Chapter 40 - In Sickness and in Health

Justin

This isn't happening. It just isn't. It can't! Mustn't! We only just got married for fuck's sake. We deserve some happiness without any drama. But the fates seem to have other plans for us. First, there was his fucking mother. I can't believe that she and Dad... But that doesn't matter. I don't give a flying fuck about it. Because now ... now I'm more scared than I've ever been in my entire life. I'm fucking shaking, and if that's how I feel... It must be a million times worse for Brian. And there's shit I can do to help him before I don't pull myself together. Easy to say, but hard to accomplish. If shit really hits the fan and it is the big C, and he's getting sick, and... I don't think I'd be able to hold on. Wouldn't want to. And that thought is even more scary than this whole situation. I'd just give up, despite Jenny who needs her Dada to be there for her. And Gus. And Mom and Molly. They're my family, too. But without Brian...

Fuck! What do I do? 'Well, first of all, you should stop thinking so stupid things, Taylor. It's unbecoming. Besides, he's not going to die. He's Brian Fucking Kinney!' Okay... My inner voice sounds like Mikey. Now this is truly fucked! Brian's human like the rest of us – hell, more than the rest of us! – and he's mortal. He isn't some superhero who can only be killed with Kryptonite or shit like that. However, he's my husband now, and I'll make sure that he doesn't leave me until I tell him that he can. And I won't do that for the next fifty or sixty years. No way! And I'm going to stop panicking right now because, fuck, he didn't panic when I was lying on the cold cement, my life seeping out of me. Oh no. He tried to stop the bleeding, held me to share his body warmth, called the fucking ambulance... And if he could do that, I sure as hell can pull the same thing. I mean, I'm JT, aren't I? And JT wouldn't have a major queen-out if Rage were hurt. 'Alright then, Taylor. You can do this.' I take a deep breath, and suddenly I know that everything will be fine in some way, and we will get through this as well, no matter how long it takes.

Brian's still on the phone when I return after my shower, biting his lower lip as he listens to whoever he's talking to. Fuck! I really let him down. I think I pretty much lost it completely earlier, quietly sobbing into Brian's chest while he was not only trying to get a grip, but also to calm me down. And there's something wrong with that picture. I should be his support system, not the other way around. Well, there's no time like the present... "Okay..." He's scribbling something down, probably the name of some specialist or something like that. "Thank you, Eamon." He hangs up, his face a pale mask, and somehow intuition kicks in at that point and I walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his slender waist. Now this is the moment of truth. How will he react? If things are anything like they were before, he'll withdraw, unable and unwilling to accept my help. There's that one time that comes to mind, when he was contemplating giving up his parental rights. For a few seconds, he allowed me to embrace him, to touch him, to comfort him. Or, as I put it back then, to kill him with kindness. But then...

But – miracle of miracles – he doesn't push me away this time. On the contrary. He's turning to face me, and then his arms are around me, holding me tightly. Fuck! He seems to be soaking up my warmth as if it's the only thing grounding him right now. Well, maybe it is. My head is resting against his chest, and I can hear the beat of his heart – so strong, so alive. And he buries his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply, and I'm seriously pissed off at whoever made this happen. We should be like this, wrapped around each other in happiness. Without this fucking sword hanging above us, ready to come crashing down any moment. But like I realised before, we will survive this. Shit! We got through the bashing, didn't we? And Ethan! And all the other stuff life keeps throwing at us. Tricks that can't accept being turned down, parents who can't be happy for their children...

He steps away and I raise my head a little, which seems to have been his intent, cause now he leans in to kiss my forehead, and my heart feels like it's going to burst any minute now because it's overflowing with love for this complicated and wonderful man. He's not pushing me away! He doesn't believe that he has to handle this on his own! I think if things weren't so fucked-up, I'd be bouncing around right now... "Eamon has this friend who specialises in ... you know..." Yes, I know. And I also hear how close his voice is to breaking. How terrified he must be. And I know that there is a small part of him that is telling him that he deserved this, that Brian Kinney isn't allowed to be happy. I just want to draw that part out of him and give it a piece of my mind. Fuck! Thanks ever so much, Joan! I take his hand in mine, slowly leading him over to the sofa, and while he gulps down another shot of JB, I'm retrieving my dressing robe – he's already wearing his – and then I'm back by his side, and his left arm is tightly wound around me, and I so glad that he's come this far.

He puts down his glass, and turns toward me. And while I know that he hates being vulnerable in front of me, he holds my gaze. "Eamon called his friend's office and managed to arrange an appointment for me – tomorrow at five p.m. He also said that it could be anything, that it doesn't have to be..." And he's biting his lower lip again, showing me how nervous he really is, and there's nothing I can do but caress his cheek and hold onto him. "I mentioned Pop, and Eamon said that he lead a rather unhealthy life, drinking and smoking as if there was no tomorrow..." I'm so fucking glad right now that Brian cut back on cigarettes and booze, but still... And then we both realise something at the same time, it seems. "You have a class at five, right?" Shit! He's right. I nod, and even though I would like nothing more than going with him to support him, I know that I can't. It's one of those courses that are really important, and I need the credits if I ever want to finish my studies. Besides, there's this assignment I've to hand in tomorrow...

I sigh, and drop my gaze, but he's having none of that. "Justin? It's okay. You wouldn't be able to do anything, anyway..." And doesn't that sound familiar? There's nothing I could have done for you. Hah! That was total bullshit, and I'm sure he knew it. So he couldn't have made my hand better, so what? Seeing him would have made me feel better, safer, fucking loved! And I was so angry when Mikey told me he'd been there – every goddamn night! But back to the matter at hand. I know I wouldn't be able to do anything in terms of giving him some medical advice, but I'd be helping him all the same. So his brilliant plan to make me feel better about this is just a bunch of crap. And I'm about to tell him so, when he adds, "I'll call you, okay? As soon as I know something..." And that's the last thing we say about this whole fucking shit. We get dressed, and drive home, and I know just what he wants – what he needs – so I take him upstairs, and I'm slowly making love to him, my hands steering clear of his balls the entire time...

The next morning is for shit, of course. He's edgy and impatient, and finally waltzes out of the house without so much as a goodbye-kiss. Not to mention breakfast. I hope he's at least dropping in at the Starbucks just around the corner from Vanguard. I mean, there's no way that he'd go to the diner for something to eat today. Debbie would interrogate him, would want to know what the fuck he did to me, and why I wasn't with him. He couldn't take something like that today. And I... I'm going through the motions. I drive over to the loft to get the stuff I need for class today, and by the time I hand in that assignment, I almost managed to forget about bumps on balls and cancer and fuck. But at six things change. The first thing I do when I get out of the building, almost stumbling down the stairs, is to switch my cell back on. No message. Okay. So maybe this whole thing takes longer than I thought. I'm reaching the Sharan, and I think I'm slamming the door shut a little too strongly, but what the fuck?!

I'll call you, okay? As soon as I know something... That was a fucking promise! If I'm honest with myself, it was what kept me going today. Shit! I even did the groceries, and it's his turn! Got his beloved guava juice, and some of that almost fat-free original Italian pasta shit. Anything to keep me occupied. Because I just couldn't sit around and stare at the fucking phone. Because I knew he'd call. He'd fucking promised! So why the fuck is it that I still haven't had so much as a text message by the time it gets seven? Huh? And no, I'm not glancing at the phone every other second, willing it to ring. And I didn't check if it was properly plugged in. Neither am I too worried to even think of eating yesterday's left-overs. Fuck you, Brian! Just call! I'm dropping down on the sofa in the living room, zapping through the channels, but as usual, there's nothing on. I'm even trying The Yellow Submarine, but when I realise I'm about to rip the DVD out of the player to trash it, I switch it off and stare at the blue screen.

Fuck! I'm almost jumping out of my skin when my cell goes off moments later. And I'm not at all sagging with relief when I read the caller ID and see that it's Brian. I'm about to rip him a new one because he let me wait for so long, when he... "They did a biopsy ... and took some blood samples." Okay, that explains why it took so fucking long. I just hope... "But since it's Friday, the results won't be in until Tuesday..." What the fuck?! "But Dr. Franklin said that it's probably just a cyst. And even if it's cancer, I'll have a 99 per cent chance of being back on my feet in no time – with surgery and follow-up shit. As a one-ball-wonder." Well, that is at least some good news. But I don't like his tone of voice. At all. And I so wish he was back home already so I could show him that I don't give a fuck about that. One ball or two, he'll still be perfect to me. However, whatever plans I'm cooking up right now, his next sentence is bringing me down in a big crash. "Now, I've to head back to Vanguard, because Mr Brown has decided to reschedule our next meeting and wants us to pitch his newest campaign to him tonight." What?!

And before I can say so much as "fuck that idiot", he hangs up, and something is creeping up my spine, settling in my brain... It's a feeling of dread, and I'm getting sick realising what he just did. So he told me what the doctor said, big deal. But he's also doing exactly what I feared he would. He didn't manage it yesterday, because I was there. But now, over the phone... I know I shouldn't do it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I hit speed-dial and wait for someone to answer. "Cynthia? It's me, Justin. Um..." Okay, how do I do this without sounding suspicious. "I have some plans for tonight and I was wondering when Brian will be home..." Sounds fine to me. And very much like something Cyn would buy. She just loves romantic surprises. Especially if Brian's on the receiving end. And if she can make me tell her about it all later on. Shit! She's as much a faghag as Daph is.

But she's sighing now. "I'm sorry, but you may have to reschedule... Mr Brown from Brown Athletics called, and he wants to meet up with Brian tonight cause he's treating his wife to an impromptu vacation next week. You know how it goes..." And don't I feel like a little piece of shit right now? Brian must have been pissed off, that's all. I mean, it's not like the campaign isn't finished and done with. But Friday evening?! "Brown will come in around eight, and God knows how long this whole shit will take. And I had a date..." Uh-oh. Here we go. "I mean, you are married. It's no problem for you to rearrange your plans. But I..." And she's off, telling me how hard life as a single hetero woman is, and how she would really love to settle down and all that shit. She even says that if Brian wasn't gay... You get the picture. "It's just not fair!" There's some commotion on her end, and I think I hear Brian yell at her to get off the phone with mommy-dear to fetch him the boards. "Um, sorry Justin, but as you can hear, the boss needs me. Got to go. Bye."

Yup, Brian's pissed. But at least he isn't brooding or stuff like that. Good. Very good. My stomach thinks so, too, and about ten minutes later, I'm wolfing down the rest of the Thai we had last night. And I'm tucked into bed before twelve because I have a hideously early shift at the diner tomorrow morning – somehow I can't quite remember how Debbie managed to talk me into it... Brian's not home yet, but I'm assuming that Brown insisted on taking him out to dinner, or the other way around, so it'll be a while yet until he comes home. But he doesn't. And he's not lying next to me when the alarm goes off at six fucking a.m., but I'm guessing that he simply crashed at the loft. So I'm taking a leak and a shower, and am out of the house by 6:30. I'll simply grab some food before I start my shift. But he's not at the loft, either. Shit! Where the fuck are you, Brian? And that's when it hits me. I was right after all. Fuck!

Andrew, one of the security guys at the agency, looks at me as if he'd seen a ghost. "What are you doing here? On a Saturday? At seven a.m.?" I tell him that I forgot something last week, something I need for school... He grins. "And here I thought you wanted to fetch your significant other. He got back here around one last night, only wanting to pick up his stuff, but must have fallen asleep on the sofa in his office. I checked in on him after he didn't come down, and he was sleeping like a babe..." And Andrew is fucking lucky that Brian isn't here to hear him. Besides, I don't believe this shit about Brian simply falling asleep for one second. He choose to stay here, not wanting to upset me. Fuck, I feel like strangling him. Actually, strangling him would be far too easy, and while I'm on the elevator, I'm coming up with loads of very interesting ways to torture him.

He's still in dreamland when I open the office door, but not for much longer. "You fucking asshole! Get the fuck up!" His eyes open, and he's blinking, groaning as his gaze lands on me. "What the fuck were you thinking? I was half-mad with worry!" So I wasn't. Serves him right to think he caused me a sleepless night. "You could have called, you know?!" He's slowly sitting up, and fuck, he looks like death warmed over. I don't think he slept very well... "Fuck you! What made you do this, huh?" Oh, I know what's up his ass, and it's not my dick. But he has to tell me, he has to acknowledge it! This time, it can't be me. I can't do this for him all the time, least of all now.

"You shouldn't be here..." What was that about strangling him? Maybe it's not such a bad idea after all. "Just leave, Justin." Fuck, he sounds so fucking tired. And worried. Scared shitless, actually. I tell him that there's no way that I'd leave him to face this on his own, and he snaps. "Don't you get it?! I have cancer, okay? And fuck their 99 per cent, I know that I'll be the one fucking per cent that dies of this shit. You really want to sit around and watch?" Oh yes, Brian Kinney is fucking terrified. "Do you think I want that? For you to watch me getting sicker and sicker, wasting away until there's nothing left of me but skin and bones? You..." Yes? "You would leave anyway." What?! "So do it now, okay? Just fuck off!" Alright. I'm so blaming this on his fucking mother and her impeccable timing. I got hurt by her, and now he thinks he's to protect me from himself. Shit!

"We're fucking married! And while we didn't do all this in sickness and in health shit, I still stand by it." He laughs harshly, and he makes me so fucking angry – not at him, no. But at everyone who put all these doubts into his head. "We'll get through this together, you son of a bitch! You don't have to handle this on your own. And if you think you can push me away, think again! Wherever you run off to, I'll be on your heels, so you might as well save us both this shit!" I think my eyes are blazing fire, but I don't care. "And stop wallowing in self-pity! Cause that's what you're doing right now. Fuck! I hope I'll manage to get your dick hard again, after all this..." I think I see a small smirk creep onto his face. "You're not going to die, do you hear me?! I won't let you. Two weeks ago, you promised me forever, and I won't let you take the easy out." He's blinking again, and I think his eyes are filling with tears, but I'm not going to respond to that right now. There will be time for that later. "Now get your ass back home, and I expect some fucking lunch when I get home. I'm going to my shift now." And I walk over to him, yank up his head, and kiss him almost brutally. And then I'm off to let him ponder what I just said. And if he's not home when I get there, I'll kick his bony ass!

---

Brian

Shit! He's fucking scary when he's pissed. And here I hoped that I'd never be on the receiving end of his wrath again. Fuck! He's right, of course. I tried to push him away. But not just because it would be easier for him. Despite his words, I'm still convinced that he would leave eventually if I got truly sick. I know how hard it is to watch someone you love in pain, and there's shit you can do about it. It drives you fucking mad. And at some point, self-protection kicks in and you just have to get away. What then? I know, he'd fight the impulse for as long as possible, but eventually... Damn! I'm wallowing again. 'Come on, Kinney. You know him better than that! And you don't really think that if it were Justin, you'd just abandon him. You couldn't. You love him too much.' And for some fucked-up reason, Justin loves me. And he would stay with me, till the bitter end if need be, and then... Shit, if he loves me only half as much as...

I'm pulling myself together at that point because I really don't like the direction my thoughts are taking. I gather my shit, and am at Britin about twenty minutes later. Justin demanded lunch, and if I know one thing, it's that I couldn't cook if my life depended on it. On second thought, maybe it does. Who knows what pissed off Sunshine is capable of. And before I even know what I'm doing, I'm on the phone with Vic, and he promises that he'll come over right away and that I should figure out what I want to cook. How the fuck would I know? And then I remember that evening after the Rage party, and I'm leafing through all of Justin's stupid cookbooks in search of that one recipe. Fuck! I never knew he had so many Asian cookbooks... But I do know that he didn't buy them for himself. I mean, sure, he likes his Chop Suey, Nasigoreng, and whatever, but he's more the pizza / pasta sort of person. If it's dripping with fat, it's just perfect for him. I'm such a fucker.

By the time Vic gets here, I managed to sort out the meat – it's thawing up currently – and found all the vegetables and sauces we'll need. And when I say "we", I mean it! "So what did you do this time?" Unlike Deb, Vic doesn't ask in an accusing way. He's merely curious and a little amused. Well, no shit. Last time I was in the kitchen doing more than heat something up was at Christmas when Debbie forced me to chop vegetables. So something must be seriously wrong if I'm volunteering to cook. "Come on, Brian, spill it... You know you want to." He's snickering, and I so hate the Novotny / Grassis and their curiosity. I swear, it wasn't a cat who died of curiosity, but a member of their illustrious family. Vic's waiting for an answer, and for some reason I think the truth is safe with him...

"I might have cancer..." He stares at me. "You heard correctly, Vic. The big C. Ironically in my left testicle. Justin found a bump on Thursday and I went to a doctor yesterday. They took blood samples and did a biopsy and shit. Results won't be in until Tuesday, though." I guess this wasn't what he had expected. "The doctor said that it is probably nothing major, that cancer is at the end of a long list of things it could be, that I shouldn't worry." Vic nods, but keeps quiet. Something Deb wouldn't have been able to. I'm fucking grateful, I really am. Grateful that he's still with us, that he didn't die like the doctors said he would... "I guess I freaked. I stayed at the agency last night, and this morning I tried to push Justin away. I just... Fuck! I didn't know what I was doing. And I'm still not sure if letting him stay is the right thing. I mean, what gives me the right to ask this of him?"

"Nothing..." Why thank you, Vic. "Because it's not up to you to ask this of him. Nor is it up to you to decide that he should stay away. It's about him, and he's making the choice, no one else. He calls the shots." And that's something I hate. I hate that I'm not in control, but if I can't trust him with this, what's the point? "And if I know anything about Justin, it's that he'll stay for as long as you let him. And if you push him out of your life, he'll start stalking you again. Remember? That's how he got to you in the beginning..." Yes... Justin Taylor, my personal little stalker. "And who knows ... you might be just fine. Just cause your Dad died of this shit doesn't mean you've to get it as well." That's when he hugs me, and I was never so glad that he's a part of my life. He was my mentor when I realised that I was gay, even though he was sick and almost always tired. And now he's my fucking marriage counsellor. Great.

When Justin gets home around two, he's slamming the door shut, and I'm surprised that the glass is still intact. "Oh, the biggest asshole of all time has found his way home." I guess I deserve this. He must have felt like he travelled back in time, and we're again living through the lovely days just after his birthday and I had to go off to Chicago without properly explaining everything to him, letting him down, disappointing him to no end. "So, where's my lunch? I'm starving!" Does this mean what I think it means? He was at the diner, surrounded by all that lovely greasy food and he didn't... Shit! That's how upset he was. And if I felt like shit before, it's nothing compared to now. I try to catch his eyes, but he evades me, brushing past to get to the kitchen. And stops in his tracks...

We don't have the small side tables we had at the loft, so I had to move the coffee table to the centre of the living room, but other than that... "Déjà-vu, Sunshine?" He nods, and I think I heard a sniffle just now. "Well, I thought if you could use food to tell me that you are sorry, I could do the same." He tries to chuckle, but I can see that he's seriously shaking now. So I walk over to him and enfold him in my arms. "You were right... I tried to push you away, but no more. It's like you said: in sickness and in health. I don't want to do this on my own. I want you with me, no matter what happens." Actually, I didn't arrive at this conclusion by myself. I had Vic's help, and I needed it quite a lot. "I love you, Justin. And I want to share my life with you. But I warn you. I can be pretty ghastly when I'm sick..." He's really laughing now, and he turns in my embrace to slap me over the head.

"You're such a shithead, Kinney! And you're damn straight..." I raise my eyebrow, and he snickers, "figuratively speaking, of course. But seriously, you're right – we will do this together. No matter what those tests say, we'll make it through this." He's kissing me then, and moments later, we're lying on the floor, tearing off each other's clothes, the food forgotten for now...