Notes: This is a sequel / companion piece to Together.

I feel like the walking dead when I get off the plane – who's brilliant idea was it that I should come home with the earliest flight, huh? Oh yeah, my own. Must have been because of all the medication they force-fed me. Not because I fucking missed the little shit who was calling me at least twice every day... And no, I wasn't fucking giddy whenever I saw his name popping up... You just have to love caller ID. He's back home, back at the loft... For a moment I panicked when he told me, cause last time didn't work out too well. But things are different, aren't they? And I'm not talking about the piece of plastic that's now in place of the disease-ridden ball they sucked out of me.

Grabbing my bag, I'm hoping that Justin has been smart enough to get me some coffee, or else... Else I might just fall asleep in the car, and then he can try to raise me again. Good luck, Sunshine! But then I see him, and he's holding out a Starbucks cup to me – like a sacrifice or something – and I'm more than happy to take it from him, taking a large gulp before allowing him to embrace me. Yes, I feel gracious today. "So... How is my car?" This has become a running joke between us, and I keep asking him even though he hasn't driven the 'Vette since the day of my departure to the wondrous land of medical geniuses.

He hits me on the chest. "It missed you, you asshole. And I'm fine, too, thanks for asking." I grin at him, but when I realise that he's studying me like he would the Mona Lisa or some crap like that, the smirk turns to a frown. "You look like shit, did you know?" Yes, I am aware of it. But thanks ever so much for pointing it out. "Let's get you home." I shake my head. He glares. And then he steps back, hands on his hips, and glares some more. "You're not going into the office today!"

"Justin..." He shakes his head. "I only want to see what Cynthia and Theodore have been up to, okay? Fuck! I might have to place the agency in their hands anyway – for the time being. So I need to make sure they aren't fucking up anything important..." He's still not convinced. "You have a class this morning, right?" He shrugs. Very wordy – especially for everyone's favourite little twink. "You drive me down to Kinnetik, keep the jeep, and come to pick me up after your class is over. And then you can drive us down to the Allegheny, and I'm sorting out my follow-up treatment." That seems to appease him – for now.

Cause by the time he pulls up in front of the former bathhouse, he's once again questioning if I'm doing the right thing. "Brian... Are you sure about this? You look like death warmed over... And I know how you don't want anyone to know..." Yeah, just rub it in. I'm aware of the fact that I will have to tell someone. Someone who isn't Cyn. Cause she couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it. So ... it will have to be Theodore. Oh, great! When the fuck did the former Crystal Queen become my fucking confidant? Shit!

Justin is about to make more seemingly valid points, but I'm stopping him. I haven't kissed him in days, so... When I draw back, there's this stupid grin plastered all over his face, and he sure as hell forgot what he was about to say. "I'll see you in a bit, alright?" He nods, still a bit out of it. "Later..." He responds in kind, and I'm feeling much better than I felt when I got off the plane. That is, until I realise what my beloved employees have been up to while I was away.

"Cynthia! What the fuck is this?" If those are the mock-ups for the DandyLube campaign, those idiots in the Arts Department are just as bad as Brad and Bob were. "Cynthia!" She's rolling her eyes at me – why the fuck did I steal her away from Vanguard again? – and explains that they had some trouble with the printer, but that it's being fixed right now. "Well, I surely hope so, cause if memory serves, the pitch is in two days! Now get me Theodore." When he knocks, he looks fucking scared, so Cyn must have warned him of my charming mood.

"Sit down, Theodore." He does, looking at anything but me. "What I'm telling you now will stay between the two of us, is that clear? If you only mention a tiny little thing to anyone, you're fired!" He nods so fast that I'm afraid his head might fall off. "I didn't go to Ibiza, I went to Baltimore for a fucking surgery. The big C, if you need to know. Follow-up will start soon, so I'm going to cut back for a while longer. Which means, you and Cynthia will be in charge." He stares at me as if I'd grown another head. "Don't worry, they got everything out, or so they think. And if they haven't ... well, they'll have to deal with Justin. He's the only one who knows so far, and I'd appreciate it if we could keep it that way..." In other words, he's not to tell anyone, especially Emmett or Deb.

"You can reach me by mail, or phone. And if I don't respond, you can try Justin. He's living at the loft again, by the way." Why the fuck am I telling him all this shit? It's not like he's interested in my life – well, except when he wanted to live it... Then why is he smiling now? Ted Schmidt – smiling! The world is turning upside down it seems.

"I would have thought you'd keep this away from him..." Fuck! When did he start to be on to me as well? Did Justin give lessons I didn't know anything about? "I'm glad you're not doing that. I ... I know I never commented on it in any way, but... You really should hold onto him." He sighs, and I get the feeling he's talking about himself as much as he is about me. Not that I give a shit. I'm not! I really and truly am not! Couldn't care less! Fuck!

Four hours later, my personal nurse pulls the door shut behind us while I'm standing next to the desk, gazing around this strange place that once was my loft. Shit! I can't believe how much I missed having his stuff around – all of it. Not just a couple of CDs, and his beloved Yellow Submarine DVD – it had been one of the things I got him for his birthday, before wasting all that money on the Ad, and while I had to cancel certain things like his subscription to Out and a trip to snowy Vermont, I didn't return the DVD. I never told him about the trip I had planned, and I never will. Unless we finally manage to go one of these days...

"Sorry, didn't manage to tidy everything up. I've been painting last night, so..." Yes, he obviously has been painting. The TV is hidden behind his easel, and there's a half-finished canvas – some abstract shit I will have to analyse once it's finished, and I just hate that – and all of his artsy things... He's really here again, here to stay. Here to feed me rusk and camomile tea. I'm so not looking forward to it. But the rest... Having him back at the loft, back in my life in more than one way ... that makes me feel ... content. Okay, it makes me fucking happy, and I know I was a fucking coward because I didn't ask him before.

Only ... I was afraid he'd turn me down. Just like he turned down my help when he had his glorious pink phase. So, in a way this cancer shit was good for something – it got him back where he belongs. And the no tricks in the loft business – it's not a hardship at all. I fucking broke down in front of him, allowed him to see how frightened I was, and it was ... okay, I guess. So why would I need to bring tricks into our home to teach him a lesson? To show him where he stands in the great scheme of things? He already knows it. He's my partner, and as such has a right to know shit about me. And he won't run away like he once did. I think I'm finally accepting that. Just like I accept his love, no matter how wrongly he placed it. I'm glad that I have it, and I'm not going to push him away anymore. Especially now. I need him, and that's okay. Cause he's Justin – my little blond twink...