REAPER BOY

by Wrenlet

Chapter 1

There couldn't have been two more mismatched, happier souls on the planet, really. They left a trail of amused glances in their wake as they wound through the hotel, shocked titters and the occasional blush. The younger one, blonde, he blushed too sometimes, when his partner would pull him close and whisper into his ear. Blush, and grin, and shove playfully at his man before they spun around and broke into song again. Punch-drunk, the both of them. Not a care in the world.

The boy careened right into a bellhop at one point, who smiled a sad little smile and turned to watch the couple dash down the hallway.

It didn't take them all that long to reach the garage, and then their singing dropped to hushed murmuring. Confidences, private matters. The sort you shouldn't overhear even if you could. But there were promises made and sealed, they would see each other "later," and then... well.

Someone had been less than amused at them, obviously.

There had been two cracks, Rube realized later, when he thought it over. Two. One when the bat hit the blonde's head, and then his neck as he dropped to the pavement.

Maybe three. But the third wasn't the kind you hear with your ears.

Chapter 2

"Justin. Justin!"

So that's what the "J" stood for. The kid -- Justin -- stood there just sort of staring at where he was also lying on the ground, motionless and leaking blood all over the concrete and all over the man cradling his body.

It's worst when they don't expect death. Not that anyone really expects it, per se, but sometimes a person sees it coming, gets all geared up for the end, looks at his reaper with clear eyes and moves right along to the next stop on the tour.

"Brian?" Not this kid. He hadn't moved an inch, like he was afraid moving would make it real. Some days, Rube really hated this part of his job.

"He can't hear you, kiddo. You're dead."

"I'm not... oooh God, I -can't- be. Brian!" Justin threw himself forward, dropping to the ground and tearing the knees out of his suit as he skidded right into Brian, and right through to the other side of him. Rube just tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweater, and waited for Justin to stand up. Or at least stop whispering at the ground, "Not real, not real, not real."

He would figure out it was real soon enough. Rube hadn't yet met a soul who didn't, eventually, get that -knowledge- down in his gut, the little voice whispering, "It's over. Let go. Move on." Some of them wouldn't listen to the voice, and that could get bad, but they all had it.

Not that Justin would be moving on just yet, anyway.

Brian had snapped his cell phone open and was yelling at someone on the line. "I said, he's not fucking breathing!" Which would be funny, if Rube was the type of person to find these things funny, because while Justin's dead body might not be breathing, the rest of him was trying his level best to hyperventilate.

"Could you cut that out? You're making me dizzy."

"Making you--?" That got the kid's attention, anyway. "Who the fuck are you?" He scrambled to his feet and turned on Rube, getting all up in his space. "-What- are you? Did you do this to me??" Okay, confusion, anger, bit of hysteria... all check. Rube really, really hated when it went down like this.

"I didn't do anything to you, kiddo. If you want be technical about it, he did." Rube pointed at another blonde kid, the one with the fondness for baseball bats, groaning on the ground a few yards away. "Popping you loose... well, that wasn't me either. That guy's moved on. But we'll get to that later, right now it's time to go. Come on."

"Get to... oh, fuck -you-. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not leaving Brian." Justin's chin came up, his jaw set, and Rube knew this kid was going to be ten kinds of trouble. Probably more. And what a mouth on him.

"News flash, kiddo: he doesn't even know you're here. Now, ordinarily I wouldn't blink if you wanted to hang around a bit, do a little 'whooo-oo-oooo' before you move on, whatever, but time's wasting. There's a lot you need to know about your new life."

Justin blinked, ignored about three-quarters of what Rube had just said and pointed at Brian. "He can't see me. He can't see you, either?"

Rube shrugged. "Not unless I want him to. Makes my job a little easier... our jobs, rather."

'New life.' 'Job.' Rube could almost see Justin start to chew over what Rube might be talking about, and figured that little voice had started in on him. "Let go. It's over. Let go." Instead, Justin shook his head again, just shook the questions away. "You don't understand, I can't be dead. Brian... God, look at him. He can't -take- this."

Brian moaned, bent double over Justin's body, and Justin looked like his legs might go out from under him at the sound. The man had let his cell phone slip to the ground, still open, and the 911 operator was telling him how far out the ambulance was and calling out CPR instructions that Brian had given up following. He was wild-eyed, disheveled, and his face and clothes were streaked with Justin's blood. Justin couldn't stop staring at him. He whispered, again, "He can't take this."

"He'll have to. Justin... there's nothing you can do for him." Rube started wishing the ambulance would hurry up, anything to break the tableau before one or both of the men cracked completely. He hardly knew the kid, but it really would be a shame to lose him before he even got started. As for Brian... well, that was somebody else's mess to handle.

He got his wish. There was another moan, and a scrabble of hands and dress shoes on concrete. Brian's head shot up in response and Rube could swear the man actually growled, and Justin completely lost his cool. "Oh fuck, oh -fuck-, he's going to kill him. He's going to kill Chris, you have to stop him! You have to help him, -please-. Please!" If Justin could touch him he'd have been grabbing at Rube's arm, but as it was all he could do was look from the reaper to his lover and wring his hands in helpless agitation.

It sure looked like Brian -wanted- to kill this Chris guy, who was trying to drag himself away from the six-feet-plus of fury advancing on him, but Rube knew better. There had only been one appointment tonight for this place, one soul coming due and it had already been accounted for. Still, Brian could beat the kid pretty badly and assault charges on top of the rest of his night? Rube wouldn't wish that on anyone. He stepped around and out from behind a parked car, right into Chris' path.

"Some mess we got here, huh?" He looked down and nudged the teen's shoulder with his shin. "Where do you think you're going?" Chris blinked up at him, cowed and guilty, and stopped trying to move. Brian just stared, as if with his anger thwarted he couldn't think of what to do next.

Rube offered, not unkindly, "Maybe you should get back to your young man." Brian nodded slowly, and without a word he returned to Justin's body and pulled his head up into his lap. Justin clapped his hands over his mouth and started to cry.

The garage began to fill with people then, security guards, other high school kids, and Rube took the opportunity to fade into the background again. Brian ignored them all, including the girl who screamed his name and Justin's, and ruined her dress kneeling next to them. Nothing existed for Brian but Justin.

Nothing existed for Justin but Brian. He sat on the ground beside him, and as the older man's fingers moved over blood-streaked blond hair, his own ghostly hands passed through auburn hair, pale skin, black-clad shoulders. Justin whispered things Rube was pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear, like that it was still the best night of his life, and he'd love Brian forever. Brian never spoke another word.

This was pretty much exactly what Rube had wanted to avoid. People grieve their own deaths much as they grieve the deaths of others, and that was doubly true if you were destined to hang around as one of the undead. It was all a process, and if Justin could have started that process without tangling it up in someone's grief for -him-, it would probably go smoother. But here they were, and Justin didn't look likely to pay any attention to Rube just then so... the hell with it. He decided to let the kid get his goodbyes in while he could, and hoped for the best.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Justin had at least stopped crying. He'd had his hand melded with Brian's where he was cradling Justin's shoulder, and as the EMTs convinced Brian to let go, to let them take him, he simply stood up and watched.

"Thanks...." It was the first Justin had spoken to him since he'd begged for Rube's help.

"Rube. Name's Rube."

"Thanks, Rube." He watched his body being loaded into the ambulance, watched Brian climb in behind the stretcher. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it." It wasn't the right time to get into owing, and favors, and the fact that Rube was Justin's new boss.

Brian sat on the narrow bench, and turned to look back into the garage. His eyes swept over the growing crowd, like he was looking for someone, or something he'd lost. What he'd lost looked back at him, and sighed once as the door slammed shut.

Rube knew Chris wouldn't really remember him from that night, just that he'd tried to get away and someone had stopped him. Brian wouldn't remember him either, though he would have a vague, unsettled feeling at times, like there was something he'd meant to do and he hadn't done it.

Rube watched Justin watch the ambulance leave. "Come on, kiddo. I could use a drink."

Justin sighed again. "Quit calling me kiddo."

Chapter 3

Eventually, it sank in that he was really, honest-to-God, dead. Justin Taylor, dead gay boy. Soon to be Justin Taylor, undead gay boy if Rube was to be believed, but not until after his funeral. There was some metaphysical reason for that, something to do with severing emotional ties to this life, proper farewells to the physical form and blah blah blah.

It sounded like a load of crap to Justin, who was frankly not in a very good mood just then. In fact, once the novelty of walking through doors wore off, Justin passed most of his "between" days alternating between morose and seriously pissed off. When Rube overheard Debbie refer to "her Sunshine" and finally connected the nickname to Justin he had spit his canape right out onto the carpet. Justin had almost laughed at that.

Debbie was part of the reason Justin hadn't seen much of his own wake. Rube had said it would be better for them to attend the wake rather than the funeral, for reasons he wouldn't go into. Justin thought it was probably because they had better food at wakes. He'd objected, and quickly discovered a serious drawback of being incorporeal: no goddamned leverage in an argument.

"I -thought- you said this was about farewells. I want to say farewell when they put me in the ground, not have to watch them walk around talking about me while I'm laying there in a box. It's fucking creepy."

Rube had said he was going, with or without Justin. No fucking leverage at -all-. Rube had walked out of the apartment and Justin found himself trailing after him like a little puppy. The thing was, he'd been following Rube around for two days and out of all the people the man interacted with, none of them could see Justin. Well, there had been one or two who maybe could: a woman who had nodded at Rube from across the street whose eyes sort of caught on where Justin stood before she looked away, and the guy he bought his newspapers from, who very carefully looked at -every- spot where Justin wasn't. But that was it.

Rube was the only one who saw him. Rube was the only person he could talk to who'd hear him. And as pathetic as it sounded, Justin discovered he had a deep need to be heard.

Anyway. They had gone to the wake, but then Debbie had broken down on Emmett's shoulder, who immediately started bawling as well, Daphne looked like she hadn't slept since it happened, and of the two primary men in Justin's life -- the one who fathered him and the one who fucked him -- neither showed. He hadn't really expected them to, or at least he knew he -shouldn't- have, but it was just the last straw.

Justin told Rube that he couldn't take any more of this, and that if they didn't leave right then, he'd personally make sure that Rube didn't have a moment's peace until his funeral. Rube told him to go right ahead, what would he do, sing to him? Rube enjoyed all forms of music, he'd sleep like a baby. Justin offered to provide the soundtrack for Rube's own, personal gay porn flick.

"You are one devious little shit, you know that?"

"Yeah. Can we go, now?" Justin decided, strangely, that he was looking forward to his funeral.

Chapter 4

Justin thought it should be raining. Or maybe snowing, like it had at Brian's father's funeral, but snow in May wasn't a typical thing in Pittsburgh. Justin knew about the snow because he'd asked Michael about it afterwards, bugged him for every little detail like the lovesick little twink he had been. And what did he want to know about a -funeral- for, anyway, Michael had asked him? It didn't make much sense, but Justin had thought at the time that he was somehow doing it for Brian.

Really, he'd asked because it was the only way he could think of to be a part of the experience, and he'd been determined to be a part of -everything- in Brian's life. Michael had to have known, and probably thought Justin was a fucking moron for bugging him about it, but he had just smiled that little indulgent smile he had and answered every single question Justin asked. Michael was a good guy, in that irritating-older-brother kind of way.

But it wasn't raining. In fact, it was a pretty nice day, all things considered. The sun was out, a cool breeze was blowing. Justin couldn't feel it, but he took a deep breath-he-didn't-need and pretended he could smell it. Most of the women were wearing hats to keep the sun off. Daphne's dress had shortish sleeves.

"Daphne's gonna hate me forever."

"She doesn't hate you."

"I wrecked her prom."

Rube just sighed, a great big put-upon, you're-making-me-crazy sigh. So what if they'd had this conversation fifty times since he'd died.

"Molly's gonna hate me forever."

Rube shot him a look, because that was new.

Justin shrugged. "I'm not going to be there. But hey, maybe with me out of the way she'll get her dad back."

Rube didn't say anything to that. Justin shrugged again, and listened to the minister read over his grave.

Justin had been right, he liked this a lot better than the wake. It was... open, for one thing. He and Rube could stand way over to the side and watch without having to be right there in the middle of things. Rube nodded and looked impressed when he mentioned it, he said that was a good instinct and that Justin should get used to that. Observe, but don't interfere. Sort of like a Prime Directive for reapers only obviously a lot less strict.

Jesus, he was going to be a fucking reaper.

"My own father isn't here, can you believe that? He'll probably be by later to dance a jig on my fucking grave." Justin hunched his shoulders, and dug his hands further into his suit pockets. "Christ, I could use a cigarette. And a change of clothes. I can do that later, right? When I'm not so...." He shrugged. Ghostly. Vapor-y. Whatever word you cared to use. He was really tired of being stuck in his tuxedo all the time.

"Yeah, kiddo, you can change your clothes."

They'd struck a deal, early on. It wasn't exactly something they had discussed, just one of those unspoken-agreement things: Justin didn't get pissy when Rube called him kiddo, and Rube turned a blind ear to Justin's abuse of the language.

Justin felt, under the circumstances, that he was totally entitled to cuss. But then, Rube probably thought he was entitled to call everyone "kid" and... well, Justin got the feeling that Rube had been dead -- or undead -- since before anyone Justin knew had even been born, so yeah. They were all kids to him. And it wasn't like Justin hadn't been called worse, he could deal with it.

Michael wasn't there, at the funeral, just like he hadn't been at the wake. Debbie was clinging to Vic instead and Justin was obscurely glad of it, because he thought it meant Michael was wherever Brian was and could maybe take care of him.

He had thought wrong.

--

The graveside service was just winding down, a few of the folks had stepped up to say some pretty nice things about Justin and Rube expected him to comment. Only he didn't, because he was staring off to their left at a solitary figure leaning against a tree.

Brian hadn't shaved in at least three days, and had maybe slept in his clothes. It didn't look like he'd eaten in a week, either, but then Rube remembered from the garage that he'd pretty much always been that thin. Or close to it.

Justin just stared.

Rube thought for a moment that Brian would step up and add a few words of his own, but instead he staggered and barely managed to catch himself against the tree trunk. Nobody at the service noticed.

Justin, of course, did. "He doesn't look so good."

Rube didn't -quite- know what the look in Justin's eyes meant but he could hazard a pretty decent guess. "Hey. Hey." He had to snap his fingers in front of the kid's face twice just to get his attention. "He's not your concern anymore, he's in the past. -Your- past."

Justin looked away from Rube's gaze, and murmured so quietly Rube almost didn't hear him, "Brian will never be my past."

He was staring at Brian again, intently, like he was drinking him in through his eyes. Rube had caught -that- look on his face before, usually followed by twitching fingers and angry muttering. Rube hadn't quite sussed out what that was all about, either. He shook his head.

"I'm telling you, kiddo... let go. The sooner you do, the happier we'll all be."

"Michael must be frantic. He is soooo gonna kick Brian's ass when he finds him."

Michael was the... best friend, right. Rube knew far more than he had ever wanted to about Brian, Michael, Justin's entire extended family because ever since the wake, the kid just wouldn't stop talking about them. He had kept up a constant litany of who was who, who was related to who, who had slept with who -- which Rube did stop him on, there were some things a man just did not need to know -- and who was most likely to fall apart and who would hold them together. His predictions had been, no pun intended, pretty dead-on.

And it beat his former sullen silences by a country mile, so Rube had just let him talk. He had to admit, Justin was leaving one hell of a weird family behind. Good people, though, Rube could tell. Good people.

"Maybe Michael knows he's here."

"He would never let him come alone."

Justin was right, of course. Just as the mourners began to break off, a dark-haired man climbed out of a rental car and started across the grass, headed straight for Brian and his tree. Brian had leaned his head against the bark and was hugging the trunk like this tree was the only friend he had left in the world. Or just a good enough friend to keep him from falling on his ass. Brian's other friend, the one with a voice and a worried crease in his forehead, peeled his arms away and murmured urgently at him. Brian looked like he wanted to fight him, pushing haphazardly at Michael's shoulder and clutching for a low-hanging branch.

Justin hissed, "Just go with him. -Go-, you stupid fucker."

This, from the young man who'd proclaimed his everlasting love just last week.

Justin glared at Rube, like he'd maybe thought that a little too loudly. "Brian's such an idiot when he's wasted."

He had stopped fighting, though. Michael managed to get his shoulders under one of Brian's arms and started to lead him away. They had a bit of an audience by that point, a few of Justin's friends and family had noticed the commotion and stopped to watch. Most of them seemed surprised to see Brian, though a couple looked as if they'd expected him before now. No one interfered.

The two men started arguing, or maybe Brian was trying to explain something to Michael. His words were too slurred and his voice too hoarse for Rube to make out so much as a word, but he didn't pull away from Michael and didn't stop walking with him towards his car, so whatever it was it must have been alright. He even steadied enough that Michael could spare a hand to rub soothingly across his back.

"Michael knows what to do for him. As long as he can keep him from running off again." Justin was still watching, and Rube watched them both.

Brian was folded so far in on himself that he didn't look much taller than his friend, or this blonde kid who stood there and watched him with his heart all up in his face like he'd do absolutely anything if it just meant Brian could stand up straight again.

Michael left him at the car door while he ran around to unlock the car and get it started, and Brian suddenly turned and swept an arm out from his body. He took in everything with the gesture -- the cemetery, its trees and grass and headstones, the sky, the people, everything -- and declared clearly, "He should -draw- this."

Justin squeezed his eyes shut, and didn't open them again until well after the two men had pulled away.

"You okay there, kiddo?"

Justin sniffed and swiped at his nose. "Allergies."

Rube didn't point out that the dead don't have allergies. He also kindly didn't mention that he'd already seen Justin cry his eyes out once, he knew perfectly well what he was capable of. Instead, he nodded his head towards the car

"Is it over?" Justin had sounded like a lot of things over the last few days, most of them pissed off or sarcastic. This was the first time Rube had ever heard him sound so... young.

"This part is. The rest of it's just getting started."

Justin nodded, ducked his head and started to walk away. "You owe me ten bucks."

Rube really should have known better than to take the bet -- these -were- Justin's friends, after all -- but he just hadn't believed any man, no matter how fey, would attend a funeral in a dress. Justin had insisted he would, something about gushing over a suit the man had worn to some party... and he'd been right. Rube could even admit, to himself, that Emmett had looked rather fetching.

Chapter 5

Justin had been looking forward to being solid, being -real- again for so long that he was pretty pissed he hadn't noticed it happening. That explained the strange look on Rube's face when he would ask about it: Will it hurt? Will there be, like flashing lights or fog or some shit? I'm materializing out of -nothing-, that's gotta look pretty freaky... will it hurt? Rube had just given him that look, that Justin decided to interpret as, 'I'm laughing at you but I don't want you to know it.' Brian had one of those, only it involved more eyebrow movement. And, usually, outright laughter.

So when Rube drove them to a cheesy 24-hour-breakfast sort of restaurant, Justin followed him inside, slid into a booth and had been toying with the placemat for about ten minutes before he twigged to the fact that he was -touching the placemat-. And that the place had really shitty service. He looked over at Rube, eyes rounded and annoyed. "Were you going to -say- something?"

"You'd figure it out, eventually. Better watch it, though, you're tearing up your menu there."

Justin looked down and, sure enough, his potential lunch selections were printed right there on the paper he'd been picking at. It was like a faux diner. A really -bad- faux diner. "Ugh... what -is- this place?"

Rube didn't even look up from his menu. "Home of the best waffles on the eastern seaboard."

It was possibly the stupidest thing Justin had heard all day. "Okay... one, we're not on the 'eastern seaboard.' And two, I know a place with -awesome- waf-"

"Don't even think it. One, it's just an expression. Two, we are absolutely not going to any place -you- know. New life, kiddo, remember?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "Riiiight, right, how could I forget? New life, with a new lack of family and a new lack of friends, many wonderful chances to meet interesting new people and then kill them."

Rube slapped his hand down on the table. "We do -not-..." And his voice was low, and serious in a way that made Justin blink and scoot back a little in his seat. "... kill people. We are employees with a specific function to perform. That function involves the removal of souls but it -does- -not- include killing. Are we clear."

Justin swallowed, and nodded nervously. "Yeah. Crystal."

Their waitress, of course, chose that moment to arrive. Justin was grateful for the reprieve, he hadn't meant to piss Rube off quite that badly. He supposed he was still used to Brian, who was surprisingly tolerant as long as Justin didn't mention age or erectile dysfunction.

It would suck to have Rube mad at him. He was still pretty much the only person Justin could talk to.

Rube ordered his drink, juice or something, and the waitress turned to Justin and eyed his tuxedo. "Well, you're all spiffed up, aren't you? Going to a party?"

Justin considered telling her they'd come from a funeral, but Rube might still be a little on the touchy side and besides, it never hurt to charm your waitstaff. He smiled up at her. "Kinda. I just want some water, and... hey, can I ask a favor? Can I maybe get a pencil, and an extra menu?"

She beamed back at him. He obviously still had it. "Sure thing, sweetie. Be back in a sec for your orders."

Rube was still studying his menu like it held the secrets of the universe. Definitely still touchy. Justin slid down in his side of the booth and waited.

He wondered just how 'new' this new life of his would be. How... different. He guessed he was about to find out.

Chapter 6

Rube thought he maybe shouldn't have been so harsh, but God bless him, the kid sure knew how to push a button. It was about time he started to settle in anyway, get serious about things. Rube needed to get a good read on him, too, and that was pretty serious business.

Their waitress, Margie, returned with the drinks and the things Justin had asked for, and Justin immediately flipped the extra menu over and grabbed at the pencil like a drowning man reaching for shore. His hand began to move swiftly across the page, and he started... Well. That was a surprise. He didn't even bother to order, so Rube doubled his own request. A waffle stack would do the kid a world of good.

"So that's what Brian meant. You're an artist, then?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk about him." Justin's head stayed bent over his work, and his tone was dismissive.

Rube sighed. Push, push, push. "I'm making chit-chat here, the polite thing for you to do is play along. So. You're an artist, then?"

Justin looked up without really looking up, lifting his eyes and the corners of his mouth in a tiny smile. "Yeah. Or I was before, I didn't know if I could still do this. You know, now."

"What, just because you died?"

He nodded a little. "You said things would change."

"It doesn't change who you are inside, kiddo. You'll still like the same things and want the same things. Like this, your drawing: it comes from your soul, and your soul hasn't changed any."

Another nod, slow and thoughtful. "I guess. It just it seems like I lost so much, all at once, I wasn't... really sure how I'd deal if I lost this, too."

Rube thought of the man at the cemetery and his friendly tree. "You just hold on to what you have left. It's what we all do." He tilted his head to get a better look at Justin's menu, and wished he was surprised that the kid was sketching his funeral. "You're pretty good at that."

"Yeah. I got accepted to the Institute for the fall, but I guess school's out of the question now." He frowned at a line and tried to smudge it with the edge of his finger. "This paper's for shit."

"Hmm. Better paper you can get, but the other," Rube shrugged. "Give it a couple years, you could maybe look into it. There's no real hurry."

Justin laughed quietly. "Yeah, I got nothing but time, now." He'd filled in most of the landscape by the time their food arrived. The waffle stack got a roll of his eyes, before he pushed it aside and started on the figures around his grave.

"You should eat something, kiddo."

"In a minute."

Rube shared an amused look with Margie, who made some appreciative noises over Justin's sketch. He made the appropriate thankful noises back, and actually lifted his head long enough to smile at her again. The kid really was a charmer. Rube noticed the sketching seemed to calm him down some, give him bit of stability, which could only be a good thing. He also noticed that Justin had left a certain tree out of his rendering.

Justin stopped, finally, and sort of ran his fingers across the bare spot on the hill for a moment.

"You going to finish that?"

"I... yeah, I think. Maybe later." And that was that. Justin folded the sketch carefully, tucked it into his jacket pocket, and started in on his waffles. He'd torn through one in record time, eye roll or no eye roll, and was dousing the second in syrup before he spoke again.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Who?"

"'Who.' That guy we're not talking about."

"I wouldn't know." Rube should be discouraging this, but.... "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"I'm not really sure. He might be?" Justin let his fork drop, and slouched down until his chin was resting on his fists. "But he might not. Michael can usually handle him, but he looked so -bad- today, and... shit! Michael's moving to Portland. Or he was supposed to. Maybe...."

"Kiddo, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Try that innocent look on me, for one. I know what you're thinking and the answer's no. You are not to have any contact with him, or Michael, or any of the rest of them. It's just not done."

"Rube, come on. You saw him that night, he was -completely- freaked out. Maybe if I could see him," he sat up, and leaned in towards Rube. "... maybe if he could see -me-, and I could tell him that I'm, like, okay -- or mostly okay -- he could... he could not worry." Justin was all earnest and pleading, and to be honest a guy would have to have a heart of stone not to react to that. Fortunately, Rube had other means at his disposal.

"Justin... he wouldn't know you."

"What do you mean, he wouldn't know me? Okay, yeah... he was kind of a fall-down mess at the funeral but he's -not- always like that. Not... always. And he wouldn't... he can't have forgotten me that quick."

Rube just shook his head. They always forgot this part, for some reason; it was never -real- to the newly-undead until they saw it with their own eyes. Well, it was obviously time for Justin to see the truth.

"I doubt he's forgotten you." Rube guessed Justin had eaten as much as he was going to, so he stood and tossed a couple of bills down on the table. "Come on."

Justin frowned, confused. "But... what did you mean?"

"I'm going to show you something. Just trust me, kiddo."

Chapter 7

The place Rube had in mind wasn't far, so he just set off down the sidewalk and trusted Justin would follow. This sort of thing had been much, much more difficult not that long ago. He'd sincerely blessed the advent of Polaroids, and then... the Age of Video had dawned. It almost made up for having to periodically hunt up a new Social Security number.

Justin ambled along in his wake, absently checking out store windows as they passed. He had finally learned, thank God, that Rube -would- answer his questions in his own, proper time if he waited. Or tell him he wasn't getting an answer, one or the other.

Rube stopped in front of an electronics store, and pointed. "Okay, kiddo, take a look."

"Take a look at...? Holy -shit-." Justin gaped at the display of video cameras and accessories. More specifically, he gaped at the image of two men in the video monitor, one of whom was gaping right back at him.

Rube regarded himself casually. He'd had many, many years to get accustomed to his not-mirror image, with its lack of what he liked to refer to as "rugged good looks." His image was a little paunchier, had less-piercing eyes and less hair. He didn't think Justin's was all that bad.

Justin had recovered enough to start trying on different facial expressions. It was pretty comical, watching him mug for the camcorder: he smiled, and frowned, grinned, winked, and then just shook his head. "So wrong."

Rube shrugged. "It's useful enough. For one thing, back in the day it was easier to accidentally run into someone you'd known before, and mortals tend not to deal well with the whole 'undead reaper' concept."

"Yeah, but do I have to look like -that-?"

"We have to blend in, kiddo. Makes it easier to do what we do and move on, unnoticed. Unremarkable."

Justin muttered, "Still so wrong."

And then, swear to God, the kid turned around and craned his neck like he was checking out his own ass on the monitor.

"-Fuck.-"

"What now?" Rube was baffled.

"-Nothing-."

Rube lifted his eyebrow. "Is something not to your satisfaction? Are all the parts not in order?"

"You would -so- not understand. Fuck. Let's just... go." He turned in a little circle on the sidewalk, agitated.

"Most guys check out the front of their pants."

Justin stared at him, shocked. "I am not having this conversation with you."

"It was just an observation," Rube shrugged. "Young guys like yourself, especially, they tend to want to know whether they've still got what the l- ahh, other folks are after."

Justin looked back at him and narrowed his eyes, then, wickedly. "Let's just say, my best -ass-ets weren't in the front."

Now it was Rube's turn to stare. "You're right, we are not discussing this."

Justin started to laugh, and followed him back to the car. Rube had been pretty clear right at the outset, Justin's sexuality didn't bother him in the least. When you'd been at the job as long as he had all manner of prejudices pretty much fall by the wayside, though there were a few unfortunately class-conscious individuals still in the ranks.

That didn't mean Rube needed, or wanted all the details. Call him old-fashioned, but some things were just meant to be private.

The kid was still shaking his head as he slid into the passenger seat. "I still can't believe it."

"Yeah, well. It'll sink in. Here." Rube fished in his vest pocket and tossed a card into Justin's lap. He picked it up and turned it over, curious.

"A bus pass?"

"That's right. We're gonna get you set up, and then I've got things I need to be doing. You'll meet me back here in the morning, eight sharp."

He huffed. "Here? God, even if you can't handle the Liberty Diner, I know million better places than this."

"Don't start. You'll come here, because here's where I'll be, and if I have to come looking for you, you won't like it."

Justin sighed, hugely, and buckled his seatbelt. "Fine. God. Just tell me clothes are somewhere on the agenda."

They hadn't been, but then suddenly they were. As was a sketchpad, a -particular- brand of pencils and a carton of cigarettes, because while no one else in the store got the full effect of Justin's big blue eyes, he could still turn them on Rube.

Chapter 8

Justin took perverse delight in chain smoking his way through the first pack of cigarettes. It wasn't as if he could get any -more- dead, right? And besides, he was feeling all full-of-freedom at the moment, sitting with his sketchpad on his very own bed in his very own apartment.

Or, rather, his very own mattress on his very own pile of crates in his very own rat hole, all of which he had unofficially inherited from the recently deceased. This had to be the creepiest lifestyle -ever-. He'd griped at first about everything from the smell, to the rickety stairs they'd climbed, to the smell, to the peeling paint, to the smell, to the obviously infested state of the kitchenette, and did he mention the smell? It wasn't even a dead-body smell, it was just... wrong.

Rube had been unsympathetic. He said Justin could get himself some air freshener and, oh yeah, a job if he wanted to keep the place past the end of the month. Or he could take his chances on another "vacancy" later. Rube had been snappish like that ever since the store and Justin knew it was his fault, but he wasn't sure exactly why.

That's sort of what Justin had asked him, while they were standing in line at the checkout. The thought had just popped into his head, and he remembered frowning because this really should have occurred to him earlier, and he had said, "You know, for a dead gay kid you'd never met before last week, you're being awfully nice to me."

Rube had shot him a look. "You're complaining?"

"Well... no, not complaining. Just wondering why, I guess. You told me you're my boss and you have to show me the ropes and all, and I get that, but...." He'd trailed off, and shrugged, and nudged the shopping cart. "You're kinda going above and beyond, and I just wanted to know why."

"I have my reasons." And that was all Rube would say about it, and practically all he'd said the rest of the day. Except for the crack about a job, which Justin knew he'd deserved for being such a whiny little brat.

Justin set his pencil down, stretched his arms up and arched his back with a series of quiet pops. Jesus, he'd completely lost track of time. He had to admit the apartment wasn't -that- bad, once he'd cracked a window open. Sure, it was tiny and pretty dingy-looking and had a lumpy mattress, but it could have been worse. The district was low-rent enough that not only could he maybe actually afford to stay, the landlord probably wouldn't even blink at the sudden change of occupants. Hell, he had the place all to himself and that's more than he could have said in a dorm room.

And plus, it had the coolest little turret window seat, which he suspected would get fantastic light in the mornings. For the time being, he was stuck with just the overhead. It was pretty dim, he'd have to see about getting a floor lamp of some kind if he wanted to draw at night without giving himself a headache. It had served for now, though.

He looked down and added a bit more shading to the sketch in his lap, and declared it done. As best as he could remember, he was looking at the face everybody but another reaper would see when they looked at him.

Not-Justin wasn't exactly -ugly-, just... sort of nothing special anymore. Still blond and blue-eyed, with an... okay smile and an... okay ass. And he -knew- this was bullshit, that he had five million other more important things to be worried about but that didn't make this suck any less.

He thought about the boy he'd seen in the monitor again, the one in his drawing. Brian would never even give that boy the time of day. He might let him suck his dick, though, if it was late or... Justin grimaced and filed that idea under 'Do Not Think About This Ever Again.'

'Unless Maybe You're Really Running Low On Jerk Off Fantasies.' God knows the thought of Brian's cock could get any gay boy hard, even a dead one. And yes, that part was still working just fine.

[Note: yes, I gave dead!Justin Ethan's apartment. Heehee.]

Chapter 9

Justin chewed on his lower lip, and flipped to a clean page in the sketchbook. The light was going from bad to worse as the sun set but he was sure he could do this quickly, he felt like he'd done it a million times before. The pencil scratched against the paper as he worked, laying lines and shades and curves down on the page.

Bit by bit, Justin drew Brian's eyes. He sketched Brian's eyes the way he wanted to remember them forever, from that moment after his prom when Brian had pushed him gently against the jeep and looked down at him like he was... asking Justin for something. Asking for permission. Asking for everything. Justin had only seen that look in Brian's eyes once, and only for the moment before they'd kissed, but he would never forget it.

After he had finished, Justin carefully tore the page free from the sketchbook, set it down on the bed where another pillow would go if he had one and looked at it. He'd drawn Brian's eyes nearly life-sized, and they almost.... He turned and fetched one of his new sweatshirts out of the shopping bag and rolled it up into a little bundle. It took some poking and prodding and creative rearranging but when he was done, if he laid down and turned his head to the right and squinted, it looked like Brian's eyes were watching him. He felt stupid the entire time he was doing it but it didn't stop him, and he just kept telling himself that no one would ever know what a silly faggot he was being right then.

A silly faggot, with a sudden and raging hard-on. Oh, God. He could say, in his own defense, that it had been -days- since his last fuck, and... well, it really did look like Brian was watching him.

He had done that before, told Justin to stroke himself off while he watched. Justin couldn't touch Brian at all while he did it, those were the rules Brian set, but sometimes Brian would stop him before he finished and just fuck him and Justin liked to think it was because Brian just couldn't resist his tight ass. Fuck, he was hard like -steel- now, and blood-hot against his palm.

Sometimes there were toys involved, maybe a butt plug, or sometimes Brian wanted Justin to finger himself while he stroked but sometimes it was just like this, Brian's eyes and Justin's cock hard in Justin's hand. Brian always told Justin to make it last, but he hardly ever could.

He wondered dimly whether he'd be stuck with eighteen-year-old hormones for, like, all of eternity and then it was almost over, he was almost there and Brian was watching the whole time. He put his other hand over his mouth, trying not to make too much noise, trying not to... he bit into the heel of his palm when he came, nearly hard enough to break skin. Oh, God. His eyes. Oh, -fuck-.

Justin was not crying. He was absolutely, positively not leaking stupid sissy tears as he climbed out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself up. Brian would laugh himself fucking sick if he ever knew. Rube would... okay, Justin didn't know what Rube would do and he decided he really didn't want to. It was bad enough -he- knew how pathetic he was.

This was so bad, so very bad. So far beyond his jock-stealing habit and his yearbook-based fantasies of teenaged Brian that it was... beyond -bad-. Justin stepped out of the bathroom and looked at the drawing resting on its pile of sweatshirt. He knew he should put it away, he should tuck it somewhere with the sketch of his not-mirror image and the unfinished drawing of his funeral and move on. He didn't, though. Instead he climbed back into bed and lay there looking at it until he couldn't bear... something. It was like he had some heavy weight on his chest, or maybe something inside trying to force its way out and all he could do was roll over, put his back to the sketch, and try to fall asleep.

--

Eyes that had looked familiar and comforting in dim light looked pretty fucking scary by full daylight, especially if the drawing in question had slipped a little during the night so it looked like an off-perspective cubist representation of eyes, and especially if they were the first thing you saw when you woke up. Justin yelped and scooted away, sliding off the mattress and onto the pallets that served in lieu of box springs.

And then he felt really, colossally stupid about the whole thing. It was just a drawing. -Just- a drawing, and hell he'd had Brian's whole face tacked to the wall in Michael's room and he'd never done anything so freaky because of it. Jerk off, yes; freak out, no. He decided that was going to be his mantra from now on.

Justin didn't want to fucking think about where those other drawings were now, either. All he wanted to do was not be late to the restaurant, not get Rube mad at him, do whatever thing Rube had on his planner and maybe think about getting a chair for the window nook because yeah, that was some pretty awesome light. Maybe if he was really lucky, Rube would buy him breakfast before the 'whatever.'

Justin was, of course, not that lucky. Rube was standing outside waiting on him, looking so impatient that Justin automatically checked his watch. He was ten minutes early, dammit, what was Rube's problem?

He didn't even get a chance to ask. When Rube spotted him, he immediately swung the passenger door open and ordered him inside.

"The hell?" So much for not getting Rube mad that day.

"I said, get in. I have a situation to handle, and you might as well come along. You should see this, anyway, it'll be a good object lesson for you." Rube slammed his door shut and went around to climb in himself. Okay, maybe -one- thing was looking up: Rube was obviously mad at someone who was not Justin.

Justin belted himself in and sat quietly, listening to Rube mutter about stubbornness and incompetence as he pulled out into morning traffic.

Chapter 10

A reaper's job, Rube reflected as he drove, was a fairly simple one: go where and when you're told to go, find your assigned soul and jog it loose, preferably before the moment of death. So if it was that simple, how did people manage to find so many ways to mess it up? He hadn't thought he would have to ride herd on the crew here while he kept watch over Justin, but he had obviously been mistaken.

"Alright, kiddo, listen up. What I need from you is to keep your eyes peeled, your ears open and your mouth shut. You have any questions, I'll hear 'em afterwards. Are we clear?" He spared a glance at Justin, who nodded solemnly. "Good. Because I don't ever want to hear of you causing a screw up like this one."

They turned off the road into an alleyway, and rolled to a stop behind a quaint ranch-style house. A skinny, nervous-looking man was waiting for them outside the fence, pacing and puffing on a cigarette. Rube slid the car into park and climbed out, Justin following not far behind.

"You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking, Pete?"

"Rube, I'm sorry, I couldn't stand by and let it happen. He's my aunt's-"

Rube cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It doesn't matter what he is to you. The man had an appointment to keep. He kept it, and his reaper fell down on the job. Now it's time to step up and fix your mess."

Pete shot a strange, questioning look at Justin and tried again, weakly. "He... his wife can't work, she needs him around."

"You really think she needs that?" Rube pointed, and all three men turned to look through the gate.

Pete's appointment was standing on the back porch, gazing out over the yard. He didn't look like anything special, didn't even look like he was supposed to be dead until he met their eyes. His face remained expressionless, no hint of curiosity or recognition or anything else. Justin shuddered and bit back a curse, and Rube knew he was seeing what Rube had brought him there to see.

The man's eyes were completely dead. Hollow, and wrong in a way that makes a man's gut twist up and his skin crawl.

"The soul rots, Pete, you know that as well as I do. It's only been four days now, how much worse are you going to let it get? How much longer are you going to let his family wonder what's wrong and why they can't stand to look at him before you take him where he's supposed to be?"

Pete's face fell. "I... okay. Okay. I'll do him now." Rube just nodded, and he and Justin watched as Pete opened the gate and walked up to the man. He didn't seem to care that a stranger had just walked into his backyard. He didn't acknowledge Pete at all as the reaper approached and touched him on the shoulder, simply closed his eyes and slumped lifelessly to the wood deck.

"Can I go now?" The voice came from just behind them and was nearly toneless, and Justin jumped a little.

Rube nodded. "Pete here will take you the rest of the way." Pete had rejoined them in the alleyway, and with a last apologetic glance at Rube he led the dead man away.

Justin let out a long breath, like he'd been holding it. "That was... uhm."

"Yeah. Don't ever make me drag you out to fetch a soul you let rot, kiddo, or I'll jerk a knot in your tail."

"Ew, no." They were back in the car before the questions started. "But... why did Pete have to do it? You take souls too, right? Couldn't you have gotten him out? Could I?"

"Nope. Once you've got an appointment, the soul is yours to take and yours alone."

"That's weird. Not very efficient, either."

Rube shrugged. "It's the way the system works. No trading off, no givesies-backsies."

"Do people ever just... miss appointments?"

"It can happen. Millions of people die every day, it's a big system and there's bound to be a glitch from time to time. Make no mistake, kiddo, if a reaper steps over the line there's a price to pay. Sometimes we feel it, sometimes they do, there's no telling. But leaving a soul past its time," Rube shook his head. "There's just no excuse for that." Justin shuddered again, and rubbed his arms. "You okay, there?"

"Yeah. I'd be better if you'd let me smoke in the car."

Rube chuckled. "Not a chance, kiddo. You can light up over breakfast."

Chapter 11

Which Justin did, naturally, as soon as they were seated in Rube's usual booth. "So, that other guy, Pete; he's a reaper, too. Are we all, like, not supposed to talk to each other or something? He kept looking at me funny."

"No, he just... hadn't met you yet," Rube hedged. "You're still adjusting, so I thought I'd give you some time before I introduced you to the others."

Justin raised an eyebrow at that. "How many others? There've got to be a lot of us, to cover a city as big as Pittsburgh, huh."

"There are, but they're broken down into groups. There are the different divisions -- accidents, disease, and what-have you -- and then we split up into... squadrons, I guess you could say."

"Reaper squadrons, huh?" Justin giggled and rearranged the sugar packets. "Rube, you're so -old-. You sound like my granddad."

"I'm older than your granddad. You'll meet the rest soon, maybe tomorrow. They're...." Rube sighed. "Well, they're an okay bunch. A bit more undisciplined than I'd like, but I'm working on that."

Justin tilted his head, puzzled. "Didn't you train them? The way you are me?"

"No, kiddo, I'm not from around here. Just in town on assignment. They asked me to take you under my wing and so I have."

"Lucky me." The kid grinned at him, and turned to order his breakfast.

--

"So now we just... wait."

"Yep."

Justin sighed and looked down at the yellow square of paper stuck to his forearm. "I can't believe you, Rube. Post-Its?"

"It's the way we do things, kiddo. Now hush up, you're supposed to be listening."

"Listening, right. Because your great system can't even provide, oh, a first name? Description?"

"Shh."

This sucked so hard. Justin had less than twenty minutes to find an 'S. Maloney' in the middle of the hosiery department at Sears. He leaned back against the glass countertop, trying to casually check the saleswoman's nametag. No luck, and she caught him looking, too. He gave her a sickly, apologetic smile and changed tactics, starting to circle the racks of handbags. "Are you sure I can even do this?"

"Yes, I'm sure. And quit griping, it could be worse."

"Worse?"

"You could have to search the whole store."

Justin groaned. "I'm never going to find her in time, Rube. What happens if I don't?"

"Well, it's not pretty. If you pop the soul before its E.T.D. it appears as that person did in life. If not... whatever he or she looks like after death, they're stuck with it."

Justin thought of his own dead body, after Chris was done with him: the dent in his skull, and the blood, and the unnatural angle of his neck. "Ugh."

"And it might not be a woman, kiddo."

He shot Rube a look. "Men don't buy their hose at Sears, not even drag queens. They don't carry the right sizes."

Rube blinked back at him. "It could be someone's husband."

Justin groaned again. Fine. So his odds of finding Mr. -or- Ms. S. Maloney had just dropped by fifty percent, and the clock was ticking. "Can I be fired?"

"What??"

"If I suck at this. I mean... really suck, not just fuck up sometimes like Pete. Can you fire me, Rube?"

Rube chuckled dryly. "No, kiddo, you won't get fired. You can't up and quit either. It's more like a vocation than an actual job... a calling, if you will."

"Hmm." A particularly garish clutch purse caught his eye; it reminded him of Debbie, all spangles and tropical colors. "Did you know I was going to be called? I mean... was I always meant for this, to die at eighteen and wind up reaping souls?"

Rube didn't answer for a long time, long enough that Justin looked over at him curiously. "Nobody can answer that, kiddo, how much of our lives is free will and how much is destiny. Did I know you were being called? Not exactly. We get a heads-up occasionally when a reaper's retirement is coming, but I didn't know who he would pull as a replacement. He didn't know, either."

Justin frowned. There was something not entirely complete about Rube's answer, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The other man nodded his head at the rest of the store. "Mind on the job, Justin. Time's wasting."

"Right. The job." He checked the Post-It on his arm again and his watch, and was about to ask Rube how well he had known Justin's reaper when he noticed a slight, elderly woman walk up to the counter and flag down the saleswoman. Her voice was so quiet he could hardly hear her, but the saleswoman -- Nancy, from her nametag -- was clear as a bell.

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid we can't take your return. Yes, Mrs. Maloney, I see you have a receipt for it but we're a Sears, not a Macy's. No, ma'am, I'm afraid don't know where the nearest Macy's is."

Justin glanced at Rube once, nervously, and stepped forward. "Excuse me, but I think there's a Macy's over at Ross Park Mall?" The receipt the woman was holding only had her last name on it, but Justin's luck just continued to improve: Mrs. Maloney's checkbook was monogrammed with a large, fancy-script S. She was Justin's appointment, and he had about five minutes to spare.

Mrs. Maloney smiled at him. "What a helpful young man you are, thank you." She extended her hand to Justin, and he took it in both of his.

It was like nothing Justin had felt before, this "soul popping." His hands sort of tingled, almost like when your foot falls asleep only completely different, and there were faint, fading golden sparks on the woman's skin where he'd touched her. It was -weird-. And it was totally instinctual. Maybe he had been meant for this all his life.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Maloney, it's my pleasure." Justin watched her start to leave the store, and then turned to Rube, beaming and bouncing on his toes.


Susan Maloney didn't notice the 'Wet Floor' sign in the entryway. She didn't notice the corner of the concrete planter before she hit it, and she never felt a thing. The kind young man who helped her up looked a little familiar, but when she saw her childhood home all lit up and waiting for her, that didn't seem to matter at all.


"It was a woman."

"Yes, you're very smart."

"And I did good?"

"You did good, kiddo. Come on, I'll buy you a malt."

Chapter 12

That night, Justin found himself sketching the late Mrs. Maloney. He hadn't meant to when he sat down but it happened like that sometimes, images flowing across the paper that were not originally what he'd had in mind. She was smiling, but not the same way she had smiled at him in the department store. Instead Justin drew her face as he'd last seen it, when the light broke across her features from over his shoulder and she had seen for the first time where she was going next. She had looked... beautiful, and peaceful, and ready to go. She'd kissed his cheek before she left, as if she was thanking him. As if he had personally given this gift to her.

Reaping might not be such a hard thing after all.

He wondered, as he drew, whether he could have looked like that, if the afterlife could have offered him anything beautiful enough to tempt him away from Brian's side, from Brian's grief. He didn't think so, but... well, he couldn't know for sure. Not now, and probably not for a long time. Rube was typically cagey about what happened to reapers when they moved on, and Justin suspected it was because he just didn't know.

The light was much better than the night before.

Justin's celebratory malt had led to his critique of the service at the restaurant, Rube's questioning whether he could do better, and Justin's insistence that of -course- he could, only not there because the tips had to be for shit. And besides, he couldn't stand the place. He had no idea what Rube saw in it.

Justin would bet he could still pull pretty decent tips at the Liberty Diner, bubble butt or no bubble butt, but that was naturally out of the question. So he'd run down the list of other places he knew of that might be hiring -- out loud, to Rube's vast amusement -- with asides as to the orientation and hotness of the typical clientele and Justin's chances at charming tips out of them.

Two hours later, Justin had a job. Twenty minutes after that he'd convinced Rube to give him an advance against his first check -- he needed clothes, for one, as the restaurant's dress code included neither hoodies nor cargo pants -- and an hour after -that- he was loading his fridge and plugging in his new torchiere. He still needed a chair, something big and comfortable, and he thought maybe after he paid back Rube's loan he'd see what he could pick up at a garage sale or something.

Justin also had a new name. Rube said not to worry about paperwork, he "knew a guy who knew a guy" who could get him set up before his first day on the job. Justin insisted that 'Sean Fitzgerald' be at -least- twenty-one; with all he'd been through he sure as fuck deserved to drink. Rube had been surprisingly agreeable to that.

His new life was starting to take shape around him; he had two jobs, the promise of money coming in, and a place of his own where he could draw late into the night if he felt like it. He felt like it, so he did. And, despite all his intentions otherwise, he fell asleep with Brian's eyes lying on his bed next to him again that night.

Chapter 13

Three days, five souls (and five sketches) later, Rube had decided it was time for Justin to meet the rest of the crew. It went well enough, Justin thought, but he -still- suspected Pete was watching him funny when he thought Justin wasn't looking. Monique didn't speak at all, just smiled a little and wiggled her fingers at him. In fact, of the three only Brandon said more than two words to him that day, but... hell, they were just co-workers. If they were politely distant to him at the daily breakfast meetings, that was fine; it wasn't as if Justin had expected them to greet him with open arms, like they were all family or some shit.

Justin added three more sketches to his collection, though, and started putting serious thought into buying a portfolio. He was drawing like crazy, every spare minute he had: souls he took, the other reapers, customers at the little Italian restaurant that had hired him, random people on the street. And those were just the new subjects. It was like Justin had turned into a big, human filter, taking people in through his eyes and pushing them out through his fingers, new sights and old memories pushing at him to draw, draw, draw, all the time. It was his connection, his proof that he had lived and that he still existed. He picked up a courier bag and took to carrying it everywhere he went, sketchbook at the ready. The only person Justin didn't draw was Brian, but he did buy a second pillow for his bed.

He also bought his chair, five dollars off of someone's front lawn, overstuffed and worn at the corners but so comfortable he could almost fall asleep in it. He hadn't been able to get help to move it so he did it himself, sweating and swearing all the way up the four flights of stairs. The bruises along his right arm felt like accomplishment, self-sufficiency.

Justin also did well at the restaurant. He wasn't as popular as he'd been at the diner and wasn't the top earner on staff, but he had a knack for difficult customers that he'd honed on Brian and the extra cash from them kept him comfortably in cigarettes and pencils.

It was a decent life.

Now if he could only get laid.

--

This had not been, Justin reflected, one of his brighter ideas. The doorman had waved him in, no problem. The bartender had served him a beer, also no problem, and he was leaning against the bar looking out at the crowded dance floor and feeling pretty damned full of himself when he spotted the Three Amigos coming down the stairs from one of the catwalks. The Three Amigos being, of course, Ted, Emmett and Michael. Except, shouldn't Michael be in Portland?

Well, -fuck-. Justin was about to spin to face away from the floor when he remembered they wouldn't recognize him, and had started to let out a sigh of relief when Ted pushed up to the bar next to him and nodded. "How's it going?"

Justin gave him a weak little smile and didn't breathe again until Ted ordered his drink and turned back towards his friends. Justin was, in fact, just about to do the right thing and get the hell out of there when he overheard Michael say to Emmett, "I've never seen him like this."

Oh, Justin was going to be in such deep shit trouble if he didn't leave right that second. He knew he should go, knew that he'd catch hell from Rube if he didn't, but he couldn't make himself move.

"Honey, can you blame him? It's only been two weeks."

Two weeks. Justin had the strange sensation, just then, that his existence had sped up while everyone else's lives had slowed way the hell down. In some ways he felt years removed from his death, not just a couple of weeks.

"I know, just... Christ. It's like he's only half here." Michael didn't even have a drink, he looked he hadn't had one in... fuck it. Weeks.

"Well, that would make sense. Considering." Ted rubbed one of Michael's shoulders gently, and Justin wondered where David was. Part of him didn't want to hear this, but the rest of him soaked it up like a bone-dry sponge.

"Yeah. I guess it does." Michael leaned his head on Ted's shoulder for a second before he pushed himself upright. "I've got to go get him. He has work in the morning."

"He still has a job?" Ted, again, immediately looking like he knew it had been a cheap shot and he wished he had resisted it. Michael shot him a sour look.

"For now. You know Brian, he still functions no matter how hung he is. I'm just worried he'll start drinking during the day, or worse." Michael looked away for a minute while the other two remained silent. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

The three men exchanged hugs and kisses on the cheek, and Michael turned and made his way towards the back room. Emmett draped his arms around Ted's shoulders and sighed.

"God, Teddy. Do you think Michael can save him?"

Justin couldn't wait for Ted's answer, and he definitely couldn't handle watching Michael lead Brian out of the back room of Babylon. He had torn himself away from the bar and out of the club and halfway down the street before he really realized he was moving, and then he just kept going all the way to his apartment building, taking the stairs two and three at a time until he was inside his new home with the door shut and bolted behind him.

He was out of breath. His legs were sore. Rube was going to yell at him, and yet none of these three things mattered a damn.

Brian mattered. He mattered to Justin, and to Michael and Ted and Emmett and everyone else who had ever leaned on him or looked to him or done their damnedest to mother him. He mattered to -so many- people, so much that Michael was here in Pittsburgh instead of with his lover where he should by all rights be.

Brian mattered. Only now he was falling apart and there was fuck all Justin could do about it.

It had been late when he had left for Babylon and it was even later now. He had a meeting in the morning and the lunch shift at the restaurant and should really shower, but he only had enough energy left to strip and shut the lights out before he crawled into bed.

Justin rolled to his side, wrapping his comforter around his body like a cocoon and clutching it tight. He looked at Brian's eyes and wished for the first time that he was really, truly dead.

Chapter 14

Rube knew.

He spotted Justin from the usual corner booth as Justin edged in the door -- late -- and by the look he fixed on him, Justin could tell that he knew. He was finding it difficult to give a shit, though.

Justin slid in next to Pete, who edged a little away from him, nervously, and what the -fuck- was up with that? Rube was talking. Justin crossed his arms and waited for Rube to finish.

Rube opened up his planner and handed the day's appointments to the other three reapers. "Now if you could excuse us, Justin and I have a little matter to discuss."

That was one way to put it. Justin stood to let the others out past him, slid back into the booth and re-crossed his arms. And waited.

Rube gave him The Look, that pseudo-parental 'I'm so disappointed' look he had, as if he expected Justin to spill his guts like a kid with his hand caught in a cookie jar. Justin was thoroughly sick of being treated like -anyone's- kid.

So he waited some more.

Rube sighed, finally, and opened his hands on the table top. "You want to tell me where you were last night?"

"Why do you care where I was?"

"Because you did something you shouldn't have done, kiddo."

Justin sat forward, leaning his arms on the table. "And how do you know if I did, Rube? Are you having me followed?" He had felt like such shit the night before and woken up stewing over it this morning. Somehow in Justin's head -- possibly because Rube was the only authority figure he had -- it had all become Rube's fault.

"It doesn't matter how I know, I just do. You aren't to go near anyone who knew you, Justin; not your family, not your friends, not anyone. I've told you that before."

Justin tightened his jaw and fiddled with a roll of silverware. "Well, so what. So maybe I saw the guys, it's not like they knew who I was or anything. And maybe I overheard a few things, I didn't...." He trailed off, his misplaced anger at Rube rapidly abandoning him.

"And I've -also- told you before, it's for your own good. So that you can move on properly."

Justin couldn't say anything to that. Part of him knew that Rube was right; if anything, last night had proved that Justin hadn't put his mortal life behind him at all. In fact, if Justin was completely honest with himself he'd admit that every time he thought too hard about Brian it was like a giant hole had opened up under his feet, wanting to take him down and swallow him whole. But he also knew that if 'moving on' meant abandoning Brian to his own pain, he just couldn't do it. No matter what it cost him.

He finally offered, quietly, "I didn't do it on purpose."

Rube looked into him, intently, like he knew that Justin wasn't lying -yet- but that he would, that he was sitting there that very second planning to do exactly what Rube was telling him not to do. "Alright, kiddo, I'll accept that."

Justin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Rube was entirely too perceptive for anyone's good, the less Justin talked to him about this the better. Luckily, something else had come up that Justin was determined to get to the bottom of. He motioned to the exit door. "So, tell me about the others. What -is- their problem with me?"

Now it was Rube's turn to look a little uncomfortable, like this was something -he- didn't want to talk about. "What makes you think they have a problem?"

"Oh, please," Justin huffed, rolling his eyes, and started ticking points off on his fingers. "Pete won't look me in the eye, but I can't decide if it's me or because you brought me along to watch him clean up that mess he made. He won't -touch- me, either, even accidentally and that's weird. Monique looks like she thinks the world's going to end if she says more than three words to me in a row, and she stares holes in me when she thinks I'm not looking. Brandon talks to me, at least, but it's all 'Pleasure to meet you' and 'Nice weather we're having.' I could handle it if they just didn't like me for some reason, but they're acting like they're... afraid of me. So, what gives?"

Rube took a deep breath and straightened in his seat before he met Justin's eyes. "They're a little spooked by you, yes, but they'll come around eventually, or I might have a chat with them. People like you... tend to be unpredictable."

Justin blinked. People like him? What the hell? He remembered what Rube had told him about prejudices, but he'd been around a lot longer than the others, so.... "What, fags?"

His lack of insight did not impress Rube. "No, kiddo. Victims of sudden, brutal, violent deaths."

Justin flinched. "I thought...."

"You thought wrong. Pete, and Monique... most of the reapers in this division, in fact, they all died by accident. A murdered reaper is a rare thing."

Whatever he'd expected to hear, this wasn't it. "That's... but why?"

Rube shrugged. "I don't know, kiddo, that's just how it is."

"Brandon?"

"Drug-related heart attack. He could have gone either way, here or cardiovascular."

"Oh." Justin was suddenly not sure how much he wanted to know, but he sort of -needed- to so he asked anyway. "You said I'm- we're-... unpredictable?"

"There can be... problems, sometimes. Difficulties adjusting. Mood swings, maybe a tendency towards violent behavior."

That made a frightening amount of sense. Like if someone had asked him, Do you think a murder victim's spirit might be prone to anger and lashing out? He'd have said, Well, -duh-. "So. They're skittish and they don't want anything to do with me, but they're practically the only people I can talk to without getting into trouble."

"They're good people, Justin. I know it seems unfair, but under the circumstances you can't blame them for being a little nervous around you."

"I guess not." Justin chewed that over as he slid out of the booth. "I've got to get to work. Do I have an appointment?"

Rube shook his head. "Not today, kiddo."

"'Kay." He slung his courier bag over his shoulder and started to leave, then paused and turned back to Rube. "Can you tell them... I'm okay? I mean, that I'm not going to hurt anybody."

Rube nodded, solemn. "I'll let them know."

"Thanks, Rube. See you tomorrow."

Chapter 15

The lunch shift sucked in that special way work always sucks when you've already had a shitty day and could really use a breather. They were short-handed, the customers were short-tempered, and Justin was stuck so far in his head that he kept forgetting to answer to his assumed name.

"SEAN!" God, he was late on a pickup again. This day was just -never- going to end. He delivered table four's manicotti, topped off the drinks at six and seven and snuck out back for a fucking cigarette.

Knox was just crushing out one of his own. "Hey. That new cook still on a tear?"

"God, yes. He's reamed me out three times already today." Justin leaned back against the brick wall and pulled out his pack.

The other man laughed. "Yeah well, you haven't exactly been on form. He is an ass, though."

Justin grumbled and fished for his lighter. He didn't need to be told how much he sucked that day, even if Knox was right.

"Maybe you need to relax some, huh?"

"Huh?" He looked up stupidly, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Knox had started to pull the service door open but stopped, and yeah, he was talking to Justin.

"Relax. You know, go out somewhere, maybe have a drink or two with the guys... fun. You've heard of it, right?"

Oh, he'd heard of it. Justin quashed the memory of the last night's 'fun' and considered Knox and his offer. He knew that Knox and a couple of the other waiters got together after work occasionally. They were a mixed bag, so to speak, some straight and some gay, much like the restaurant's patrons. Justin couldn't see any harm in it. In fact... this might be just what he needed. But not that night.

Justin smiled. "Tomorrow? I've kinda got plans tonight."

"Riiiight, 'plans'." Knox waggled his eyebrows, and Justin tried to remember if he was one of the straights or one of the queers while he laughed. "Catch you later, then."

Knox vanished into the restaurant, and Justin finally got his cigarette lit. If he was lucky, he'd get half of it smoked before his next order was up or someone came looking for him. And if he was really lucky, tomorrow's appointments wouldn't keep him from heading out for a little reaperless relaxation.

The beginnings of a Plan were forming in Justin's mind. He couldn't do as Rube asked, couldn't stop thinking and worrying about Brian and the others, he knew that much. He also knew that sooner or later he'd cross the line and get called on the carpet again. The question was, how much could he find out without crossing that line?

It was all in the degrees of separation. Hanging out at the diner wasn't an option; even if Rube hadn't specifically forbidden it, Justin wasn't sure he could face Debbie and pretend not to know her. He wasn't ready to face any of them yet, but one day... one day, he would be. Until then, he could check out Woody's on the nights his friends didn't usually go, hang at some of the other bars on the Avenue when he could and keep his ear out. Brian had been gossip topic number one on Liberty Avenue for years before Justin had ever met him, and he couldn't imagine why that would change now. The further from Michael, Ted and Emmett the less trustworthy the news, but the safer Justin would be from Rube and his 'Justin is being a bad boy' alarm. Degrees of separation.

Justin could do this. He wasn't sure yet what he'd actually -do- with any news he found, but he'd get there when it happened. Right now he needed to get back inside before he got his ass fired, so he tossed the cigarette and went in to finish out his shift.

And later that night, he dug down to the bottom of his pile of sketches, pulled out the restaurant menu and finished his drawing.

Chapter 16

Things started looking up almost immediately. Not in any -huge- way, but Justin was learning that little things could mean a hell of a lot. Monica complimented him on his shirt, Brandon actually handed the creamer to him instead of just sliding it across the table, and if Pete still seemed like he didn't like Justin much, well that was okay. He could deal with that. Justin didn't feel like he'd need to bolt out of the restaurant right after breakfast. Rube looked pleased with himself.

"Lunch shift again today, kiddo?"

Justin nodded, his mouth full of waffle. He'd never admit it to Rube, but the stupid things were growing on him.

"Well, you can pick this one up on your way." He handed the Post-It across the table, and Justin stuck it inside the flap of his bag. "That'll leave your evening free."

Justin choked on his next bite, coughing. Rube just looked at him mildly, watching while Brandon pounded Justin's shoulder blade and he gulped mouthfuls of apple juice. Fucker had to be -psychic-. Well, as long as Rube didn't object outright, Justin decided Project Secret Stalker would go head as planned. He wasn't sure when or why he'd started calling it that in his head. Possibly he'd read too many of Michael's comics when he was living in his old room.

The restaurant was easier to handle, too; Julio had gotten over whatever snit he'd been in, Justin was on his game again and Knox was so pleased Justin had agreed hang with them that night that he mentioned it every chance he got. "You'll love this place, it's lots of fun, the guys are all fun," until Justin laughed and threw napkins at him to make him shut up already. Justin couldn't make up his mind whether Knox was gay and hitting on him, or just naturally bouncy like that. It could be he was both.

Justin's gaydar had never been very reliable. He would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he was the only gay student at St. James until Debbie had pointed out how silly an assumption that was, and then when people started filing into his one GSA meeting he had looked at a couple of them with fresh eyes and known he must have been wrong. Then he had spent a couple of months thinking -everyone- could be gay, including Daphne's boyfriend. Finally, he'd accepted that in some ways he really was as young and stupid as Michael was forever telling him, and hoped he'd get better at it with time. He still sort of hoped that.

At any rate, the waiters at the restaurant, especially the usual lunch staff, were an interesting group. College age or college-bound, all of them, and all attractive in that young, freshly-washed way. Even Eric, just out of high school and painfully shy, was kind of cute. Justin was certain he was a virgin, -that- he could still usually tell.

Graydon -- who told everyone to call him 'Gray' -- insisted he was 'heteroflexible,' whatever the hell that meant. Justin privately wondered if his one experience with Daph made him 'homoflexible' or just a really good friend. Gray was a clotheshorse in the making, dressing and primping as expensively as he could on a waiter's income and a bit on the pretentious side. He reminded Justin of Brian, in a way that made him wonder what Brian had been like at Gray's age, and whether once upon a time Brian's attitude had been all posing and bravado instead of sheer confidence, pretending to be what he wanted to be until he finally got there.

Curt was big and solid and straight as an arrow, and that might have intimidated Justin if the man hadn't been so damned -nice- all the time. He was nice to the customers, nice to the other waiters, even nice to Julio, the bitchy new cook. Justin remembered hearing he had moved to Pittsburgh from one of those middle-of-the-country states for college, and he spoke with a bit of a drawl. He had a steady girlfriend that he referred to as 'his sweetheart' and opened doors for women, and it all seemed more sincere than smarmy because Curt was just built like that. He also laughed good-naturedly when men would mistakenly come on to him, in an 'aw, shucks' way that made everyone around him laugh along with him.

And then there was Knox. Extroverted, charming... and cute, yeah. When Justin first started work he'd been so nervous about his double life, so worried that he might fuck up somehow that he'd been pretty standoffish. None of that had phased Knox a bit. He had treated Justin the same way he did all the other waiters, like they were the best of pals. He'd crack the stupidest jokes about everything from the cooks to difficult customers to their pretentiously-named specials, and if Justin didn't laugh it didn't seem to bother him. He just kept at it until Justin -did- start to laugh, finally, and now he had agreed to go out with them that night.

Chapter 17

Justin had to admit he was looking forward to it, for a number of reasons.

They were leaving directly from the restaurant. Nothing fancy, Knox had said, don't even worry about changing clothes or anything. Gray, of course, -had- to change anyway which meant Knox had to pound on the door of the staff bathroom to get him to hurry his ass up so they could -go- already. It sounded to Justin like they did the same thing every time they went out, and from the amused look on Curt's face he wasn't wrong. To his surprise, Eric joined them in the little hallway outside the bathroom, with his hands tucked in his pockets and a look on his face like he was about to bolt. Justin smiled at him, reassuring, and the shy young man smiled back.

"Alrighty!" Knox was practically beaming. "If we can pry Lord Gray away from the damn mirror, I think we're ready to go." He slapped the flat of his hand on the door one more time and it opened, revealing Gray in all his... well, glory. Justin pretended to be impressed, for politeness' sake, but in truth Gray's outfit was maybe only a half a step up from the dress shirt and slacks they all wore to work. It certainly wasn't something Brian would ever be caught wearing, but Justin kept that observation to himself.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"Charlie's!" Knox crowed. "It's not far from here, over towards Liberty. Oh, Gray, we're all going in your car, right?" Gray rolled his eyes theatrically, but nodded and the whole lot of them piled out of the alley into the back parking lot.

Curt yelled, "Shotgun!" As if Curt could possibly have -fit- in Gray's back seat, which frankly didn't look big enough to fit the remaining three young men, either.

Eric's eyes went a little wide. "Uhm... actually, I think I gotta go."

"Aw man, are you sure?" Knox's face fell, as Eric nodded.

"You could take my spot?" Justin -had- been looking forward to this but he knew he'd live if he passed it up, but Eric shook his head.

"No, I... I gotta get up early anyway, you guys go on." He smiled a little, ducked his face away from them and turned to go back inside.

"Well, crap," Knox sighed. "I've been asking him for the last two weeks, this is the first time he's said yes. Probably because you're coming." He grinned at Justin, and then piled into the tiny back seat. "Figures he'll be safer with you around, maybe. You know, so he won't be the only new guy."

"Mm, could be." Gray's car was really, really tiny. Justin had never in his life been so glad to be short, Knox was practically eating his own kneecaps and he wasn't that much taller.

"God, Gray, could you move the seat forward a -little-, maybe? That does it, next time I'm driving in, too. Then we can all go."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch...."

That pretty much set the tone for the evening; Knox was obviously the ringleader of these little excursions, and Justin found out from Curt that every time they changed bars or did anything else new it was at Knox's suggestion. He and Gray picked at each other but there was no real heat to it, Gray had a pretty sharp wit when he wasn't busy acting superior, and Curt was just like a big, solid rock, if rocks were strangely comforting.

It was all nice, Charlie's included. The bar was just a couple of blocks off Liberty Avenue, and it showed. There were gay couples and straight ones, gay singles looking for something a little less frenetic than the usual Avenue scene, and a group of what Justin thought were straight women up at the bar, sort of a 'Girl's Night Out.'

And then there was Knox's little crew, which Justin was now a member of. He was having serious suspicions about Knox, but he wondered why the other two came along. By his third beer, he was wondering it out loud. Gray, oddly, was the one who answered him.

"Sometimes a man just wants to drink with his pals in peace." But right about then Justin caught Gray eyeing a passing twink and decided that 'heteroflexible' might just be code for 'bi'. Curt was being cruised -hard-, but he simply sat placidly drinking his beer and discussing international soccer with Gray, who insisted on referring to it as football.

Knox leaned over and whispered into Justin's ear, loudly, "Curt thinks his girl will be less pissed about him drinking if he stays out of the straight bars."

"That's not true," Curt corrected. "-I- don't want to be in a singles' bar, they're no fun. This," he made a wide circle with his mug, gesturing at the eclectic bar patrons and ending at their table. "This is fun."

Gray clanked his mug against Curt's and they both drank. Knox laughed, and draped his arm around Justin's shoulders. "We all get our fun where we can, huh?"

Ooooh yeah. Serious suspicions.

Chapter 18

Justin sort of lost track of the conversation for a bit after that, keeping just enough of an ear on his friends to laugh and smile in the appropriate places while he tried to determine whether Charlie's was a good spot for catching Brian-gossip. Knox finally had to bump shoulders with him to get his attention back to the table.

"Hmm?"

"I said," Knox drawled the word out, and Justin wondered how many beers he'd had. "What do you think of Eric?"

"Uhm. He's a nice guy, I guess?"

The others all laughed and Knox agreed. "Yeah, he's nice. I can't figure him out, though, I mean... I can't tell if he's straight, or just really, really repressed."

Curt objected with a mild 'hey' and Justin giggled into his beer. "I think he's just... quiet. You know, shy."

That got nods all around the table, and Guy leaned forward to peer at Justin. "Speaking of quiet, what's your story. Sean?"

Justin swallowed hard. "My story?" He'd thought this over, when Rube had brought up fake identities and all but it hadn't come up before and he wasn't sure how well his fiction would hold. He shrugged. "Not much tell. Grew up over in Harrisburg, played at college for a couple years and now... I'm just taking some time off."

Knox laughed. "'Taking time off,' man, that sounds familiar. Gray got academic probation, you?" Gray threw a cocktail peanut at Knox and looked sour. Justin grinned.

"Nah, just couldn't settle on a major. My dad kept pushing business admin, but I fucking hated it." He figured that was pretty safe, lots of kids his age didn't do what their parents wanted. Plus, he had relatives in Harrisburg and had spent enough time there he wouldn't trip over landmarks and shit.

"I hear that." Knox raised his mug and declared, "To parents: fuck what they want." Now that was a toast Justin could get behind, and even Curt joined in.

And that was that. It seemed almost too easy, he knocked back a few beers and groused about parents and he was automatically accepted, but Justin figured he shouldn't fight it. He should have guessed that Knox, for one, was more perceptive than that.

Justin's attention was wandering again. He thought he had heard Brian's name mentioned at the next table over and was trying to unobtrusively listen in when Knox leaned over and murmured to him, "He must have been some guy."

That was startling, to say the least. "What? Who?"

Knox sat back and tilted his head casually. "Whoever broke your heart." Curt and Gray were deeply involved in... some conversation, Justin wasn't sure what, and were paying them no mind. Knox smiled and held his hands up. "Hey, it's no big deal. Everybody's got their stories, you know? I'm just saying, a guy can tell you've been hurt. And that you could maybe stand some cheering up... no strings."

Okay, fuck this suspicion shit, Knox was definitely coming on to him. And, despite the total wrongness of Knox's read on what had happened between Justin and his lover, Justin decided he liked it. He gave Knox a slow smile, and it was his turn to lean in to the other man. "Your place."

"Mmmm... hey!" That was to Gray. "You gonna be ready any time soon? Some of us have buses to catch."

"Who's this 'us,' Knox, you walk to work." Gray grumbled, but he started fishing in his pockets for his share of the tab.

Knox placed a hand over his heart. "I'm -wounded-, positively wounded. You know what a thoughtful host I am."

Justin giggled and thought maybe he'd had more beers than he realized. Something, either all the beer or Knox's hand on his leg, made the back seat of Gray's car seem more cozy than cramped on the trip back. Justin suspected Gray would not appreciate them making out back there, no matter how comfortable he was around queers, so he just bumped his knee against Knox's and grinned. Knox returned his grin and chased him out of the car into the parking lot.

"See you guys tomorrow!" Knox waved at Gray, who peeled out into the street, and Curt, who grinned knowingly and waved back as he rounded the corner to his bus stop. Then he tugged Justin around and into a hard, deep kiss. "I have waited... all -night- to do that."

Justin breathed a soft laugh against his neck. "I hope that's not all you had in mind."

"Oh, hell no. Come on, it's this way."

The walk to Knox's apartment passed in a blur of silly jokes, tipsy giggling and Knox's hand warm around his. It was in a slightly nicer neighborhood than Justin's place, not so many stairs to climb, and the door Justin pushed Knox against to kiss him again had no peeling paint on it at all. "You said no strings, right? No weirdness."

Knox fumbled at the door lock and pulled Justin into the room, stumbling a little. "Uh huh, sure. No weird." Knox started on the buttons of Justin's shirt, but he couldn't let his worry go that easily.

"No, I...." He planted his hand in the middle of Knox's chest, stopping him. "I really mean it. No weirdness? 'Cause I don't know about you but I really need my job, and if we're gonna keep working together...."

Knox smiled, suddenly understanding, and put his hand over Justin's. "I promise. We're just a couple of guys..." he leaned in and licked Justin's cheek. "... who kinda dig each other..." Another lick, this one just under the line of Justin's jaw, and his breath caught. " ... and wanna fuck. That's all."

Justin wasn't sure if he was more relieved or turned on. "Oh, thank God. Let's get to that part now, huh?"

Knox laughed as Justin attacked his belt and said into his hair. "You sound like you had a problem with that or something."

Justin mumbled, "You have no idea."

Chapter 19

Sex with Knox was easy. Not that Justin had ever had -any- trouble in that department, but this was... different. It wasn't hot-hard-hurry-hurry like getting blown by a trick in a bathroom stall at the museum. It wasn't like fucking in the back room, where the music was so loud and the room was so hot and steeped in the smell of sex that it felt like Babylon itself was calling the shots, telling you what to do.

It was easy and playful in a way that he and Brian had been at times, but without the undercurrent of yearning and raw need that thrummed under Justin's skin every time he was with Brian no matter -what- they did. It didn't demand anything from him, it just was what it was: a hot, slow fuck between friends. Justin decided on the spot -- on his knees at the edge of Knox's bed with Knox's cock in his ass and teeth in his shoulder -- that Brian's "no fucking your friends" rule was complete bullshit.

Knox brought him off first, tugging urgently at his dick and moaning encouragement. Justin gasped and shook as he came, and let Knox pull his hips back for another handful of short, sharp thrusts.

"Ohfuck... mmmmm." Knox practically purred his orgasm, and ran his hands over Justin's hips and the small of his back as he pulled out. "You've been holding out on me, Tiger."

Justin laughed, breathless and sated, and rolled over to look up at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Knox grinned and flopped down onto the bed next to him. "Just that. You're all soft-spoken and polite at work, I had no idea you'd be so hot in the sack."

Justin laughed again, and poked him in the ribs. "Guess I'm just full of surprises. Hey, can I bum a cigarette?"

"Ooooh, I see how you are. Ya let me fuck you, and now you think you can boss me around." Knox winked and got up in search of his pants. Justin launched a pillow at him, still giggling.

"Jerk."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway." He came back to bed with a pair of cigarettes hanging out of his mouth, lit them both and passed one to Justin.

Justin took a deep drag, and blew the smoke out into a plume over his head. "God, this is so nice."

"Yeah... it's been a while, huh?"

"Mmhm."

"Your guy must have been nuts to let you go."

Justin was silent for so long, chewing on his bottom lip and staring at the ceiling, that Knox started apologizing. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, I'm just kinda nosey like that. Feel free to tell me to fuck off."

Justin waved it off. "No, it's okay. He didn't... really have a choice, though. We didn't have a choice."

"That's harsh, man."

"Yeah. Sometimes life sucks that way, you know?"

"Mmm. Yeah, I know." Then Knox was all quiet, and Justin thought there must be a story there somewhere, too. He didn't push, and Knox didn't offer, so they just lay there side by side smoking until Knox spoke up again.

"So. Was this nice enough to do it again, sometime?"

That was a little alarming, Justin thought they'd settled this. Even if Justin hadn't still been completely, madly in love with another man, he was sure having an actual boyfriend would be against one of Rube's rules. "Knox, we aren't...."

"Hey, Sean." Knox rolled to face him, his eyes honest. "I promised, remember? No strings. If you don't want to, it's no big thing. We're still friends."

Justin considered his options. "And if I do want to... what are we, then?"

Knox pursed his lips, like he was mulling it over. "I believe the colloquial term is 'fuck buddies.'"

Justin couldn't help it, Knox looked so serious and it was so comical all at the same time, he broke up laughing. Knox acted horribly offended right up to the moment he started tickling Justin's ribs, at which point it was just all over. Justin's counterattack left them both giggly and tangled and breathless.

"Okay, okay... but if you start calling me 'Tiger' at work, we're gonna have problems."

"Ahhh, that's a deal." Knox tugged Justin's face down to his and they sealed it with a kiss. Then Justin caught a glimpse of Knox's alarm clock out of the corner of his eye and groaned.

"Crap, I gotta go. Things to do in the morning."

Knox nodded and let him up. "Can you get back from here okay?"

"Yeah, you're on my bus line. No worries." Justin grinned and started pulling on his clothes.

"Mmm, good. Hey, this weekend I'm going out to the 'rents, I'll bring my car back. Then I can do the gentlemanly thing," he waggled his eyebrows, which threatened to crack Justin up again, "... and offer you a ride home. And, maybe we can lure Eric away with the gang sometime. I think the kid needs to get -out-."

"You're probably right." Justin sat on the edge of the bed to pull his shoes on, and Knox curled around his back with a little sigh. "Gray and Curt aren't going to freak out about this, are they?"

Knox shrugged. "If we're not weird about it, why should they be? Nah, they're cool."

"Good." Dressed and ready, he twisted to look at his friend. "Thanks, Knox. For everything." He bent down to peck at his lips and got a smile in return.

"You're welcome. You be safe, and I'll catch you tomorrow."

Justin nodded. "See you then." He showed himself to the door, wiggled his fingers at Knox where he still lay naked on the bed, and headed home.

Chapter 20

Rube knew.

Justin thought maybe he should be pissed about that, like, can't a guy have -any- privacy? But he was still all full of leftover happy from the night before, so he just gave Rube a cheek-splitting grin and asked for a double order of waffles. His mood must have been catching, Monique laughed at his silly silverware tower and Brandon offered him a ride to his appointment. Even Pete looked like he might get over his snit sometime that century.

Justin didn't even get any lectures on over-involvement from Rube, just a wink and a knowing pat on the shoulder. Which, somehow, would have been creepy coming from anyone but Rube.

True to his word, Knox arrived to work the next Tuesday in a beat-up Corsica and they all started carpooling to Charlie's. It meant no more squeezing up next to Knox in Gray's back seat, but it also meant stolen kisses in the parking lot and rides home in the small hours of the morning, so it was all good. Justin was learning just what 'fuck buddies' entailed: they fucked, duh, but Knox didn't push to come up to his place or ask about Justin's last boyfriend again. He also didn't bug Justin about the nights he didn't go out with the crew, whether it was because Justin had souls to tend to or was just furthering Project Secret Stalker. The one night Knox had spotted from across the street heading into another bar after a promising 'lead,' he had just smiled and waved.

Justin was more relieved than he could possibly say. The rest of his life was complicated enough, it was nice to have one thing he could just... enjoy, and not have to worry much about. For one thing, it left him free to piece together the news he was slowly gathering.

He'd written Charlie's off as a bust, just a nice place to hang out, until one night he'd gone up to the bar to pick up another round and caught the bartenders gossiping about guess who? An offhand comment from one of them led him to his next target, a hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor down the block, and then there was the drug store, and the Laundromat....

It was a little like being a private eye or something, following a trail of clues that led sometimes to utter boredom, and sometimes to little golden nuggets of information. Justin would have gotten more of a kick out of it under other circumstances.

Justin was surprised to discover how much of the news was about him specifically, and not just as "Brian's little twink." He found out, for example, the reason his father had not been at his funeral: Craig had demanded that Jennifer forbid Debbie and the rest of Justin's queer family to attend, and threatened not to show up himself if they did. Justin's mother had told his father to go to hell, and even used his little hissy fit in court to squeeze one peach of a divorce settlement out of him. Justin was so proud of his mom. Jennifer and Molly were still deep in mourning, but at least he knew they'd never want for anything. Well, except for maybe a decent husband and father.

Jennifer Taylor was dealing with her grief by throwing herself into PFLAG and other gay rights organizations with a vengeance. Shortly after Justin's death she had appeared on a number of local morning shows with Senator Baxter at her side, trying to put a white-bread, upper-middle-class face onto a type of crime that most people still considered 'not their problem.' She hadn't made much of an impact, hardly a ripple really, but it had given her a reputation as something of a crusader in queer circles and earned her a measure of cautious respect.

The news about Debbie was so startling that Justin had to hear it from three different sources before he could believe it was true. She was on leave from the diner, for one thing. A -month's- leave, which was almost up, and her last shift had been witnessed and repeated by so many fags it was approaching the status of legend. Which wasn't all -that- surprising, considering it involved Liberty Avenue's primary legend-maker.

Something had set her off, her third day back at work after Justin's funeral, maybe a certain order or something someone had said... nobody was sure on that point. What they knew was that she'd started to cry, just bawl in the middle of the diner, and Michael had been there and told her she should go home. Debbie had objected, of course, life didn't stop just because her Sunshine was gone and she had bills to pay. Then Michael had said that Brian wanted her to go, that they had talked about it and he wanted her to have some time off and that Brian would 'handle everything.' Which was... big, bigger than anyone who told Justin the story really knew because they hadn't been there when Michael had been all stubborn and wouldn't let Brian help them out before.

Michael got that stubbornness from his mother, obviously, because Debbie had snatched up the diner phone, called Brian at his office and just lit right into him. The fags at the front counter had heard Brian through the receiver yelling right back, though they couldn't tell what he was saying, and then Debbie had gotten very, very quiet. She'd stayed that way for a good minute, just silently listening to Brian talking on the other end, and then she had said, "I love you, Brian," hung up the phone, and walked out.

Justin thought vaguely that he shouldn't be so surprised. He'd been there, after all, when Brian had offered to pay Deb and Vic's bills the first time, or at least he'd been there when Brian had gotten wasted over Michael's refusal. He'd been there when Brian had shoved his best friend away from him, hard, so he could go be happy with someone else. He'd been there when Brian had decided to sign away the rights to his son so that Gus could grow up in a solid, loving family, even if it might not have Brian in it.

So it should not have been surprising to Justin that Brian would keep finding ways to prop up the people he loved, even while he was crumbling inside.

Chapter 21

And all accounts agreed that something was seriously wrong with Brian. He wasn't any worse off than that night at Babylon, near as Justin could tell, but that was bad enough. When Brian went out, it was because Michael pried him out of the loft, drove him to Babylon and kept watch while he drank and drugged and fucked himself into a stupor, and then walked him out and drove him home after. Brian fought with Michael almost every time, telling him at least once a night to just go the fuck back to Portland and leave him alone. Sometimes Michael did leave, and no one Justin had spoken with seemed to know what Brian did at night while he was away, but it never lasted. Three or four, maybe five days later Michael would be back in town and hauling Brian out to the club again. A week ago, Michael had finally moved back to the Pitts for good.

Justin couldn't figure it out. Judging by what he had overheard at Babylon, Michael didn't think anything there was doing Brian any -good-, so why keep taking him? He wasn't sure what to think of Michael's apparent breakup with Dr. Dave, either. Justin hadn't had much of an opinion either way on the man himself, but their relationship had always seemed a little... well, not good. And no, he didn't just think that because Brian had. Still, whatever they had between them should have had its chance to do whatever it was going to do, without Michael flying coast-to-coast twice a week trying to keep Brian afloat. It was all a big fucking mess. Justin knew, deep down, that none of it was his fault but he was still determined to do whatever he could to fix things. Only he couldn't do that... well, to be honest he just didn't feel ready yet. Justin couldn't trust himself not to lose it again when he saw Brian if he wasn't prepared for what he would see. He couldn't be prepared without knowing more, and no one he had access to could -tell- him any more than they already had.

It was frustrating as fuck. If Justin had been in one of the trashy detective novels Daphne used to keep under her mattress, this would be the point where he went back to his office and smoked cigarettes until a break in the case mysteriously appeared. Justin didn't have an office, so he smoked cigarettes behind the restaurant and in Knox's bed, worked his shifts and drank some beers and reaped some souls and generally wondered what the fuck he was going to do next.

Three days later, Justin got his 'break.'


Rube was running late, which wasn't like him. He had called and asked Justin to meet him in the afternoon, but since he wasn't there yet Justin settled into the regular booth and took out his sketchbook, adding a few touches to a sketch of his morning appointment. He was absorbed enough that he didn't really hear Rube come in, or walk up to stand looking over his shoulder.

"That's pretty good, kiddo. Do you draw all the souls you take?"

"I have so far." He darkened the shading around the woman's cheekbones a little, and then flipped the sketchbook closed.

"Mm. I know someone who likes to take pictures."

"I'm not much of a photographer."

"Yeah, well... neither is Betty. I need you to do another pickup tonight, kiddo."

Rube handed the Post-It over with an odd, expectant look on his face, and once Justin read it over he knew why. He looked up at Rube, eyebrows raised. "This address is on Liberty."

Rube just nodded, casually. "Anyone you know?"

Justin glanced down again and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Not well, anyway." The appointment wasn't for Woody's or the diner or anywhere else Justin used to hang out. There wasn't an 'H. Lafferty' anywhere in his circle of friends and family, either, and he didn't exactly feel like explaining the concept of tricking to Rube just then. He took a breath, and stuck the Post-It to the inside flap of his bag. "Anything else?"

"Nope, that's it." He patted Justin on the shoulder and turned to go. "See you tomorrow."

Justin nodded. "Later."

Chapter 22

Well, this was going to be difficult. Not as difficult as it could have been, Liberty Avenue didn't pull the crowds on a Wednesday night the way it did on the weekends, but considering that the address on the Post-It was actually -between- buildings he suspected he had his work cut out for him.

Justin leaned against the wall across the street from his target address and pulled out a cigarette. He was early, of course, there were few things he hated more than getting to his appointments late, and he took the opportunity to scope out the area. Okay, and the -men- in the area, he could be honest with himself about that, and he could also acknowledge that he was getting scoped out occasionally in turn. Justin didn't get hit on nearly as much as he had while he was alive, but he could still find a willing trick when he got the urge, and he had. Several times, in fact.

It was funny in a way, the reaping had become such a part of who he was now that he compulsively asked people their names, even his tricks. Kevin, Murray, Chad, Jacob... he chuckled. It was like Justin had become the anti-Brian, fucking a guy who was arguably the closest friend he had and always remembering his tricks' names. Weird, how life worked.

Justin spotted a couple of guys heading into the alley across from him, and checked his watch. Ten minutes. That was more than enough time for a blow, so maybe one of them was his appointment. He tossed his cigarette down and crushed it out, checked the traffic, and crossed the street.

He peered down the alleyway, and was somewhat surprised to see the taller man down on his knees. Not -too- surprised, Brian had always told him that sometimes the biggest men were really the biggest bottom-boys, but still. Ordinarily he might've watched, but on the off chance one of the men didn't have much longer to live he opted to let them have what privacy they could.

Man, the short guy was loud. And the big guy... was named Hank. Bingo.


Hank Lafferty stood next to Justin and watched the crowd gather around his body. As far as deaths went, he could have pulled worse than 'squished by runaway dumpster' but it wasn't anything to write home about.

"Man, this bites. I was headed down to Babylon, too."

Justin nodded understandingly. "Do a little dancing, get a little back room action...."

Hank shuddered. "Not these days, man, Kinney creeps me out too much."

Justin craned his neck and stared up at the other man. "You know Brian?"

"Yeah..." Hank hedged a little, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I kinda know him, why? Do you?"

"I..." Justin trailed off and chewed his lip, realizing that he didn't really know what to say.

Hank studied him like he almost recognized who Justin was. "You do, don't you."

Justin took a deep breath and met Hank's questioning eyes. "I used to know Brian, really well. I hear he's... kind of in trouble. Can you tell me anything about him?"

Hank nodded, slowly. "I sure can. You'll wanna sit down, though, it's a long story."

The park wasn't far and it was a nice enough night... hell, it could have been sleeting and thirty below and Justin wouldn't have missed this conversation. He needed to -know- what was going on with Brian, and here a guy who could tell him had practically fallen into his lap. Rube could kiss Justin's ass if he didn't like it.

Hank stretched his long legs out in front of him, and didn't seem to care when they sometimes got walked through. "Well, first off, everybody knows Brian, right? He's like, the toppest of the top, a legendary fuck, and everybody wants a piece of him."

Justin nodded. He knew Brian's reputation almost better than anyone.

"So that thing happens, with that kid," Hank's eyes sort of slid towards Justin, but he didn't stop talking, "and Brian locks himself in that loft he has and no one sees him for days. Which is completely unlike him, you should've heard about the fuckfest he had when his dad died."

Justin had heard. He nodded again, so Hank would continue.

"Well I'd run into him at the baths a while back. He liked the look of me but he was occupied at the time, you know? So I gave him my number and didn't think anything about it. Then about a day after that kid's funeral my phone rings."

"It was Brian?"

"Yeah. Only man, I hardly knew it was him, he sounded so off. I show up and the place is totally dark, just those blue lights he's got over the bed, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"And I mean, -totally- dark, he's got those huge windows hung with God knows what, you can't see the sky or the buildings or anything. It's just all dim and blue. And he was -gone-. I've been fucked by guys so high they didn't know their own names, but Brian... Christ." Hank shook his head.

"So... he was really stoned?"

"Yeah. And no. He just wasn't fucking -there-. I thought he was asleep when I left, but I looked back and his eyes were open but he just... lay there. I've talked to a couple other guys since then who went over after, and they said the same thing, he's shit-faced from the second he hits that door until he leaves again in the morning. It's like...."

He wasn't sure that he wanted to hear the rest, but he knew he -needed- to. "Like what?"

Hank shifted, sat up straight on the bench and turned to face Justin. "It's like he dies, every night. He fucks you while he's dead, and then his corpse gets up and goes through the motions all day."

Justin could feel the color drain away from his face. "Fuck."

"Yeah. Anyway, it wasn't long before guys stopped answering when he called, didn't want to come over. Too creepy. Then that friend of his, Michael, starts making him get out of the loft and go places, which is... I guess it's better for him, and guys sure line up to suck his dick, but I dunno. He moves and breathes like he's alive, but he still hurts to look at."

"No one's said anything." Justin's voice sounded faint, even to himself. "I've been asking around, why wouldn't anyone tell me this?"

"Kid," and Hank had started to look like maybe he knew who Justin was, and he was sorry for it. "If I wasn't dead, I wouldn't be telling you either. Fags can be real bitches sometimes, but even we know when a man is too far down for kicking. I'm just thinking maybe you can see to it that he doesn't end up on your list like me."

Justin was clutching the seat of the bench so hard that his knuckles had gone white. He answered, more clearly than he thought he had any right to, "I'll do what I can, Hank."

Hank nodded.

"You ready to move on?"

"If you're ready to take me."

"I am." Justin sucked in a long breath and peeled his fingers loose, knuckles crackling. "And Hank... thanks."

"No problem, kid. You take care."

Chapter 23

Rube knew. That simple fact was becoming a fixture in Justin's unlife and it was really getting on his fucking nerves.

"Is it against the rules to have a fucking conversation, now?"

Rube just tilted his head, like he knew that it wasn't him Justin was really mad at. "No, kiddo, it's not. But you're worrying me here. You're heading into dangerous territory."

"But I didn't do anything -wrong-." Justin was pretty clear on that point. He had followed every one of Rube's rules; he hadn't, after all, actually spoken to or interacted with anyone who he'd known before his death, he had just... sort of grilled a newly dead soul for information about his former lover. That's all. Really. That the information had proved to be extremely disturbing was none of Rube's business. Justin also suspected, from a few brief conversations with his fellow reapers, that Rube wasn't half as up on their off-duty activities as he was on Justin's, but he'd decided to chalk that up to the fact that he was still really new at this.

The other man let out a long-suffering sigh. "No, technically you did not. What you did do was delay a man on his way to his destination, for reasons of your own. It's frowned upon."

Justin chewed on his lip. "I didn't make him talk to me or anything. He didn't mind."

Rube lifted his shoulders. "That may be, but it's still a thing. I also know who you asked him about, and we -have- spoken about that."

"It wasn't... I can't go around not knowing -anything- about him, Rube, he's fucking infamous. Half the guys in my restaurant -- patrons -and- staff -- have had sex with him, I bet I could even go to Timbuktu or... or -Tibet- and find someone Brian Kinney has fucked. They all know him and they all talk about him, so what's worse, hmm? What threatens my -stability- more, getting half the story from random bits of gossip or finding out as best I can what the hell is going on?"

Rube just looked at him. Justin -hated- that look, but then he realized that he'd maybe gotten a little loud and was maybe leaning across the table in a way that wasn't exactly consistent with an emotionally stable reaper, and he sat back into his seat.

"You may have a point. But you're still not to have any contact with him."

"I know." That was the best Rube was going to get out of Justin, and he knew that Rube knew it. "I didn't mess Hank up or anything, did I? He didn't, like... miss his ride?" It would suck if he'd fucked up the afterlife of a man who had just wanted to help him out.

"No, you didn't mess anything up. In fact, considering some of the things folks get into with souls this is hardly a blip. I'll give you this, kiddo, you've got a decent work ethic and that's a lot more than I can say about some."

"Fat lot of good it's doing me, too."

"Yeah. Well, you can just stick that pissy attitude back under your hat, we've got a group job to handle and I need all of you on it."

Justin groaned and laid his forehead on the table. "God, Rube, I'm not even wearing a hat."

--

Even worse than Rube knowing, all the other reapers knew Justin had gotten chewed out again. They didn't know what for, though, that was one saving grace, and they didn't seem too inclined to ask either.

Justin wasn't in the most talkative of moods, anyway. Or he was, he just... couldn't talk to any of them. Or Rube. Or even Knox, though he'd thought about calling him up and seeing if maybe Justin could come over and just get stoned for a while. He still might, but it didn't solve his problem of not being able to fucking -talk- to anyone about Brian.

What the hell was Justin going to do? He'd thought about it plenty, he'd been thinking -circles- around it since the night before and the only thing he could come up with was that he had to see Brian. It would have to be somewhere public, not the loft. And not at the diner, either, Brian hadn't eaten there since before Justin's death. Pretty much the only place Brian went anymore....

It would have to be at Babylon. It would have to be in the -back room- at Babylon. Without Michael or Ted or Emmett or anyone else around, just... Brian. Okay, Brian and a room full of horny fags, and that was a complication in itself but Justin was fairly sure he could handle it. None of this answered the question of what Justin would -do- when he saw Brian there, but Justin was absurdly confident that he would figure something out when the time came. That time... would not be tonight, Justin had a late shift at the restaurant. Crap. Or the next night: Babylon was holding one of their many contests and there was a distinct difference between the back room having enough people in it that Justin could probably watch Brian unnoticed, and so many people it became impossible to -breathe-. In fact, the whole weekend was right out. Justin couldn't possibly put his plan into motion until Monday, which was four days away.

Four days. In the meantime, he needed to keep his nose out of trouble enough that hopefully Rube wouldn't suspect what he was up to, and that included collecting a few members of Alpha Kappa Psi who really should have paid attention to that 'Guardrail Damage' sign.

Chapter 24

Justin did end up at Knox's apartment after all, and they lay naked on Knox's bed passing a joint back and forth while Justin tried not to think too much and Knox talked about, of all things, Eric.

"Wait a minute, he did what??" Justin could not have heard that right. What the hell kind of weed was this?

"I said," Knox took the roach from Justin and repeated himself, slowly. "Eric checked out Graydon's ass. Swear to God! Gray brushed past Eric on his way back for a pickup, you know, right there in front of the bar where there's -no- walk space? And Eric turned and did this." He sat up in the middle of the bed and pantomimed a -serious- cruise.

Justin cracked up. "Holy shit. Are you sure Gray didn't just have something on his pants?"

"Nuh-uh. I'm telling you, Sean, there's a real, live gay boy in there after all. We should be so proud!"

Knox had shared his own Secret Project with Justin shortly after they'd started fucking; he'd had his eye on Eric since before Justin had even started working at the restaurant, and was bound and determined to somehow break the boy out of his shell. Justin might have objected, on the grounds that hey, some people have shells for a reason, but there was just something about Eric. Something in the way he would look away right after he smiled, like he was that scared of the reaction he'd get, that sort of reminded Justin of a puppy who'd been kicked one too many times.

Knox had said he didn't care which team Eric played for, he just wanted the kid to stop walking around afraid of his own shadow, and Justin believed him enough to quickly become a willing co-conspirator. He banked on being non-threatening -- not as loud as Knox, as flashy as Gray or as -big- as Curt -- and dutifully talked up their nights out at Charlie's. It had paid off eventually.

"Yeah, but... Gray? I dunno. I think if I were Eric, I'd be checking out Curt's ass."

Knox squeezed his eyes shut and tried valiantly not to cough out his -entire- hit. "Oh... oh, you're bad."

"What?" Justin feigned innocence. "I'm just saying, Curt's got a much better ass on him than Graydon. He's nicer, too."

The other man waved his hand, all coughs and giggles, and finally managed to choke out the word, "Straight."

"So? Like that's gonna matter to Eric when he's home all by himself...."

Knox gave up at that, and just fell over next to Justin and wheezed. "Evil. Who knew there could be so much evil under that blond hair... don't -tell- me you jerk off to Curt."

"Okay." Justin nodded and stole the joint back. "I won't tell you."

Knox whooped with laughter, and shoved Justin right off the edge of the bed. "Evil!"

"Oooow." He rubbed his ass, indignant, and then just leaned back against the mattress and giggled. God, this was good. Just what he needed, to get stoned stupid with his good fuck buddy Knox and speculate about the hotness of all their friends.

"You know, though... I almost had him pegged as straight. Almost." Justin took a long hit off the joint and held his hand up in the air, waiting for Knox to reclaim it from him.

"Your gaydar sucks -ass-, Sean. Nah, I've known for a little while that he's gay, I just really wasn't expecting that today."

Justin grumbled. "Okay, so if it sucks so bad, tune it for me: how did you know?"

He could hear Knox shifting around on the bed, like he was getting comfortable while he thought it over. "Well, he finally stopped looking like he was gonna rabbit whenever someone spoke to him, right? He'll meet people's eyes and smile and all that, but he's still real polite to the female customers, never looks at their tits or anything."

"-I'm- polite to female customers."

Knox hung his head over the edge of the bed, upside down, and stared at Justin. "And. You're. Gay."

Justin rolled his eyes and popped the back of Knox's head. "Alright fine, you made your point. You are perceptive, and I am a blockhead."

He grinned, still upside down, and pecked at Justin's lips. "Yes. But you're an adorable blockhead so it's okay."

Justin giggled, and pulled Knox in for a deeper kiss. They'd both completely lost track of the joint by then and you know... some nights it was a miracle they didn't set Knox's apartment on fire.

Chapter 25

Being good was a lot harder than it sounded. Justin had decided he should stay off of Liberty Avenue completely until Monday, until it was time, but the pull of it was like an itching under his skin and it made him irritable as hell. He covered as best he could around the other reapers, but that just made him even -more- touchy around anyone else and when Gray accused him of 'queening out' over the state of the drink station Saturday afternoon, Justin had been about ready to just tear his head clean off. Knox had plied Justin with spare cigarettes and even offered to blow him in the employee restroom if it would help to calm him down, and that just made him feel even more guilty because it wasn't Knox's fault or Gray's fault or anyone else's, and Justin couldn't even tell them what was wrong. He begged off of Charlie's that night, and watched Eric climb into Knox's car with a fluttery feeling in his gut that was telling him if he wasn't careful, he could so easily fuck up all of his lives at once.

Justin wasn't sure why it was so important to him that Rube not suspect what he was up to. He didn't kid himself, he was certain like he was certain of death itself that Rube would know that Justin had broken the rules again almost as soon as he did it, but he worried that Rube would try to stop him beforehand and he wasn't sure if he could deal with that. Not that Justin -could- be stopped; he was going to see Brian, rules or no rules, but if he didn't actually have to go -through- Rube to do it.... That same fluttery feeling whispered that his life could be a very lonely place if Rube never spoke to him again.

Or maybe, Justin thought, he just was hoping that if he was extra-special-good before his great big screw up, Rube might be less mad at him in the end. Yeah. That logic hadn't worked on Santa Claus when he was a kid, either.

So Sunday was eggshell day. He apologized to Gray, and was a little surprised at how easily the other man shrugged it off. He was more surprised when Eric approached him on a smoke break and asked if he was alright, and whether he and Knox had been fighting. Justin tried -- again -- to convince Eric that he and Knox weren't really dating or anything, and started to suspect Eric might have crush on Justin's erstwhile lover. And as for Knox, his personal apology would have to wait. He'd had to take off work until Tuesday, something sort of family thing, so Justin settled for apologizing to his answering machine and promising to catch up with him when he got back. It still sucked that he couldn't really tell Knox anything.

Justin spent Sunday night sprawled on his mattress with sketches spread across every conceivable surface of his apartment. There were an awful lot of them, from his life both before his death and after, and Justin figured soon the portfolios he'd bought wouldn't be enough any more, and he should maybe consider some sort of filing system. He sorted the sketches into piles, re-sorted and then sorted them again, spending hours with them before he finally tucked most of the pages away and went to sleep.

By Monday morning, Justin's mood had settled to a sort of eerie calm.

Chapter 26

Babylon never changed, not really. The faces on the bar and in the dance cages did, and over time the DJ's track list and the light shows would get updated, but Babylon itself? Eternal, or something close to it. Justin found that strangely soothing.

Justin was a man with a plan. A mission, which meant he couldn't stop to think about how he had ended up here or how much he'd probably have to pay for this tomorrow, and it really meant not thinking about whatever the fuck that was over by the coat check. No. If he was going to pull this off, he'd have to stay focussed.

Justin's plan also required an accomplice. Sort of. Okay, it required someone for Justin to fuck so he wouldn't be having to fend guys off while he tried to watch Brian, and that meant it was time to hit the dance floor. He gave the bar a wide berth and let the music start to wash over him. He hadn't danced in... forever, it felt like; his last trip here had been such a disaster, and really nowhere else on Liberty Avenue had music worth dancing to. Focus or no focus, this felt pretty damn good. It was also working like a charm.

He kept half an eye on the door to the back room, and by the time he saw the back of Brian's head vanish inside, Justin was being circled by two likely prospects. Five minutes later, when Michael reappeared and headed towards the catwalk, he also had a third and he decided it was time to make his move. He slid up to one of his potential tricks -- the tallish one, vaguely familiar looking, the one who'd shouted that his name was Todd -- snaked an arm around his neck and leaned up to whisper into his ear.

Justin had learned everything he knew about sex from Brian, including the art of seduction: he knew how to approach, how to entice, and most importantly, what to say to convince any trick that this twink could top. In short order he had taken hold of Todd's belt and was tugging him towards his destination. So far, so good.

He paused at the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness and lack of strobes, and Todd jerked his head towards a nearby open spot against the wall. "Here's good?"

Justin looked back over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow. "Not good enough. Come on." There were a few specific places Brian favored, further into the maze of walls and netting and naked bodies, and Justin was betting he'd find him in one of them. If he was right... and a little lucky, Justin would find a spot near Brian for himself and Todd. Two turns and three sharp tugs on Todd's belt later, that's precisely what happened.

Brian was leaning up against a wall with one man sucking his dick and another licking at his chest. And, it looked like, maybe helping to hold him upright. Justin's chest felt tight, and he actually had to turn away to keep from just... standing there, staring stupidly at Brian.

His almost-forgotten trick sidled closer and murmured into his ear, "Kinney watcher, huh?"

Justin shot him a look. Maybe he should have picked one of the other two. "Is that a problem?"

Todd grinned slyly. "Not for me."

Justin spun him, and pushed his chest against an unoccupied pillar. "Then drop your pants." Todd started on his belt while Justin worked at his own, and glanced past Todd's shoulder to sneak another look at Brian.

The two tricks on him had switched places. Brian didn't seem to have noticed. His eyes were open but his head was tilted up, like he was staring at a corner of the ceiling. Like he didn't even realize where he was, or care. Justin shivered. Todd's ass was bare and warm in his hands, and Justin had the condom on and was sliding into him before he could look at Brian again. Not his eyes... not yet. Instead, Justin studied his body.

Brian was thinner, he noticed first. Haggard and hollow-eyed, and even in the dim blue light Justin could tell he'd grown pale. He had shaved that morning, from the look of it, and that was at least a good sign. He must still be working. He had a hand in blowjob-trick's hair, but it was just... there. Not holding or guiding or anything, like putting his hand on the head of a guy when he sucked him off was just a leftover reflex.

Todd was shaking and pushing back onto Justin's cock, and Justin tightened his hands on the other man's hips and whispered words he'd heard so many times before, "Make it last." Todd nodded, and let Justin set the pace again. Justin could fuck for hours, if he wasn't fucking Brian, so he set an easy rhythm and steeled himself and looked back again.

Justin couldn't really meet Brian's eyes fully, he was looking so far above everyone, but he could see... enough. He could see what Hank had told him about, what Michael had mentioned: the empty space that lived inside of Brian, showing out of his eyes. It was like... the hole Justin had felt under his feet, the pain that tried so hard to drag him down, had opened up inside of Brian instead and just sucked everything out of him. Justin's chest hurt again and this was it, he was here and it was time to -do- something, but he couldn't think of what. All he could do was stand there and fuck some other guy and love Brian with everything he had left in him.

And that's when it happened. What exactly, Justin was never sure, but... he knew what he saw. He saw Brian's eyes flicker, and his eyebrows drew together like he was confused. Then he lifted his head off the wall and started to look around the room. It was like... it was like he was looking for someone, or something, and didn't understand why he couldn't find it because he knew it had to be here, somewhere. His eyes slid right past Justin and then beyond him, no recognition in them at all, and Justin held his breath.

Brian's hand tightened in a fistful of hair, and he pulled the kneeling man's face off his cock. He looked down at the trick like he had no idea who he was -- which wasn't unusual -- and had no idea why he was sucking Brian's cock -- which really, -really- was.

His other trick rubbed at Brian's chest, smiling like he thought Brian was getting into it now and might fuck him. Instead, Brian pushed him off with his elbow, hitched his jeans back up around his narrow hips, and for the first time in almost two months he started to walk out of the back room under his own power.

Justin was stunned, and he wasn't the only one. The whispers were already swirling in Brian's wake, even as he brushed past the column where Justin was still fucking Todd.

"Did you see that?" "Fuck yes, what happened?" "I dunno, what did you do?"

What did he do? Justin didn't have a clue, but whatever it was... he thought maybe it had worked. Realistically, all Brian had done was stand up and walk out and he'd looked pretty fucking confused doing it, but confusion was something, which was better than nothing. It was -something-, and Justin would cling to that something until he could be sure whether or not Brian was... maybe... doing better.

Justin bent down, and hid his grin against Todd's shoulder. It was time for Todd to get off, and then maybe Justin would get in another dance or two before he went home. Because under his giddiness, he had the sinking feeling he wouldn't be going back to Babylon for a long, long time.

Chapter 27

After last night, facing Rube and his damned -knowing- over breakfast was almost anticlimactic. Well, except for the fireworks.

Justin swung into the booth with a smug grin on his face, completely ignoring the thundercloud hanging over Rube's head and the nervous glances from the other reapers, and ordered the largest, most fat- and calorie-laden breakfast on the menu.

"You don't have anything to say to me?"

"Yeah, how's the coffee today?"

Justin knew he was pushing, and he could tell from the way the muscles along Rube's jaw were jumping that he'd maybe pushed too far, but he just couldn't help himself. Pete fiddled with the salt shaker and Brandon became intensely fascinated with the grout along the windowsill. Monique sank down like she was considering crawling under the table to escape. Justin grinned wider. He didn't care they were there, in fact he wanted the whole damned world to know that he, Justin Taylor, had Done Something.

"You're pretty proud of yourself."

Yes, yes he was. "Look, Rube, I didn't tell anyone who I was or expose the reapers or anything stupid like that. I didn't even -talk- to Brian, so I'm failing to see the problem, here."

"You did what I expressly told you not to do."

"I did what I thought I -had- to do, and I won't apologize for that. You want to punish me or whatever, fine. But I'm not sorry."

Rube peered at him, like he hadn't expected this attitude from Justin and didn't really know what to do with it. To be honest, Justin hadn't expected this attitude from himself and wasn't sure where it had come from, but it felt pretty damned good. In fact, the whole day felt like victory right up until Rube dropped his little bombshell.

"You're not to see him again, and you'll stay away from that Liberty Avenue, too."

Justin's jaw dropped. "What?? Fuck, no!"

Rube's eyebrows lifted, in that mildly surprised look that so got on Justin's nerves. "Oh, you have a problem with that? Mr. You Can Punish Me or Whatever?"

"Hell yes, I have a problem. You don't know what you're asking, -that's- the problem."

Now Rube just looked baffled. "-I- don't know what I'm...?" He trailed off as Margie set all three of Justin's plates in front of him, and leaned back. "Fine. So explain it to me."

Justin took a deep breath and laid his hands flat on the table on either side of his breakfast. "Listen, aren't you the one who went on about us all being the same inside even after death, we carry all the same wants and dreams, the body is a shell and the soul is eternal, all that shit? Well, my soul is -queer-. And my queer soul wants to be with other queer souls, and that means going where the queers go. My own father couldn't keep me off of Liberty Avenue, and neither will you. It's too much."

Rube blew out an exasperated sigh. "You make me crazy, kiddo, you know that. Alright, fine. But you stay away from the diner-"

"I haven't set foot in the diner!"

"... and you won't. And stay out of that club, whatsit, Babylon."

Justin let his eyes drop, and unrolled his silverware. "Okay. No more Babylon." He stabbed at his eggs, letting the yolks run out over the plate. "That thing they stuck on the wall was weirding me out, anyway."

"What... thing?" Monique was giving him a funny look, like she couldn't imagine what a gay dance club could have on its walls that would freak out another gay guy.

God, he'd tried not to think about this but now he was and Monique was kind of nice to him so he wanted to tell her but it was all still... weird. "It was this... thing. On posterboard, I think. It had, uhm, pictures of me and stuff on it." Justin thought he might be blushing. If it had been at the diner, well, Debbie was like that sometimes. But at Babylon?

Monique sort of patted his hand. "They must have thought an awful lot of you."

Justin stabbed his eggs again. That was the thing, though, because 'they' -- being the general gay population of Pittsburgh -- really hadn't. Honestly, other than Kinney's occasional fuck, what had he been to them but one more twink in a sea of hundreds? A pretty hot twink, but still. "Yeah, well. Now that I'm dead, they've decided I'm 'Babylon's Fallen King.'"

Brandon cracked up laughing, and didn't even stop when Justin kicked his ankle under the table. "What the hell does that mean?"

He groaned and dropped his fork. "They have this contest every year, right? It's a... dance thing, sort of." He deliberately left out the pole and the stripping. Rube was already looking at him funny. "So, this year I won and they stuck a crown on my head and took a lot of pictures. Now some of them are up on this poster on the wall and it's just -weird- to be around, okay?"

Monique's eyes were wide and curious. "Wow, do you think your guy made it for you?"

"Brian?? Oh, fuck no. Brian's not that... well, he wouldn't have used so much fucking glitter, that's for sure." Rube was shaking his head, and Brandon had his hand over his mouth like he was trying to stop laughing, no really. Even Pete looked amused. Justin kept the last part to himself, the fact that the poster was surrounded with little notes that must have been stuck there by passing men. There were more than Justin would have expected, considering, and one in particular had caught his eye. It was the only one he'd actually read, before he had twitched oddly and just had to get away, because the block printing was messy but it could have been Brian's and it had simply said, "Miss you."

Justin coughed, and nodded, and tried to pretend they were still having the same conversation as before. "Okay, Rube. Anything else?"

"Just one more thing, Justin." Rube got serious then, straightened and pointed his finger at him. "You are playing with fire. If you keep it up, someone's going to get burned and you will not like that one bit."

Justin bit his lip and nodded slowly. "I'll remember."

Brandon had finally shut up, and the five of them ate their breakfasts and discussed appointments and generally got on with the business of being reapers.

And it really was fine. Justin had broken the rules, he'd take his lumps. But if he had to do it over again Justin knew that he would, and he suspected that Rube knew it, too.

Chapter 28

Justin's shift at the restaurant was -insane-. Who knew half of Pittsburgh would choose that particular Tuesday to go out for Italian at lunch? He and Knox barely had enough time to nod and smile in passing as they served table after table of cranky, hungry customers, and Justin couldn't even grab a smoke break until almost two-thirty. He picked the check up from the last of his lunch patrons and staggered out the service door into the alley.

"Oh. My. -God-. If Morgan seats one more six-top in my section today, I swear I'm going to string him up by his balls. I can't tell if he's incompetent, or if he just fucking hates me."

Knox laughed, pulled the cigarette out from between his lips and stuck it between Justin's. "Here, you need this." He waited until Justin had taken a good, long drag off of it before he pulled it away and replaced it with his mouth, kissing him. "Mmmm... and that. Better?"

Justin smiled at him, and blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Tons better. Hey, I'm really sorry about Saturday."

"Oh, that." Knox waved his cigarette-holding hand casually. "Already forgotten. Everybody has bad days, don't sweat it."

Justin fished his own cigarette out of his pocket and leaned in to let Knox light it for him. "I can still be sorry. You know, you took off kind of suddenly the other day, is everything alright at home?"

"Aw, yeah, my mom was just having one of her crises. She's got these dogs, see, two of 'em, and she's -completely- mental about who she lets watch 'em." Eric and Curt wandered out of the restaurant, and Knox gave them a little wave and a grin. "And she had this business trip she was going on and the sitter cancelled. She -refuses- to board the damn dogs, I mean, just flat out refuses, under any circumstances. So she calls me up and begs me to come out and stay with them."

Justin laughed, incredulous. "You had to take two days off work to dog sit? That's crazy."

Knox grinned and shrugged. "Well, the dogs are nice enough. It's my mom who's crazy. Plus she pays me, so that's something."

Eric and Curt were laughing as well, and Eric added, "I like dogs." Knox looked like he was going to say something else but just then Gray stuck his head out of the service door.

"Christ, this is where you all ran off to. Get your asses back inside, would you?" Knox tossed the butt of his cigarette at Gray. He dodged it easily and disappeared back inside, and they all started to file back into the restaurant. Knox held the door open for Eric.

Justin noticed, and grinned to himself. There was definitely something going on, there. He'd have to keep his eyes open, and maybe bug Knox about it later.


Liberty Avenue buzzed with news all that week. Everybody who had seen Brian leave Babylon's back room Monday night told at least three friends, and then they told three friends... until pretty much everyone knew about it and Justin could pick up the parts of the story he hadn't seen for himself. Michael had been just as stunned as everyone else when Brian had walked up to him, thrown an arm around his shoulders and told him that he was ready to go home. Brian hadn't been seen at Babylon since, but Michael's perpetual worried frown had vanished as well so that was a hopeful sign.

Wednesday they were all talking about Debbie Novotny's return to the Liberty Diner. By all accounts she was well-rested and practically back to her usual self, so the time off had obviously done her a world of good. Justin had been right, though, much to his embarrassment; she had come in with a little 'In Memoriam' display with his picture on it and tacked it up in the front window. She would smile a sad little smile when anyone asked about it, or about him, but that was a hell of a lot better than bursting into tears all the time.

And on Thursday, just after noon, Brian Kinney went to the Liberty Diner for lunch. He walked up to the counter, leaned across it and gave Deb a kiss on the cheek. She patted the side of his face, and he slid into his place across from Michael and ordered his turkey on wheat, no mayo. Michael smiled like it was his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. Emmett actually gave Brian a hug, and Brian rolled his eyes and let him for all of 2.5 seconds before shrugging his arm off and telling him to get a fucking grip already.

Brian still looked thin, they said, still pale and still a little haunted. But at least he looked like he maybe belonged in the ranks of the living again.

Justin thought the only thing that could have made this better was if he could have been there to see it himself, so instead he did the next best thing: he drew it.

Chapter 29

Once Justin started drawing Brian again, he kind of couldn't stop. It was like the fall before, after Justin had first met Brian, all over again. Only different, because in all of Justin's current pictures Brian had his clothes on. Mostly. But he couldn't help himself; every new bit of news he heard, the slightest whisper with Brian's name attached to it, would make his fingers itch for pencil and paper and send him scurrying for his sketchbook the first opportunity he got. He drew Brian at the diner eating lunch under Deb's motherly gaze, Brian at Woody's shooting pool with the guys, even Brian in his office after Cynthia, of all people, had shown up at the Liberty Diner and asked for a double order of lemon bars, to go. They might have been for her, but somehow Justin didn't think so. He got a silly satisfaction from his sketch of Brian trying to dust powdered sugar off the lapels of his Armani.

He even drew Brian arguing with Michael. Michael had stuck to Brian like glue at first -- probably because he was still worried and Justin seriously couldn't blame him for that -- but it wasn't long before he just started getting on Brian's nerves. Brian finally realized, for one thing, that Michael had left David and left Portland at least partly because of him, and that was fight number one. It had happened at Woody's, and Justin drew Brian sitting on a barstool and leaning precariously forward, pushing his face into Mikey's while he told him how fucking stupid it was to fuck his life over for the sake of -anyone- else, even his best friend. Even Brian.

Fight number two took place out in the parking lot, when Brian declared he had had enough of being chauffeured around like a fucking pansy, he could fucking well drive himself home. In Justin's sketch, Brian was dressed in all black, jeans, shirt, and jacket, and grinning as he snatched the keys to his jeep out of Michael's hand. The look on Michael's face was equal parts surprise and hope.

Their third fight, and the last sketch in what Justin thought of as his 'Brian and Mikey triptych', happened the night Brian decided it was time to go back to Babylon. No one could tell Justin much of what had been said; the music at Babylon was too loud and let's face it, the queers at Babylon were too preoccupied by other things to pay that much attention even to the Brian and Michael Show. What they did say was that finally, Brian had taken Michael by the arms, spun him to face the dance floor, and crooked his finger at a likely trick. Michael had shaken his head, obviously protesting, but Brian put his hand in the small of his back and shoved him forward, yelling over the noise, "Go get laid, already! Fuck!"

Justin bought a larger, easel-sized pad of paper for this one and worked on it for days. By the time he was done he had drawn the entire dance floor, platforms, catwalks, lights and all, and populated it with half-naked, sweaty dancing men. Michael and his trick were right in the middle, foregrounded, pressed together from chest to knees and kissing hotly. In the lower left corner he'd drawn the door to the back room, with Brian just outside paused in the act of dragging a shadowed figure in after him. He was looking back towards the dance floor, towards Michael, and his lips were curved up in a genuine smile.

Brian still wasn't taking anyone home with him at night, but now sometimes Michael did. Justin didn't think either of them could possibly have a better friend in the world.

Chapter 30

Justin's renewed Brian-obsession was distracting, but it didn't keep him from noticing there was still something going on with Eric and Knox. Or rather, that Eric was obviously crushing on Knox, and -hard-. After a third straight dinner shift spent watching Eric blush whenever Knox offered to light his cigarette, Justin decided it was time to bring it up.

They were naked, of course, sharing a cigarette because they'd smoked the last of Knox's stash two days ago and he wouldn't have more 'till the weekend.

"So. What's up with Eric?"

"Hmm? Up, how?"

Justin snickered, and bumped Knox's side with his knee. "Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that you knew he was gay, but that you don't see he's got an -enormous- crush on you."

Knox sighed quietly, and laid his arm across his forehead. "Well... yeah. I've noticed."

"Aaannnd?" Justin wasn't used to Knox being evasive. There was definitely something going on.

"He's a sweet kid." Knox sort of shrugged. "He is still... kind of a kid, though, you know?"

Justin did know, hell, he was the same age as Eric. Only 'Sean' wasn't, so he kept that to himself. "Yeah, well. Age isn't everything. You like him?"

Knox didn't answer. Justin turned his head, and found Knox just staring up at the ceiling. This was... kinda weird. And called for more direct measures.

Justin sat up, suddenly, and shifted around until he could straddle Knox's chest. Knox oofed a little, and caught Justin's thighs with his hands. "What?"

"I asked you a question," Justin smiled, just a bit. "Do you like Eric?"

"Hmmm." Knox's mouth twitched, and one hand slid up Justin's thigh towards his crotch. "I like -you-...."

Justin laughed and pushed Knox's hand away from his cock. "Uh-uh, no distracting me with sex. Just answer me."

Knox chewed his lip a little before he answered. "Yeah, I like him."

Justin walked his fingers up Knox's chest. "You think he's cute?"

That earned him a grin. "I know he's cute." Knox opened his mouth and tilted his head up, asking for a drag. Justin let him puff off the cigarette.

"And... you know he's probably a virgin, right?"

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that part."

"So," Justin thought of his own first time, and how relentlessly he'd stalked Brian afterwards, despite everything and everyone who'd warned him against it. "I'm just thinking out loud here, but if you guys do anything, he might tend to get a little... attached."

Knox's eyes slid away from Justin, and he turned his head to look out the window. "Would that be so bad?"

Wow, this was serious, more serious than Justin had realized. He leaned in a little, carded his fingers through Knox's hair and let his thumb rub along his lover's temple. "Maybe not. But if you're both at the restaurant, having to work together all the time? It could be, yeah."

Knox let out a slow breath, and his eyes slid shut. "I like him a lot, Sean. I want him."

Justin thought about that, while he let his fingers roam over Knox's scalp. "School starts up in... about two weeks, right? Think you'll still want him by then?"

Knox chuckled, "Uh, yeah."

"So... wait it out. Then if things don't work out between you, well, you're not stuck working all your shifts together and... he can go throw himself into his schoolwork or some shit."

Knox sighed heavily, and then turned to smile faintly up at Justin. "You're so smart. What would I do without you around?"

"Hmm, who knows." Justin smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly. "Probably fuck up a lot."

Knox laughed a little. "Probably." He lifted his arms and wrapped them around Justin's back, and Justin fumbled the cigarette into the ashtray on Knox's headboard as Knox pulled him into a kiss. "Mmmm... you okay with this?"

"Why-" They kissed again, and rolled and Knox's body was warm and solid between Justin's thighs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Knox actually stopped, pulled his mouth away from Justin's neck and just looked up at him like it was the silliest question he'd ever heard. Justin giggled and cupped Knox's jaw with the palm of his hand. "We'll still be friends, right?"

"Yeah. 'Course we will." Knox's face was like an open book, so honest and easy and Justin could tell he'd actually been worried about this, maybe this was even why he'd been all indecisive about Eric.

Justin smiled and drew Knox's face closer. "Then I'm okay."

Chapter 31

These group jobs could really be a pain in the ass. Pete had suggested they carpool in his van, which was fine by Justin, the less time spent on Pittsburgh's public transportation the better, but about four blocks from their appointment address they hit a roadblock. Literally. The police had brought out barricades and strung tape across the road, and were forcing all traffic to turn onto a side street.

Pete rolled his window and motioned to one of the cops directing the tide of cars. "Is there some problem, sir?"

"Yeah, it's some kind of demonstration down at the courthouse. Nothing to worry about, but we're not letting traffic through. Just in case."

Pete nodded and smiled politely at the man, and rolled his window back up. "Well, what do you guys think? Try to make it around in time?"

The other three reapers eyed the sea of cars in front of them, and Monique pointed out the passenger window. "The municipal garage is just there, we could always park and walk."

Justin agreed, and after a bit of grumbling from Brandon that's what they wound up doing. For a guy who looked as fit as he did, Brandon sure wasn't much into exercise. Justin wondered if maybe he just figured he didn't need to bother anymore.

It was a decent enough day for a walk, bright but not too hot. They walked past the same cop that Pete had spoken with, and he waved. Evidently, whoever had given the order to block the streets off hadn't really cared about foot traffic. Then again, he had said it was a demonstration; for all the cop knew, that's exactly where the reapers, and the trickle of other people on the sidewalk with them, were heading. Their address was just on the other side of the courthouse, hopefully they could skirt around whatever was going on and still make their destination in time.

They could have. They would have, passing by on the other side of the street from the protest, if Justin hadn't happened to turn his head at just the right time to catch a glimpse of red hair that he'd have known anywhere in the world. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, puzzled, wondering what the hell Debbie was doing at the courthouse. And what his mother was doing standing next to her, holding up... some sort of sign. And chanting something that Justin couldn't make out until it got louder, until a group of people started coming down the courthouse steps, and every single thing became suddenly, horribly clear.

"No Bail for Bashers! No Bail for Bashers!"

Chris Hobbs walked down the steps, flanked by his parents and lawyers. The knot of protesters surged towards him, pushing against a line of security guards set to hold them back, and a pair of iron bands around his chest held Justin back like maybe they were someone's arms, and the noise in Justin's ears was his own screaming.

Everything was white and red and -loud- for what felt like forever, until there was pain in his knees and a jolt that snapped his jaw shut as Justin and whoever was holding onto him crashed to the ground.

"Let me go! Fucking let me go!"

Brandon's voice was disturbingly calm. It pissed Justin off how fucking calm he was. "No, I don't think I will."

Justin was frantic, twisting and arching in Brandon's arms for all the good it did him. "God, don't you get it? He did this to me! That fucking bastard -murdered- me!"

"What would you do if I let you go, right now?"

He was breathless by then, panting, and his hands itched like he wanted a pencil but he didn't, he didn't want to make something, he wanted to -hurt- and that was in his hands, too. Justin was a -reaper-, for fuck's sake, and the knowledge of all that meant crystallized inside of him. "I could do it. I could hurt him."

"He won't even know who you are, Justin."

"I don't care! I don't care if he -ever- fucking knows why, I can hurt him! I can fucking make him pay!" He surged forward again but it was useless, Brandon's hold was as unbreakable as steel. As implacable as death. The most Justin could do was keel them both further forward on their knees.

Monique had her hand over her mouth like she was too frightened to even cry. Pete just looked stunned. And all around them people kept walking, stepping around them and going casually on their way like the reapers didn't exist. On the other side of the street, some people vanished into waiting cars and others started their trek to where the protesters had been allowed to park, blocks away.

Brandon snapped at Pete, "Would you fucking call Rube, already?"

Pete nodded, fished his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Justin laid his forehead down on the sidewalk and just sobbed.

Chapter 32

By the time Rube arrived, Justin had gone quiet. Justin was still on his knees, but Brandon had shifted around a bit so he was sitting on the ground behind him. He still had hold of Justin by the arms, but by then it might have been more of a formality than anything. Or maybe it was something else, who could be sure? Brandon looked up at Rube like he expected him to have sprouted wings, or a jet pack or something. Rube lifted his shoulders and said quietly, "I was in the area. How is he?"

It was Brandon's turn to shrug. "He's like this."

Rube squatted down on the sidewalk in front of Justin, and took a good look at him. 'Like this' was silent and staring at the ground. 'Like this' was also mostly still, aside from an occasional shudder as if Justin was standing in the path of a cold, violent wind, and his eyes were red and a bit on the crazed side but not completely gone. Rube had seen worse. That didn't mean he liked seeing the kid in this state, though.

He sighed, and waved a hand in front of Justin's face. "Justin. Come on, kiddo, look at me. That's it." Justin slowly lifted his head and focussed on Rube's face. "There we go. Now, you want to tell me what happened?"

"You don't know?" The kid's voice was flat, like all the color had leeched out of it.

"I have a general idea, but I think I'd like to hear it from you."

Justin blinked once, slowly. "Chris was here. I want to hurt him, but they won't let me."

"You still want to?"

Justin blinked again. "He hurt me. And he hurt Brian."

Rube nodded. "I know that. But that's for someone else to handle, not you. That's not who we are, kiddo, it's not what we're here for."

"But I could...." Justin's eyes were drifting, his breath speeding up, and Brandon tightened his hold on the kid's arms.

"Justin." Rube took Justin's chin in his hand and pulled his focus back. "You wanted to know why I'm in town? This is why, kiddo. You're why."

Justin just looked his questions at Rube, but at least he was looking -at- him and not through him again.

"They knew Francis was getting close to his quota, and that he'd pull a murder victim to replace him. Not who, exactly, or when... just soon. And they asked me to come out to see to the new reaper, get him adjusted. Make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Why... -you-?" The kid sounded incredulous, which was a hell of a step up from shell-shocked and verging on homicidal.

Rube chuckled. "Let's just say I've got the right experience for the job. Think maybe we can move on now? You kinda freaked everybody out, here." Rube nodded his head towards the others. Pete was pacing, and looked like maybe he had been ever since he'd called Rube. Monique was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with her feet in the gutter, hugging her knees.

Justin looked around, and Rube saw the guilt wash over his face. "We missed the appointment."

"You sure did, kiddo. Now, if you're ready to get up off that sidewalk, we can go take care of business."

Brandon looked to Rube, who gave him a discreet nod, and he finally let go of Justin's arms and got to his feet. Justin got up as well, brushed off the knees of his cargo pants and stood slightly to the side with his hands in his pockets. He watched from under his bangs as Brandon offered a hand to Monique and got Pete to stop pacing. The kid could stand to have his hair cut.

"Come on, folks. Time's wasting." Rube laid a hand on Justin's shoulder, and the group of reapers headed down the sidewalk once again.

Their appointments had been at an office building not far from the courthouse, where the north tower elevator had suffered an unprecedented series of catastrophic failures. If not for the little incident on the sidewalk, the reapers could have spread out through the building and popped their assigned souls as they boarded the elevator but as it was, they had to wait as each body was pulled free of the wreckage at the bottom of the shaft. None of them spoke to each other as they waited, but Rube saw Justin apologize, quietly and sincerely, to each of the six souls before they moved on.

Outside the building, Pete, Monique and Brandon headed back towards the van and Justin stuck his hands back into his pockets and waited there, chewing his lip like he wasn't sure if he should go with them or try find a bus stop.

Rube stood next to him. "They'll be fine, kiddo, you just gave 'em a bit of a fright."

"They were just starting to like me." Justin sounded wistful, watching the other three walk away.

"They still like you fine. Come on, you're coming with me."

Justin turned and fell into step next to Rube. "Where are we going?"

"My place. You're staying with me tonight."

"Uhm. I kinda had plans."

"You're kinda canceling them. Call and say you're not feeling well."

Justin mumbled, "Well, that's no lie," and obediently trooped out to Rube's car.

Chapter 33

Justin was silent all the way to Rube's place. He looked out the window as they drove, walked with his head down and his hands in his pockets, and in general did a very fine impression of an eighteen-year-old bump on a log. Rube wasn't sure whether to offer him a hug or pop him one for making him worry, and since he wasn't exactly the hugging type he settling on making tea.

"You take sugar in your tea, kiddo?"

"Yeah." Justin was sitting at the little dinette table, either studying the weave of Rube's tablecloth or just staring at it. Rube added the sugar bowl to his tray, carried it over to the table, and sat opposite Justin. He set one of the mugs in front of the kid and watched as he added sugar and began to stir. Justin still wasn't talking, but Rube knew he could wait him out. He simply sat and sipped at his tea.

Rube's mug was half-empty by the time Justin stopped stirring and looked up at him. "I really can't do anything to him."

"Technically, you can do anything you want. But you really don't want to do this."

Justin frowned and started to swirl his spoon again. "It's not like... when I try to see Brian, or the others. Is it."

Rube had to hand it to Justin, he was a smart one. "No, kiddo, it isn't. Having contact with your family or your friends, that's a bad idea on many levels. Upsets the balance of things. Confronting your killer... well, that's a whole other ball of wax. It causes problems you can't begin to imagine the scope of, and the front office frowns on that kind of mess."

"What would they do...?" Justin was searching Rube's face, his eyes, and Rube sat silently and let the kid read whatever answers he could there. It was better that way, Justin was more likely to heed the conclusions he'd draw on his own instead of being lulled by the simplicity of the only answer Rube could have offered him: bad things.

Justin broke his gaze, finally, and stared down into his mug of tea. "So you've just been hanging around, waiting for me to go off like this."

"Yes and no. I'm here until they tell me it's time to leave."

"But you knew this would happen."

Rube shrugged. "Not as such. It's an urge a lot of reapers in your position get, confront their killers, wreak a little vengeance. You hadn't gone out looking for him, so I was optimistic about your chances."

"Guess I just fucked up again, huh."

"Not really." Rube drained his mug and got up, heading back for the steaming teakettle. "You didn't try to hurt Brandon, did you?"

"I... no. I just wanted him to let go. He's kinda big, though, I doubt I could hurt him much."

"Point is, kiddo, you didn't try." He freshened his cup and fixed another as well, Justin's had to be stone-cold by then. "You could have, and you didn't. Of course, you'd have had to go through Pete and Monique as well, and that girl may be short but she's a scrapper." When Rube turned back to the table, Justin's eyes had gone wide.

"Why?"

"Because they like you, Justin. Not a one of them would just stand by and let you do something we'd all regret."

Justin took the second mug from Rube and looked like he was thinking that over. "And I didn't hurt him. Any of them."

"Nope. You had a hell of a shock today, kiddo, and you may have gone a little out of your head over it but you held back when it counted. You're not a danger. I know that, and so do they. And now so do you."

Justin got quiet again, and stirred the sugar into his second mug of tea for so long that it was lukewarm by the time he finally picked up and drank any of it. "So... why am I here?"

Chapter 34

Rube sighed, and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Like I said before, nobody really knows why this person or that person becomes a... what?"

Justin was snickering quietly into his mug. "I meant, why am I -here-. At your place."

"Smart ass. Well, I figured you might not want to be alone, considering the day you had."

"Oh. Thanks." Justin sipped at his tea, and added. "I don't have to be here, though. I mean, there are people I could call. I think."

"Mm. Like that young man you've been seeing?"

Justin actually blushed, and Rube had to wonder how often the kid got carded. "Well, yeah. They were gonna go out tonight, but I think... he would come. If I called him." He had wrapped both hands around the mug, cradling it close to his face, and was looking out the kitchen window. Rube got the feeling Justin wasn't just talking about one night's company.

Rube sighed. He was far too... -something- to be giving out relationship advice to a teenaged reaper, but there wasn't anyone else who could. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Because... I need him."

"Mmhm. So, say hypothetically... if this guy was your boyfriend," Justin's eyes slid further away, guiltily, and Rube knew he was right. "... and you called him up today and asked him to cancel his plans and come over. What would you tell him? About why you need him so badly?"

Justin ran the edge of one finger around the bottom rim of the mug, again and again. "... I don't know."

"Mmhm. Because if he was your boyfriend, he'd want to know more than you can say. You can't tell him you're upset without him wanting to know why. You can't tell him you saw someone who hurt you without him wanting to know who. You can't tell him who you are, Justin."

"I know." He set the cup on the table and slouched in the chair, his shoulders folded in, miserable. "I know."

Rube hated to do this to the kid, honest to God, but it had to be said. "And you can't keep him from someone who'll tell him all those things, things a man should by rights know about his lover."

Justin covered his eyes with one hand and whispered, "Fuck."

Rube was silent for a while, before he offered quietly, "It sounds harsh, but that's just the way it is for us, kiddo." Justin didn't respond, so Rube stood and cleared up the kitchen.

By the time he was done, Justin still hadn't moved. Rube paused by his chair and patted his shoulder on his way out of the kitchen. "I'll go make up the couch for you."

Justin sniffed loudly, and nodded once. Rube left him to his thoughts.

When Rube got up for his midnight snack, he saw that Justin had gone. The blankets were folded neatly and stacked on one end of the couch, and a page off of his message pad was tacked to the refrigerator: "I'm okay, just wanted to go home. See you in the morning. P.S. Your couch has lumps." Instead of a signature, Justin had drawn a little stick figure wearing a cloak and holding a scythe. Rube chuckled quietly, left the note on the fridge and went back to bed.

--

Justin walked most of the way home from Rube's place, only catching a bus after his feet got sore. He'd thought it would help clear his head, but mostly... it just gave him sore feet. Justin wasn't sure if his head would -ever- be clear again.

Rube was right. Damn him to hell, Rube was right about all of it. Justin thought he must be -the- most transparent twink on the planet for how easily Rube could read him, but then how was he managing to pull off his double life? Maybe it was a reaper thing.

Justin wanted some fucking aspirin.

He hadn't even considered... okay, that was a lie. He -did- consider running to Knox and trying to be... something more than fuck buddies, but the thought had hardly crossed his mind before Rube's Justin-radar had gone off and fuck, fuck, fuck but he was right.

It wasn't fair. All Justin wanted was to not be so -alone-, but he couldn't have that without... without fucking everything up. Fucking up his friendship for something that couldn't even be love, really, because Justin was still so fucking in love with Brian. Fucking over Knox, if Justin got it into his head to be a selfish shit anyway and tried to tug him away from Eric, who he thought... maybe might love Knox a little already. And who Knox could maybe love back. Fucking -everything-, just because Justin was tired of not having anything -real- in his life and not even having a life because....

Because of Chris fucking Hobbs.

Chris was the source, the swing of his bat was the root of all Justin's pain and there wasn't thing one Justin could do about it. Justin clutched at the metal pole and thought maybe he should have kept his ass parked on Rube's couch for the night because he was now very much -not- okay, and the bus jerked and stopped and he stumbled out onto the corner of his street and stared at the convenience store.

It was crazy, and it wouldn't mean a damned thing but now that the thought was in Justin's head he couldn't seem to shake it. Justin hadn't bought the things since before he'd died but he knew where they'd be, under the hanging pen displays and next to the rolls of Scotch tape. Once inside his apartment he fumbled for a pencil, tore the plastic off the pad and carefully printed on the top Post-It:

C. Hobbs
E.T.D.: right fucking NOW

And then nothing happened.

Well fuck, of course nothing happened. Justin knew there was nothing... special, or mystical about a name on a piece of sticky paper. Rube had horrified him one day with stories of telegraphed lists and threatened to make him learn Morse code if he didn't behave and so he knew... this didn't mean anything.

Except that Justin felt a little calmer, for having done -something- even if it was completely silly. A little lighter, maybe, and hey, there was a thought. He sat on the bed, leaned back and fetched his ashtray and his cigarettes. He fished the lighter out from inside the pack, tore the Post-It off its pad, lit the corner and watched the fucker burn.

The sticky edge flared slightly blue when it caught and he dropped it into the ashtray. A few seconds later it was nothing but ash in the bottom of the glass, and Justin felt absurdly, enormously better.

Chapter 35

The next day it just pissed down rain. Normally Justin would find that sort of thing annoying but it seemed to fit his mood; his trek from the bus stop left him as drippy and stupid on the outside as he felt on the inside.

But nothing seemed any different. Rube just nodded, and Brandon slid over so Justin could fit into the booth and said that there was fresh coffee on the way. Justin wondered if maybe he should say something, apologize for freaking them out or thank Brandon or -something-, but really, what was the etiquette for a situation like that? Justin didn't know, so he just smiled when he passed the jelly basket to Monique and nodded politely when Rube handed him an appointment, dripped on the carpet and felt stupid. Rube patted his shoulder on his way out, though, and stupid or not Justin thought maybe at least this part of his life was still going okay.

Facing Knox was harder, for a lot of reasons. For one thing, Knox had no idea that anything had happened, so when Justin apologized for backing out on dinner Knox just slung an arm around his shoulders, kissed his cheek and declared that it was no big deal. Justin couldn't tell him any differently, and he couldn't completely dismiss the flash of guilt when Eric came around the corner and smiled his shy little smile at the two of them and asked Justin if he was coming to Charlie's.

Sure, he could do that.

The rain had slowed by that evening but not completely stopped, so Charlie's was a little more crowded and a little louder than usual for a weeknight. It meant they had to lean in across the table and shout a little to be heard sometimes, but Justin didn't mind. The heat and the noise and the press of bodies seemed very -alive- to him on some level that he really needed just then, and it also meant that if he didn't talk much the others assumed it was because he didn't feel like shouting.

Really, though, Justin was watching Eric. It was weird to think that Eric was the same age he would be if he weren't dead; Eric had just graduated from high school that spring, which Justin would also have done. He was about to start college, which Justin had also planned to do. He wondered if Eric had opened his own acceptance letter, or if he'd been so nervous he had to ask someone like Debbie to do it for him. Of course, they weren't the same; even when he'd died Justin had had months of experiences that Eric didn't have yet and, frankly, couldn't possibly equal, and there were a million other differences besides that. It wasn't like Eric was living the life Justin would have had, -should- have had, it was just... at one point, months ago, they had had some of the same choices spreading out in front of them. And Eric got to make them, and Justin didn't.

Eric excused himself from the table and Knox angled his chair a little, subtly, to watch him make his way through the crowd, and before he could lose his nerve Justin leaned in and said directly into Knox's ear, "Don't wait."

Knox drew back enough to look him in the eye, obviously puzzled, but Justin shook his head and leaned in again. "I know what I said, but it doesn't matter. Life's short, Knox. Don't wait."

Knox lifted his hand to Justin's face and looked at him like... fuck, Justin didn't know. Maybe like he was trying to figure out if he really meant it. But then Knox smiled a little, pulled him into a kiss and said, "Come home with me?"

Justin nodded. Then there was a roar from the crowd over by the bar but it was okay, he didn't need to say anything anyway. Eric pushed his way back up to the table, and Justin drank his beer.

Chapter 36

It wasn't exactly goodbye-sex because neither of them were going anywhere, and anyway Knox made it perfectly clear that hey, they were still friends, Justin could call him any time if he wanted to hang out or something. They just weren't going to have sex anymore. It did still sort of feel like a goodbye to Justin, though he didn't say it, and if Knox felt the same... well, he didn't say, either. He just spooned up behind Justin, in the small hours of the morning after they had fucked and talked and fucked some more, and Justin stayed.

If Rube thought anything of it, when Justin showed up late for breakfast the next morning, he didn't say so and that was just fine by Justin.

The restaurant was fine. Charlie's was fine. Justin and Knox did all the same things they'd done before, only with less kissing, no groping on smoke breaks, and no going home together at the end of the night. Gray either didn't notice or didn't care, and oddly enough it was Curt who'd somehow find some way to strike up a conversation with Justin whenever Knox and Eric started making eyes at each other, which, after about the first week? Was -all- the time.

The weirdest part was that Knox -- outgoing, flirty Knox, Mr. "Can I cheer you up? No strings." himself -- seemed to be almost... courting Eric. As in, he hadn't taken him home and had his way with him yet, and to a guy who'd gone from first kisses to rim jobs to marathon sex in a single night that just seemed... yeah, weird. It -was- kind of cute, though, on the days it didn't make Justin want to lock them in the utility closet together and yell, "Fuck, already!" And hey, if it was working for them -- and it did seem to be -- then who was Justin to say they were going about it wrong?

Eric did go through a phase where he would sort of look at Justin with his eyes all wide like he thought Justin might be mad at him, or -should- be mad at him, and finally Justin had dumped a bowl of cocktail peanuts down the back of his shirt one night and told him to get the fuck over it, already. Eric had turned beet red, but then Justin grinned and everyone started laughing, Knox tucked Eric under his arm and winked at Justin, and it was fine.

Justin started spending more time on Liberty Avenue, and that was fine, too. He still called Knox sometimes, though maybe not as much as before. But when he was in a mood to get stoned, or just hang out and -be- with someone who wasn't either a reaper or already dead, sprawl on the couch and talk about nothing in particular, he'd dial Knox's number.

One night Justin did exactly that, and got an out-of-breath Knox on the other end. "Hey, I was just wanting... oh. Oh!"

"Uhm-"

Justin sat straight up on his bed and gasped. "He's there, isn't he? Eric's there! Are you fucking yet?"

Knox's voice was muffled, like maybe he'd stuck his face into a pillow, and he sounded mortified. "Oh, God."

"Forget I called!" Justin slammed the phone down with a yelp and fell back onto his bed, giggling. Somehow, as strange as it sounded, the thought of Knox and Eric finally getting it on was the best news he'd had in weeks.

The next day at the restaurant, Justin smirked and Eric blushed and Knox kissed Justin on the forehead and told him, "You are so fucking weird," like that was news to anyone.

Chapter 37

Justin hadn't really looked at a calendar in weeks other than to check which shifts he had at the restaurant, but if he had he might have understood why he hit Liberty Avenue that night intent on getting laid and getting wasted, not necessarily in that order.

Babylon was out, of course. Justin mentally ran down a list of the other hot spots and decided finally on Boytoy; the music was crap and the dance floor was tiny, but at least it -had- a dance floor. And if he got wasted enough -- which he fully intended to do -- he wouldn't even mind the crap music. Anything with a beat was good enough to bounce to when you were high. He'd been there for a good hour or two, bouncing and grooving on a shared tab of E and a couple of decent blow jobs, when a disturbance closer to the door broke through his happy haze and he twisted around to see what was going on.

That could -not- be for real. What the -fuck- was Brian Kinney doing in a twink-mart like Boytoy? Justin shook his head and looked again, but he wasn't mistaken and he didn't -think- he was hallucinating. It was Brian alright, wasted and staggering to the point that Justin wondered where the fuck Michael was, but at least he didn't' look -bad-. Drunk and tripping on God knew what, yeah, leaning on everything and everyone that got near him, but he didn't look like he had before, he didn't look so broken, so lost. In fact, he was... looking for something. That's what he kept telling people, as Justin pushed and shoved his way closer through the crowd. Looking for a blonde, or at least that's what it sounded like, until he got close enough to hear Brian clearly: "I'm looking for my blonde."

Oh... holy fucking -hell-. Justin's happy buzz drained away and puddled somewhere around his shoes, leaving behind a vague tingling in his lips and his cock, and a haze over his sight that just rendered the entire scene too fucking surreal for words. If Justin had ever been asked to describe his idea of a "bad trip," this would have to be it: standing in the middle of a second-rate gay club, watching his former lover hit on boy after boy and reject every one for not being quite right, for not being -him-. And Justin knew that it was probably only a matter of time before Brian decided to settle for almost-right and vanished.

Justin looked around frantically, hoping to see Michael, or Emmett or even Ted, -anyone- who could take Brian out of here and get him safely home, only there wasn't anyone. Anyone but him. And he knew he could do it, he knew he -could- get Brian to take him home just as surely as he knew he really, really shouldn't.

It was, quite probably, the craziest fucking idea Justin had had since he'd died. Maybe it was the beers he'd had, or whatever was left of the E, or the sudden protectiveness that surged in his chest as he watched Brian being surrounded by a knot of hopeful twinks, but at that moment he didn't trust a single other person in the club -- in the -world- -- to take care of Brian. So it had to be him. His eyes might not be the same shade of blue and his smile might not be as wide, but Justin -knew- things about this man that few others did.

Justin waded into the crowd, elbowing other men out of his way, and if his heart clenched up when Brian's eyes slid past his and away, he couldn't show it. He just went up on his toes and murmured, letting his breath puff against the skin just behind Brian's ear. "You could take me home. Take me home and fuck me all... night... long." And that's all it took. Brian's head snapped back around, his eyes flared with heat, and he clamped his hand around Justin's wrist and headed for the door.

Chapter 38

In hindsight, Justin maybe could have done something other than this. He talked Brian into taking a cab instead of trying to drive, and that wasn't too difficult, and maybe he -could- have walked Brian up to the door of the loft, made some stupid excuse and left him there to pass out in perfect safety, but Brian was all -over- him in the back seat of the cab and all they were missing was Michael's disapproving gaze in the rear view mirror. It was too much, and Justin was still a little high and way fucking horny, and whatever he -could- have done didn't matter when what he did do was ride up in the elevator with Brian's mouth attached to his neck, humping Brian's thigh and whimpering quietly into his hair.

Brian was whispering the dirtiest things against his skin, and the puffs of breath and brush of his lips made Justin shudder and Brian laughed a little, "You're really hot for it."

"S'been a while." Which was a total lie, but Justin could hardly tell him the truth, could he? 'It's you, Brian, I'm fixing to shoot in my pants because you're touching me again.'

Brian was still so fucking wasted, silly and loose and Justin had to take his keys away to get the door open and that wasn't the -first- night, it was one of their other nights and things were starting to sort of haze together in Justin's head. Brian caught him around the waist and bit the lobe of his ear and Justin shook violently, fuck! Brian cupped Justin's cock through his pants, pressing hard. "Want me to jack you? It'll take the edge off."

Justin couldn't make his voice work so he just nodded, and Brian spun him easily and started pushing him backwards and up the stairs towards the bed, grinning and making their clothes vanish in that way Brian had where he could just -do- things no one else knew how to do. Justin's skin flared and burned wherever Brian's hands brushed against it, and he couldn't take his eyes off him.

Then the edge of the bed was behind Justin's calves and he sat down, hard. Brian was on the bed with him in a flash, kneeling and grabbing at his legs, pulling him up onto Brian's thighs and into his lap, and when Brian's mouth came down over his Justin clung to him like he was afraid he'd vanish. Brian wrapped one arm around Justin's back and jacked him off slowly at first, like they had all the time in the world for kissing and fucking but Justin was still -so- close. When he started to shudder in Brian's lap Brian tipped him onto his back, pressed Justin down into the mattress with his weight on Justin's hips and a hand on his shoulder and studied Justin's face as he jerked his orgasm right out of him, hard and fast. Justin came staring up Brian hovering over him, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping, and when Brian smiled that stoned little smile of his Justin swallowed hard.

"You're hot when you come."

Justin licked his lips and whispered back, "You're beautiful."

That made Brian laugh, and then he was laying on top of Justin and kissing him again and still sort of petting his dick, and this was all beyond good and over into incredible, but Justin got it into his head suddenly that he needed to see Brian come. More than that, he needed to -make- him come, and he shifted and pushed and rolled Brian off of him and onto his back. Brian raised an eyebrow at him, curious. "Something you want?"

Justin had already started towards Brian's cock, and he only paused long enough to smile up the length of his body, cheeky. "Mmhmm. Why should you do all the work?"

Brian just laughed again, cradled the back of Justin's neck with his hand and let his head fall back onto the bed. He was always ridiculously easy when it came to blow jobs.

And Justin was ridiculously good at it. He took a certain pride in that, but he knew that it all came back to this man; Brian had -made- him, shaped him and taught him well and if this was the last time Justin would ever have Brian's cock in his mouth, he would fucking well make it count. He licked up the shaft and slid his mouth over and down, taking him right into his throat. That got him a surprised gasp, and Brian slid his hand up from Justin's nape and tangled his fingers into his hair, clutching and tugging. Justin was absurdly happy he'd let his hair grow out some because, God, that felt -good-, and he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard to make Brian pull on his hair again.

It was new and it was the same, the press of Brian's cock on his tongue and the stretch in his jaw familiar to him like oxygen was familiar. Justin knew how to make Brian gasp and tremble and moan, breathy and amazed, and Brian never groaned his climax with anyone else quite the way he did when Justin sucked him off. It always gave Justin a secret thrill and a spreading warmth in his belly, and as Brian unwound his fingers from Justin's hair and started to catch his breath Justin lifted his head to tell him so.

"God, I love wh-"

And it was gone. The memory he'd held in his mind not a moment ago swelled inside him like a rising soap bubble and -popped-, noiselessly if not painlessly. And was gone. Justin drew in a panicked breath and clutched at a fistful of bed sheet. He looked up, frightened and starting to shake because if Brian asked him what he'd been about to say, how could he explain to him that he didn't know anymore?

Only Brian hadn't heard a thing, because whatever he had drunk and whatever he had taken had finally caught up with him, and he had passed out cold.

Chapter 39

Justin couldn't fucking believe it. Part of him wanted to grab Brian's shoulders and shake him awake, how dare he skip out on Justin like this when he was so obviously losing his fucking mind? Only... Brian hadn't done anything. He -hadn't-. And he didn't know and ooooh God, this was fifty different kinds of fucked up. Justin scooted away from Brian, backed up until he was sitting on the end of the bed, and he cradled his head in his hands and listened to Brian breathe and tried to figure out what the fuck just happened.

It was a little like poking at the hole a tooth leaves behind, only if you didn't know that what had been there was a tooth. Justin thought -around- the strange gap in his head; he remembered tumbling into the loft, Brian stroking him off, Justin rolling them both over and going down on him in return. He remembered Brian's hands in his hair and Brian coming like a freight train and then... nothing. Absence. The tiny break in his memory that he still couldn't explain. And really, if he said it just like that -- 'I can't remember what he sounds like' -- it seemed like the smallest fucking thing in the world. But like a tooth that gets yanked out of your head, it left an ache behind all out of proportion to its size, and Justin was biting into the pad of his thumb and fighting the urge to just curl up into a ball and cry.

Which was maybe why the pounding on the door startled him so badly that he damn near fell off the bed.

"Brian?! Fuck, Brian, you had better be in there!"

Michael. Well fuck, of -course- it was Michael; he'd know what day it was because Michael was just like that, remembering things that even Brian would sometimes forget except that he hadn't, and he'd obviously ditched Michael at some point before he'd shown up at Boytoy. Justin heard Michael curse again and jingle a set of keys, and fuck he had to get -out- of there, why hadn't he moved yet?

Justin scrambled off the bed and dashed for his clothes. He had his pants on and was pulling his sweatshirt over his head by the time Michael slid the door open and he wondered absently which of them had locked the door on the way in. Probably him. And it was probably a fucking miracle he hadn't automatically set the alarm code, too.

Michael stopped still when he saw him, and Justin gulped.

"Who're you? And where's Brian?"

"'M just leaving." Justin pulled his shirt down and ducked his head away from Michael's gaze. "He's in bed. He's okay, just passed out a couple minutes ago."

Michael's shoulders sagged, like he'd been expecting that and dreading it both, and he nodded and headed for the bedroom just as Justin started away from it, looking for his shoes. It wasn't until they were almost even with each other that Justin remembered and added, "Oh, and his Jeep's probably over by Boytoy."

"Okay, thanks." And Michael looked at him and smiled a little, because it was the polite Michael-thing to do, and when he got his first good look at Justin his face sort of softened. Justin knew what he was seeing -- another blond-haired, blue-eyed kid -- and he could see that Michael guessed -why-, and might have even apologized to this kid for it if he had known where to begin explaining. Justin looked away and searched for his shoes. Michael didn't need to be sorry; Justin was sorry enough for them both.

He had his shoes in hand and was almost out the door when Michael sat next to Brian on the bed, and Brian woke up.

"Mikey? Where'd he go?" Brian was still high as a kite and his voice had that soft, confused pitch Justin had only heard a couple of times, and because he was a fucking idiot, he stopped just outside the door of the loft and listened.

"Who, your trick? Home, I'm guessing."

"No, it wasn't a trick, it was Justin. He was just here a minute ago."

Justin held his breath. Michael was silent for so long that Justin thought maybe he was holding his, too, but when he spoke again he just sounded tired. "No, Brian. It wasn't Justin. I told you to stay the fuck away from Anita's shit."

Brian was mumbling by then, arguing probably, and if Justin peeked around the door he bet he would see Michael pushing Brian back down onto the bed and pulling a blanket up over him, but God, there were limits even to his stupidity.

Justin's heart was slamming against his ribs and he still didn't -understand-, but Rube's warning was echoing in his head: 'You are playing with fire. If you keep it up, someone's going to get burned.' He didn't know the whys or the hows, but now he knew -what-, and it was as if Brian had become a poison to him, threatening the only remnants of their time together that Justin had left.

Justin felt something that was probably terror clawing at his insides, and he ran down the stairs before his traitor mind could forget anything else.

Chapter 40

He couldn't go home, he absolutely could -not- go home and face his empty apartment and his empty bed and he couldn't bear to go back to Liberty Avenue either, not tonight. Justin was so torn between all the things he couldn't do that he didn't know what he -was- doing until the door opened under his knuckles and Knox was on the other side of it.

"Sean?!" Knox's eyes went wide with shock and Justin hadn't even realized until that moment what he must look like, breathless from running and still wide-eyed himself with lingering fear. His shoes were untied and his pants might still be unbuttoned, too, and he probably smelled of sex and Knox took hold of his shoulders and bent down to peer closely into his eyes. "Oh my God, what happened? Did somebody hurt you?"

Justin shook his head no, and bit back a wild urge to tell Knox to call him 'Justin' because, God, what would that cost him?

Knox took Justin's chin in his hand and said it again, solemnly. "Sean. Did someone hurt you?"

"N-no. Nobody hurt me." That much at least was true: nobody had hurt Justin but Justin. "I'm okay."

He didn't sound convincing, even to himself, but Knox didn't insist on knowing more. He simply dropped his hand back to Justin's shoulder with a murmured, "You are not okay," and tugged Justin into his apartment.

Something inside Justin gave then, finally, broke him open with a single, harsh sob and he couldn't stand this, couldn't stand to -feel- this so he pushed Knox back against the closing door with his body and tried to feel something else. He felt Knox's mouth under his own, slack with surprise at first until he felt Knox's hands pressing the small of his back and the curve of his ass, felt Knox's hips roll against his own, and he hissed, "Fuck me, Knox. Fuck him out of me, -please-."

Knox broke the kiss, pulled back and stared down at Justin with a million questions crowding his eyes and Justin realized just what he'd said. He remembered that he didn't have this anymore, he didn't have any -right- to this, and he was already starting to stammer out an apology when Knox cupped Justin's face with his hands, pressed a thumb against his lips and said, "Okay."

"But what-"

"Shhh." Knox's thumbs were crossed over Justin's mouth, and he was looking at Justin more seriously than Justin had ever seen him look at anything. "I said okay. So just let me, hmm?"

"Let you...?" Knox had moved around him and was backing further into the apartment, gently drawing Justin after him.

Knox smiled, almost sadly, and his fingertips were warm against Justin's palms. "Let me take care of you."

And he did. Knox stripped him and held him and touched him so carefully, so deliberately; not like he was fragile, or made out of glass or something, just like he was... wounded. And Justin was, so he let him. When Justin wanted it slower or faster, harder, rougher, Knox didn't ask why. When Justin bit his lip bloody, Knox didn't ask whose name he was trying to hold back. And when it was over, after Justin had finally had enough and he sobbed against Knox's shoulder as he came for the last time, Knox simply held him silently until he had cried himself out.

Justin smoked an entire cigarette before he felt like he could trust his voice again. "God, I can't believe I did this."

Knox reached across him for the ashtray, and simply asked, "Why?"

He rolled to look at Knox, incredulous. "Well... because..."

"Hey, you're a friend, and you asked me for a favor. I could have said no. Though, really," Knox reached over to brush Justin's bangs out of his eyes. "It would've taken a heart of stone to turn you down."

"I'm still sorry."

"Because of Eric?"

Justin swallowed, and nodded miserably.

"Well, don't be. It was my decision, I'll handle it. Besides," Knox smiled a little and took a drag off his cigarette. "I'm pretty sure it'll be okay. Eric and me... we'll work it out."

Justin swiped at his eyes with his hand and rolled into Knox's shoulder. "Christ. I don't deserve you."

"Ahhh, that's where you're wrong." Knox rubbed a hand slowly up and down Justin's arm, and was silent for a while. "I hope you'll tell someone, eventually."

"Tell them what?"

"Whatever that secret is that you carry around all the time. It weighs you down."

Justin tilted his head up to meet Knox's eyes. He didn't have to say it, he could read in Knox's expression that he wasn't the only one with a secret or two, and that maybe Knox had more reasons than he would say for being so understanding with Justin that night. But whatever they were to each other, or had been, it wasn't deep enough for sharing secrets. Justin had an idea of what Knox was really wishing for him, that he could find -someone-, only Justin couldn't tell him that that would never happen. So he kissed him again, and they got out of bed and Knox offered him a ride home.

Justin took stock on the way and decided he felt... not good, and maybe not even much better. But at some point he had stopped feeling like he would either shatter or collapse at the slightest nudge, and that was something.

Only when he finally opened his door and saw the morning light falling across his bed and across the sheet of paper lying on his second pillow, Justin had to admit that -- hard as Knox had tried to do what Justin had asked of him -- it hadn't really worked at all.

Chapter 41

Rube was sitting alone in their usual booth. Justin couldn't be sure whether that was because he was so late -- which he was -- or if Rube had sent the other reapers away so he could chew Justin out without an audience. Justin was so wrung out that he didn't much care, and he knew he deserved whatever reaming he got, so he slid into his seat and leaned his elbows on the table and waited. He just hoped that when Rube was done with him, he could give Justin some answers.

Rube was about halfway through his breakfast, and he slid his side order of toast towards Justin. "You hungry?"

"Uhm... yeah, kinda." Rube was already looking back down at his own plate, so Justin figured he might as well eat before the ass chewing and reached for the jelly basket. It was kind of odd, though, Rube didn't look mad at all.

The other reaper casually finished his eggs and was down to his corned beef hash before he spoke. "So, did you lose anything?"

Justin swallowed a mouthful of toast that should -not- have been that dry, and glanced at Rube through his bangs. Rube hadn't looked up. "... yeah."

"And how does that feel?"

Justin dropped his jelly-smeared crust onto the plate and just gaped at him. "Like shit, Rube. It feels like shit, is that what you want to hear?"

Rube met his eyes, then, and the look in them was so calm and so -sad- that Justin swallowed again. "No, kiddo, that's not what I ever wanted to hear." He looked down at his plate once more, leaving Justin shaking slightly and staring at the top of his head. Justin shoved the rest of the toast away and lit a cigarette.

"You're not angry with me?"

"I'd be lying to you if I said I wasn't disappointed, but these cases... well, they have a way of taking care of themselves. I figure, whatever price you paid last night is probably punishment enough, no sense in heaping more on top of that."

Justin took a long drag, swung his legs around into the seat of the booth and leaned back against the wall. "I don't even really know what happened."

"Well, the way it usually runs, you were about to say something he would have recognized, that would have told him who you really are." Rube looked expectant, so Justin nodded. "And when that happens, whatever you were going to say... goes away."

"And that's it? I was afraid that...," He broke off, and shook his head. "I won't keep forgetting things, will I?"

"Not as long as you stay away from him, and the others, no."

Justin sagged against the wall, slumping further down in the booth, and pressed the heel of his hand over his eyes. He wouldn't forget, thank fucking -God-, he wouldn't forget anything else. He thought about telling Rube what he had overheard, that Brian had mistaken him for... well, himself, but decided that if Rube didn't already know that part, he didn't need to. "Why didn't you tell me what would happen, Rube? Why didn't you stop me."

Rube pushed his empty plate away and leaned forward on his elbows. "Because. There are times in any man's life where he has to step up and make his own choices, and no one can take those choices away. Besides," the corner of Rube's mouth quirked with annoyance, "not much stops you when you set your mind on a thing, kiddo, you're like a force of nature or something."

That made Justin laugh, dryly, and at Rube's further-annoyed look he offered, "Brian used to bitch about the same thing, that he couldn't ever seem to stop me."

"Yeah, well. I feel for the man."

Justin sat up to stub out his cigarette, and lit another one. "You still could have told me what it would do to me."

"You wouldn't have believed me until you felt it for yourself."

"... yeah, probably not."

"Look, Justin. You keep pushing this issue, but there's something I don't think you fully understand. There's a line between the living and the dead, between a person's life and his afterlife, and it may look a little blurry sometimes when we're all walking around on the same pavement, but it's still there and it's still important. Your Brian, he's on one side of that line, and you're on the other. You keep trying to step over like this, kiddo, and you'll keep losing things. Is that what you want?"

Justin leaned back, and Rube watched him while he thought about his answer. He'd considered this before, sort of, really late on a couple of nights when he maybe should have gone out rather than staying home and brooding. He had wondered... if maybe he could do it all again. Push and shove and maneuver his way back into Brian's life, into Debbie's and Michael's and everyone else's, until they accepted this new person he had become the same way they had accepted -him-, and that way he wouldn't expose the reapers or any of that, but he could have back everything Chris and his bat had taken away from him. He wasn't certain if he could even pull it off, but something in Rube's constant, ominous warnings had kept him from ever making the attempt, and now he knew what those warnings had all been about. Now he knew what would have eventually happened.

If he had done it then, hell, even if he tried it now... what he'd experienced the night before, the strange popping feeling and the loss that followed, would happen again and again. He hadn't -meant- to say anything special to Brian last night and he wouldn't ever mean to do it again but it would still happen. He would slip up, and then he would -lose- things, bits of his memories falling away from him, out of reach, and maybe he would even lose the reasons he loved Brian in the first place. There might be new ones, by then, new memories and reasons to replace the old ones but they wouldn't be -Justin's- reasons, and finally one day Brian really would be living with some new person named Sean and Justin would just be gone.

God, it was too fucking horrid to think about. "No. No, that's not what I want."

"Then I trust we won't be having this conversation again."

There was just one thing, though: Brian, haloed by Boytoy's cruddy light show, high and lost and too far from his friends. "But he needed me."

Rube's face closed up. "Well, then was it worth it?"

Justin had to weigh that, then, what he'd given up versus what he'd gained: Brian's safety and Justin's pain and Knox's confusion and everything else. "Maybe."

Rube sighed, and nodded like he should have expected that. "So you keep that 'maybe' in mind the next time you and Brian cross paths."

"Yeah, I will." And he would, but part of him knew that if Brian ever needed him again... Justin would be careful, oh-so-fucking careful, but he'd still risk it.

"Can I ask you something, kiddo?"

"Sure."

"Did they really used to call you Sunshine?"

Justin covered his face with his hand. He was way too tired to deal with Rube's brand of humor. "Fuck off, Rube."

Rube chuckled, got up from the booth and patted Justin's shoulder as he passed. "You might consider calling in sick today. You look like hell."

Chapter 42

Justin didn't call in sick. He maybe should have, but he figured that at that point, anything would be better than sitting in his apartment staring at the walls. He knew Knox had the day off, which was a good thing because frankly, Justin could stand to have one less thing to think about for the next six hours. It even seemed as if whoever was in charge of this sort of crap had said, 'Hey, let's give Justin a break today.' Lunch rush wasn't nearly the bitch it could have been, he pulled some okay tips despite his sluggishness, and overall he was ready to call it a decent day, all things considered.

Well, until Eric came in early for his dinner shift.

Justin spotted him coming in the front and didn't think anything of it at first, until Eric craned his neck around like he was looking for someone. Probably -him-. Fuck. Well, of course Knox had told him, he'd probably been on the phone as soon as he woke up. He had said he and Eric would work whatever out and that meant talking about it, and the sooner the better, right? Fuck. Justin slipped into the service hallway, hopefully before Eric saw him, and wondered if he should maybe just... leave. He knew he'd catch hell for ducking out early but fuck, his station was done, the silverware rolled and ready, and if it meant putting this little scene off for one more day he'd take that hell.

Only his bag was still in the break room and somebody -- probably Gray -- had told Eric where he'd last seen him and Eric had just poked his head around the door frame and given Justin a nervous look that might have tried to be a smile and failed. "Hey."

"Ah, hey. I was just heading out."

"Could... I maybe talk to you for a second? Before you go."

Oh, Christ. "Uhm, sure, let me get my shit." Eric nodded and gave him that not-smile again, and let himself out the service door.

There was no getting out of it at that point, so Justin fetched his bag and joined Eric in the alley. Eric had his hands in his pockets and was sort of scuffing at a grease stain on the pavement with his shoe, and Justin didn't see whether Eric looked up when he came out because he was too busy staring at the ground and wishing he was somewhere else. Justin couldn't think of a way this conversation could possibly not suck.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Of all the things Justin expected Eric to say to him, that was not on the list.

"Knox said you were kind of a wreck last night, are you okay?" And Eric was peering at him, when Justin finally lifted his head, and he looked like he might even be worried. "You look pretty beat."

"Oh, uhm. I'm... hanging in there. I'll be alright."

Eric nodded. "Well... that's good."

He fell silent, and Justin didn't know whether that was it, if he was off the hook or not. "Was that all you wanted?"

Eric took a deep breath, like maybe he was bracing himself. "No, there's something else. I told Knox I thought it'd be better if you heard it from me. That... that everything's okay."

"Oh." That was unexpected. Not that Knox had been right, about them working things out, but that Eric was the one there talking to him about it. And that he'd wanted to. It made Justin wonder if, maybe, things weren't just alright between them, but between them and -him-. "Is it... really okay?"

"Yeah." Eric nodded again, and flashed a smile that was maybe a little less nervous. "Knox is a great guy, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Justin chewed at his lip; he could read the worry on Eric's face, and had to admit that if the positions were reversed -- okay, and completely different -- he'd probably feel the same. So he added, "He's a great friend."

That brought a real smile to Eric's face, finally. "He is. Anyway, that's all I wanted."

"'Kay. I'll see you guys tomorrow, then." Justin hitched his bag up onto his shoulder and started to turn to head down the alley. Eric stopped him, though, with a hand on his arm, and when Justin turned back Eric pulled him into a warm hug.

"You should get some rest, Sean."

Justin just nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and stood there while Eric headed back inside.

Justin figured he had to be the luckiest undead fag in Pittsburgh: he had an ex-fuck buddy who wouldn't freak out when he showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night and practically attacked him, and a friend who was also the ex's -current- who would be all understanding and huggy about it, too.

So why did he feel like such a fucking heel?

Chapter 43

Justin's phenomenally lucky day came to an abrupt end when he discovered that, despite all the shit he'd been through in the last forty-eight hours and the fact that he -felt- like he could happily just pass out for about a week, he couldn't fucking sleep.

He tried. Oh, did he ever try. He laid in bed for what felt like forever, rearranged his pillows, rearranged them again, hung sheets over the windows to block the street lights... nothing. He went for a walk, and came back with a box of chamomile tea. Still nothing. He went for a -longer- walk, hoping to exhaust himself into sleep... and that didn't work either. Neither did jerking off.

And that was just the first night. It went on like that for weeks.

Drinking didn't work. Fucking didn't work. Even pot didn't work. Nothing Justin tried would let him sleep for more than about a half an hour at a time, and after a little conference with Rube taught him that hey, dead is dead, and reapers can get by on a lot less sleep than you'd think, he figured fuck it. If he was awake, he'd be awake.

Not that nobody noticed; insomnia couldn't kill him or even make him crazy, but it still made him look like a guy who wasn't getting enough damned sleep. Every single person at the restaurant took him aside at least once -- Eric twice and Knox three times -- and asked whether he was okay, did he want to cut back his hours, was he seeing a doctor? Justin could tell Knox and Eric both wanted to know if it had to do with Justin's little nocturnal visit, but neither of them asked. Every time they got worried, though, Justin would make another half-hearted attempt at forcing himself to sleep -- warm milk, herbal remedies, magnetic bracelets -- before he gave up again.

Rube didn't worry. He said this just happened sometimes. Monique patted his hand sympathetically and said she knew a reaper who knew a reaper who'd stayed awake for five straight months.

The fourth night Justin didn't sleep, he walked all the way to the restaurant. He still hated it, with its tacky decor and the silly uniforms the waitresses wore and he didn't care what Rube said, they did -not- have the best waffles in Pittsburgh. But it was familiar and it was open, and Rube was sitting in their usual booth.

At three in the morning, which made Justin wonder whether Rube just didn't -have- a day job, or what? Justin slid in opposite him, and Rube just nodded casually and offered him a section of the New York Times.

And that's how it went. He didn't go every night, sometimes he stayed in and drew or he just walked all night, and Rube wasn't always there, either, but most of the time he was. Justin got to know Rosie, who worked until Margie took over the breakfast shift at six. He learned that Rube actually didn't like to read the Times at all, he just bought it for the puzzle which he did in pen. Justin joked that maybe when he'd been reaping as long as Rube had, he'd do his crosswords in pen, too. Rube just wasn't as fun to tease about his age as Brian.

They talked a lot, but never about anything that mattered, and that was okay. The main thing, Justin found, when you had hours and hours to kill and the rest of the world was too busy sleeping to occupy you, the main thing was not to think too much, or you'd brood.

And Justin had a lot to not-think about. Brian Kinney, of course, was at the top of that list

He had thought at first that, since he couldn't sleep anyway, he'd have a lot more time to prowl Liberty Avenue. Unfortunately, to his utter disappointment and in direct contradiction to everything he had been led to believe, he'd discovered that even Liberty Avenue sleeps sometimes. Eventually the bars and the clubs would close and people would either wander home or pass out wherever they'd landed, or occasionally stop off at the Liberty Diner. Justin peeked in the window a couple of times -- briefly, so briefly -- but he never went inside.

But there was no lack of news about Brian. He'd gone on a serious tear after... after Justin took him home. He picked fights with everyone, Michael, Lindsay, Debbie, even Justin's mother, and got thrown out of Babylon two nights in a row for arguing with the bartenders. Which made them all -hover-, and Brian got progressively more pissed, and they started tossing words around like "grieving process" and "depression" and "therapy." Brian told them all to fuck off, in so many words, repeatedly, and at great volume.

Justin felt like absolute shit. And at the same time... vaguely, obscurely hopeful. Even if Brian was angry as fuck, even if he was yelling at everybody, at least he was doing and feeling -something-. But that didn't stop Justin from feeling responsible.

Then one night at the restaurant, even Rube found out just how responsible Justin was.

Justin couldn't fucking believe it. The Liberty Diner had to have, like, fucking -imploded- to send this many queers into the crappiest waffle house in the city. There was no other explanation for it. That, or the universe just really, really wanted to fuck with Justin right then. Because the reapers' usual booth was surrounded by Liberty Avenue regulars, and at every table it seemed like the only topic of conversation was Brian and Michael's latest blowout.

"You heard me! He said, 'I know what I said, Michael, but I'm not fucking crazy!'"

Rube looked at Justin. Justin tried to vanish under the table, but no go.

"So tell me, kiddo. Why would Brian's little friend think he'd gone off his rocker?"

"Because he... sortofthoughtitwasmethatnight."

"And why would he think that?" The look on Rube's face could only be described as "thunderous."

"He doesn't know for sure! He couldn't. He just- he was high, alright. Really fucking high, and... and maybe he wished it was me."

Rube pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you didn't see fit to tell me this? Why is that?"

"Because... because he -doesn't- know, not really. And I figured if it was important -you'd- already know about it, too. You know every other damn thing I do." Justin knew he was probably pouting, but he felt kind of entitled.

Rube sighed like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders. "You make me crazy, kiddo."

Like that was news. "... is it bad?"

"Is it bad? Like in the sense his friends might think he was a little cuckoo, because you've fucked around with his life, that kind of bad?" Justin winced. "It's not the other kind of bad, if that's what you're worried about."

"Fine." Justin muttered. Dammit, he already knew he had fucked up. He'd already -paid- for it. But at least now he knew that Brian wouldn't wind up paying the same kind of price that Justin had.

Chapter 44

Brian and the others settled into a furious sort of detente around the same time that Justin struck a balance with his sleep deprivation. Brian made an effort to be civil -- or in Deb's words, "Not so fucking touchy" -- and agreed to start coming back to the family dinners, and in return everyone else dropped any and all mention of him seeking professional help. He also vanished on Saturday afternoons, only to reappear at Babylon as usual later that night. No one in the usual queer grapevine could tell Justin what was up with that, because if the family knew anything they were keeping it to themselves for once. One fine, chilly Sunday Brian was spotted having a quiet brunch with Vic. Justin literally itched to draw the scene as soon as he heard, and as he shaded the lines around Vic's eyes he had to wonder, how much of Brian's insistence that Debbie take time off had been for her sake, and how much had been for Vic's? There was no way for him to know.

Justin was up to an average of three hours of sleep a night, which made the circles under his eyes shrink to smudges and got almost everybody off his back. Knox was probably still a little worried about him, but at least now Justin could go out and have a beer with the others without all the sidelong glances and not-so-subtle reminders that he should probably be at home trying to get some sleep.

And about that time, Gray took up with a grad student -- female -- from a wealthy family and started spending fewer nights at Charlie's. Curt seemed pleased that Justin was rejoining the little crew, which Justin thought was maybe a little odd since it meant Curt was now -completely- outnumbered by the queers, but Curt acted like he didn't even notice. And maybe he didn't. Justin was aware he maybe had some issues there, was maybe hyper aware of straight-gay group dynamics, so he just tried to let it go. He could understand, though, why Curt might be happy to be rescued from a sort of third-wheel limbo around Knox and Eric. They didn't -mean- to do it, and most nights it wasn't too bad but sometimes... they'd get a little wrapped up. And Curt would grin at Justin, who rolled his eyes dramatically and they would entertain each other until the other two remembered they existed.

One night, Justin was the last of them out of the restaurant, and he stumbled out into the cold to find the other three standing around in the parking lot. Eric and Knox were holding hands, Eric's cheeks were flushed and Curt looked like he was holding back an enormous grin.

Knox cleared his throat and spoke up. "So, uh... would you guys mind if we skipped out on you tonight?"

Justin shrugged and looked at Curt, who shook his head no. Curt had finally gotten a car at the start of the semester, so they weren't even dependent on Knox for a ride. "Nah, not a problem. Catch you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, maybe," Knox winked at Justin, and he and Eric turned and started the walk to Knox's apartment.

Justin watched them go, puzzled, and finally asked Curt, "What was that all about?"

"Not a clue, but I think it's great. Knox is so gone on that kid." He was grinning hugely, and smiled at Justin as well.

Justin nodded and smiled back. "Yeah, I know. So, we off to Charlie's?"

"Mm, we could. Or... tell me something, do you play darts?"

Chapter 45

He didn't, really; Brian had said he was going to teach him how once or twice, but somehow they had always wound up distracted before he got around to it. But Curt was in the mood for darts and willing to teach, and Charlie's didn't have a dart board. Woody's did, but that was right out so eventually they ended up at some kind of sports bar and grill that was so relentlessly straight that Justin wondered why he didn't, like, burst into gay flames or some shit just from walking through the door.

Curt proved to be a good and patient teacher, and Justin proved to completely suck at darts in spite of it. They still had a decent enough time, the beer was alright and Justin's wild-ass tosses were nothing if not amusing. He just couldn't seem to -relax- at all, and the third time he flinched when someone bumped into his chair on the way to the bar, Curt noticed.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Yeah, 'm fine." And he was, really. He -was-. Nobody had given them so much as a second look all night, there was no reason for the skin on the back of Justin's neck to prickle up the way it did. No reason at all to think guys were bumping into him for any reason other than drunken clumsiness. And no reason for him to startle and spill his beer when someone did it again.

"Jesus, Sean, you're like the world's worst liar." Curt pushed his chair back and tossed a couple of bills on the table, and Justin would have laughed if he hadn't been so relieved to be leaving, because he was an -excellent- liar when it came to some things.

Just not this. When they got outside he pulled in a huge lungful of cold air and breathed out, "I'm really sorry."

"Nah, don't worry about it. But what happened?" Curt looked at the front of the very-straight bar and then at his very not-straight friend and his brow furrowed. "Did someone say something to you?"

"No, no one said anything, it's just...." Justin ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. "Just me. I, uhm. Went to school with a lot of that type, y'know." He didn't say 'jocks,' but he sort of tilted his head at Curt apologetically.

"Oooh." Curt turned and Justin fell into step with him as they headed for his car. "They used to give you shit, huh."

"Yeah, you could say that."

Curt nodded. "Used to happen at my school, too. This one kid, he joined the wrestling team? The other guys were always talking shit about him, claimed he was going for their dicks on a takedown... anyway, they cornered him in the locker room one day and beat him up pretty bad."

"Christ. Did anybody catch 'em?"

"Well, they didn't get away with it, if that's what you're askin'."

Justin turned his head, surprised at that, and caught Curt with a satisfied little smirk on his face. He laughed, and Curt smiled wider and bumped Justin's shoulder with his.

"Anyway, you could have said something. We could've gone back to Charlie's."

"Well... you wanted to play darts."

"You -suck- at darts, Sean. You should have said." They were at Curt's car by then, and Justin was inside and buckling his seat belt before he answered.

"Look, I'm not some pussy that I can't handle hanging out in a breeder bar for a night. It's not that big a deal."

And Curt stopped with his key in the ignition and just stared at him. "You think staying somewhere you're not comfortable proves anything?"

Justin hadn't thought about it like that, and he squirmed uncomfortably. "No. Maybe. ... fuck, I don't know."

"Well, you don't have to prove anything to -me-." Curt paused, and then grinned widely. "So stop being such a queen about it, already."

That made Justin laugh, which was probably the idea, and Curt started up the car and drove him home.

Chapter 46

Justin and Rube didn't reap souls together very often, but Justin kind of liked it when they did. It reminded him of his early days, when the whole reaper thing was so new and so weird to him and every little thing he did right made him want to swell up with pride. He knew he had looked to Rube much like a father, needing to be taught and told and occasionally yelled at, and he guessed in a way he still did. Only now that he knew what he was doing, Rube was a little less like a father and more like... an uncle, maybe. One who could still yell at him plenty, though.

But it was still nice, walking back after another job completed, just sort of quietly taking in the late fall air. Rube's absurd fondness for walking bothered Justin less than it had before, now that he'd gotten used to the idea that reapers had, if anything, an excess of time on their hands. If you had commitments, you hurried to those, but anything else? Could probably wait.

Which sometimes meant that life kind of went on -around- them while they watched. It was happening at work, Justin knew; Knox and Eric had changed. Well... not so much Eric, he was pretty much the same in and of himself. But something in Knox was changing, shifting in ways that Justin couldn't quite put his finger on. They weren't -bad- ways, just different. Unexpected. It was as if there had been a certain... edge to Knox, that Justin hadn't recognized as feeling brittle until one day it wasn't there anymore. His laughter was a little less urgent, his smiles a little calmer. Justin would see him watching Eric sometimes, and remember things Knox had said about stories, and secrets. Everybody has stories, Knox told him, happy ones, sad ones. There are some you share with your friends, some you share with your lovers, and some you only tell to the people you love.

Justin may not know exactly what had changed for Knox, but he had a pretty good idea why.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. It was going to be a bitch of a winter, he could tell, he should think about buying a warmer coat. Maybe one with fur around the neck like Brian was wearing....

Fucking hell.

Justin stopped on the sidewalk and stared. After a couple more steps Rube noticed and turned back towards him. "Something wrong, kiddo?"

"Brian just went into that church."

Rube's eyebrows went up, and he got that familiar not-this-again look. "So, it's Saturday. Maybe he thinks he's got something to confess."

Justin thought if his jaw dropped any further it'd fall clean off his face. "Brian Kinney does -not- confess. There's got to be something wrong." He knew his voice was rising annoyingly, pleading with Rube already, but he didn't care.

"For the love of... no, Justin. You are not following him into that church. Have you learned -nothing-?"

Only Justin was already edging towards the street. "Yeah, I've learned not to talk to him, and I won't. Promise." He craned his neck around, checking for traffic. "Look, I'm going. If you're so worried, come with me and make sure I don't misbehave."

The traffic cleared, and Justin darted across the street. With Rube, he noted smugly, about a half-step behind him, muttering darkly. "I should just let you stew in your own juices."

"You like me too much."

The church was actually more of a cathedral, though not the same one Jack Kinney's funeral had been held at. The interior was a bit dimmer than outdoors but warmer, and Justin stood in the entry unwinding his scarf and opening his jacket while he scanned the church for Brian. He wasn't in any of the pews, and Justin would have bet the entire rest of his undead life that he wasn't in one of the confessionals, either.

Justin finally spotted him off to one side, standing in front of what looked like a smaller version of an altar, fronted by a bank of half-lit votives and a kneeler. Brian wasn't kneeling, just standing there slightly to one side watching the flames flicker. His coat was still on and buttoned, and the collar was turned up against the cold outside. One hand was in his pocket, and the other held a slim, white taper, unlit.

"What's he doing?" Justin knew he didn't need to whisper, no one would notice them there anyway, but it was sort of a reflex.

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say he's thinking about lighting one of those candles." Rube just chuckled at the dirty look Justin shot him. "Have to admit I'm surprised, I wouldn't have figured him for a religious man."

"He's... not, really. His parents were Catholic and I guess they raised him the same, but he never goes to church or anything." Justin watched as a priest did... something priestly in the alcove near Brian. The priest didn't acknowledge the other man, but still seemed somehow present to him. If this was where Brian had been spending his Saturdays, Justin imagined the priest already knew that Brian preferred to be left alone. "He says he doesn't believe in God."

"He may not believe in God, kiddo, but I think he believes in you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rube shrugged. "People remember their dead in many ways. That's what most religions are about, in the end, a human response to the mysteries and realities of death. Lighting candles is fairly common, usually part of a ritual on behalf of the departed soul. In your case, though, what with your little mishap and his confusion... I'd say it means he believes you're watching over him."

Justin sniffed and swiped at his nose. Churches were always so loaded with incense. "Pretty piss poor job I'm doing of it."

"I wouldn't say that, kiddo. You may not be perfect, but I think you're doing just fine." Rube laid his hand on Justin's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. They stood there watching for a little while longer before they moved on, but not long enough for Brian to decide whether to light a candle or not.

Chapter 47

It was a day pretty much like any other, except for the bitter fucking cold and, oh yeah, the Post-It in Justin's pocket with the restaurant's address on it. Monique had gotten one, too, and when Rube had passed them out he'd given Justin a look that had been not so much worried as maybe expectant, and asked Justin if he wanted Rube to tag along. Justin told him no, they could handle it. He could handle it.

C. Schultz. Monique had M. Daniels, also known as Morgan-the-idiot-host, and at 1:02PM he and Curt Schultz were going to die. And they -would- die as scheduled, because as much as Justin liked Curt and respected him and even thought he was kind of hot, he knew better than to mess around with his destiny.

Of all the things Justin had bucked the system on and given Rube no end of grief about, the actual reaping had never been one of them. His early experience with an expired soul had honestly freaked the shit out of him and maybe made him take Rube's warnings about that sort of thing more to heart than he would have otherwise. Justin didn't skip appointments and was rarely late; well, with the exception of the elevator accident last August and under the circumstances Justin thought he should get a fucking pass for -that-. Throw in a little reaper gossip and a hands-on demonstration of the ripple effect, in the form of a weekend spent working clean up after one miraculously "saved" soul caused the sudden expiration of about four dozen others... no. Justin might mess with his friends' lives at times if he thought it was needed, but he didn't fuck around when it came to death.

Curt was going to die that afternoon, and as his friend the best, kindest thing Justin could do for him was to pop his soul before it happened. He paused about a block away from the restaurant, pulled out the Post-It and triple-checked the time, and then crumpled it and tossed it into a storm drain.

Unfortunately, Justin's resolve didn't make work any less -weird-. He didn't mean to keep watching Curt out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't seem to keep from doing it, and wondering. He looked okay, were his customers giving him shit, was he pulling good tips? Justin kept having to stifle the urge to just flat out ask him, Are you having a good day today, Curt, are you happy? It wasn't as if whether he was or wasn't made any difference, he wouldn't be any less dead in the end, but the urge was still there.

Justin heard Curt's laugh, suddenly, over the rest of the lunch crowd's noise, and it made him feel a little better. He heard the front door jingle, too, and when he saw Monique walk in and take Morgan's offered hand, he checked his watch and decided it was as good a time as any. He made it to pick-up just ahead of Curt, and when he passed Curt a plate of lasagna his fingers brushed the back of his friend's hand, and he smiled.

The restaurant, the soda fountain manufacturer and their respective insurance companies would fight about it later, but everyone who had actually been there would agree it had been a random, senseless sort of accident. Just one of those things.

Curt jammed his hands into his pockets. "What a fucking way to go, huh?" Everyone had been evacuated from the restaurant and they stood mostly milling about in little clumps on the sidewalk, waiting to give statements or get rides or just... waiting because they didn't know what else to do.

'I've seen worse' never went over well in these situations, so Justin settled for a sympathetic nod. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I didn't even feel it, though, is that because of you?"

Justin lifted his shoulders, sheepish, and grinned a little. "Yeah."

"Thanks a lot, man." Curt nodded his head to the sheet-covered stretcher being carried out of the restaurant. "That would've hurt like a bitch."

"Well, that's sort of what we're here for."

Curt chuckled and shook his head. "And you moonlight as a waiter. Knox always used to say, you had some big -thing- you carried around with you all the time... no one could have guessed it was this big."

Justin didn't know what to say to that, so he just stood next to Curt and watched the police and the EMTs do their thing. Off to one side, Morgan was trying to hit on Monique. He'd never been very bright.

Curt sighed finally. "Guess it's time to be going."

Justin had been looking over the dispersing crowd, and his eyes caught on Knox and Eric, sitting together on the curb. Huddled was maybe a better word for it; Knox was curled protectively around his lover, who was wide-eyed and possibly a little shocky. Eric had been standing not five feet away from Curt when it happened, and a flying piece of CO2 tank had left a shallow score across one cheek. Justin got that sick-fluttery feeling in his gut again. "Yeah. I think maybe you're right. Listen," he turned back to Curt and smiled. "Would you mind if Monique took you the rest of the way? I need to stick around here for a bit."

Curt nodded agreeably. "Sure, no problem. You take care, huh?"

That was just like Curt, polite to the end. "You, too." Justin watched as Curt joined the other two on the sidewalk, and waved as they all started to walk away. He made his way over to Knox and Eric and squatted down on the pavement behind them. Someone had given them a thermal blanket, which Knox had wrapped around Eric to try to warm him up, and Justin grasped a corner of the cloth and tugged it further up Eric's shoulder. His hand brushed Knox's, who lifted his head and gave Justin a relieved, grateful smile. Justin sat with them until it was okay for everyone to go home.

Chapter 48

Justin stood at the back of Morgan's memorial service, far behind the family and friends and the other restaurant staff. He would rather have gone to Curt's, to be honest, but his family had had him flown home to Iowa for burial and that was a little out of the way for Justin, so he'd come here instead. So had Knox and Eric, and even Gray, and that was part of the reason Justin was here, too.

He waited until the end, milled around with the others and stood in line to offer his condolences, and when he was done he slipped outside to wait. He knew Knox had seen him, and he knew he would find him. Justin wasn't wrong.

"Hey." Knox looked good, if maybe a little tired. Eric was still somewhere inside.

"Hey, yourself." Justin nodded, and offered him a cigarette, but Knox shook his head. Justin pulled one out for himself, and dug his lighter out of his jacket.

"I wondered if you'd make it, you haven't really been around."

He nodded again, and tried to get his lighter to catch in the wind. "How's Eric?"

"He's okay. Still a little... he's not sleeping very well. But he'll be okay."

"That's good." His fucking lighter just would -not- cooperate, and he shook it and tried again.

"Sean, hey." Knox stepped closer, and laid his hand over Justin's on the lighter. "Stop for a second, huh? I've called you."

Justin looked up and Knox was right there, his eyes were so open and Justin could tell he'd been worried. This was harder even than he'd thought it would be. "I've been kind of busy. Had to look for another job."

Knox blinked. "The restaurant's reopening in, like, two days. You know they'll want you back."

Justin just looked at him, cigarette still dangling out of his mouth, and sniffed.

"You want to leave."

"I need to."

Knox took the lighter out of Justin's hands, stepped around to block the wind and got his cigarette lit for him. "Why?"

"I just do." Justin took a deep drag, and felt the smoke sting his eyes. "Thanks. Will you tell Eric I asked about him?"

"Yeah." Knox dropped his eyes and moved aside, and Justin thought that would be the end of it, that he could just go and it would be over, but Knox caught his arm as he passed and turned Justin to look at him again. "Did he die?"

"What? Who?"

"Your guy." Knox was searching Justin's face, looking for God only knew what. Justin had no idea what he might find. "Did he die and leave you behind, is that why you still hurt? Is that what's making you go?"

Justin swallowed, hard. This sucked. Knox had been so fucking patient with him for so long, and now when he was finally asking for something... Justin couldn't give it to him. He couldn't tell him the truth, but he couldn't bear to lie to him again, either. Instead he stepped close, slipped his hand behind Knox's neck and tugged him down into a warm, tender kiss. It was a kiss goodbye, and Justin was pretty sure they both knew it.

As they pulled apart, Justin saw Eric over Knox's shoulder, standing on the steps. The kid smiled a little and waved, sort of sheepishly, and Justin smiled back. Then he looked up at Knox, brushed the pad of his thumb across his cheek and told him, "Take care of each other."

Justin meant not to look back, but at the corner he simply couldn't help himself. Eric had come down the steps and was standing next to Knox, and when Justin turned to look they lifted their clasped hands and waved him on.

--

Rube was waiting in the usual booth, alone. Hell, why try to kid himself? He had to be there waiting for Justin, and for once it wasn't because he'd gotten himself into trouble. When Justin slumped into his seat, Rube slid a mug of cocoa across the table to him. Justin sort of huffed at it, what was this, hot chocolate for the poor lonely kid? But he picked up a spoon and started eating the whipped cream off the top anyway.

"You did the right thing, kiddo."

"Yeah, that's what I keep telling myself."

Rube drizzled his waffles with syrup and cleared his throat; he was getting into what Justin thought of as his 'philosophical mood,' he could tell. "Mortal life's a fleeting thing, nobody knows that better than we do. You get to know a person, get used to having 'em around and pfft, they're gone."

"It's not just about Curt."

"What is it, then?"

Justin leaned on one elbow and looked out the window. "Does it ever bother you, all the shit we see happen? 'Cause sometimes I think it should bother me more than it does."

Rube chuckled. "You're just now coming to this? And here I thought you were a smart one. Yeah, you could say a certain... fatalism comes with the territory."

He shrugged. "I'd thought about it, just never got around to asking. But you know... I walked in that day knowing Curt and Morgan were going to die. No one else did. And I'm not that bothered by it, but they sure as hell are."

"What're you getting at, kiddo?"

Justin bit his lip, and ran his spoon around the bottom of the mug. "Just that. If I didn't know anybody else at the restaurant, I could go back, no problem. But I can't...." He trailed off, and sighed. "Eric's still having nightmares about it, pretty bad ones. Knox is more shaken than he'll let on, and I know they're not the only ones. I can handle that Curt's dead, I can handle that I was the one to take him. But I can't handle that they're hurting about it and I'm not."

Rube was peering at him, maybe into him. "You got too close."

"Maybe."

"Well, then learn from that. And don't do it again."

"I -will- do it again. I'm not like you, Rube, I can't live in a... a reapers-only bubble. I'm still part of the world, in a weird-ass, sort of parasitic way, and I need for it to still be part of me. At least a little." He sniffed, and waved the spoon in the air. "Or I'll just go nuts."

Rube was silent for a while, like he was thinking that over. "You'll just keep getting hurt, kiddo."

"Yeah, well. It's my hurt, so that makes it my decision, right?"

Rube nodded slowly, "That's right." Then he sighed, and looked down at his waffles like he'd forgotten they were there. "Drink your cocoa, kiddo, it's getting cold."

Chapter 49

Justin didn't have any trouble at all finding himself another job. He wound up at a newer restaurant, French, and upscale in a way that made Justin refer to it as 'Chez Pretension' in his head. But it was a nice enough place and they put him on full shifts right away and the tips were better, which meant that he could get a better apartment, too.

Moving was a little exciting and a little frightening and a little... well, sad, all at once. Justin was getting to choose his own place, which was something he'd never done before and though his choices were pretty damn limited by his price range, it was still nice. His new place was a bit closer to Liberty Avenue, and sort of on the edge of one of the 'college' districts, where kids his age who couldn't afford campus housing and couldn't find roommates sometimes ended up. It occurred to him that one day, kids 'his age' wouldn't really -be- his age no matter what he looked like, and that would be pretty fucking strange but he supposed he'd deal with it when it happened. For the time being, he was perfectly comfortable around the college crowds. Plus, it meant all the nearby stores probably stocked the snack foods he liked, which was a bonus

But he'd also never -moved- before, not like this. None of his various changes of address in the last year of his life could really count, he'd sort of just been swept along from his parents' place to Brian's and then to Debbie's. Most of what little he'd had at Brian's loft was stuff his mom had brought over for him, and he'd never been sure who all had helped haul it up to Michael's old room. Debbie, most likely, and probably his mom too and maybe even Brian... anyway. Now he was Moving, like a man instead of some freeloading kid, and the fact that none of the people who would have been most proud of him were there to see it tempered his excitement some.

Packing his shit up proved to be more of a daunting task than he had expected. Looking around the place, it didn't seem as if there'd be that -much-, especially considering that the bed wasn't his and he didn't want it anyway, so he'd have to buy one for the new place, but when he got down to it? Justin had a fair amount of crap. It was mostly because his sketch collection had resisted all his well-meaning and frequent attempts at organization, and currently existed as this portfolio and that one and those three over there, the couple he kept by the bed, more under the window seat, various stacks of sketches that he hadn't bought binders for yet and oh yeah, the ones up on his walls, too. He'd had no idea there were that many.

They sort of posed their own problem, too. By the time Justin was done packing, fully half of the boxes were full of his artwork and given the typical subject matter... he just didn't want to have to deal with questions about it. Which left out asking any of his new co-workers for help. When he tentatively brought it up to the other reapers, though, Brandon had volunteered on the spot and Rube had smiled and appeared at Justin's building that Saturday with two other reapers Justin had never met before and a pickup truck. Justin was thrilled that he wouldn't have to leave his chair behind, after all.

Late that day, Justin paused in the doorway with a box of cleaning supplies, and took a last look around the little apartment. He'd spent roughly the first nine months of his unlife there and while it hadn't always exactly been -fun- it had been... something. The new apartment was larger, big enough to hold his chair and a full-sized futon and maybe one day a desk, and nicer, and hopefully only half as infested, but he had to admit that he would miss that early-morning light through the window. He'd miss a few other things, too.

Rube had given him a funny look when he had first mentioned he was looking for a new place and no, he hadn't been itching to move because he was afraid Knox would eventually call or show up on his doorstep looking for him. But maybe it was a little bit because Justin needed to stop -wondering- whether he would, one day. Maybe even more than a little bit, not that that really mattered when Justin locked the door of his old place behind him and moved on.

The move went smoothly, his new bed was delivered on time and he generally settled into the new apartment with a minimum of fuss. And it took all of two weeks for Justin's sketches to spill out of their neatly-packed boxes and once more sprawl across every available surface.

Justin settled into his new job just as easily. On a basic level, waiting tables was waiting tables whether the specials were in Italian or French. The waiters at the new place were nice enough even if none of them was Knox, and if anyone wondered about the new guy's painful secrets, no one mentioned it. To be honest, it bordered on surreal at times: Justin hung out with guys who were not Knox or Eric or Gray, at a place that was not Charlie's, and he never did get any better at darts but he did learn to play a passable game of pool. It was like a slightly-tilted reflection of a life he'd once pretended to have, but he tried not to think about it any more than he had to.

Now and then he went home with Jessie, who had soft dark hair and a soft accent that reminded Justin of one of Brian's old tricks. He liked to fuck Justin on his couch, with both of them trying to be quiet enough not to wake his roommate and Justin couldn't really object to that since he still balked at bringing anyone back to his place. Jessie's weed wasn't as good as Knox's, and Justin never stayed the night.

Justin got the raised-eyebrow look from Rube at breakfast sometimes, but he didn't let it get to him. He understood, now, how much of his life was dictated by his status and how much was his own to control, and if the two sides impacted again like they had with Curt, well, he'd deal with it. He owned his life, and he owned his pain. The insomnia plagued him now and then, but never as brutally as that first stretch of sleepless weeks, and at least the weather was warming up enough that late-night walks were actually kind of pleasant.

The change in season brought with it an up tick in the number of accidents around the city, and Rube said that wasn't unusual. Something about cabin fever, or maybe it was spring fever, whatever. It meant breakfast was usually pretty hurried, though, they all had multiple appointments and there was less teaming up on the jobs. It also meant Justin saw less and less of Rube, though, which was... sort of odd. It made Justin wonder what it would be like when Rube went back to the west coast, whenever he was done with Justin. And what was that all about, anyway? Justin was fine, he was handling his jobs, he'd gotten through seeing Chris and everything else, so what was left? Rube just shrugged when he asked, and said that he'd be there until they told him to go home, and that's all he knew.

On a happier note, spring hit Liberty Avenue the same way it did every year: with a bang. The weather warmed, the layers came off and the queers came out, and some weekends it looked kind of like an impromptu block party, with music and people spilling out of the bars and wandering up and down the street. Justin had less time than he would have liked to enjoy it but he took in all he could. He made it a point, no matter what else was going on in his life, to make it down there at least once a week, and he'd dance and he'd drink and he'd trick, and of course, he also kept his ear tuned to all the latest Brian Kinney gossip the Avenue had to offer.

There wasn't much, strangely, because as boisterous as the rest of queer Pittsburgh was at the moment, Brian's life seemed to be rather quiet. He still went to Babylon and Woody's and the diner, only to the latter a little more frequently and the first two a little less. He still drank, but not as much, and he still tricked, but not as often. Some people thought it had to do with his job, since he sometimes showed up late at Woody's still dressed from the office, and others said no, it must be because Michael had started seeing some new guy, which was startling and somewhat welcome news to Justin. A few said it might be that age was finally catching up to Liberty's top stud, but they didn't say it very loudly and Justin pretty much discounted that idea entirely.

Justin wasn't sure what to make of it all. But he got as close as he dared -- which meant loitering outside the diner pretending to light a cigarette while Michael sat at the counter inside -- and at least determined that no one in the family was worried about Brian, or at least not much. Michael mentioned he was "working too hard," but it was in that same tone he used when 'working too hard' really stood for 'can't meet me at Woody's tonight,' so that sort of fit, and it would just have to be enough. Justin stuck his hands in his pockets and walked away, and wondered about the man who'd sat next to Michael at the counter. He reminded Justin of Curt, in the way that he was really big and seemed kind of nice. Maybe that was Michael's guy. Maybe he'd find that out some night, if he was lucky.

Chapter 50

Justin thought he that he should know all of Rube's moods by now, especially the ones that involved him being upset since Justin was the most frequent target of those, but this was a new one. He looked... grim was the only word for it, and Justin quashed the urge to indulge in silly 'grim reaper' puns because there seemed to be a fair amount of pissed off involved, there, too. But it wasn't directed at any of the reapers and Justin was relieved at that because even though he -had- been good lately, sometimes with Rube you just didn't know. He expected to get -some- clue, though, mention of another mix-up or the reaper version of overtime, anything. But Rube said nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, he said very little at all, simply passed out the assignments and slammed his planner shut.

But not before Justin saw something that made his blood run bitterly cold. He jerked forward and pressed his hand over Rube's, on top of the planner, and looked up at the other reaper.

"Let me see it."

"No."

"Rube!"

"Justin." Rube met his eyes, and he was as serious and solemn as Justin had ever seen him. "Leave this alone." Then he pulled his hand out from under Justin's and tucked his planner away, and got up to leave.

Justin was shaking his head, still stunned. "Fuck. Fuck." He bolted out of the booth, and Rube or one of the other reapers might have called out after him as he tore out the door but he just didn't fucking care.

There had been one more Post-It in Rube's planner, and the name on it was B. Kinney.

Justin was six blocks away before the urge to run drained out of him, and he stopped and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees and praying he wouldn't puke. Brian. Brian was going to die, and Justin didn't know where and didn't know when, though when he thought about it he was fairly sure he'd seen a "P.M." on the ETD before Rube had shut it away. Pretty sure. Almost one hundred percent sure, and that meant that he had time. Time enough to find Brian, hopefully, to -see- Brian, and maybe... Justin straightened, and checked the yellow square he had crumpled into the palm of his hand as he ran out of the restaurant. He had a morning appointment, and it wasn't far away. That was good, because like it or not Justin still had responsibilities, and he'd be fucked before he gave Rube another excuse to be royally pissed at him that day. And then he could try to figure out how to be there for Brian's death without knowing when or where or how it was going to happen. And -then-... he'd badger the fuck out of Rube until he told Justin where and who to lodge a formal complaint with, because scheduling Brian to die today, of all days? Was just fucking -unfair-.


In the end, Justin settled on a tried and true method of being a part of Brian's death, in much the same way he'd made himself a part of the man's life in the first place: he stalked him.

He started just after his appointment with a quick trip to Brian's loft, on the off chance he might have taken the day off of work and stayed home, but no such luck. The windows were dark, which didn't mean that much, but his Jeep was gone and that did. Brian could be -anywhere- by now, the gym, or the baths, or any one of a dozen other places he'd mentioned and Justin was sort of running out of time, but he figured he should rule out some of the obvious answers first and that meant going by Brian's office.

Justin knew where Brian worked, of course. The name on the door had changed, which gave him a quick flash of panic until he thought to check the wall directory and saw that Brian's name was still on it. He was listed higher than he used to be, and Justin thought proudly that all Brian's long hours must be paying off, and he smiled politely at the receptionist and inquired whether Mr. Kinney was in the office that day. She nodded yes, but said that he was quite busy and asked whether Justin had an appointment? Justin didn't, of course, so he made his excuses and picked up a business card and said he would call to schedule one. He scanned the front office for Rube and sighed when he didn't see him, and then fidgeted in the elevator all the way down to the lobby worrying that Rube was riding up in the other bank of elevators right that very moment and he'd miss it, he'd miss everything.

It was fucking nerve-wracking, and he wondered how he had ever pulled this off before without turning into a complete wreck. Well, that was an easy enough answer to find once he thought about it; the first time he had stalked Brian there hadn't been anything so big as a death on the line, just the question of whether or not he could get Brian to fuck him again. It had seemed pretty big at the time, but now... not so much. Justin couldn't rationally explain why -this- was so vital to him now, but it very much was; trying to be there for Brian's death felt like the most important thing Justin would ever, ever do.

Rube wasn't in the lobby of the building, either. Justin pushed through the revolving door and stopped on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what to do next. Well, he was going to wait, obviously, only where? He needed a spot where he could see the door, and the exit to the parking structure, and fuck, part of the side street too in case there was an ambulance, which he didn't want to think about, -wouldn't- think about right then.

Instead, Justin thought about where to wait. And then he thought about what he'd do if Brian left in his Jeep, because contrary to what all the movies claimed, taxi drivers did not react well when you jumped in and yelled, "Follow that car!" Even if you did throw wads of money at them. Justin intended to fucking well try if he had to, though, and if it meant he paid out every bit of the cash he had in his pocket and didn't make rent that month, so be it.

Once he'd found a vantage point, he checked his watch and wondered how long he'd have to wait, and -that- was when it finally occurred to him that he'd left his messenger bag, sketchbook and all, behind him when he'd bolted from the restaurant. Well, fuck. Rube would have picked it up, probably, or asked one of the other reapers to do it, Justin was sure he'd get everything back. He just didn't have it -now-, although, now that he considered it, that was probably a good thing. It would suck to go to all this trouble only to have Brian drive right past him while he was eyebrows-deep in a sketch.

Justin was just going to have to sit there and wait. And smoke. A lot. His luck was holding so far, though, because he still had half a pack left when he spotted, not Rube going into the building as he'd expected, but Brian coming out of it, and on foot. And he didn't hail a cab, either, but turned and started to walk down the sidewalk, right towards where Justin was waiting and watching.

God, Brian was still so fucking beautiful that it made him hurt. Justin hadn't really seen him in months, not since that afternoon at the church, so he took a good, long look at Brian as he walked towards Justin, and then past where he waited, and continued on with the flow of people on the sidewalk. There were changes in Brian, visible ones if you knew what you were looking at, and Justin saw them and noted them and drank them into himself. He had always wondered if maybe that was one of the things that had drawn Brian to Justin, that Justin saw him as he was and not as he'd been in high school when Michael met him, or in college when Lindsay did. Not that it mattered anymore, it was just something Justin thought about sometimes.

Brian was as impeccably dressed as always, in a suit that Justin thought had to be new, but he'd never known enough about the designers Brian favored to tell one from another. He looked thinner, mostly around his cheeks and the line of his jaw, but not gaunt like he had in the first few months after Justin's death. There were shadows in his eyes, and he no longer walked like he owned the fucking world and everyone else just lived in it. Brian was another year older now, and in a way he actually looked his age. Not as if his anti-wrinkle creams and whatnot had suddenly failed him, he didn't look -old-, more like....

Brian looked like a man who had seen thirty-one years of life, and finally understood the ways in which it could twist you apart and -hurt- you, even as you tried to claim that it had no such power. And Justin recognized the signs of it so easily in Brian because he had seen them first in himself.

Justin ground out his cigarette, pushed away from the wall and followed in Brian's wake as he cut through the crowd.

They walked for what felt like forever, Justin didn't think he'd ever seen Brian walk so much other than on a treadmill. He wondered if this was a new habit of Brian's, something the usual gossip channels hadn't picked up on, but then he saw the hotel in the next block down and thought maybe he understood why they'd been walking all this way. There was no parking on this street or the blocks surrounding it, and he didn't think Brian would ever willingly enter that particular parking garage again, any more than Justin would himself.

Justin wasn't sure why they were there at all, when Brian slowed and finally made his way around the long curved driveway to the hotel entrance. Maybe Brian had a late luncheon meeting here, or... God, he didn't know. Justin simply did not know. But he still followed.

Half the hotel lobby was draped in plastic sheeting, and there were signs placed in strategic locations, color-coordinated to match the decor and cutely worded, 'Pardon Our Dust,' that sort of thing. Justin didn't pay them much mind. He saw Brian head down the hallway towards the banqueting rooms and thought maybe he'd been right, Brian had a meeting here and it had nothing to do with his death, nothing at all, when he heard someone call his name.

"Justin. You shouldn't be here." Rube was leaning against a planter, and he still looked just as grim as he had that morning.

Justin straightened his shoulders and faced him. "Well I think this is exactly where I should be. Look, I'm not trying to stop you, or him, or anything. I know better. I just... I just had to see him again. I want to be here when he goes, can you at least let me have that much?"

Rube sucked in a long breath, and shook his head. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, kiddo. But, since you're already here... I guess I can't stop you, can I." It wasn't really a question, and Rube's mouth twisted to the side as he added, "You want to help me find him?"

"Yeah, he went down towards...." Justin turned and scanned the directory at the entrance to the carpeted hallway. He hadn't recognized it from this side, there was direct access from a second lobby in the garage, but the last room listed was 'Ballroom.' He swallowed, and was vaguely surprised at how steady his voice sounded as he told Rube, "I think I know where he is."

Rube followed Justin down the hallway, past rooms named after presidents and planets, and halfway down the hall on the left they spotted Brian standing in front of a set of closed double doors. He was just standing there looking at the doors, next to a placard that declared that this room, too, was undergoing renovations, and Justin got a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Rube, this is so not fair."

Rube shot him a sympathetic look, and he stepped forward and cleared his throat to get Brian's attention. "Excuse me, sir? Do you happen to know if the Constellation Room is in this wing?"

"Hmm?" Brian's brow furrowed, like maybe he wondered where this guy had come from, but wrote it off to distraction. "Yeah, I think it might be further down the hall."

"Well, I guess I'll go see for myself, then, thank you." Rube smiled at him and patted his shoulder, and Justin watched the golden lights swirl across the fabric of Brian's jacket in the wake of Rube's hand and bit his lip.

Rube ambled a couple of yards down the hallway before he stopped and turned around. Both reapers waited, silently, as Brian finally came to some kind of decision and tried the handle of one of the doors. It wasn't locked. It swung open easily, as a matter of fact, revealing more of the plastic sheeting hanging down off the door frame. Brian laid his fingertips lightly on the material, then brushed it aside with the back of his hand and stepped through the door.

Rube and Justin's eyes met. "You could skip the messy part, if you wanted."

"I'm not skipping anything." Justin pushed the plastic aside and followed Brian, and after a moment he heard the rustle of plastic that told him that Rube had followed, too.

The work crew must have either taken a break or taken the day off, because the only living creature in the room was Brian. Most of the lights were off, but Justin could tell that part of the dance floor had been torn up and they must have been doing something to the ceiling too by the way the walls were latticed with scaffolding and there were piles of acoustic tile and sheet rock and other things just everywhere. Brian had stopped again, staring towards the center of the room and Justin wondered what it had looked like that night, to Brian, looking out from here into a room full of fucking teenagers in dress-up clothes, and spotting Justin and Daphne on the dance floor.

Rube's voice was so low it was practically a whisper. "I would've thought he'd go, you know," Rube sort of nodded back towards the secondary lobby with his head.

Justin shook his head. "We danced. Before everything else happened that night, we danced here. We were really happy."

Rube just nodded, and it occurred to Justin to wonder why Brian had come here now, leaving his office in the middle of the day the way he had and all, and then he realized that after the fiasco the night of Gus' birthday, Michael and the rest of the family would be all over Brian like white on rice today. Someone was probably scheduled to meet Brian at the door of his office at five on the dot whether he snarled about it or not, so if he wanted any time to himself at all, to remember or whatever, he had to sneak away to take it, like this. And that made Justin fidget, guilty at the thought that Brian -still- didn't have any damned privacy, and he was just drawing breath to ask Rube if he'd leave for a minute when it happened; Brian moved to step over a pile of planks and laid his hand on a scaffolding strut for balance, and the whole thing rattled alarmingly and came down right on top of him. Justin watched it all, every second.

"Well, fuck." Brian stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the mess. He tried to nudge his leg with a toe, and his eyebrows shot up when his Prada-clad foot passed right through it with a faint whoosh.

Rube patted Justin's shoulder and stepped up to stand next to Brian. "That about sums it up. How're you feeling?"

Brian snorted. "Like shit, how the fuck else am I supposed to feel? I'm fucking dead." And that was just so like Brian, Justin had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a possibly-hysterical giggle, only he must not have stifled it too well because Brian's head came up and he spotted Justin.

He looked annoyed at first, Brian had never liked being laughed at, but then his face sort of... shifted, like he was trying to see something more clearly but that just wasn't possible, was it? And then he -smiled- and called out, "Justin??"

Justin shot Rube a startled look, he had -not- expected Brian to recognize him, but the secretive jerk just shrugged and smiled a little, like he'd known all along that this might happen but he hadn't wanted to get Justin's hopes up. Justin guessed he could forgive him, because Brian was still smiling and had crossed the distance between them in three long steps but fuck, Justin couldn't make his voice work.

"It -is- you?" Brian lifted a hand like he was reaching for Justin's face, and remembered almost too late that he couldn't touch him. Only he didn't know what Justin knew, that there were limits on how much the dead could interact with the world but reapers could do a bit more if they chose. Justin swallowed and nodded his answer to Brian's question, and met Brian's hand with his own, palm to palm.

Brian sucked in a breath and pulled Justin into him, hugging him so hard that Justin came up on his toes and he thought he heard his ribs creak. He didn't care if Brian -broke- his fucking ribs, and he was hugging back just as hard and trying not to hyperventilate.

"Oh God, Justin... what did you do, come back for me?"

"No, I- I've been here, sort of."

Brian let go just enough that he could look down at Justin again, and he brushed a bit of Justin's bangs aside. "Your hair's grown." His voice was so quiet, so tender that it made Justin choke up again and that sort of sucked, because he had a million things he wanted to say to Brian and he could only manage to smile and nod again, and watch as Brian's eyes tracked the changes in him and his mind started to fit the pieces together.

"That was really you, wasn't it, at Boytoy? -You- took me home that night."

"Yeah." It came out hiccup-y, like his voice wasn't sure if he was fixing to laugh or cry, and Justin sort of thought it would be okay to do some of both.

Brian laughed softly, thumbed away a tear and nosed at the hair at Justin's temple, murmuring, "You sneaky little shit." But he didn't sound pissed at all, more like... proud, and then he was kissing Justin so Justin kissed him back, and thought that his perfect, beautiful moment would probably have to somehow involve Brian's lips and Brian's arms. Rube cleared his throat pointedly, but they ignored him.

"Ah... hate to break this up, kiddo, but Brian's got places to be that aren't here."

That, he couldn't ignore. He broke from Brian's kiss reluctantly, and tried to quash the little thrill in his heart when Brian's arm came up around his shoulders and tightened protectively. "I know, Rube."

Brian looked from one reaper to the other, obviously confused. "Aren't you coming with me?"

"He can't do that, Brian. The last leg of this journey you've got to make on your own."

He looked at Justin again, and Justin nodded sadly. "He's right. I can't go."

Brian stepped back a little, took Justin's shoulders in his hands and stared down at him, suddenly serious. "Tell me why."

"Because," Justin straightened and met Brian's eyes squarely. "Because I'm a reaper, and that's what we do. It's not... I didn't choose it or anything, it just happens. Sometimes when people die, they have to stay behind and help other souls get where they're supposed to be when -they- die. I've been doing it all year." He bit his lip and added, weakly. "I have to stay."

"You don't look happy about it."

"I'm... okay." And it was a lie, Justin hadn't really been okay since he'd died and God, how could he -lie- to Brian like this? The answer was that he couldn't, because Brian saw right through Justin's pretenses like he always had. Brian was studying his face, and Justin wondered how much of the last year and how much of Justin's pain he could read there but Brian didn't say, he didn't say anything at all. He just nodded once, in that way he always had when Justin made a decision Brian didn't like, but he was going to accept it anyway.

There was a light overhead suddenly, out in the middle of the room, from somewhere over the dance floor. It was time. Justin took a deep breath and said, "I'll walk with you as far as I can."

Brian nodded again, and breathed like he wanted to say something more but he didn't. He leaned forward and gently kissed Justin's forehead, let his arm slide down Justin's until their hands were clasped together, and led him forward. Justin turned briefly to Rube, praying that the other reaper wouldn't object, but he just nodded a little and waved them on.

Brian ghosted through the pile of debris in their path and carefully helped Justin climb around it as well. They were almost there, and right at the edge of the light Brian stopped and turned to face Justin again, taking both of his hands.

"So this is it."

"Yeah."

"Don't suppose you know where I'm going."

"No... none of us do." Justin chewed his lip, and he knew his palms were sweating against Brian's.

Brian dropped his eyes for a moment, and when he raised them again there was so much sadness, so much of Justin's own loneliness reflected in them that his breath caught. "Don't suppose you know when your turn will be, either."

Justin just shook his head mutely. Brian glanced back over his shoulder and then looked at Justin again, smiling softly. "Are you sure you won't come? They're playing our song."

Justin looked over Brian's shoulder at the growing light, and gasped.

It wasn't just a light from above, it was a -spotlight-, their blue-gelled spotlight and now that Brian had mentioned it, Justin could hear the music, too. And Justin knew then that -this- was Brian's moment, his beautiful place, and that it would have been Justin's as well. If he had died completely dead in the garage below, if he had been called to the other side instead of being made to stay behind in this half-life, the one thing that could have taken him from Brian's side would have been the chance to come back to this moment and dance in Brian's arms again.

--

Rube knew the moment Justin made his decision, it was written all over him, but he still had to try one last time. "You can't do this, kiddo. You can't go where he's going. Come on, let him go and I'll take you home."

But Brian was already backing towards the dance floor, holding Justin's hand in his and tugging gently. Justin paused long enough to look back at Rube and he smiled, the widest, truest smile Rube had ever seen on his face.

"I'm going with him."

Rube shook his head. The kid had no idea what he was getting into; then again, Rube didn't really know either. "Justin, don't!" But Justin didn't hear him. They were already inside, and as the light grew brighter Brian said something into Justin's ear that made him laugh, and Justin spun into his lover's arms and they began to dance. The light grew and grew until the two men inside it were nothing but light themselves, and Rube thought maybe he heard music just before the thunderclap that shook the ground under Rube's feet and left the rest of the hotel undisturbed. And they were both gone.

Chapter 51

Everyone knew.

Some folks used to say, back in the days when conventional wisdom held that the world was flat and was carried around on the backs of elephants, that when the earth shook beneath your feet it was because the very pillars that supported it were trembling. This was a little like that, in that something had disrupted the order of the reapers' strange little world, and every reaper in the area -- possibly every reaper in Pittsburgh -- had felt it when it happened.

They were waiting outside the restaurant for him, all three of the other reapers, standing on the sidewalk like they had been debating with each other whether they should go in or not and Rube could tell they were each shocked and saddened by turns. Monique had Justin's messenger bag, and was holding it tightly to her chest with her arms folded across it. Brandon spoke up first.

"I knew he'd do it."

Rube didn't want to get into that just yet, whether he could or should have kept Justin away from Brian's appointment, whether Justin might have stayed if he had seen something different when Brian's time came... or whether the whole day had just been inevitable from start to finish. So instead he shrugged noncommittally and asked, "You guys hungry, or do you think you could maybe do me a favor?"

Brandon stepped forward immediately. "Are we going to his place?"

"Yep. Just need to do a bit of cleaning up."

Monique hugged the bag in her arms and nodded, and after a quick glance back at the restaurant Pete did as well. Rube cocked his head back towards his car. "I'll drive. We can pick up sandwiches on the way or something."


When they got there, Rube did the honors. The lock gave way with a satisfying click, and Rube tucked the pick back into its slim case and swung the door open, stepping aside to the let the others pass. Brandon was first into the apartment, and he let out a low whistle.

"Holy shit. Did he ever do anything -but- draw?"

Rube snorted, amused. "Yeah, he did plenty besides that. You act like you didn't help him carry half of this up the stairs."

Brandon just shrugged. "It's different. Seeing it all in boxes and seeing them out and... all over the place, like this." Rube knew what he meant. He'd seen it for himself once or twice when he'd dropped in on Justin for whatever reason, but he could still admit that it was pretty impressive.

The three reapers stood in the middle of the front room turning in slow circles, and Rube saw that they all realized what he had already known, that they couldn't leave all of this here for just anyone to find. Pete spotted a portfolio lying open on the bar counter, and started to slowly turn the pages of it. Monique stopped in front of a sketch hanging on the wall, one of Justin's many drawings of Brian, and touched it with her fingertips. "How did he look, Rube? Before he left."

She didn't have to say that she was asking about Justin, and not Brian. Rube knew. "Good. He looked... happy."

Monique nodded at that and sniffled a little, and Pete called out, "Hey, there's one of me in here."

"Probably more than one, kid drew everything he laid eyes on."

"And we're gonna pack it all up, huh?" Rube met Brandon's eyes and nodded solemnly.

It took them the rest of the afternoon and a good part of the night, and they ate through all of the sandwiches Rube had bought and had to call for takeout as well. It was slow work, slower than it might have otherwise been because they all tended to linger over it, and Rube let them. Pete found every sketch Justin had made of his fellow reapers and pulled them aside into a little pile. Monique was most fascinated by the drawings of his family, particularly the little sister. Molly, Rube remembered that that was her name, and he told Monique so. There didn't seem to be any pattern to what caught Brandon's eye -- souls Justin had taken, waiters he had worked with, scenes of that club he went to, Babylon -- but every now and then one page would be carefully set to the side as he worked.

Rube would let them take whatever they wanted. It wasn't as if Justin was going to miss the drawings, wherever he had gone, and reapers tended to mourn their losses in their own, peculiar fashions.

Brandon leaned over and looked at the paper menu Rube was holding, with its sketch of Justin's funeral on the back. "Damn, that's good."

"Yep. He had real talent." Rube hadn't seen the drawing since Justin had finished it, adding in Brian and his tree. He looked at it for a while longer, then carefully folded it along its creases, tucked it into his jacket, and stood and announced he was making a pop run.

Rube came back thirty minutes later with two six-packs, three rolls of postal service approved carton tape and a packet of shipping labels.

Brandon's eyebrows rose. "You're gonna mail them somewhere?"

Rube nodded. "Thought I'd have 'em shipped west."

"So you're leaving now, huh." It was Pete who said it, but Monique was looking up as well, expectantly.

Rube nodded again. "Sal's on his way back, they tell me, he should be here day after tomorrow." He looked around the little apartment for a minute, noting to himself what they were taking and what they were leaving behind, and added. "It's time I went home."
 

THE END
Final word count: 50061