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01 August 2010 @ 07:59 pm
FIC: Parameters (EPILOGUE)  
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. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.


I hate Fridays. Most people in the world anticipate it Sunday evening through Thursday because it’s the last day of work, before a blissful 60 some-odd hours before you have to crawl back into the office you hate with your tail between your legs and a toothy smile on your face that belies the fact you wanna blow the fucking building sky high.

I love my job and I own the fucking place, so I’m not one of those pathetic losers.

I hate Fridays because for the last several months, it’s been Justin’s day for treatments. And the last few times he’s been so sick afterward that the smell nearly made me gag. And I have a very relaxed reflex, as should most gay men. Not to mention, it made me want to blow up the doctors office and remedy the problem, but then Justin’s health would probably end up worse.

Neither of us really bargained for the “it’ll be bad for awhile” from Pryce to actually mean “it’s gonna be like the ninth circle of hell for the entire time you’re having your treatments”.

I haven’t been able to go with Justin the last few weeks because of work and a major campaign fuck up thanks to some fucker in the art department who screwed up the boards and put the saying for Remson Pharmaceuticals on an ad I was doing pro-bono for Theodore’s rehab clinic. Yeah, that went over fucking brilliantly at presentation time. Though it’d be hilarious if Theodore’s face had stayed that red.

So Justin’s little faghag group have been trading off on taking him. And as I enter the loft, I expect to see most likely Maxxie floating around. He’d been the only one that hadn’t been to take Justin, so far. But my home is blissfully empty of Justin’s little friends.

“Honey, I’m home!” I call out with my little falsetto voice that makes him smile, despite being poisoned all day. But really, I’m fucking worried. The bathroom door’s open, I can see, and there’s no one else around, and my stomach clenches in fear.

But there is a small package on the counter, wrapped in silver paper that resembles foil (and could actually be, now that I look closer) and a gaudy blue bow. Plus I’m the first on the list to be called if there’s anything wrong at the office when Justin’s in for his treatments.


That little stomach clench again. I mean, he could’ve just run out. But usually he’s on the couch or halfway out of the bathroom, pale to the point that vein is visible all over his body and smelling ripe. He hates going on the bed when he’s sick. Because then he can’t watch TV to zone out on, so we put a disgustingly bright blue tarp on the couch that should only belong in Florida during hurricane season.



I relax a little, hearing his voice.

“Sorry, had my headphones on.” He says as he pulls out the buds, coming down the stairs. I hear the tinny tunes start on a new song, and know I scared him in between what’s probably Moby and some fucking boy band, most likely.

“You’re looking…” Like he does Sunday through Thursday, “Well, after your treatments.”

He smiles sheepishly and I have to wonder… “There’s a package for you on the counter. You should open it.”

I wanna push him about that smile, but there’s a light in his eyes that I haven’t seen in… years. Since before he left for New York.

So I play along and head to the package, undoing the bow with deliberate slowness, watching as he fidgets out of the corner of my eye. I smirk as I pull apart the foil-slash-wrapping paper, and look at the odd little present inside.

It looks like a scrap of fabric, bright pink with white and pink checkerboard frills. And when I pull it out, it falls open, the bottom stopping around my thighs.

It’s… “An apron?”

Why the fuck would he get me a pink… apron. Apron!

I snap my eyes to his where he’s smiling. Fuck. That smile. Did the loft just get brighter? … Am I growing a twat? Christ, I can’t believe I just thought that.

“I believe the deal was I get through and finish my treatments and you bake me that pie I love so much.”

“You fucking little shit!” I can’t help the burst of ecstatic laughter that comes from me as I reach for him. My hand curls around his neck and drags him to fit perfectly against my body, where he belongs. Our lips fuse and I clutch at him so tightly. Afraid this is some kind of fucking dream. The one I always had after a particularly bad bout of sickness, especially like it was in the beginning. Dreams where he’s healthy and whole and so completely Justin again that everything’s okay.

“There was more to the deal than that, Sunshine.” I remind him as soon as I pull away, feeling nervous that he’d try to back out of it.

“I know. Rae, Elijah, Fiona, Maxxie and Sean are already back in New York packing my shit up. They’ll bring it Sunday.”

“So that’s why it’s been so quiet the last few days.”

He pokes me in the ribs, smiling brightly. He’s too happy to let even my bashing his friends change his mood. Thank fucking God.

But if he really expects me to wear this fucking apron…

“And I expect you to go commando under that apron, Mister Kinney.” He whispers into my ear as he begins unbuttoning my shirt, promising me things that we could do with me in an apron and nothing else (I’ll admit, the ones of him coming up behind me are sort of hot too), not stopping ‘til he’s unbuttoned my trousers and pulled the zip down too, slipping his left hand in to grasp my hardening cock.

“Yes, sir.”

The twat’s lucky I love him. Because that fucking ring on his finger is really cold.


That’s it! :( I’m kinda really sad that it’s over, but it means I get to work on my next fic, tentatively titled Jar of Hearts.

I really wanna thank everyone that's read this. It means so much. I know cancer is an iffy topic to write (and even more to read), especially when you don't really have first-hand knowledge of it and have to rely on Wikipedia and various medical sites, hoping that the information has some semblance of truth to it. And the responses I received for this were overwhelmingly sweet. I used to be so scared to post fic up in this fandom ‘cause it’s so established in the last decade since the show aired, that I wasn’t really sure I’d be able to tackle anything with a bit of originality to it, and that’s what I like doing. I don’t want to take a topic that 9 out of 10 people have done, and then just write a clusterfuck of things that you can see individually in those 9 other pieces. I like approaching something with a bit of a different air to it. And I don’t know if I achieved it with this, but I had so much fun writing this. I really didn’t want it to end. As you can tell by the last rushed chapter, lol.

Thank gundamnook for this! Much love and absolute appreciation to her! Without her bidding/winning me in the Haiti auction and saying that sick!Justin was okay, this probably wouldn’t have happened. Now, to be perfectly honest though, this is what Fragments was meant to be from the very beginning. Justin’s behavior was to be linked to a brain tumor, but I couldn’t find a plausible way to connect the brain trauma from the bashing, to knocking his head on the ground when he was shot, to a brain tumor without taking some serious creative license on a cancer subject. And I try to make things as realistic as humanly possible, so I didn’t want to go so far out there.

Again, thank you all so much! I wish I could thank you individually, but that list would be super long.
-- Ashley.
feeling: accomplished
har2har2 on August 2nd, 2010 03:03 pm (UTC)
This was a great story. Thanks for writing it. Loved the ending. And would love to see Brian in the apron, commando!