving to the kitchen, pulling pots and pans from cabinets.

Justin joined Ben moments later, pressing a casual kiss on his cheek that froze both of them in place, Ben’s expression torn between shock and embarrassment, and Justin’s laden with apprehension.  Brian watched them, watched Justin’s face flush hot pink and Ben’s eyes dart guiltily around the room, looking at anything and everything except Brian or Justin, until he’d had enough.

Rising to his feet, Brian dropped the cushion and walked, naked, into the midst of the wordless tableau.  One deep, wet kiss against Justin’s lips and one soft, firm kiss against Ben’s later, he turned and walked up the steps into the bedroom, whistling softly.  When he returned, Ben and Justin were debating on the vegetable of the evening, smiling and flushed with happiness.  Such a small thing, a few shared kisses, but it filled Brian with a strange relief.

That night, Ben didn’t leave, didn’t gather his coat and make his excuses when the clock struck midnight.  Brian brought him a blanket and pillow, and told him bluntly that it was too late, and too close to the holiday season to be walking at night.  A shadow passed over Ben’s face at the reminder, at the ghost that drifted through the room at Brian’s words, but nodded in agreement, conceding gracefully.

So Ben stayed the night, and the next night after, and if there wasn’t sex between the three of them, there was definitely more than friendship.  Justin joked about “coming out” to the rest of their friends over Christmas dinner, and while there was humor in the words there was very real worry.  Ben just shrugged, content to enjoy their new-found peace as long as it lasted, and Brian changed the topic completely, wondering quietly to himself what the coming days would bring.

Christmas Day dawned cold and clear, and Brian finished placing the last of the gifts under the tree just as Lindsey arrived with Gus.  Brian greeted her with a hug, and turned to Gus as he threw his coat onto the floor.

“Hello, Sonny Boy.  Ready for the annual present extravaganza?”

“It’s not like you care.”  The words were mumbled, almost too low to hear, and Gus flounced over to throw himself down on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest.

Sharing a confused glance with Lindsey, Brian walked over to sit beside Gus, bending his head to meet Gus’ eyes.  But Gus turned defiantly away, scowling at the wall.

“Hey, Gus!”

Justin’s enthusiastic greeting seemed only to enrage him, and Brian watched as Gus’ fists clenched and he blinked his eyes against angry tears.  Realizing that something was wrong, Justin stopped in his approach, looking questioningly at Brian when Lindsey shrugged in confusion.

“Gus, what’s the matter?” Brian’s question had an immediate reaction, and Gus jumped to his feet, fists clenched at his side.

“What the hell do you think is the matter!”

“Gus!  What’s gotten—“ Lindsey’s words were cut short as Gus continued to yell.

“Michael’s dead!  And Debbie’s gone – you just let her go, let her leave us, and now you’re taking Ben away, too!  I hate you!  I fucking hate you!”

Gus turned, running towards the door, but Brian was faster.  Holding the kicking, screaming, furious boy wasn’t easy, but Brian refused to let go.  Finally, Gus calmed, sobbing softly against Brian’s shoulder as Brian talked softly to him.

“Gus, we all miss Michael, and Debbie.  But… sometimes what we want isn’t what’s best for other people.  Debbie couldn’t stay here with us because it made her miss Michael too much, you know that, and wanting her to stay for us… well, that’s just fucking selfish.”  Brian held up a hand, stopping Lindsey’s protest at his words, and held Gus tighter when he tried to squirm away.  “And as for Ben, no one is taking him away.  Ben is your friend, and you damn well know it.  I know you’re angry, I understand that, but taking it out on me, or on your mother, isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“But now that he has you, and Justin, he won’t have time for me any more.”

Brian felt Gus’ words against his skin, and wondered that such simple language could freeze his blood in his veins.  Risking a glance at the room’s other occupants, he saw the same shock mirrored on Justin’s and Lindsey’s faces, though for far different reasons.  So much for avoiding the issue, though there were far more important things to worry about now.

“Gus, Ben will always have time for you, no matter what.  You know that.”

And it seemed that Brian’s answer was enough of a confirmation for Lindsey, who smoothed her face carefully blank and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water.  Gus sighed, a hitching breath that shook his whole frame, and nodded against Brian’s shoulder.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Yeah, I know.”

Though it seemed too simple, too easy somehow, that was the end of it.  Gus wiped his eyes, hugging Brian tightly as he whispered an apology.  He ran into the bathroom to wash his face, and then returned to open presents as if nothing had happened.  After a few, stilted attempts at conversation Brian, Justin, and Lindsey relaxed to enjoy watching Gus with his presents, and their own gifts were exchanged.  It was only as Brian helped gather the loose paper from the floor that he noticed more packages left under the tree than expected.

Justin’s, from him.

His, from Justin.

And… three more.

Two from Ben, and one bearing Ben’s name, signed with a simple ‘Brian and Justin’.  The permanence, the reality of the situation struck him, more a revelation than any Ebenezer Scrooge ever had, and he thought, almost hysterically, that this was surely the most bizarre morning he’d ever had when there wasn’t any acid or E involved.

Lindsey gathered Gus’ things, handed him his hat and coat, and sent him down the stairs.  She smiled gently at Brian, cupping his face in her gloved hands as she shook her head in bemusement.

“Brian Kinney, you never cease to surprise me.”

Her smile broadened, and she pecked a quick kiss against his cheek as she left.  Brian stood in the door way, weight braced against the frame, and stared after her.  He felt Justin’s arms slide around his waist from behind, and the warm puff of air between his shoulder blades where Justin rested his cheek.

“You okay with this?  With them knowing?”

Brian hesitated, not sure how to answer the questions, not sure how he felt, and then… he saw Ben walking up the stairs, face flushed from the cold and eyes smiling.  Suddenly, the questions seemed all too easy.

“Yeah.”

So, here they were.  It was January again, but this year the month wasn’t cruel at all.  It was unseasonably warm on Friday, and the three of them decided to pick Gus up from school a bit early.

There were no definite plans, but Brian had decided long ago that plans were destined to be foiled, and a goal was more than enough to start your day and rule your life.  With that in mind, he stopped by the drugstore on his way to the loft where Justin and Ben were waiting.

Where the rest of his life was waiting.

End