FIC: Parameters (12/13)
Title: Parameters
Fandom: Queer As Folk
Rating: R/M for language -- if you’ve seen the series, you’re fine.
Category: Angst, drama, romance, friendship, hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I any way affiliated with the characters, actors, or production company that were part of Queer As Folk. I am however the owner of the characters and places you do not recognize.
Warnings: Cancer!fic (NOT a death!fic)
Dedicated: For gundamnook who asked for this fic as the winning bidder from help_haiti!
Summary: Justin Taylor ignored the symptoms. Ignored the nausea, the headaches, the nosebleeds. But he couldn’t ignore the colorblindness. With a dire diagnosis, he’s making his way back to Pittsburgh for the first time in two and a half years to face the music of his mortality once again.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Eleven.
BRIAN’S POV
The waiting game is back.
The biopsy was positive.
Justin had cancer.
No. Has.
They’re attempting to cut as much as humanly possible out of him right now. More surgery, more waiting, more of the same motherfucking bullshit.
Mostly everyone’s gone. The only people for the Taylor party here are me, Jennifer, Molly, Rae, Debbie, Elijah, Sean, Fiona and Maxxie. Everyone else was either at work or sleeping for the first time in days.
At least the crying stopped. Debbie and Jen were fucking messes. I was concerned with Molly’s complete lack of response when she heard the words. The dyke duo had promptly started to weep. Emmett did some… high pitched wail while Drew tried to console him. Had to give it up for the football fag, he didn’t leave Emmett’s side for longer than piss breaks despite barely knowing Justin. Justin’s friends had gone into varying stages of shock and tears as well, Rae folding in on herself as she tried to breathe. I couldn’t help but notice how close an eye Blake was keeping on her. Unless the former crystal queen decided to experiment with pussy, which is what I thought he had Ted for, I can’t figure out their connection. I mean, sure he got her into rehab for Justin, but I don’t think Blake really keeps in contact with all the people he’s helped as a drug abuse counselor.
Michael and Ben had been there behind me silently giving support as I felt the world cave in. It was one thing to be sure that your lover had cancer. But to definitively know was something else entirely.
That’d been a day ago. Justin had barely woken up and gave his consent for surgery and they were off. We didn’t even get to see him. There was too much urgency in the way Pryce rushed Justin off. It worried the hell out of me.
But presently, we’re all sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.
Hunter hasn’t left Molly alone and I’ll beat the kid to a pulp if he so much as thinks of laying a hand on her. But she seems grateful for the distraction the card game is giving her.
Jennifer and Debbie bonded together in their motherly worry and grief.
Rae and Maxxie were curled up in two chairs across from me, Maxxie’s head on Rae’s shoulder asleep and hers on top of his. Elijah was sitting in the other chair, his eyes watchful of anyone that might be a threat to his friends, while Fiona and Sean were passing out coffee they’d gone to get for the mothers.
“Rae?”
It grates on my nerves more than anything that he chooses to address her in all of this. Rationally I know it has to do with the fact that sometime in the last few years in New York, Justin handed over medical proxy to this girl. But still. Jen’s here, Debbie’s here, I’m here. Or he could address us as a whole.
Everyone’s standing for the news but I just can’t bring my legs to cooperate. I can’t bring myself to stand up in case it’s bad news. And I honestly can’t tell what it’ll be. Pryce looks tired and worn, sweat smeared off his forehead and soaking into crevices of his scrubs.
“How is he?” Rae asks the question that has to be asked in every episode of ER before the doctor can deliver the news. We’re all living up to the fucking cliché.
“He’s resting.” A faint smile ghosts across the doctor’s face and I feel my heart start to hope against my head’s wishes. “As you know, we thought he was stage four, which would be… near terminal. All we’d have been able to do in that situation was relieve pressure and make him comfortable. But it seems he was misdiagnosed in severity, and it was early stage three.”
“What does that mean?” Jen was anxious and the way she wrung her hands made me think she was trying not to ring his neck.
“With this particular tumor, the more tumor we remove, the better his chances are of long-term survival without recurrence.” He smiles finally, “We were able to remove almost all of his tumor. Ninety five percent of it, to be precise. Given that he’s considerably young and in good physical health, and despite numerous allergies, his immune system is great. I’m confident that he’s going to be fine.”
Fine?
Fine?
Yeah, he survived surgery. Thank fucking God.
But he’s still got chemo, radiation, whatever poison they want to put him through. He didn’t feel the surgery, he may have even been unconscious. But he’ll feel every tendon in his body by the time he’s through his first session.
He’s not fine yet.
“When can we see him?” I almost don’t realize it’s me that asked that. My voice sounds like I’ve gone through a carton of cigarettes a day for most of my life.
“We have him in a medically induced coma right now. We kept him conscious during surgery to make sure nothing went wrong during the tumor resection. He regaled us with colorful stories.” There’s a fond tilt to his mouth now, “But we want him to rest for awhile, so that his mind can heal itself of as much pain as possible. If we didn’t have him in the coma, and had him on constant amounts of morphine, he’d more than likely be constantly asleep anyways, so this is the safest bet for now. We can monitor his brain activity better.”
“Were there any complications during the surgery?” The breeder-dyke asks the question no one wanted to, and I don’t know whether to hate her or be grateful. Because if she didn’t, I don’t think I’d have been able to and we’d never know.
“Brain surgery is the most delicate procedure someone can do. But this surgery was my specialty. Justin’s brain held up fine, but his body couldn’t handle the anxiety and stress and he did lose consciousness and go tachycardic. He didn’t crash specifically, but we were able to lower his heart rate and continue with the procedure. He showed no signs of any brain trauma from the surgery.”
“Was that possible? Brain trauma? Like you could’ve fucked up?”
“Eli,” Sean admonishes him, “Brain tumors can compromise any part of the brain. That’s why Jus was having memory problems, like he told Rae. There’s always a minimal possibility of error.”
“But I assure you, there wasn’t here.” Pryce immediately reassured before looking back at Sean, “Med student?”
“Nurse.”
Oh yeah, no doubt about this fag.
“Ah, well.” At least Pryce’s smile doesn’t have any condescension in it. Good, I don’t think any of us could handle a queen out, “I often say that the nurses see and hear more than us doctors, so listen to your friend. Now, aside from setting up Justin’s therapy appointments once we can assess him better, I would say that Justin’s out of the woods.”
“We just have to wait for him to wake up?”
I tune out the rest of the conversation. Justin’s still alive. He’s still breathing, and his heart’s still beating, and he’s alive somewhere in the hospital.
Pryce leaves, everyone hugs and goes to sit in their chairs.
It’s a waiting game again.
Will he wake up? Last time his brain fucked with him, he was in a coma for three days. How long could this one last? People don’t always come out of medically induced comas, do they?
I had sequestered myself away from everyone. I didn’t want their fucking chit chat trying to distract me. I want to be in the moment. I want to feel all of this and fucking punish myself for putting Justin through this all at once. He found out I had cancer after the surgery, but through the radiation. The radiation was worse and being there for the surgery, listening to the doctors, might have prepared him better.
I was a fucking twat.
“Justin’s a twat.” The voice is quiet as it plops next to me, and the unfamiliar female is entirely unwelcome.
“Nice thing to say about someone who just got their brain cut apart.” There are a lot of things I’ll tolerate for Justin. Or used to. Staying home from Babylon occasionally to fuck only him all night. Watching Yellow Submarine sixteen million times. Carbs in the cabinets. His easy ability to leave me.
She… Rae… will not be on that list.
“He told me to give this to you.” Her fist opens. It’s red and white from clenching so hard, and the impression of a chain and ring are deeply visible as her thumb shifts over the necklace. “He wanted me to tell you that if he dies, you better put it on the right finger and bury him with it or he’ll haunt your ass. And now that we know he’ll live… you better put it on the right finger and mean it, or he’ll kill you. Those were his words. I just didn’t want to give it to you while he was in surgery and put bad juju all over it.”
I stare at the wedding ring. Regardless, he wants me to fit it onto his left ring finger and leave it there. Am I ready for that? I mean, it’s another day, another time I’ve almost lost him. But I don’t want it to be about the fucking stress of the situation. Not again, not like the bombing.
I fucking panicked. Not my most shining moment. I’d meant it… I just did it all out of fear. And he deserves me to do it because I believe in us enough to commit to a fucking marriage. Commit to him. Go over terms of monogamy and tricking. Join accounts and share property. Be equal as he called it.
Am I ready to give him what he deserves?
“I love Justin.” Is she still here? “But… New York isn’t where he should be. He should be here.” She doesn’t like me (feeling’s mutual) but she’s championing Justin and I getting back together? “For some unknown reason Justin loves you. He needs you. But you need to treat him better…”
“Now wait a fucking minute…”
“Don’t get your thong in a bunch. I’m just saying. Justin deserves to be treated like a king. So do it.” Well at least the bitch is getting up and walking away. Back to her friends. Back to Justin’s friends. Or… fuck. She’s coming back. “You own your own business, yeah? I’m sure there are weekends you have to go away for to drum up business so you don’t fail, right?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that, but yes.” Relax, relax the jaw. I don’t need to pay for Veneers when I have perfectly fine teeth already.
“Justin can paint anywhere in the world and go on business trips to wherever the fuck he needs to. He’s not happy in New York, Kinney. So bring him back here and make him happy. After everything…” Her face darkens and I wonder what the hell Sunshine’s been up to in New York, “He deserves happiness. So give it to him. Or let him go.”
I never really thought I’d actually miss Daphne, I mean she was okay to have around, but this chick leaves something to be desired. Lots, actually.
But her words can’t stop ringing through my head. Justin’s not happy. Justin can paint from anything. Let him go.
I’d known all of these things. If he’d been happy, he’d have been calling Debbie non-stop. Linds too. Which meant I’d have been hearing about it all from them, how Sunshine was this, Sunshine was that. But there’d been nothing.
And I’m not some moron who doesn’t know about commuting. New York’s only five hours away by car. Less by flight. It’d be expensive with rising gas prices, but I could help him. Whether he wanted me to or not. But Justin needed to experience things. And even though it meant he had to experience them without me, he had to do it. I wouldn’t let him sacrifice everything.
For me.
--------------------------------------
Author’s Note: I’m really sorry everyone! I’ve been really sick lately, and I haven’t had enough energy to have the brain capacity for this. And I needed it because I really disliked the original version of this chapter. So I started rewriting it. And this is where I stopped. But I’ve struggled trying to get it to continue, because for me, this chapter just feels done. So I figured I’d post this as an apology for the unintended long gap between chapters and finish writing the rest today and tomorrow, and then just join the epilogue with that full length chapter.
Again, sorry for the long update gap!
♥ Ashley
Fandom: Queer As Folk
Rating: R/M for language -- if you’ve seen the series, you’re fine.
Category: Angst, drama, romance, friendship, hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I any way affiliated with the characters, actors, or production company that were part of Queer As Folk. I am however the owner of the characters and places you do not recognize.
Warnings: Cancer!fic (NOT a death!fic)
Dedicated: For gundamnook who asked for this fic as the winning bidder from help_haiti!
Summary: Justin Taylor ignored the symptoms. Ignored the nausea, the headaches, the nosebleeds. But he couldn’t ignore the colorblindness. With a dire diagnosis, he’s making his way back to Pittsburgh for the first time in two and a half years to face the music of his mortality once again.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Eleven.
BRIAN’S POV
The waiting game is back.
The biopsy was positive.
Justin had cancer.
No. Has.
They’re attempting to cut as much as humanly possible out of him right now. More surgery, more waiting, more of the same motherfucking bullshit.
Mostly everyone’s gone. The only people for the Taylor party here are me, Jennifer, Molly, Rae, Debbie, Elijah, Sean, Fiona and Maxxie. Everyone else was either at work or sleeping for the first time in days.
At least the crying stopped. Debbie and Jen were fucking messes. I was concerned with Molly’s complete lack of response when she heard the words. The dyke duo had promptly started to weep. Emmett did some… high pitched wail while Drew tried to console him. Had to give it up for the football fag, he didn’t leave Emmett’s side for longer than piss breaks despite barely knowing Justin. Justin’s friends had gone into varying stages of shock and tears as well, Rae folding in on herself as she tried to breathe. I couldn’t help but notice how close an eye Blake was keeping on her. Unless the former crystal queen decided to experiment with pussy, which is what I thought he had Ted for, I can’t figure out their connection. I mean, sure he got her into rehab for Justin, but I don’t think Blake really keeps in contact with all the people he’s helped as a drug abuse counselor.
Michael and Ben had been there behind me silently giving support as I felt the world cave in. It was one thing to be sure that your lover had cancer. But to definitively know was something else entirely.
That’d been a day ago. Justin had barely woken up and gave his consent for surgery and they were off. We didn’t even get to see him. There was too much urgency in the way Pryce rushed Justin off. It worried the hell out of me.
But presently, we’re all sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.
Hunter hasn’t left Molly alone and I’ll beat the kid to a pulp if he so much as thinks of laying a hand on her. But she seems grateful for the distraction the card game is giving her.
Jennifer and Debbie bonded together in their motherly worry and grief.
Rae and Maxxie were curled up in two chairs across from me, Maxxie’s head on Rae’s shoulder asleep and hers on top of his. Elijah was sitting in the other chair, his eyes watchful of anyone that might be a threat to his friends, while Fiona and Sean were passing out coffee they’d gone to get for the mothers.
“Rae?”
It grates on my nerves more than anything that he chooses to address her in all of this. Rationally I know it has to do with the fact that sometime in the last few years in New York, Justin handed over medical proxy to this girl. But still. Jen’s here, Debbie’s here, I’m here. Or he could address us as a whole.
Everyone’s standing for the news but I just can’t bring my legs to cooperate. I can’t bring myself to stand up in case it’s bad news. And I honestly can’t tell what it’ll be. Pryce looks tired and worn, sweat smeared off his forehead and soaking into crevices of his scrubs.
“How is he?” Rae asks the question that has to be asked in every episode of ER before the doctor can deliver the news. We’re all living up to the fucking cliché.
“He’s resting.” A faint smile ghosts across the doctor’s face and I feel my heart start to hope against my head’s wishes. “As you know, we thought he was stage four, which would be… near terminal. All we’d have been able to do in that situation was relieve pressure and make him comfortable. But it seems he was misdiagnosed in severity, and it was early stage three.”
“What does that mean?” Jen was anxious and the way she wrung her hands made me think she was trying not to ring his neck.
“With this particular tumor, the more tumor we remove, the better his chances are of long-term survival without recurrence.” He smiles finally, “We were able to remove almost all of his tumor. Ninety five percent of it, to be precise. Given that he’s considerably young and in good physical health, and despite numerous allergies, his immune system is great. I’m confident that he’s going to be fine.”
Fine?
Fine?
Yeah, he survived surgery. Thank fucking God.
But he’s still got chemo, radiation, whatever poison they want to put him through. He didn’t feel the surgery, he may have even been unconscious. But he’ll feel every tendon in his body by the time he’s through his first session.
He’s not fine yet.
“When can we see him?” I almost don’t realize it’s me that asked that. My voice sounds like I’ve gone through a carton of cigarettes a day for most of my life.
“We have him in a medically induced coma right now. We kept him conscious during surgery to make sure nothing went wrong during the tumor resection. He regaled us with colorful stories.” There’s a fond tilt to his mouth now, “But we want him to rest for awhile, so that his mind can heal itself of as much pain as possible. If we didn’t have him in the coma, and had him on constant amounts of morphine, he’d more than likely be constantly asleep anyways, so this is the safest bet for now. We can monitor his brain activity better.”
“Were there any complications during the surgery?” The breeder-dyke asks the question no one wanted to, and I don’t know whether to hate her or be grateful. Because if she didn’t, I don’t think I’d have been able to and we’d never know.
“Brain surgery is the most delicate procedure someone can do. But this surgery was my specialty. Justin’s brain held up fine, but his body couldn’t handle the anxiety and stress and he did lose consciousness and go tachycardic. He didn’t crash specifically, but we were able to lower his heart rate and continue with the procedure. He showed no signs of any brain trauma from the surgery.”
“Was that possible? Brain trauma? Like you could’ve fucked up?”
“Eli,” Sean admonishes him, “Brain tumors can compromise any part of the brain. That’s why Jus was having memory problems, like he told Rae. There’s always a minimal possibility of error.”
“But I assure you, there wasn’t here.” Pryce immediately reassured before looking back at Sean, “Med student?”
“Nurse.”
Oh yeah, no doubt about this fag.
“Ah, well.” At least Pryce’s smile doesn’t have any condescension in it. Good, I don’t think any of us could handle a queen out, “I often say that the nurses see and hear more than us doctors, so listen to your friend. Now, aside from setting up Justin’s therapy appointments once we can assess him better, I would say that Justin’s out of the woods.”
“We just have to wait for him to wake up?”
I tune out the rest of the conversation. Justin’s still alive. He’s still breathing, and his heart’s still beating, and he’s alive somewhere in the hospital.
Pryce leaves, everyone hugs and goes to sit in their chairs.
It’s a waiting game again.
Will he wake up? Last time his brain fucked with him, he was in a coma for three days. How long could this one last? People don’t always come out of medically induced comas, do they?
I had sequestered myself away from everyone. I didn’t want their fucking chit chat trying to distract me. I want to be in the moment. I want to feel all of this and fucking punish myself for putting Justin through this all at once. He found out I had cancer after the surgery, but through the radiation. The radiation was worse and being there for the surgery, listening to the doctors, might have prepared him better.
I was a fucking twat.
“Justin’s a twat.” The voice is quiet as it plops next to me, and the unfamiliar female is entirely unwelcome.
“Nice thing to say about someone who just got their brain cut apart.” There are a lot of things I’ll tolerate for Justin. Or used to. Staying home from Babylon occasionally to fuck only him all night. Watching Yellow Submarine sixteen million times. Carbs in the cabinets. His easy ability to leave me.
She… Rae… will not be on that list.
“He told me to give this to you.” Her fist opens. It’s red and white from clenching so hard, and the impression of a chain and ring are deeply visible as her thumb shifts over the necklace. “He wanted me to tell you that if he dies, you better put it on the right finger and bury him with it or he’ll haunt your ass. And now that we know he’ll live… you better put it on the right finger and mean it, or he’ll kill you. Those were his words. I just didn’t want to give it to you while he was in surgery and put bad juju all over it.”
I stare at the wedding ring. Regardless, he wants me to fit it onto his left ring finger and leave it there. Am I ready for that? I mean, it’s another day, another time I’ve almost lost him. But I don’t want it to be about the fucking stress of the situation. Not again, not like the bombing.
I fucking panicked. Not my most shining moment. I’d meant it… I just did it all out of fear. And he deserves me to do it because I believe in us enough to commit to a fucking marriage. Commit to him. Go over terms of monogamy and tricking. Join accounts and share property. Be equal as he called it.
Am I ready to give him what he deserves?
“I love Justin.” Is she still here? “But… New York isn’t where he should be. He should be here.” She doesn’t like me (feeling’s mutual) but she’s championing Justin and I getting back together? “For some unknown reason Justin loves you. He needs you. But you need to treat him better…”
“Now wait a fucking minute…”
“Don’t get your thong in a bunch. I’m just saying. Justin deserves to be treated like a king. So do it.” Well at least the bitch is getting up and walking away. Back to her friends. Back to Justin’s friends. Or… fuck. She’s coming back. “You own your own business, yeah? I’m sure there are weekends you have to go away for to drum up business so you don’t fail, right?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that, but yes.” Relax, relax the jaw. I don’t need to pay for Veneers when I have perfectly fine teeth already.
“Justin can paint anywhere in the world and go on business trips to wherever the fuck he needs to. He’s not happy in New York, Kinney. So bring him back here and make him happy. After everything…” Her face darkens and I wonder what the hell Sunshine’s been up to in New York, “He deserves happiness. So give it to him. Or let him go.”
I never really thought I’d actually miss Daphne, I mean she was okay to have around, but this chick leaves something to be desired. Lots, actually.
But her words can’t stop ringing through my head. Justin’s not happy. Justin can paint from anything. Let him go.
I’d known all of these things. If he’d been happy, he’d have been calling Debbie non-stop. Linds too. Which meant I’d have been hearing about it all from them, how Sunshine was this, Sunshine was that. But there’d been nothing.
And I’m not some moron who doesn’t know about commuting. New York’s only five hours away by car. Less by flight. It’d be expensive with rising gas prices, but I could help him. Whether he wanted me to or not. But Justin needed to experience things. And even though it meant he had to experience them without me, he had to do it. I wouldn’t let him sacrifice everything.
For me.
--------------------------------------
Author’s Note: I’m really sorry everyone! I’ve been really sick lately, and I haven’t had enough energy to have the brain capacity for this. And I needed it because I really disliked the original version of this chapter. So I started rewriting it. And this is where I stopped. But I’ve struggled trying to get it to continue, because for me, this chapter just feels done. So I figured I’d post this as an apology for the unintended long gap between chapters and finish writing the rest today and tomorrow, and then just join the epilogue with that full length chapter.
Again, sorry for the long update gap!
♥ Ashley