Maple Grove, Rhydin Three Years Ago"

Jon had hurried home as soon as he could after hearing the news that Correy was ill. He'd explained to his agent and manager that his family needed him back home, and that was that. They hadn't been happy about it - he'd had to put off an important audition and they'd told him he might have to relinquish the part - but he didn't care. Family came first.

He'd barely said hello to his father and sister before hurrying to the main house to look in on Correy, who at this point in time, he thought of as a little brother. By the time he got home, he was exhausted and sick with worry, terrified he was about to lose another loved one, especially one as young as Correy. He was let into the main house by a servant, who then took his coat, and directed him to Corey's room where he was being tended to by a medical staff.

Corey's room was dark and he was definitely asleep. His breathing was very audible in wheezes and soft gasping as he fought valiantly against the pneumonia that was filling his lungs with fluid. There was no sweat upon his brow, though the skin was hot to the touch. The room was stuffy, made so by the closed windows against the winter's cold outside and the stifling heat that rose from the bed and Correy's young body.

Jon talked briefly to the nurses, face pale, jaw clenched, hands shaking while they told him of Correy's condition. How they weren't yet sure if he was going to make it, but he was young and strong and Jon had no reason to worry. All the while, Jon's eyes were on Correy, watching while he struggled for breath, seeing with his own eyes how horribly sick he was, despite what the nurses were telling him. He nodded his understanding, though after a while, he hardly heard them, their chatter like a buzz of bees in his head. He only watched Correy with lips pressed tightly together and eyes full of worry.

When they were finally done chattering at him, they left him alone, telling him to call them back if anything changed or they were needed. Jon watched from the doorway a moment longer, his stomach tied in knots, his heart heavy with fear and worry, before gathering his courage and stepping into the room, which smelled like a nauseating mixture of antiseptic and illness.

Correy's eyes fluttered open, but only a small bit and his eyes traveled over to his visitor. "Hey, Jonny," he whispered, a faint smile creasing his face. His eyes closed again, as his body became wracked with the coughing that speaking had induced. Too weak to even bring his hand to his mouth, he lay there, whimpering between coughs. Hey, Hey, Jonny....can you come out to play....The words of that damned song popped into his brain. It wasn't about him or for him, but it could have been. Jon lowered himself into the chair by Correy's side and pulled it close, reaching for his hand to hold it tightly between his own, the strained smile fading as the incessant coughing stole Correy's voice.

"Easy, Corr..." Jon reached over and laid a hand against Correy's forehead, alarmed at the feverish heat that radiated from his young cousin. I'm here, he wanted to tell him, but he wasn't sure it would bring him any comfort. He dragged the chair closer, as close as he could, unworried about whether he'd catch the illness that had caused the fever.

As most kids do, Correy had caught the flu while attending school. It was his stubborn need to not do anything an adult told him to do that ended him up in bed with pneumonia. And, after the coughing subsided, his eyes opened a crack as Jon's hand touched his forehead. He sighed softly and his eyes closed again. "Why," his brow furrowed, as he fought the wave of coughing that was inevitable. "Shows," and the coughing took back over, lifting his chest and shoulders off of the bed. His head bobbed back and forth as if he was being throttled. He wanted to know why Jon had come back. Jon had a career that they were all proud of with the movies. It made no sense that Jon was beside his bed.

Jon wasn't sure what he could do to ease Correy's suffering, and he couldn't hide the concern from his face. He leaned close, fingers gently caressing Correy's cheek, the other hand clutching Correy's tightly. "Shh," he told him quietly. "Don't talk. Just relax. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Correy's head rolled to the side and he attempted to open his eyes once again. Jon's voice was blurred and so far away. His eyes were bright with fever, but unfocused as the lids opened. He whimpered again, agitated that he couldn't see or hear Jon very well. The hand that was being held was weakly lifted from the bed as if he were trying to point, but fell quickly back down and lay limply at his side.

Jon leaned closer, unsure what it was that Correy was trying to tell him. He smoothed his hair back from his face, his touch soft and gentle. He tried to smile a little, for Correy's sake, but failed. "Helena told me you were sick," he tried to explain. "I came as soon as I could." Jon arched a brow, looking around the room, trying to figure out what it was Correy was trying to tell him. "Is there....something you need?"

Correy's brow creased again and he shook his head. Parched lips parted and he attempted to moisten them with an equally arid tongue. "Jonny," he whispered again, then his face smoothed out as he fell into a doze.

"Corr?" Jon asked, alarmed for a moment when Correy's eyes fell shut. Correy, don't leave me! He pleaded in his head, the words not quite making it to his mouth. He'd known Correy was sick, but he hadn't prepared himself for this. He wasn't ready for this. Jon bowed his head and rested it beside Correy's, close enough that he could feel the heat coming off him. Every time Correy said it name it was like he was pleading with him, calling him, asking him something that Jon didn't understand.

Jon remembered his mother's death and felt a sob rise from deep inside, not wanting to lose Correy the same way. Not yet, not now, not ever. His fingers stroked Correy's hair, and he studied his face while he slept, a familiar face he'd grown terribly fond of, memorizing every feature, every expression, watching him while he slept, silently praying for him to get better.

Correy picked up his hand and laid it atop Jon's head. "No, crying," he croaked out. Keeping his eyes open was such hard work and he fought the battle and lost over and again. "No crying, Jonny."

Jon's heart felt heavy, sick with worry and dread, angry at himself for spending so much time away. He felt Correy touch him and heard his voice, so pathetically weak, and something broke in him. He lifted his head, tears spilling from his eyes to trickle down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them from his face before Correy noticed, the love he felt for him filling his heart with anguish. He wanted to apologize for being away so long, for missing all the things that had happened while he'd been away, all the lost years, but the words died on his lips, unable to form words or find his voice. He only looked into Correy's eyes, so amazingly blue and bright with fever and felt like his heart was breaking

"No," Correy whispered and his eyes fell closed again. The heat rolled off of him like it would off of a sidewalk on a hot August day. Too weak to do much of anything but lay there, sleep was a divine intervention that allowed him to live and breathe outside of his current state. In that world everything was beautiful and healthy. "Love," he whimpered and fell silent.

Jon wasn't sure again what Correy was trying to tell him. Something about love, but he wasn't sure what. Jon watched Correy drift off again, and tears started anew, lost in memories of the past and only realizing in that moment how much he truly loved him.

Jon's eyes drifted over him, realizing how much he'd grown up since he'd last seen him, no longer a boy, on his way to becoming a man, and something shifted in that realization. He reached for Correy's hand and drew it to his lips, pressing it against his mouth, hot and dry, his lips cool and soft. He held Correy's hand there for a long moment while the tears slid silently down his cheeks. This was where he belonged, he realized suddenly, where he wanted to be.

Correy fell into a sleep, his chest rising and falling faintly. His breathing wheezed and the sound seemed to echo in the small, hot room. He was having wild nightmares and dreams, experiences and fantasies all rolling into one. His body never moved, not even a twitch but his brain was on overdrive. Suddenly his hand felt cool, as if dipped into a pool of cool water. In his mind's eyes, he was at an oasis, the pool was crystal clear and called his name.

Jon sucked in a breath and wiped the tears from his face with the back of a hand. He reached over to wet a cloth, wringing the water out and laying it against Correy's forehead, still holding fast to Correy's hand. He leaned in again and spoke, voice soft and low. "Do you remember when we were kids, Corr" How you used to follow me around" Before I left' How inseparable we were?"

Laughter echoed in Correy's head a smile reaching through the fog of his dreams to the here and now. If he was hearing Jon, something was getting through. He was playing hide and seek, Kaylee was off counting somewhere and he was crouched in the closet.

"God, I miss those days. Before..." Jon trailed off. Before what? Before I left. Before Mom died. Before Dad hated me. Before Max. Before....Everything seemed simpler before. "I miss you, you know. I miss..." What did he miss"

The cloth was already dry from the fever's heat, and Jon lifted it from Correy's forehead and wet it again in a bowl of water the nurses had left near his bedside, wringing it out and replacing it, the same thing to be repeated over and over in hopes of breaking the fever.

"You're it!" Correy squealed as Kaylee had opened up the door and tagged her brother it. Jumping from the closet, he laughed as he chased after her. "Kaylee!" He called out in his sleep as the dream changed to a nightmare. He couldn't find her, he couldn't find Jon. He couldn't find anybody. He slept fretfully, moaning softly as his brow furrowed. "No, no..."

Jon licked his lips, unsure what to say, wondering if Correy could even hear him in his feverish state, if he was of any comfort at all. Alarmed by Correy's outburst, realizing he must be dreaming, Jon leaned close, so close his face was mere inches from Correy's. He pressed the back of his hand against Correy's cheek, trying to gently draw him up out of whatever dream or nightmare had hold of him. "Correy, it's all right. You're dreaming. Wake up."

Correy's eyes flew open, unseeing and terrified. "No," he cried, his voice barely audible as his mouth opened in a twisted bow. He screamed and though his body wasn't strong enough, in his mind, in the dream he was thrashing. "Can't find Jonny, can't find Kaylee."

Jon laid his hands against Correy's shoulders, ready to scoop him up into his arms, but not doing so quite yet, the scream terrifying him. "Correy!" He shook him gently, just enough to try and wake him. "I'm here! Kaylee is fine. You're dreaming. Wake up!" Jon was afraid the nurses would come running any minute and they'd pull him away, take him away from Correy.

He pulled Correy close, hugging him against his chest, eyes spilling over with fresh tears. "Corr, please" Come back, come back to me," he pleaded quietly.

Correy was shaken out of the dream and blinked slowly as he here and now came into a blurred and fuzzy view. "Jonny?" He reached up to pat Jon's shoulder with his hand. It landed heavily and slipped off. "Why are you..." he coughed and closed his eyes with a moan. It hurt so incredibly much to cough and now he couldn't stop.

Jon pulled away, alarmed again by Correy's fit of coughing, and then he drew him back in, rubbing his back, trying to soothe the cough away. "Shh, don't talk. Don't say anything." Correy's body felt warm against his, too warm, alarmingly warm, heat coming off him in waves, like a hot summer day, but Jon didn't care. His hand curled around the back of Correy's neck, fingers tangling with his hair, holding him almost like one would a child or a lover.

Correy attempted to give Jon a hug back. It felt strange, Jon was the older brother he never had. But again, his arms slid off and dangled behind him as if he were a rag doll. The coughing subsided and he whispered. "Thirsty."

Something shifted in Jon again, his heart opening like a door, confused feelings flooding him. Suddenly it felt like Correy belonged there in his arms, like he'd waited all his life for this very moment, that the love he'd felt for him was so much deeper than anything he'd ever felt before, and he was both moved and startled by the intensity of it.

Correy smacked his lips and sighed. "Water, please," he wanted to lay back and fall asleep again. The here and now was wracked with painful coughs and a tongue that felt like a pack of squirrels had tap danced there and died.

Jon pulled away again, opening his mouth to speak but no words coming out, in shock and awe and confusion at the tangle of feelings that were knotting his stomach and burning in his heart. He blinked out of his thoughts finally and gently settled Correy back onto the array of pillows at his back. He reached for the cup of water that lay on the table by his side, sliding an arm around his back to support him, while he placed the cup against Correy's lips. He didn't want to admit how scared he was, not now, not while Correy needed him.

Correy sipped at the water, then laid his head back when his lips and tongue were moistened. "I'll be ok, Jonny," he reassured him, the need to felt great. "Love you." his eyes drifted closed and he fell back to sleep.

Jon eased him back down to the pillows and set the cup of water aside, watching him quietly again, worried that he'd lose him without him knowing how much he meant to him, like his mother. Not again. He wouldn't let that happen again. Correy's declaration of love felt like a dagger in his heart, brotherly love having turned to something deeper, something he knew Correy most likely couldn't return. But none of that was important now. What was important was that he get better. Jon pushed Correy's hair back from his face, watching him quietly again, studying his face, suddenly wanting to kiss him. Just once. "I love you," he said quietly, barely a whisper.

Correy sighed, the breath rattling in his chest. His head rolled, his face towards Jon. "Love you," he replied, automatically. "Love you, too."

Jon's fingers moved over Correy's cheek and he leaned closer, a soft press of lips against his forehead, lingering there, feeling the heat against his lips, closing his eyes and trying to will the illness away. Correy's words were like little arrows piercing his heart. Jon wanted to hold him, protect him, keep him forever safe, but he knew he couldn't.

There was something gentle and soothing in Jon's touch that instantly caused Correy's brow to soften and he relaxed. His head rolled back, so that the top of his head was on the pillow, his chin pointed at the ceiling.

Jon's lips drifted against Correy's face, small gentle kisses pressed against his eyelids, his cheeks. "You have to get all better, Corr, because..." Jon paused a moment, his voice breaking. Because I love you, he wanted to say, and I don't want to lose you. "So many people love you, care about you. Kaylee and Caroline and Lola and Gigi and....You can't leave us. Not yet. We love you too much."

Correy was oblivious to it all. While the words and actions registered, it was a confused jumble in his head that wouldn't be remembered twenty minutes from now. He was stewing in his own juices.

Jon drew a soft breath and swallowed hard. There was nothing he could do but tell him that he loved him, and he'd done that already. Jon bowed his head in silent prayer to a God he wasn't sure existed, silently pleading to make him all better. "You can't leave me, Corr..." he said softly. "I won't let you."

Correy opened his eyes and pawed at Jon's leg. "Don't go," he pleaded, his brow furrowing as he became agitated again and the coughing commenced.

He rested his forehead against Correy's for a moment, hovering over him, so close and yet so far. Jon looked into Correy's eyes, so bright and blue, trying to understand what he wanted. "I won't. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. Please don't....Just try to relax." He felt Correy's hand against his leg and caught hold of it, stroking the back of his soothingly, brows furrowing at the coughing. "Shh, just rest. It's going to be all right. I promise."

Correy fought to maintain control of his own body and the coughing began to subside once again. He whimpered and held his arm out to Jon. "Hold me,"

Jon was surprised by the request, but more than willing to comply. He laid his head down beside Correy's and wrapped his arms around him, doing his best not to jar him or make him uncomfortable. He felt so light, too light. "You got taller. You're almost as tall as me now," he told him, making conversation, noticing the change from boy to almost man. "You're so..." He wanted to tell him how beautiful he was, like a young Adonis, but he bit off his words.

Correy rested his head against Jon's cool cheek and felt instantly safe and comforted. While his grandfather had paid top dollar for the best care for him, his own father didn't seem to be bothered to even come in. Jon was the only male figure in his life that seemed to care at all what happened to him. And that comforted Correy immensely when Jon held Correy in his arms. He felt like he were five again and the tears started to bubble up in his eyes, even they felt cool upon his cheeks. He was so weak and so exhausted.

Jon noticed the tears and wondered where they came from, what thoughts or feelings were making him cry. He knew his father didn't care for him; he understood those feelings only too well, as did Ollie. It was a sort of unspoken bond between them that Jon had realized years ago but had said nothing about, making a secret and solemn promise to try and be there for them, especially for Correy who was younger than the other.

He lifted a hand to brush the tears from Correy's face. "Don't cry, it's all right. Everything's going to be all right." How many times had he said those very words in the past, knowing how empty and hollow they sounded, how deeply he wanted to fill that void and make that pain go away.

Correy curled up in Jon's lap, trying to make himself as small as possible. His thumb went into his mouth and he sucked in a breath that ratcheted and rattled in his chest.

"I can't..." Jon sighed, frowning. "I can't stay here forever. But I'll always be here for you Correy. I promise. You're always in my heart." Jon's heart hurt when he saw Correy curling up, thinking he was a child again and perhaps that Jon was his father. It wasn't what he wanted to be, not anymore. Father, brother, cousin, friend....he didn't dare think about lover. He gently tugged the thumb from Correy's mouth. "You don't need that anymore." He dipped a finger in the bowl of water and wet Correy's parched lips. "You're nearly a man, Corr. And I'm....I'm proud of you."

Correy whimpered when his thumb was taken out of his mouth, but the cool, refreshing water on Jon's finger was suckled eagerly. He was so exhausted, so weak. He felt like a small child, a kitten. He could barely nod when Jon spoke before he drifted off to sleep, again.

Jon cradled him, held him there, humming softly, trying to soothe him. He broke into song, singing quietly, softly, soothingly, rocking slowly back and forth, the first song that came to mind, not realizing at first that the words held special meaning for him, or that they would someday in the future.

Look into my eyes, you will see What you mean to me. Search your heart, search your soul.... When you find me there, you'll search no more

Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for You know it's true Everything I do - I do it for you

Jon's voice broke on the chorus and he quieted, just holding him there and rocking back and forth.

Correy sighed as he was held, Jon's voice coming and going in waves as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Something inside happened, he felt a rush of heat to his skin and he began to perspire.

Jon didn't realize Correy's fever was breaking until he felt the heat and noticed the perspiration on his face. He felt a rush of panic at first, worried something was wrong, that the fever was getting worse. He felt like he was burning up. Jon eased him back onto the bed and laid a hand against his cheek, tugging the blankets up over him.

Correy lay back on his pillow, now cool because he'd been away from it. He sighed and his chest rose and fell as he drifted back into the dark, unconscious world. He was sweating, profusely. But the blankets kept any drafts from him and he felt quite comfortable.

Jon settled back against the chair and shoved his fingers through his hair, which at twenty-two, he was wearing a little longer and curlier. His eyes remained fixed on Correy, relieved the fever seemed to be breaking, perplexed by the strange and mingled feelings that were tugging at his heartstrings. He leaned forward again, hesitating a moment before touching him, fumbling with the blankets as if looking for an excuse to be close.

There was a peaceful look on Correy's face as he lay there. His breathing was still ragged and rattled in his chest, but there seemed to be less of a struggle now. And as Jon pulled the covers to his chin, he rolled to his side and laid his head upon Jon's hand.

Jon froze, brows lifting when Correy rolled toward him, his hand caught beneath him, cradling his cheek. He leaned a little closer, whispering his name, "Correy?"

"Hmmm?" His eyes opened a slit and they turned to look up into Jon's face.

"I..." Jon blinked, breaking off, unsure what to say now that he had Correy's attention. He seemed at odds with himself, as if trying to decide what to do. Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Jon leaned closer, dangerously close, his face mere inches from Correy's and then closed his eyes and pressed his lips ever so gently against Correy's, lingering there, feeling the heat of his fever against his lips.

Correy lay still as he was kissed. It confused him and he frowned. He didn't have the strength to fight Jon off. And even if he did, he didn't want to. He just lay there and when it was over, he closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't know what to say, a part of him didn't think Jon should be doing that, another part wanted him to do it again.

It wasn't a demanding or passionate kiss, not the kiss of a lover, not yet. But it was a tender, loving kiss full of promise and wonder, and it set Jon's heart on fire. He slowly pulled away, filled with guilt and confusion. He didn't know why he'd done it, only that he'd wanted to. He thought about apologizing and then realized that in Correy's feverish state, he probably wouldn't even remember it, so he only reached for Correy's hand again and held it between his own, his cheeks flushed and flaming.

"The hell are you doing?" Louis Granger threw the door to his son's room open and propelled himself through the room. His breath reeked of alcohol and cigars. "Get away from my son you fucking faggot! Pervert!" He took a wild swing at Jon, intending to smack him around a bit.

Taken completely by surprise, Jon fell off the chair, the swing just barely missing him. He threw up his hands to defend himself and got quickly to his feet, backing away. "What the hell are you talking about' I didn't do anything!"

"Get away from my son!" Louis raged as he came after Jon. Louis had about fifteen years and a good hundred pounds on Jon as he loomed towards him. "Kissing my son! What the hell, Jon' You're a disgrace! Get the hell out and stay the hell out!"

Jon's eyes widened when he saw the rage on Louis Granger's face, terrified he was going to be beaten within an inch of his life. "You're drunk!" Jon shouted back. "And since when do you even give a shit about him' I care more about Correy than you ever have!"

"You ruined your life, you little faggot! You're not going to ruin his!" Louis took another swing at Jon and sneered. "Just wait until your daddy hears about this!"

Jon stood his ground, hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. He ducked the swing, shoving Louis away. He didn't want to fight, but he'd learned a thing or two from Ollie if he needed it. "You don't know shit about me. You don't even know your own son." Years of frustration boiled to the surface. He'd witnessed years of neglect and near abuse, and it angered him, the anger replacing the fear for the moment.

Louis had moved between Jon and Correy and he laughed out loud. Correy stirred on the bed and whimpered softly. "You get the hell out of this house, and don't you come near my son again, d'you here me" And I'm going to make sure your daddy knows why you've been kicked out. Now go on, you dirty, nasty, perverted faggot!"

Jon's attention turned to Correy at the sound of his whimpering. He heard the insults and the accusations Louis was throwing at him, but his concern at that moment was for Correy.

"I said get out!" Louis reached back and shoved at Jon with all he had in him, intent on sending the younger man out of the door. "He doesn't need your stinking, rotten help! Get out!"

Distracted by Correy, obvious concern on his face, the shove Louis gave Jon sent him staggering backwards to crash into the chair, falling over onto his back, his head clunking against the wall, lying there dazed for a moment. He gazed up at the older man, blinking in confusion. "You don't understand..."

Louis took advantage of the moment and grabbed Jon by his shirt front. He then picked him up and bodily threw Jon out of the room. "Get out and stay out!" The door was slammed and he put his back to the door to keep Jon from entering the room. "I don't want to understand! Get out!"

On the bed, Correy had curled up into a ball with the blankets over his head. "No, daddy, please, no daddy," His breath was ragged and his voice popped and crackled between coughs.

Jon tried to pull away from the older man's grasp, but he was still too dazed from the fall and too stunned to fight back. He found himself thrown again, this time into the hallway, where he collided with the wall. He felt a welt swelling on his forehead, but he wasn't through yet. He tried the door and found it was blocked from the inside.

"If you hurt him....if you lay one hand on him....I swear to God, I'll kill you! Do you hear me?" Jon shouted from the other side of the door. He tried to push the door open as hard as he could, but it wouldn't budge.

Correy continued to cry, until he fell into a fitful sleep. Louis simply kept his back to the door. The image of Jon leaning over Correy was disgusting to him. Boys didn't kiss other boys. He closed his eyes and slid down the door. Eventually, he knew, Jon would run out of steam.

Jon sagged against the door, leaning against it, feeling suddenly drained. The rage melted away, leaving him feeling embarrassed and ashamed. Louis was right. There must be something wrong with him. Why had he done it' It had felt so right at the time. He tried to hear what was going on inside the room, but all he heard was silence, and finally he retreated, collecting his coat, not a word said to anyone, leaving as quietly as he'd come.

He knew when his father found out what he'd done, he'd have to go away again, escape the shame he'd caused him, the shame he'd caused the family, all because of love.

((Author's Note: The above scene is based on live role-play between Jon and Correy's players. The scene takes place about three years ago, when Jon was 22 and Correy was 17.))

San Francisco, CA Three Years Ago... After the run-in with Jon's father and Correy's father, Jon had made a hasty exit from Rhydin. He hadn't even stayed to explain what had happened to Helena or anyone else, too embarrassed and ashamed of what he'd done, though he'd thought it harmless. Hurt and angry, he decided to seek refuge with the only person he knew would understand and that was Max. Two days after visiting Correy, Jon found himself in Frisco looking up Max. He found him finally living in the same apartment he and Max had once shared years ago. Memories flooded Jon as he climbed the stairs to the front door and pressed a thumb to the buzzer that would notify Max he had a visitor. Though he and Max had broken up years ago, mostly due to Jon's career taking him elsewhere, they had remained close friends.

Max had been sitting at the vanity, applying the make up to his face as he prepared for a night on the town. The doorbell had rang, and then a knock to the door. "I'm coming!" he called out as he got up from his padded seat. The platinum blond wig was grabbed from its stand and he flipped it on before rushing towards the door. The robe he wore was a pale green and made of the finest satin money could buy. Tying the garment just as he opened the door. It took a moment to realize who was standing there and when he did realize it, ruby red lips broke into a wide smile of delight. "Jonny baby! Come inside, come inside!" He ushered Jon into the apartment before hugging him tightly.

Despite his reasons for being there, Jon couldn't help but smile at Max and the outlandish outfit he was wearing. He hugged him back and kissed his cheek. "God, you're a sight for sore eyes. You haven't changed a bit. Still as gorgeous as ever."

"Such a flatterer, Jonny. Always have been." he took a turn and whipped the platinum blond hair from one shoulder to another. "So, what brings you in town. I know it's not missing me." He laughed and took Jon's hand to lead him to the kitchen. "Beer, darling?"

Jon let Max lead him into the kitchen, frowning a little at the question. He didn't want to come straight to the point, but a question was a question. He smiled a little and took a lean against the counter while he waited for his beer. "Come on, Max, you know I love you. If it wasn't for my career..." he trailed off. There wasn't much point in going there. They'd been over it a thousand times. "You look good. What have you been up to?" Which really meant "Who are you sleeping with these days?"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Big Time," he laughed and handed the beer over. He took a sip of his own, then gazed down at the bottle as he wiped the lipstick from it. He'd never had a secret before, at least not with Jon; and the question had him thinking. "I've been single for a while. And I love it!" He lifted his head, a smile on his face that shadowed the secret in his dark eyes.

Jon smiled as he cracked open his beer, knowing Max better than that. "Single, huh' No flavor of the week....month....year?" He was dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and navy t-shirt topped by a black blazer, his hair falling in messy curls over his forehead, a pair of sunglasses hanging from the collar of his t-shirt.

"Nope, can you believe it' Ms. Drag San Francisco of two thousand and five and I can't even find a date." He flipped his hair over his shoulder and laughed. There was something vacant in Jon's eyes and he reached to gently touch Jon's cheek. "Are you alright, baby?"

"Yeah, I'm..." Jon's face crumpled when Max touched his cheek. He'd never been able to keep any secrets from Max for long; he always saw right through him. Jon sighed, unsure where to begin, unsure if he should have even come here. "I screwed up big time."

"Come sit down," Max took his hand and led him to the kitchen table. "You sit while Momma Maxxie massages your shoulders and you tell me all about it, baby."

"I don't know why I came here, Max. I just....I didn't know where else to go." Jon didn't mention the fact that he'd been avoiding his agent's calls, too sick at heart to return them; risking losing a chance at a part in some movie his agent thought was important.

"You've always got a place to go so long as I'm breathing, darling." He hugged Jon then, placing a kiss to his cheek. "Tell me what?s wrong, darling. I'll make it all better."

He sunk into the chair at the table and took a long swallow of his beer. The goose egg on his forehead he'd received after colliding with the wall was hidden beneath a lock of curling brown hair. "You can't make this all better, Max. No one can." Jon looked dismally up at Max from the chair.

Max gasped audibly when she saw the goose egg, eyes going wide. "My poor baby! Who did this to you?" He hugged Jon's head carefully, falsies giving Jon pillows to cradle his head. "My poor, poor darling. You must tell me this instant!"

Jon tried to pry himself away from Max's almost suffocating embrace. Max had always loved those damned falsies, but in truth, it was Max's legs that had first caught Jon's attention. "Max, I can't breathe!"

Max let Jon go, pulling up a chair and settling down as if he were the Queen of England. "So, are you going to tell me what?s bothering you? Or am I going to have to bring out the heavy artillery?"

Anyone else might find Max's habits and flamboyant manners odd, but Jon was used to them and even fond of them. It was made Max unique. Jon rolled his eyes at Max's suggestion. "What are you going to do' Tie me up and torture me until I tell you? You know we'd both enjoy that a little too much."

"Feathers, darling. And you're stalling." He leaned back and snatched a pack of cigarettes off of the table. One was tapped out then the pack was offered to Jon. "Seriously, what?s wrong?"

"Feathers." Jon chuckled a little, though there was little humor in it. "You haven't changed a bit." He sighed a little and reached for a cigarette, placing it between his lips and leaning in for a light. "I kissed a boy." Saying it that way, it didn't sound too awful, unless you knew who the boy was and that he was still a minor. It was, after all, just a kiss, but it was stolen, not given, and Jon worried trust had been broken.

"A boy?" Brows went up as he crossed one leg over the other and waved the smoke from his face. "Must have been some boy." He glanced away for a moment, then back to Jon. "And why a boy, not a man?" Oh yes, he'd picked up on that one quickly.

Jon took a puff off the cigarette once it was lit, exhaling a cloud of smoke and leaning back in chair, brows furrowing in thought. "I don't know." Jon paused a moment, realizing he'd been about Correy's age when he'd first met Max. "I could ask you the same thing about me. Why me and don't tell me it was just because I was pretty."

"You were and are pretty," he shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, this isn't about me. Why did kissing this boy who isn't much of a boy if you're using the comparison between us and him. He's more of a man/boy. Anyway, why's this got you all upset and with a lump on your head?"

He took another drag off the cigarette, followed by a swallow of beer, finally starting to relax a little. It felt strange at first coming back here, but Max hadn't changed a bit and he felt as comfortable in his presence as if he'd never left. Jon set the beer down and flicked some ash off his cigarette, unable to hide the confusion from his face, the guilt and shame. "Because he's my cousin."

Glamoured eyes blinked rapidly. "Jon, that's incest!" There were a lot of things that Max would do and condone, but incest wasn't one of them. "Unless it was a kiss to the cheek or his hand or something jokingly. Tell me it was a joke, darling."

Jon looked absolutely in torment over Max's statement. He rested an elbow against the table and shielded his face with a hand, the guilt almost too much to bear. "I know. He's like six times removed or something, but still..."

"Oh my poor baby," Max's hands flew to Jon's shoulders and he pat him on the shoulders. "Well that's not incest. So why are you so torn up about this" What happened that you're not telling me, darling?"

"I'm such an idiot..." he berated himself, his voice breaking. Jon dropped the hand and looked over at Max, who seemed to be serving as his confessor. "It was Correy. I got a call that he was sick and I....I got there as soon as I could. I don't know what happened, Max." The story was pouring out of him now, fast and furious. "He was so sick, burning with fever."

Max kept rubbing Jon's shoulders, remaining quiet and only murmuring words of encouragement for Jon to continue his story until it was done.

"We've always been close, you know" He's like a little brother to me. And I....I was holding him close and....he's not a boy anymore. I mean, he's becoming a man, and he's....he's so beautiful. He doesn't even know how beautiful he is. I think I love him. Not like a brother, like....God, what the hell is wrong with me?"

"You think?" Lips were pursed and his eyes rolled. "You think you love this boy?" Max shook his head and took a deep pull from the beer. "There's nothing wrong with you honey. But you've got to pull yourself together. Tell me what else happened" If he's as sick as you say, he didn't put that lump on your head."

His eyes filled with tears as he tried to sort it all out, turning to look at Max, all the pain and confusion he was feeling still raw and fresh. "Have you ever met someone you felt such a strong connection to you felt like you were meant to be together" That can't be right, can it, Max" He looks up to me like a big brother. I can't love him like that." He hadn't gotten to the rest of the story yet. He was too stuck on the guilt.

Max had never been that lucky. He thought he had with Jon, but Jon had broken his heart just like every other person he'd been with. "Jon, what does your heart tell you? Does it feel wrong" Did it feel wrong" Darling, stop beating yourself up and look inside. That's where you'll find your answers."

"I can't. It's wrong. I know it's wrong, but I couldn't help myself. He said he loved me, but he doesn't love me like that. He was lying there in my arms. He felt so right there. And all I wanted to do was kiss him. Just once. I swear. I didn't do anything else but kiss him." Tears spilled over, and Jon seemed almost on the verge of panic, trying to defend himself against the guilt and accusations that eating him alive.

"Oh, sweetheart," Max was up and out of his chair, holding Jon and rocking him gently. "You're in love and there's nothing wrong with that. You said it yourself, he's not a little boy any more. Don't beat yourself up, darling. It'll be alright. It'll be alright."

Jon found himself returning Max's hug and breaking into tears, feeling safe in Max's arms. If anyone would understand, he thought it was Max. He hadn't yet answered Max's questions regarding the bruises on his face, the story coming out in dribs and drabs. "What am I supposed to do now?" he asked between sobs, clutching Max tightly.

"You live, darling. You live. Go to work, be the fabulous star that you are and go on with your life." He gently rubbed Jon's back and continued to rock him gently. "There's a poem, it's silly, but it's true. If you love somebody, set them free. If they come back, darling, they're all yours. If they don't, it wasn't meant to be."

Jon thought about that a moment, finding it more than a little ironic that Max would say that to him now. He'd loved Max once, still did in some ways, but his career had taken him away, and Max had found someone to take his place. Jon pulled away a little and looked up at Max, face wet with tears. "Is that how you feel about me?"

"Jonny," he crouched then and looked up into Jon's teary eyes. "You are so young and so handsome. What we had was beautiful, but I know I'm not the one for you. I'll always love you, baby. You've always got a place in my heart and my home. But I don't expect you to come back to me. Not like that."

Jon reached out to touch Max's face, his fingers drifting back through that platinum blond wig. "I'll always love you, too. I miss you sometimes. You....understand me."

Max smile, ruby lips parting to show off the split between his front teeth. "We understand each other. Being young, gay and somewhat famous isn't the easiest life to lead, baby."

Jon brushed the tears from his face with the back of a hand. "I wish I was more like you. You're not afraid to be who you are. You embrace it. You're proud of it."

"No, you don't." His reply was knee jerk and he regretted the words when they came out of his mouth. "It took years for me to get to where I was before we met. Before Marvelous Maxxie was Max the skinny little faggot who got his ass beat on a weekly basis."

Jon frowned sadly, Max's words striking a painful cord, especially after the name-calling and harsh accusations he'd suffered back home. "Don't say that, Max. Don't call yourself that."

"That's how it was, darling. And I know that you're going through it now. I wish I could shield you from that kind of pain, but it looks like I'm too late. But you're here, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

(Cont'd.)