Early Wednesday morning, Brian began a ritual he wanted nothing to do with. The ritual that would be his at least until the end of the following week, maybe longer, depending on how long it took his body to recover. He woke up, feeling like shit. Climbed out of bed, in pain. Walked slowly and stiffly into the bathroom, because he could hardly move. Took a shower to wash all of the sweat and sickness from the day before down the drain. Had to stop halfway through to sit in the floor of the shower and lean against the wall to gather enough energy to finish bathing. Got out of the shower, dried off, and applied the prescription cream to the skin that was already starting to look a little red, although it wasn’t particularly painful yet. Took the pill that he hoped would stop him from puking his guts out later like he had for the past two days, although he’d already resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably be spending most of the afternoon in the bathroom, one way or the other. He’d truly never thought this would ever be his life. He’d much rather be waking up with a hangover from a particularly wild night at Woody’s or Babylon. The last thing Brian Kinney ever thought he’d be was so ill that he couldn’t stand up for the entirety of a ten-minute shower. But, here he was.

Justin had class again that morning, which meant Brian would have to drive himself back and forth to his radiation appointment. Only now that he’d had Justin come with him once, he felt a little strange about going alone. He didn’t really want to go alone, actually -- although getting him to own up to that thought would certainly be a tall order. He’d much rather have the knowledge that someone who cared about him was there, waiting for him, than to exit the building alone and have to drive himself home. And, in the back of his mind, he was wondering what he would do if, in a few more days, he didn't feel up to driving himself. What then? He supposed he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

He wouldn't be going to the office today. Cynthia would probably kick him out immediately if he tried. He had to trust that she would take care of everything that needed to be done, and that she would call him if she needed his input. For control freak Brian Kinney, that was hard. But it was the only thing he could do. He’d already proven over the course of the last two days that he couldn’t expect himself to go in to work and get much of anything done after his treatment. And if the increased fatigue he was already feeling was any indication, today was going to be much worse.

The ritual continued as he came out of the bathroom and started thumbing through his closet -- only this time, he’d be donning jeans and a t-shirt instead of his suit and tie. Justin was already out of bed, and Brian could hear the blender going, signifying that breakfast wasn’t too far away. He actually felt kind of hungry this morning -- probably because he’d barely managed to keep down much of anything over the past few days. He wasn’t ordinarily a big eater anyhow, but the amount he’d managed to eat in the last 48 hours was paltry, even for him. Brian dressed and came down the stairs, settling into one of the chairs at his small dining table.

“You’re going to class today, right?” were the first words out of Brian’s mouth the instant Justin shut the blender off. He figured he’d better head off at the pass any aspirations the younger man had for staying home and playing nurse today. Justin had his own obligations and responsibilities, and Brian would be damned if he was going to get in the way of them.

Justin sighed loudly as if he’d been anticipating this conversation and had already resigned himself to the answer. Good, Brian thought to himself, because he didn’t feel like arguing.

“Yes, I’m going to class, if only because I know you won’t let me do anything else,” Justin said. “And I have the lunch shift at the diner today, which I should probably work, since I’ve called in for two days in a row. Although I hate to do that to you.”

“Do what to me? I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

“Leave you alone, with the shape you were in yesterday.” Justin raised an eyebrow at Brian as he poured the contents of the blender into a glass he’d just taken down from the shelf. “I think Deb is off today, though. I could see if she could come and sit with you. Keep you company. If you want.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine.” He loved Debbie, and appreciated everything she’d done for him over the years, but the last thing he wanted today was his Italian surrogate mother hovering over him or smothering him.

Justin didn’t say a word. He probably knew better than to argue with Brian, when his mind was already made up. And right now, it was. He was an adult, and he’d figure out how to manage the day on his own. The loft was relatively small, and the bathroom was only a few steps from the bed. With any luck, the meds would make things easier, and maybe not trying to push through and go to work would leave him with more energy than he’d had on Monday and Tuesday.

“You probably shouldn’t drive yourself, though,” Justin said. Apparently Justin did still have a bone of contention he wanted to pick.

“I’ll be fine,” Brian insisted. “It usually takes a couple of hours before I start feeling bad.”

“You look like you’re already dead tired right now, and you just woke up.”

Justin wasn’t wrong. Brian was dead tired. But he was also stubborn.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated as he unfolded the newspaper and started reading -- his way of shutting the conversation down.

Justin sighed again and dropped the subject entirely. He ate his own breakfast without saying anything to Brian.

Brian dropped Justin off at PIFA on his way to the oncologist’s office for day three of torture. He’d had to promise Justin yet again that he’d call if he needed anything, although Brian didn’t know what Justin planned to do about it, since he’d be busy with school and work until late afternoon, and Brian didn’t intend to interrupt any of that.

The treatment went exactly as it had the previous two days, although the sympathetic look on the nurse’s face when she saw Brian told him exactly how much worse for wear he was already looking. He’d been avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror, because he knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw. She took note of how differently he was dressed today, commenting on his casual attire.

“Staying home from work today?” she said.

Brian shrugged and looked away. He was, but that didn’t mean he liked doing that.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she continued, in spite of his non-answer. “You look like you’re very fatigued, Mr. Kinney. You need to rest and take care of yourself, or you’re only going to make things worse. If you listen to your body before it starts screaming at you, it might not scream quite so loudly.”

Brian didn’t say anything to that either, even though he bristled at the idea of getting lectured by anyone. He’d probably slept more than 12 hours of the last 24 -- he didn’t know how much more rest he could possibly need.

The rest of the treatment went exactly as it had the previous two days, and Brian was soon exiting into the waiting room, alone. As much as he didn’t want to feel like he needed anybody to come with him, he missed Justin’s presence a little bit.

Brian leaned against the wall of the elevator as he rode down to street level, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was. And he still had to drive home.

Making his way back to the loft was when Brian realized he’d made a mistake by insisting he drive himself. He’d been okay earlier, but apparently all of the walking around he’d already done just trying to get through his appointment had sapped all of his energy. As his eyelids became heavier and it got harder to focus on what he was doing, he found himself having to pull into a parking lot so he could allow his eyes to close for a few minutes. Justin had been absolutely right -- he shouldn’t have driven himself -- but fuck if Brian was ever going to let him know that. He just had to get home in one piece, no matter how long it took him to do it.

Eventually, he did make it home, although he had to take some more time to rest in the car before starting his journey up to the top floor of the building, where he’d finally be able to collapse onto the sofa or into his bed, whichever one he was able to make it to without falling over. He stumbled into the loft after what felt like forever in that rickety, old freight elevator, practically falling face-first onto the sofa. Was this seriously what he’d become? That he couldn’t even drive himself home for 20 minutes without having to stop halfway for a break, and when he did get home, he was so spent that he felt like he’d run a goddamn marathon?

After a few minutes, he managed to sit up and turn on the TV, which helped him feel more like he was just spending a relaxing afternoon at home, rather than being forced to stay there, partially by his own body, and partially by the tiger of a woman he’d hired to be his assistant. It didn’t take Brian long to come to the conclusion that daytime television lacked a lot to be desired, and apparently was only watched by a very specific subset of the population, as was evidenced by the commercials he saw over and over again at every break.

Even when he wasn’t working, Brian was always thinking about marketing. He couldn’t turn his mind off. But that’s the price you pay for being good at what you do, he supposed. When the horrible ads -- and thoughts of how he could do it better -- started driving him insane, he turned the TV off again, leaned back against the pillows and sighed. He had no idea how he was going to get through the next two weeks at home without going absolutely crazy. Brian Kinney definitely wasn’t a homebody. If anything, he was a bit of a workaholic, who spent most of the time that he wasn’t at work either at the bar or the club, or at the diner with his friends. And right now he could do none of those things. He was about to get very well acquainted with the four walls of his apartment, whether he wanted to or not. And it already felt a bit lonely.

Since Brian felt like he had a little bit of energy, at least for the moment, he figured he’d better prepare as best he could for what was likely to come later -- by putting extra bottles of water on the nightstand, along with a couple of the protein bars Justin had apparently picked up at the grocery store. Then, all he could do was wait for the inevitable. And the waiting was torture in itself.

He decided to go ahead and change out of his jeans and climb into bed -- maybe he could get in a nap before his forced bonding time with the toilet. He fell asleep quickly, and didn’t wake up until his body was telling him he had a very short time to drag himself out of bed and get to the bathroom. He made it, just barely -- wondering when or if the meds he was taking that were supposed to help with this were even doing anything.

The rest of the afternoon was essentially the same shit -- no pun intended -- different day. Too much time spent lying on the bathroom floor, sweating, although not quite as much as the day before. So maybe the meds were helping, after all. Thank god. Eventually, he managed to pick himself up off the floor and go back to bed, where he laid for a long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to force himself to stay awake for some unknown reason. He was rapidly losing that battle when he heard the loft door slide open and Justin walk in, having a hushed conversation with someone on his cell phone that Brian couldn’t quite hear. He was too tired to really focus on trying to listen in, so the only part he caught was the tail end of the conversation, as Justin got closer to the bedroom.

“I know, but I just can’t do that right now. I’m sorry. Anyway, I have to go. I’ll let you know if something changes.” He paused and let his messenger bag fall to the floor beside the dining table. “Uh huh. Bye.”

Brian saw Justin flip the phone closed and lay it on the table, along with his keys. Justin looked slightly agitated, but seemed to be trying to quickly erase that emotion from his face as he walked up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Justin said. His smile was gentle, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

“For now, yeah. And not lying on the bathroom floor, so I’d say that’s a win.”

Justin laughed, his expression softening and becoming more natural as his sunshine smile beamed out. Seeing that smile always made Brian happy too, even if most of the time he kept that emotion to himself.

“Yeah, I’d count that as a win,” Justin said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “So, I see you survived. Not quite as bad today?”

“I guess. I’m still kicking.” Brian shrugged. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Justin said as he toed off his shoes and climbed into the bed alongside Brian, letting his fingers trace lazy, random patterns across Brian’s bare chest. “I wish I could have stayed with you today.”

“I’m okay. You’ve gotta do your thing too.”

“I talked to my professor today.” Justin paused and took in a deep breath. He sounded a little nervous. “He said I can do some extra reading at home and get notes from another student, so I can skip the early morning lecture. I’ll still have to leave a few times for tests or small things that I have to be on campus for, but that frees up my mornings. And Deb and I got things rearranged at the diner for the next couple of weeks so that I can have some time off. So I’ll be able to stay with you most of the time.”

Brian wasn’t sure how he felt about Justin making these arrangements without asking him first. On one hand, he was pissed that Justin was reworking his life, especially school, to fit around this unwanted blip in Brian’s life. But on the other hand, Brian knew how he’d felt today -- weary, lonely, and a little afraid that he wasn’t going to be able to get himself home and was going to have to call Justin to come get him, which would have been far more embarrassing than just letting Justin drive him in the first place. Maybe having Justin around wouldn’t be that bad. And, he had to admit, if anyone was going to be taking care of him, he’d rather it be Justin, because he wasn’t smothering him. He was just...there. And it was nice.

Brian napped while Justin made them dinner, and he managed to sit at the table and eat most of it, and keep it down. Another win for the day. They spent the evening together on the sofa, Brian’s arm around Justin, watching trashy, mindless reality TV shows and smoking a little pot. Brian wondered why he hadn’t thought of smoking earlier in the week, because it seemed to help quite a bit with the low-level nausea he was still feeling, even though he was no longer stuck in the bathroom. And he definitely felt a lot less anxious. Having more of an appetite was a plus as well. If he was going to have to begrudgingly give up his cigarettes and booze -- at least temporarily -- maybe he’d just become a bit more of a pothead in the meantime. He did have a good excuse.

By 9:30, Justin was claiming to be tired and wanting to go to bed, although Brian was fairly sure that was just a ruse to get him to go to bed. It didn’t take much suggestion, though, because he was tired. Whoever would have thought that Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor would be in bed at 9:30, to actually sleep instead of just fuck?

Too exhausted to worry about the answer to that question, Brian was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

That night, however, he didn’t exactly sleep peacefully.

He didn’t remember much of the dream when he awoke from it -- only that he’d been trapped in a room filled with fire, unable to escape, and was starting to be consumed by the flames licking at his skin, when he started hearing Justin calling his name. Slowly, Justin’s voice got louder and the sound of the crackling flames faded away as Brian came back to consciousness, with the last vestiges of a terrorized scream on his lips. He was drenched in sweat, and still felt like he was burning, even though he obviously wasn’t -- he was in his bed, in the loft, with Justin. No flames. He wasn’t trapped. He was safe.

His breath was coming in large, uneven gasps -- gulps of air that he hoped might cool him down, that weren’t.

Justin’s hands were on his shoulders -- still resting there after they’d shaken Brian awake.

“You’re okay,” Justin said, his voice quiet, calm, and even. “It was just a dream. Whatever it was, it was just a dream.”

Brian felt so strange to be the one waking up in the middle of the night, screaming and gasping for air. He vividly remembered helping Justin through many sleepless nights, plagued by nightmares of prom and Chris Hobbs and baseball bats in parking garages. And he’d had a few of those himself, while Justin was still in the hospital, lying in a coma. Those, he’d dealt with alone. But when Justin came to live with him and Brian assumed his self-appointed role as Justin’s protector, he’d made up his mind that his own nightmares had to stop. And apparently his brain had been inclined to listen, because they did stop. Back then, he’d needed to focus on Justin. Now, he was the one being focused on -- being comforted by his lover as he tried to come down from an adrenaline rush generated by something that wasn’t even fucking real.

Justin settled back into the bed next to Brian, snuggling up to his side, one arm laid over Brian’s chest almost protectively. Brian would have thought that having someone else pressed against him like that would only have made him even hotter and more uncomfortable, but his own body was so warm that Justin’s actually felt cool against his skin. Calming, even. He focused on slowing his breathing down to a more normal tempo, while Justin ran his hand up and down Brian’s upper arm.

They were lying together like that, still in the dark, and Brian had just about drifted off to sleep again, when he heard Justin speak softly.

“I feel guilty, sometimes.”

“For what?” Brian tried to pull himself back into full consciousness again, although he knew he was probably mumbling.

“Not finding it.” Justin paused and exhaled. “The lump. I feel bad that I didn’t find it. You know, earlier.”

“What would that have mattered? It wouldn’t have kept any of this from happening. You couldn’t have stopped the cancer before it started.”

“I know, but I feel like I should have been the one to find it.”

“Hell, I never felt it either. Not until after he did.” Brian didn’t have to explain who ‘he’ was -- they both knew. “And then once he did, I couldn’t not feel it. It felt so obvious then. And it actually kind of hurt. But I’d never noticed it. So why the fuck didn’t I find it?”

A few seconds of silence settled between them before Justin quietly said, “I wonder how long it was there?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. It was there. Now it’s gone. And I’m dealing with the aftermath. But feeling guilty isn’t going to do anything -- not for me, not for you. So, don’t. Please. Just don’t.”

“No excuses, no apologies, no regrets?”

“Something like that.” Brian reached up and intertwined his fingers with Justin’s. “I’m going to be fine. Someday we’ll look back on all of this, and it’ll just feel like a distant memory.” Right then, it felt like hell, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“I know,” Justin breathed. “I just wish there was more I could do.”

“You’re here. That’s all you can do.”

They were still holding each other’s hands when they both drifted off to sleep again.

Thursday morning, Brian’s ritual was repeated. Only this time, Justin would be coming with him again. A welcome accompaniment. Thursday looked a lot like Wednesday had, only not as lonely, and with a joint smoked even earlier as an attempt to stave off some of the sickness. And on Thursday, it seemed to work. Friday was an entirely different story.

Friday was the day from hell.

It started off normally enough -- at least, Brian’s new “normal.” Wake up, shower, try to get some food into his stomach, go to the oncologist’s office, get zapped with the ray gun. Come home, sit around a bit, try to sleep, and wait for the least pleasant symptoms that would lead him to spend most of the afternoon in the bathroom.

When he’d laid down in the bed, he’d been freezing cold -- to the point that he’d stolen one of Justin’s more oversized hoodies to wear to bed, because his long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and the duvet weren’t enough. He was still shivering. Justin brought him some of the ginger tea, which helped warm him a little. At least, enough to fall asleep.

Two hours later, Brian woke up suddenly roasting, and couldn’t throw the covers off or shed his clothes fast enough. In that moment, he would have given anything to go back to shivering, because the heat seemed to be the far more unbearable of the two extremes. Although it seemed neither condition could be resolved by normal means -- nothing truly warmed him when he was freezing cold, and nothing really cooled him off when he was this hot.

Shortly after that, he was in the bathroom, vomiting up everything he’d ever eaten in his entire life. At least, that was how it seemed. This was even worse than it had been before he started taking the medication that was supposed to stop this shit. Every time he thought he was done, because there was no way there could be anything left in there, dry heaves would come, and then his body would somehow find something else to expel.

Justin was with him, trying to comfort him. Taking care of him. Being the perfect goddamn partner -- more than Brian felt he deserved. Trying to find something -- anything -- he could do to try to help. Although that day, it seemed like nothing did. Like nothing possibly could.

After what felt like hours on the bathroom floor -- and probably was hours, although Brian had long ago lost track of time -- Justin helped Brian back into the bedroom. Brian wanted to pull away from Justin’s touch -- even though he knew without it he would fall -- because today, everything hurt. His body hurt, his muscles hurt, his stomach hurt, his skin hurt...hell, it even felt like his hair hurt. Even though Justin’s touch was gentle, it was painful. Brian fought not to say anything, though, because he wanted Justin there. Mostly, Brian didn’t want to be alone.

Back in the bed, Brian curled his body around a pillow that he clutched tightly to his stomach, in hopes that the pressure might help stop the sharp pain he was experiencing. He spent the next hour like that, with the pain oscillating back and forth from a dull ache to a sharp, shooting agony. On top of that, the skin on his lower abdomen was starting to turn a bit redder, and felt like a sunburn. His clothing rubbed it and irritated it, adding to the discomfort he was feeling. Justin was rubbing his back, ever-so-lightly. Brian tried to pretend that wasn’t uncomfortable too. But the truth was, it was physically uncomfortable, and if he was being honest, it was emotionally uncomfortable as well.

Brian had no idea why Justin had saddled himself with caring for Brian when he was this ill. Volunteered, even. When it seemed like there was no end in sight to the torture and the agony, and Brian knew full well that he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with when he was sick or in pain. He was trying not to take it out on Justin, but it was hard, and he felt like he was about to lose the fight.

On Friday, Brian was wishing he would have just gone to fucking Ibiza and let the cancer claim him, to save everyone the trouble.

After his third trip from the bed to the bathroom and back, leaning on Justin the whole way so as not to trip over his own feet or fall to the ground when his exhausted legs gave out, Brian curled up around the pillow again and hoped against hope that this would all be over soon, one way or the other. He really didn’t understand what invisible force was keeping Justin anchored to his side.

“How are you still here?” he asked Justin, his voice much more weak and hoarse than he wanted it to be. “How the fuck are you still here, dealing with this shit?” He wanted to scream and yell, and let out his frustration at the whole fucked-up mess, but neither his voice nor his stamina would allow it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Justin looked at Brian, his clear, blue eyes full of confusion.

“You should be out living your goddamn life. You’re too young for this shit. I brought all of this on myself, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“You didn’t bring it on yourself. It just...happened. It wasn’t anything you did.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, neither do you. Sometimes things happen and we don’t know why. They just do.”

“Right now, I wish I was dead.” There. There it was. Out with it. He’d come clean. Laid it out there on the table.

Justin laid a hand on Brian’s arm. The touch, even though it was gentle, set off a twinge of soreness in his arm, but Brian didn’t pull away. He was trying to let Justin do what he felt he needed to do -- what he wanted to do, to try to comfort his lover -- even though it was hard. Really fucking hard. And right now, it physically hurt.

“Don’t say that,” Justin said, his voice barely above a whisper. Brian could hear the thickness of tears in Justin’s voice. They matched the tears that were building up behind Brian’s closed eyelids, threatening to fall. “I know this really sucks. But you’ll get through it. We’ll get through it. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’d told Justin before all of this started that it might get really bad, although at the time, he’d hoped and prayed he’d be wrong. But Justin had promised to be here, no matter how bad it got. For all of it. And he was.

But no matter how much Justin said he loved Brian, and no matter how many times he demonstrated it through his actions, Brian couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Justin’s sacrifice. Even when Brian managed not to say that out loud, and even when he tried desperately to convince himself that he was worthy -- and remind himself that Justin loved him -- there was always the nagging voice of his father in the back of his mind, reminding him that he was a worthless piece of shit. His father might be dead -- taken from earth three years before by the disease that was now making Brian himself miserable -- but his words still remained, haunting his son. Making him feel like he’d rather be dead than have to depend on someone else to take care of him. To have to depend on someone else’s love for him to drive them to take care of him. To keep doing it, over and over again, no matter how bad it got.

“I’m still here because I want to be,” Justin said softly. “Because I love you, and I want to help you.”

With that, the tears started to fall, mingling with the sheen of sweat that was still on Brian’s face.

“I know,” Brian murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s bullshit.” Justin laughed a little as he repeated one of Brian’s signature phrases. Brian couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as well, through the tears.

“But I do love you,” Justin continued. His expression was sincere. So goddamn sincere. “And I’m keeping my promise. No matter how bad it gets.”

That meant Brian didn’t have to be alone. And for that, he was secretly grateful.