Counting down the days until Brian’s final radiation treatment was like counting down to normalcy -- at least, as normal as their life together ever had been or could be. At the very least, it would be an end to the runaway roller coaster ride of the last six weeks. Life had been speeding through a shitload of twists and turns, dragging a breathless Justin and Brian along for the white-knuckled ride as they both struggled to make sense of the scenery flying by.

To Justin, it all started with Brian deciding to go to Ibiza without him, shouting at him that they weren’t fucking married, and acting very strange in the office that day. Of course, Brian’s odd, explosive-yet-instantly-reticent manner while Justin stood there, gobsmacked, hurt and confused, in Brian’s office suddenly made a lot more sense a week later, after Justin overheard Dr. Rabinowitz leaving a message on Brian’s machine. To Brian, it had started the day Vic died, when he’d hooked up with a trick who happened to be a doctor. Never in his life had Justin been more thankful that Brian primarily dealt with uncomfortable emotions through sex. If it hadn’t been for that, well… Justin didn’t really want to entertain that thought.

Now, here they were, on a Friday in mid-March, snuggled up in bed together, the clock reading 6:57. Three more minutes until it would be time to get up and get ready to head to the oncologist’s office for one last early morning radiation appointment. Justin was staring at Brian when the older man opened his eyes and smiled a little.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Justin traced a lazy path with his left index finger around Brian’s chest. “Last day...can you believe it?”

“It feels like it’s been an eternity,” Brian sighed. “Thank god it’s almost over.”

Justin’s fingers continued a winding path over Brian’s abdomen, slowly working their way down toward the waistband of the sweatpants Brian had been wearing to bed for the past month and a half. His fingers almost made it to their intended destination before Brian grabbed his wrist and pulled Justin’s hand back upward.

Justin breathed out as he rolled onto his back, weaving his fingers into Brian’s. Brian still wouldn’t let Justin touch him, or even see him, not in that way...not since the surgery. Well, really, not since the night Justin had come home from Debbie’s and found the loft empty, and a couple of hours later Brian had stumbled into the loft in some kind of unidentifiable haze that didn’t seem to come from alcohol or drugs, his eyes full of what looked to Justin like fear. He refused to talk about it. He’d also refused sex, refused a blow job, and slept practically on the edge of the bed that night, as if he was trying to put as much distance as possible between Justin and himself. Justin assumed it had something to do with Vic’s death -- he knew that Vic had been an important influence in Brian’s life when he was younger and still trying to figure out what it meant to be a gay man in this world.

Of course, Justin now knew exactly what had been going on that night, and all of the nights afterward when Justin had been afraid that Brian was bored with him or didn’t want him anymore. It wasn’t about Vic at all -- it was about the fact that Brian was feeling exposed and uncertain about the storm that was brewing in his body. Justin now assumed that perhaps Brian been afraid that Justin would find the lump too. Justin wondered if it had been painful -- not just mentally, but physically. He hadn’t asked. It was a moot point now.

And now, here they were, lying in bed holding hands and nothing more. Justin wanting to touch Brian’s body and then make love in the shower like they had done so many other mornings, and knowing that his partner would close the bathroom door again this morning, just as he had been every single time he’d gone in there for any reason for the past six weeks -- his subtle way of telling Justin he wanted to be alone.

Justin had to let go of Brian’s hand so he could turn off the alarm when it sounded at 7:00. He didn’t have an opportunity to grab ahold of it again, because when he rolled back over, Brian was already climbing out of bed, then grabbing a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt out of the closet. He turned to look at Justin over his shoulder. “Do you need the bathroom for a few minutes?”

Justin shook his head and settled back down onto his pillow as Brian went into the bathroom and closed the door.

The shower turned on shortly after, and the sound of water spattering against the tile floor and the glass walls of the shower filtered into the bedroom through the closed door. Justin wanted nothing more than to open that door and join his lover in the shower, even if all he did was wash Brian’s back. Justin wasn’t sure what to do in order to prove to Brian that he didn’t give a shit about scars and prosthetics.

It probably wouldn’t matter what he did, anyhow, because the root of the matter was that Brian Fucking Kinney’s entire identity was wrapped up in his manhood, both physically and psychologically. And Brian Fucking Kinney didn’t know how to deal with what had happened. What was still happening.

Justin was trying to help his partner deal with it in the only way he thought Brian might accept or understand -- continuing to try to prove to Brian that he still wanted him, physically. That he still thought his lover’s body was perfection, surgical scars and plastic balls be damned. That was exactly what he’d been trying to do this morning as his fingers had begun to follow the thin trail of dark hair downward from Brian’s navel and slip under the waistband of the sweatpants...before Brian had stopped him yet again.

Touch -- and sex --  had always been the primary language of Brian and Justin’s relationship, so in a way this felt like they’d suddenly lost their voices.

When Brian finally slid open the bathroom door, he crossed the bedroom quickly and went down the three steps toward the kitchen without so much as a glance at Justin, who was still lying naked in their bed.

At this point, Justin wasn’t sure when they’d get their voices back.

Ten minutes later, after Justin had showered, alone, he found his lover sitting at the kitchen table, picking at a blueberry muffin and sipping a cup of coffee. There was another, full cup sitting across from him, and a second plate with a muffin for Justin.

“Oooh, straight up carbs for breakfast,” Justin said. “Who are you and what did you do with Brian?”

“Eh, it doesn’t really matter much.” Brian shrugged. “I’m sure I won’t be digesting much of it.”

This brand of dark humor was another way Brian was dealing with the highly uncomfortable situation they’d both been thrown into by his cancer diagnosis. It seemed to make Brian feel better, somehow, so Justin put up with it, even though most of the time it only made him even more uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, Justin tried to lighten the mood by saying, “So, how do you want to celebrate?”

“What?” Brian set his coffee cup down and picked a small piece off the side of the muffin with his fingers before looking up at Justin.

“Being done with radiation -- how do you want to celebrate? We could go out…” Justin let his voice trail off as he watched Brian roll the small piece of muffin around between his finger and thumb.

“I think we both know how I’ll be celebrating,” Brian scoffed before finally tossing the bite of blueberry muffin into his mouth, swallowing it before continuing. “Spending even more quality time in the bathroom with my dear friend John before taking yet another three-hour nap in the middle of the afternoon like a fucking toddler.”

Brian’s acerbic wit was definitely still intact.

Neither of them said much after that. They’d driven to the oncologist’s office in the suburbs in complete silence. When Justin had tried to turn on the radio, Brian had quickly turned it back off before turning his head to look out the window again with an audible sigh.

Justin wanted to know what Brian was thinking, but he also knew that if Brian wanted him to know, he would tell him without being asked.

Each appointment only took an hour -- most of which, Brian had once told him, was usually spent getting Brian into the proper position to make sure they didn’t accidentally fry his kidneys instead of radiating the lymph nodes in his pelvic area, in hopes it would keep the cancer from returning. Soon, they were walking back out of the office.

After they got in the car, Justin grabbed his partner’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He felt a responding pressure from Brian before they had to let go so Justin could drive them back to the loft. About halfway there, Brian broke the silence.

“I’m sorry. I know, sorry’s bullshit. But I am.”

Justin knitted his brows together as he looked at Brian, confused and a bit taken aback. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he said simply. And it was the truth. Yes, there were a lot of things that had frustrated Justin over the past month and a half, but he knew that Brian was only acting in the best way he knew how, and as far as Justin was concerned, Brian had nothing to apologize for.

Brian took a deep breath before answering. “For turning your life upside down, too.”

“I told you, we’re partners, we have an agreement.”

“Yeah, but you had no way of knowing that agreement would include this.”

“I didn’t care what it included. I still don’t. It wasn’t conditional. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you.”

Brian apparently had nothing to say to that, and spent the rest of the ride home staring out the window, never looking back over at Justin. But Justin had noticed when Brian roughly swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hands once or twice, and that his breathing seemed a little uneven. Justin knew what was happening here, and he also knew that it was pure coincidence and inconvenience that it was happening in the car, right now, with Justin mere inches away, and that this was something Brian preferred to do in private, if he allowed himself to do it at all. So Justin tried to give Brian his privacy by turning on the radio. This time, Brian let it play.

The scene at the loft played out exactly as Brian had predicted earlier that day. Justin was thankful he didn’t have class on Fridays, which meant he could join Brian for his afternoon nap. Debbie had also told him she’d cover his shift at the diner that evening, so he and Brian could spend the entire day together, doing whatever you do to celebrate the end of cancer treatment. Justin still wasn’t sure what exactly that was, but he was content to let his partner lead the way.

A couple of hours later, Justin and Brian lay in bed, the younger man spooning the older from behind, even though their size difference meant this particular arrangement didn’t make much sense. But whatever, Justin made it work. His arms were wrapped around Brian’s shoulders, and he could feel the soft rise and fall of his lover’s chest with each breath. He knew Brian was awake, because his soft snore had long ago given way to the barely audible wheeze from the deviated septum he refused to have remediated, insisting that it bothered Michael and Justin more than it bothered him.

After a few more minutes of holding each other in the silence, Brian shifted in Justin’s arms and rolled over to face him. Brian looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to say it. Justin could see the discomfort building as Brian took a few more deep breaths before finally choking out two words: “Thank you.”

Justin responded by pulling Brian as close to him as possible, pressing their bare chests together as he laid his head in the crook of Brian’s shoulder and whispered, “I know.”

By Wednesday, things were starting to fall more into their normal pattern for Justin and Brian -- that is, the normal that was theirs before the cancer. Brian going to work, and Justin going to school, and then to the diner for an evening shift so he could pay Daphne his half of the rent for the apartment he’d barely seen in the past several weeks.

It was around 10 p.m. when Justin came home and found Brian in bed. Justin knew the fatigue wasn’t letting go as easily or as quickly as the nausea had, but Brian insisted that he was so far behind at Kinnetik that he didn’t have time to keep working the half days his doctor had recommended for the next couple of weeks. So full days it was, in true Brian Fucking Kinney fashion, pushing through and masking his discomfort with his usual aplomb.

After Justin had changed and showered to wash the smell of tuna melts and fries out of his skin and hair, he pulled back the sheet to climb into bed, and was surprised to see that his lover was naked. No more sweatpants. No more shorts. Just Brian. Awake. Exposed.

Justin looked into Brian’s eyes, noticing the slight trepidation that seemed to lurk beneath the surface. Brian took Justin’s hand and slowly guided it downward until it reached a small, faint red line on the older man’s groin. Justin held his breath as his fingers lightly traced the scar.

“Does it hurt?” Justin said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Not anymore.” Brian’s hushed tone matched Justin’s. “It’s kind of numb, actually.”

Justin knew the feeling. It was how the scar on his temple felt as well. You could feel its slightly raised surface with your fingers, but the skin underneath failed to notice the touch.

“So,” Brian breathed. “There it is.”

“It’s a part of you now.” Justin leaned down and pressed his lips gently to the scar in a tender kiss.

“Yeah...I guess it is.”

It took a few more nights before the two of them found themselves sharing a series of passionate kisses on the bed -- yes, things were definitely getting back to normal now. Justin reached up and pinned Brian’s wrists to the mattress in a show of domination, but Brian shook his head and quickly flipped over so that their positions were reversed. Justin noticed that Brian wasn’t quite ready yet, in a manner of speaking, when he reached for the condom and the lube, but Justin hoped that things would heat up quickly once they were in the right position. He was wrong, however, and only a few seconds had passed before Brian’s body slid down Justin’s back and he moved to sit on the side of the bed, his head in his hands, before reaching for a cigarette.

“Brian--”

“Don’t say anything.”

Justin wasn’t listening.

“Look, I’m sure it’s just a temporary malfunction.” He sat up to rub his partner’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “It takes time for your body to heal itself and for you to regain your strength. Be patient. Everything will be up and running in no time.”

“Thanks for not saying anything.”

After Brian had finished his cigarette -- Justin really wished he would give up smoking, especially now -- they laid back down on the bed together, their arms and legs tangled, as intimately connected as they could be at the moment.

The next morning, Justin had made up his mind that he was going to help Brian get past this in any way he could -- and be okay with whatever the outcome was. Only he wasn’t quite sure how to do that. He’d noticed that Brian’s gaze had seemed far away, as if he was someplace else for brief moments, the night before. Justin didn’t know what that was about. He also didn’t know if the problem was a physical block or a mental one.

If it was physical, then the likely solution would be drugs -- but how do you tell Brian Fucking Kinney that he might need said drugs? On the other hand, if it was mental...what was it? Was it fear? Anxiety? Inadequacy?

It turned out the answer was none of the above. Three days later, they’d agreed to meet up at Babylon, once Justin’s shift at the diner was finished and Brian had given up the day’s battle of trying to unbury himself from the seemingly self regenerating pile of folders and paperwork and proofs that had kept accumulating on his desk during the better part of the last two months. Justin had only been in the club for a few minutes when Brian charged onto the dance floor and swept Justin up into a kiss, showing off the bulge in his jeans. They ran together to the back room for a blow job that Justin wasn’t sure if he owed to the Chinese herbalist or to God or to Joan Kinney. It didn’t matter. He’d take it. They could finally speak again.

Two weeks later, they sat on the floor of the loft, sharing a joint and feeding each other takeout, laughing together about some ridiculous story that likely wouldn’t have been anywhere near as funny if they were sober. Celebrating Brian being released from his oncologist’s care until his routine checkup the next year. When they’d check to make sure everything was still normal.

But for right now, it was.