FIC: Parameters (6/10)
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.
BRIAN’S POV
You’re gonna be okay, Christ, you’re gonna be okay.
Sir, please don’t move him!
Fuck off!
Sir, please! The slightest movement with head trauma could result in brain damage.
You need to fix him. You have no fucking clue how important he is… what he’s gonna do for this world.
I’m sure, sir. But we need you to back up so that we can take him to the hospital and get him fixed. We’ll be going to Allegheny if you’d like to follow…
I’m going with him!
Sir…
No! I’m his partner, I’m fucking going with him!
The ambulance was the exact same that I remembered from those years ago when the blond laid on a gurney, blood pouring from his head. This time there was a minimal amount of blood, a small trail from his nose, but the deathly pale pallor was enough to make my stomach roll in the same way it did over 6 years ago.
It had the same equipment, the same boy laying there, the same stoic EMTs, the same wobble as the bus raced through the streets.
When I couldn’t wake him myself, I finally gave up and called fucking 911, even though I knew he’d hate me for it. Goddamn hospitals. It was bad enough I had to be there with him twice -- when he was bashed and when he was checked out officially at the hospital after the bombing. Now there was something else fucking wrong with him.
“Sir, does he have any allergies?”
“Fucking everything.” My voice sounded like gravel being scraped.
She rattled off different medicines, and I could only tell her whether or not he was allergic to them. Could only tell her that I didn’t know if he had any medical problems at the moment. If he was on any medications. I hadn’t seen him in over two years. Hadn’t talked to him. ‘Cause I was a fucking idiot.
She dug through his pockets and came up with a pill bottle, “Does he have any history of seizures or epilepsy?”
“No. He was bashed six years ago. Took a baseball bat to his head and it affected his motor skills. His right hand spasms sometimes, but that’s it.”
Her eyes darted from my face to Justin’s unconscious one, and I felt the urge to vomit. What the fuck didn’t I know?
I didn’t see him after they took him out of the ambulance for three hours. I’d called Debbie and gotten Jennifer’s new number, and she showed up with her little boy toy and an irate woman in tow.
After explaining what had happened to Justin, they all seemed to share the same exact knowing look and I wanted to ring their necks when they refused to tell me what the fuck was going on with Justin.
He’ll tell you himself, Brian. It’s his to tell.
It’d been a long time since I’d wanted to hate Jennifer.
We were into the first hour when a man in his late 40s appeared in casual but neat clothing, a folder wedged between his side and elbow as he greeted Rae.
I watched them shake hands and she called him Richard.
The new fucking boyfriend. Guess Justin keeps going older and older. This one has at least twenty years on him. I don’t know if it’s an ego stroke or insult for me, though.
I was curious when Jennifer tried to insinuate her way into the conversation, clearly never having met the man. Even more interesting. What the fuck was going on?
I heard the doctor say he was gonna go check on Justin, and then he was gone. It was me, Jennifer, Tucker and this chick Rae in the waiting room. She made a lot of phone calls, and from the way she said not to waste the five hours without more information, it confirmed that she was someone from Justin’s New York life.
It was nearing the end of the third hour, when she finally exploded. I’d been waiting for her to acknowledge me, to make the first move and find out who the fuck she is exactly, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” She came at me with one arm folded under her chest, her other elbow resting over a tightly closed fist. I recognized the stance from when Jack tried to refrain from hitting me in public.
“Brian Fucking Kinney.”
“Oh, get the fuck over that. Justin told me all about that, about you. I know how you want guys to fall to their knees before you, but don’t you think this is being a little too literal? The last thing Justin needs right now is you complicating things further and causing him more stress!”
“Hey, he came to me! He sought me out! I wanted nothing to do with him. I was getting on fine with my life without him.” Okay, that was a blue faced lie, but some dyke on the rag didn’t need to know about that.
“God, whatever! You have no idea what’s going on here. You don’t need to be here. You’re the reason we’re all here in the first place.”
“Don’t fuck with me, little girl.” I’d heard enough as I stepped up to her, towering at least a good cock’s length above her as I resisted the urge to punch her. “You may think you know shit, but you don’t have the slightest clue about me and Justin.”
“Just like you don’t have the slightest clue what’s happened to him in the last two years. What’s happening to him right now. If you did, you’d understand why I’m trying to protect my friend.”
“From what?”
“From you!”
My heart clenches in a vice as the realization sinks in that something is seriously wrong here. Something that Justin was trying to tell me and I was being a fucking shit about it. Christ!
“Rachael?” We all look to the handsome Doctor Richard Pryce. “He’s asking for you.”
I think Jennifer and I are wearing the same exact expression. Hers is open to the world, and mine is just hidden beneath my usual façade. We’re both crushed that we weren’t the first to be asked for by Justin. But I’m guessing this Mel-alike is someone that Justin’s close to. Probably his roommate.
Neither of us had to wait long, Rae came back out with a remarkably interesting blend of pale redness about her. Like she was sick but angry. I didn’t think I wanted to go see Justin anymore. She clenched her fists at her thighs, “He wants to see you.” She said through tightened teeth, glaring at me.
I wasn’t about to admit that my face showed any signs of smugness as I passed her, but apparently it did if the fire in her eyes was any indication.
‘The long walk to the door’ seemed a little too fucking clichéd in my own mind, but Christ if it didn’t feel really long. I felt like everything was slowing down. People, time, my heart. I couldn’t shake this feeling. Something I had on a clear night with steam rising from grates in the cement, a precocious little twat leaning against a lamppost.
My life was about to change.
The door was already opened, so I didn’t have to stand outside of it like some lesbian wondering whether or not I should go in. Whether or not I was strong enough to go in.
He was already standing, pulling back on his soft black jacket, fingering the scarf on the bed. Dick was standing on the other side of the bed, dressed in an official lab coat, arguing with the ubiquitous Justin Taylor that he really needed to stay in the hospital until Wednesday.
It’s Friday. What’s so bad that he needs four days in a hospital bed? Repercussions from the bashing? Something new?
Justin tensed slightly before turning his head slowly to look at me. He was paler than normal, a splotchy stain standing out below his left nostril. Reddened. From the bloodied nose he had.
Dickie seemed to sense something and straightened his spine, telling Justin to think about his medical opinion and to call him if he changed his mind, before exiting the room with a courteous nod towards me. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but really, all I could see was Justin.
“What’s wrong?” I got straight to the point. I needed to know.
He chuckled mirthlessly, ripping his scarf from the bed. He looked to the ceiling, and I think he was slightly disappointed that there weren’t any beams he could quickly hang himself from.
“First off, Doctor Pryce isn’t my husband. He’s straight with three kids, a wife and apparently his 16 year old daughter is a lesbian. He told me to make sure I knew my treatment wouldn’t experience any homophobia. He… he’s a world-renowned brain surgeon.”
Treatment?
Brain surgeon?
“Trauma from…?” I still can’t say it. The bashing. So I helplessly gesture towards my head, unable to look at him.
“I’m sick, Brian. I have cancer.”
I mock people that use terms like the world stopped spinning or my blood ran cold, but fucking chop off my dick if my blood didn’t turn to ice.
Cancer.
Justin has cancer.
I can’t…
It doesn’t seem fucking logical.
“No.” That seemed resolute. “Just… no. You don’t have cancer. You look fine. You’re fine.”
“Brian, Brian.”
He was trying to get my attention, reaching for me, stepping toward me but never getting closer and I realized I was backing up like a fucking pussy. Like if he touched me, it’d be real. So he can’t. I can’t let him touch me.
“You have all your hair. You haven’t had a biopsy, it’ll be benign and then we’ll make fun of your Pink Posse days while your hair grows back.”
“Brian, it’s not benign. Doctor Pryce said that at the progressive rate it’s grown, it’s most likely cancerous.”
Chemotherapy.
Radiation.
Fuck, no. Sunshine was too good for that. He didn’t deserve that punishment.
“Brian, please.”
I finally look up at his face and he’s paler than before and wet with tears that have gathered from each eye on the underside of his chin, and dropped off in fat droplets onto the floor.
I felt the urge to dry his face. I must be growing a twat, but fuck it if I couldn’t stand to see him cry. He was stronger than this, stronger than tears. He’s the bravest fucking person I know.
I walked forward, standing in front of him, so close that I could feel the wide berth of his breath on my collarbone before he sunk to his knees, anguish tearing from his throat.
Fuck, no no no no no no no.
I felt the pain reverberate from my knees, to my spine, all the way through my body as I followed him to the floor, folding my arms around him tighter than I’ve ever held him. Tighter than when his blood was pouring from his head. Tighter than when he was covered in soot and ash. Tighter than when he left for New York.
The world stopped spinning.
-------------------------------
Author’s Notes: The last half of this chapter and the next chapter are my favorites that I’ve wrote for this series, so I really hope you enjoy this! The next chapter will be up either tomorrow night or Tuesday morning, as normal. And I have good news… kinda.
For anyone waiting on the Fragments sequel, Flashpoint, it’ll be coming a lot faster than planned. I have had very little time lately, and what time I’ve had, I’ve used to work on this, so I only have about 3,000 words of the story done. I was planning on entering it in the qafbigbang but the minimum is 10,000 words. The rough drafts are due in 8 days with 80% of the fic complete. Now… I can do a lot, but I’m projecting the story to be between 18,000 and 25,000 words if everything goes according to plan. There’s no way I can write that much in 8 days with my personal schedule. So you probably won’t have to wait ‘til the end of April for the story! I’ll start working on it as soon as I finish editing the last chapter of this :D
Hope you enjoyed!
-- 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.
BRIAN’S POV
You’re gonna be okay, Christ, you’re gonna be okay.
Sir, please don’t move him!
Fuck off!
Sir, please! The slightest movement with head trauma could result in brain damage.
You need to fix him. You have no fucking clue how important he is… what he’s gonna do for this world.
I’m sure, sir. But we need you to back up so that we can take him to the hospital and get him fixed. We’ll be going to Allegheny if you’d like to follow…
I’m going with him!
Sir…
No! I’m his partner, I’m fucking going with him!
The ambulance was the exact same that I remembered from those years ago when the blond laid on a gurney, blood pouring from his head. This time there was a minimal amount of blood, a small trail from his nose, but the deathly pale pallor was enough to make my stomach roll in the same way it did over 6 years ago.
It had the same equipment, the same boy laying there, the same stoic EMTs, the same wobble as the bus raced through the streets.
When I couldn’t wake him myself, I finally gave up and called fucking 911, even though I knew he’d hate me for it. Goddamn hospitals. It was bad enough I had to be there with him twice -- when he was bashed and when he was checked out officially at the hospital after the bombing. Now there was something else fucking wrong with him.
“Sir, does he have any allergies?”
“Fucking everything.” My voice sounded like gravel being scraped.
She rattled off different medicines, and I could only tell her whether or not he was allergic to them. Could only tell her that I didn’t know if he had any medical problems at the moment. If he was on any medications. I hadn’t seen him in over two years. Hadn’t talked to him. ‘Cause I was a fucking idiot.
She dug through his pockets and came up with a pill bottle, “Does he have any history of seizures or epilepsy?”
“No. He was bashed six years ago. Took a baseball bat to his head and it affected his motor skills. His right hand spasms sometimes, but that’s it.”
Her eyes darted from my face to Justin’s unconscious one, and I felt the urge to vomit. What the fuck didn’t I know?
I didn’t see him after they took him out of the ambulance for three hours. I’d called Debbie and gotten Jennifer’s new number, and she showed up with her little boy toy and an irate woman in tow.
After explaining what had happened to Justin, they all seemed to share the same exact knowing look and I wanted to ring their necks when they refused to tell me what the fuck was going on with Justin.
He’ll tell you himself, Brian. It’s his to tell.
It’d been a long time since I’d wanted to hate Jennifer.
We were into the first hour when a man in his late 40s appeared in casual but neat clothing, a folder wedged between his side and elbow as he greeted Rae.
I watched them shake hands and she called him Richard.
The new fucking boyfriend. Guess Justin keeps going older and older. This one has at least twenty years on him. I don’t know if it’s an ego stroke or insult for me, though.
I was curious when Jennifer tried to insinuate her way into the conversation, clearly never having met the man. Even more interesting. What the fuck was going on?
I heard the doctor say he was gonna go check on Justin, and then he was gone. It was me, Jennifer, Tucker and this chick Rae in the waiting room. She made a lot of phone calls, and from the way she said not to waste the five hours without more information, it confirmed that she was someone from Justin’s New York life.
It was nearing the end of the third hour, when she finally exploded. I’d been waiting for her to acknowledge me, to make the first move and find out who the fuck she is exactly, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” She came at me with one arm folded under her chest, her other elbow resting over a tightly closed fist. I recognized the stance from when Jack tried to refrain from hitting me in public.
“Brian Fucking Kinney.”
“Oh, get the fuck over that. Justin told me all about that, about you. I know how you want guys to fall to their knees before you, but don’t you think this is being a little too literal? The last thing Justin needs right now is you complicating things further and causing him more stress!”
“Hey, he came to me! He sought me out! I wanted nothing to do with him. I was getting on fine with my life without him.” Okay, that was a blue faced lie, but some dyke on the rag didn’t need to know about that.
“God, whatever! You have no idea what’s going on here. You don’t need to be here. You’re the reason we’re all here in the first place.”
“Don’t fuck with me, little girl.” I’d heard enough as I stepped up to her, towering at least a good cock’s length above her as I resisted the urge to punch her. “You may think you know shit, but you don’t have the slightest clue about me and Justin.”
“Just like you don’t have the slightest clue what’s happened to him in the last two years. What’s happening to him right now. If you did, you’d understand why I’m trying to protect my friend.”
“From what?”
“From you!”
My heart clenches in a vice as the realization sinks in that something is seriously wrong here. Something that Justin was trying to tell me and I was being a fucking shit about it. Christ!
“Rachael?” We all look to the handsome Doctor Richard Pryce. “He’s asking for you.”
I think Jennifer and I are wearing the same exact expression. Hers is open to the world, and mine is just hidden beneath my usual façade. We’re both crushed that we weren’t the first to be asked for by Justin. But I’m guessing this Mel-alike is someone that Justin’s close to. Probably his roommate.
Neither of us had to wait long, Rae came back out with a remarkably interesting blend of pale redness about her. Like she was sick but angry. I didn’t think I wanted to go see Justin anymore. She clenched her fists at her thighs, “He wants to see you.” She said through tightened teeth, glaring at me.
I wasn’t about to admit that my face showed any signs of smugness as I passed her, but apparently it did if the fire in her eyes was any indication.
‘The long walk to the door’ seemed a little too fucking clichéd in my own mind, but Christ if it didn’t feel really long. I felt like everything was slowing down. People, time, my heart. I couldn’t shake this feeling. Something I had on a clear night with steam rising from grates in the cement, a precocious little twat leaning against a lamppost.
My life was about to change.
The door was already opened, so I didn’t have to stand outside of it like some lesbian wondering whether or not I should go in. Whether or not I was strong enough to go in.
He was already standing, pulling back on his soft black jacket, fingering the scarf on the bed. Dick was standing on the other side of the bed, dressed in an official lab coat, arguing with the ubiquitous Justin Taylor that he really needed to stay in the hospital until Wednesday.
It’s Friday. What’s so bad that he needs four days in a hospital bed? Repercussions from the bashing? Something new?
Justin tensed slightly before turning his head slowly to look at me. He was paler than normal, a splotchy stain standing out below his left nostril. Reddened. From the bloodied nose he had.
Dickie seemed to sense something and straightened his spine, telling Justin to think about his medical opinion and to call him if he changed his mind, before exiting the room with a courteous nod towards me. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but really, all I could see was Justin.
“What’s wrong?” I got straight to the point. I needed to know.
He chuckled mirthlessly, ripping his scarf from the bed. He looked to the ceiling, and I think he was slightly disappointed that there weren’t any beams he could quickly hang himself from.
“First off, Doctor Pryce isn’t my husband. He’s straight with three kids, a wife and apparently his 16 year old daughter is a lesbian. He told me to make sure I knew my treatment wouldn’t experience any homophobia. He… he’s a world-renowned brain surgeon.”
Treatment?
Brain surgeon?
“Trauma from…?” I still can’t say it. The bashing. So I helplessly gesture towards my head, unable to look at him.
“I’m sick, Brian. I have cancer.”
I mock people that use terms like the world stopped spinning or my blood ran cold, but fucking chop off my dick if my blood didn’t turn to ice.
Cancer.
Justin has cancer.
I can’t…
It doesn’t seem fucking logical.
“No.” That seemed resolute. “Just… no. You don’t have cancer. You look fine. You’re fine.”
“Brian, Brian.”
He was trying to get my attention, reaching for me, stepping toward me but never getting closer and I realized I was backing up like a fucking pussy. Like if he touched me, it’d be real. So he can’t. I can’t let him touch me.
“You have all your hair. You haven’t had a biopsy, it’ll be benign and then we’ll make fun of your Pink Posse days while your hair grows back.”
“Brian, it’s not benign. Doctor Pryce said that at the progressive rate it’s grown, it’s most likely cancerous.”
Chemotherapy.
Radiation.
Fuck, no. Sunshine was too good for that. He didn’t deserve that punishment.
“Brian, please.”
I finally look up at his face and he’s paler than before and wet with tears that have gathered from each eye on the underside of his chin, and dropped off in fat droplets onto the floor.
I felt the urge to dry his face. I must be growing a twat, but fuck it if I couldn’t stand to see him cry. He was stronger than this, stronger than tears. He’s the bravest fucking person I know.
I walked forward, standing in front of him, so close that I could feel the wide berth of his breath on my collarbone before he sunk to his knees, anguish tearing from his throat.
Fuck, no no no no no no no.
I felt the pain reverberate from my knees, to my spine, all the way through my body as I followed him to the floor, folding my arms around him tighter than I’ve ever held him. Tighter than when his blood was pouring from his head. Tighter than when he was covered in soot and ash. Tighter than when he left for New York.
The world stopped spinning.
-------------------------------
Author’s Notes: The last half of this chapter and the next chapter are my favorites that I’ve wrote for this series, so I really hope you enjoy this! The next chapter will be up either tomorrow night or Tuesday morning, as normal. And I have good news… kinda.
For anyone waiting on the Fragments sequel, Flashpoint, it’ll be coming a lot faster than planned. I have had very little time lately, and what time I’ve had, I’ve used to work on this, so I only have about 3,000 words of the story done. I was planning on entering it in the qafbigbang but the minimum is 10,000 words. The rough drafts are due in 8 days with 80% of the fic complete. Now… I can do a lot, but I’m projecting the story to be between 18,000 and 25,000 words if everything goes according to plan. There’s no way I can write that much in 8 days with my personal schedule. So you probably won’t have to wait ‘til the end of April for the story! I’ll start working on it as soon as I finish editing the last chapter of this :D
Hope you enjoyed!
-- Ashley ♥