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Choir Boy

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Author's notes:

Warnings: NC-17, AU, Anti-Michael (I'm not but this story definitely is); this and the next chap are particularly anti-Michael just so ya know. Well, up to the end, it's anti-Michael; and the end is near! "Semi-OOC" (Justin in particular has a different background than in the actual show; but he's still golden). I'm sure there are more but none that come to mind and I think anything that would potentially offend has been mentioned.


Snicker - I feel obligated to say that this is not a death fic. Gawd - I hate them myself. So no worries.


Thanks to [info]bigj52, although I'm posting this before she's gotten back to me on this chap, beta-wise. All mistakes are mine. I'm sure she appreciates me saying so! ;)

CHAPTER 13, part 1




We both finally – FINALLY – drift off with Gus between us and James sleeping soundly in the small bed by the bathroom. I can tell that neither Brian nor I sleep very well; after all, what a fucking day we had. Indeed, it felt like it went on for about ten years. "Ten years" but the residual stress had each of us waking up various times, which I know because our eyes connected in the darkness more than five or six times during the course of the night and while we're definitely in "sync"… I awoke to closed lids more times than I saw those beautiful eyes staring back at me and I'm positive the same goes for him. At least I felt some comfort if not rest; our arms were draped carefully over Gus to caress each other all night.


I finally really do fall asleep for a few uninterrupted hours and when I wake up in the morning, Gus is in the kitchen with his father who is pouring the boy some juice. I see that it's about 10 am but a glance out the window would make me think otherwise; it's grey and raining, ominous storm clouds hanging low over the city promising even worse. I get up and stretch and it's then that Brian sees I'm awake. "Hey, doofus!"


Pfft. "G'morning…" Coffeecoffeecoffee. God, I'm still in the clothes I was wearing yesterday. I vaguely note that Brian is too. I pad over to the kitchen. "Kinda gloomy weather today, huh?"


"Hmm. I've always loved gloomy weather. It suits me."


I smirk at him but don't say anything; all my essence, spirit, body, soul, brain, LIFE needs is: coffee. Well, yeah. Okay: Brian. But in the immediate moment, it's COFFEE. And the fucking lug is standing in my way of the coffeemaker.


It's then that James comes wandering out in Gus's PJs. They're too big for him and the sleeves are too long, flopping over his hands and he trips a little over the flannel leggings catching under his feet. I smile and reflect on the fact that my son slept through pretty much all the drama last night and was at his friend's during all the shit that went down at the diner yesterday. I guess I should count my blessings that he's been blissfully untouched by all these weird events. He yawns and grins sleepily at us.


Suddenly we all jump at the sound of a loud crash from outside. What the fuck was that?

Brian goes over to the window and looks down to the street. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!" He races to the door, flings it open and runs out, going down the stairs three at a time. Confused and alarmed, I go to the window to look outside and I'm completely shocked…


Michael is down there in his car and is repeatedly smashing into my car! The fuck!? Tossing over my shoulder to the boys that we'll be right back and to get some fruit from the fridge (I hope there is some), I immediately rush out after Brian and when I get out of the building I see Brian standing there in the rain looking incredulously at Michael's car bashing into mine. What can he do? Man vs. car, even when that man is Brian Kinney: the car will prevail. I stand next to him and we simply watch, helpless.


Finally Michael stops. Needless to say, if my car was a beater before, it's now completely trashed. I'm speechless and momentarily frozen in place, mouth open and eyes wide. Michael has lost it completely and yeah, he made me edgy before, but he truly scares me now; after attacking me last night and now THIS, it's obvious that he's capable of anything. And I'm his target.


Brian stalks up to the driver's side door and tears open the door, hauling the deranged lunatic out and getting right in his face. "Michael, come on," he says in an oddly calm but fierce voice. I'm surprised when he forcibly drags the man upstairs. Michael must be surprised too because at first he's silent and doesn't resist. Maybe he thinks he's going to get what he's always wanted.


Luckily, Michael doesn't see me as they pass; still, I follow them cautiously. What the hell is Brian doing bringing him into the loft? Our children are in there! I trust him though. Before he gets to the door, he opens the utility closet and shoves Michael in, slamming the door and leaning against it hard. Ah. I see. It's then that Michael starts to protest loudly and pound on the door but I know he's no match for Brian and won't escape. "Justin, go inside the loft and stay with James and Gus. I want you to call 911 but try not to alarm the boys. I'm going to stay out here and make sure this psycho freak doesn't go anywhere or get near the kids. Just in case, lock the loft door behind you. I'll wait out here until the cops come."


I nod mutely and go in the loft, closing and locking the door and trying to appear calm. I call the police and wait with the boys at the kitchen island, praying the cops come quickly. I pour them cereal and try to keep things as light as I can although they're both looking worriedly at the door, hearing Michael's yells and pounding, muted behind the loft and closet doors. Gus looks at me in confusion. "Why did you lock Daddy out? Is that Uncle Michael?"


James adds, "What's goin' on out there?"


Soon I'm relieved to hear sirens and I tell the boys that as Brian had said previously, Michael has become "unhinged" (he's well beyond that, I think to myself) and needs help. I explain that Brian is outside keeping Michael from getting in the loft and that the police are coming to take Michael away. I reassure Gus as convincingly as I can that his Daddy is big and strong and will be just fine. I'm glad that my voice doesn't waver much, as my own concern for Brian is making my heart palpitate like a trip-hammer.


I thank God when I hear the cops on the stairs and Brian's muffled voice briefly relating what's been happening over the last couple of days. Then I hear a strange commotion when Michael is freed from the closet, yelling and then the sudden heart-stopping sound of a gunshot. Everything is silent for a split second. Omigod! "Boys, stay here and DO NOT COME OUT!" I exclaim. I fly to the door, unlock and fling it open, slamming it behind me with a crash and rush into the hall; and nearly faint dead away at what I find. One of the cops is cuffing Michael and calling for a "bus" and there on the floor... and there on the floor…