Rage, Rage (one-shot)
Title: Rage, Rage
Author Name: Haina @ corposant
Author Email: wintering@gmail.com
Author Website/List: other stories
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: spoilers through season four; early beta by the lovely, wonderful besame_bj. Cancer-arc, lots of angst, lots of love.
Disclaimer: QAF is the property of Showtime & Cowlip.
I started this story in May. For some reason I felt the urge to write a cancer arc story. Long story short, it sat on my hard drive for months before I finally got around to edit and finish it. Basically, it needed to end. After months of torture, it's here, finally. I hope it doesn't suck.
By the way, I made a Brian Kinney fanmix here called "Hello Time Bomb." Last call before the links expire.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas
Years from now, Justin wouldn’t remember the chill of the bathroom floor, or the sterile colorlessness of the hospital, or the stench of disease that permeated the loft. He wouldn’t remember the debilitating fatigue, the untouched dinners, and the sleepless nights-everything: the medical jargon, the unpronounceable names of doctors, the strange spelling of drugs and treatments. All those months after Ibiza and the chicken soup had rolled into a soft forgetful haze. Everything and nothing felt real.
Years from now, the only thing Justin would remember with crystalline clarity from the otherworldly fog of cancer was Brian’s eyes and the abyss that seeped into them as the unbearable exhaustion settled; when during those silent restless nights, all Justin could see was the void in them-infinite, relentless and dark. There was poison in Brian’s body and more poison coursing through his veins, but the only real thing Justin knew was the resignation, heavy and immeasurable. It hurt Justin more than anger and hatred and baseball bats and it scared him even more than the possibility of death.
----
The radiation started in the middle of winter. So alongside the celebrations and the promises of a new year, Brian had dreams of endings, graveyards and James Dean.
A blaze of glory, Brian had said, his face glowing with the brilliance of New Year fireworks. And you’ll always be remembered as young and beautiful. Justin kissed Brian a little harder than usual that night and more desperately than he had intended. When he finally walked Brian home at 1 am, Justin had said, lamely, Happy new years, with his hands digging into Brian’s arms.
But the radiation treatments made the world fade into a lifeless monochrome. The days rolled into each other and were filled on end with sickness, restless exhaustion and hours spent with his face in the toilet. Suddenly January was gone and Brian no longer dreamed at all.
----
Brian wondered when his bathroom became a mausoleum. The tile floor was cold and lifeless against the bare of his back. The heavy stench of vomit lingered in the air. He couldn’t move, like somehow his shoulders were glued to the floor. The night hummed around him and dwindled into a dull gray. His entire body ached and throbbed, lulling him to an uneasy slumber. It felt like death.
----
It was one of the snowiest winters Pittsburg had seen in decades. February was one snowstorm after another. The bitter wintry cold settled into the corners and spaces of the loft. It seemed that no matter how high Justin turned up the thermostat, the loft always felt chilly.
Brian had practically stopped eating. The treatments dulled his appetite and the little food he consumed never stayed down for very long. Justin was constantly worried about Brian not eating enough. So he made soup, prepared light snacks, and nagged Brian into eating something every chance he had.
But when the evening came and Brian sat, shivering and cold, on the bathroom floor, body hunched over the toilet bowl, there was nothing Justin could do. Justin sat with Brian, his hands making patterns against Brian’s back and every time he was startled to feel the jagged edges of Brian’s ribs and spine. Skin and bones. The words echoed in Justin’s head.
Brian found his way back to bed during the wee hours of the night. That was when Justin saw that look in Brian’s eyes, a dark cavity; as though everything was so far removed from him that he didn’t know if he was living or dead. But Justin saw it and he knew.
Every night, as the winter dragged on longer, Justin would wrap himself around Brian under the heavy duvet. He wanted to shield Brian from the cold, from the silence and darkness, away from the apathy of disease. He gave Brian everything he could offer.
Justin refused to recognize the death in Brian’s eyes.
----
Leave it, Brian said. His voice was throaty and soft. Just leave it, Justin, for the cleaning lady tomorrow.
Justin had already collected the cleaning supply from the cabinet under the sink.
Justin, Brian tried again, attempting to sound demanding and hostile. I said to just leave it. He turned his head to face the bathroom door and watched as Justin hands-hands which should be handling paints and watercolors and pastels-scrubbed at the floor. Brian watched how deftly Justin wiped away the indistinguishable pieces of food, like cleaning up something as innocuous as spilt milk. His hands moved against the tiles as if a piece of art was falling from his fingertips and Brian thought of how Justin didn’t belong here like that and with him like this.
Brian looked away.
----
It took over four years. Justin tried to recount everything he had to fight through in order to be here. Here with the stagnation of disease, the resignation, and the constant fear. Justin was finally, blissfully, here.
I’m not going anywhere, Justin murmured against Brian’s throat, leaving a kiss there to seal his words. He had already sacrificed too much to be just here, tucked beneath the crook of Brian’s neck. So shut up already. I’m not going anywhere, he repeated.
----
Brian’s heartbeat was steady like ocean waves that push against the shore and fall back. Ba boom. Ba boom. Ba boom. Each one, like a small implosion, matched the rise and fall of his chest and the in and out of his breath.
Justin set his world to the beat of Brian’s heart; he breathed in what Brian breathed out; he wanted his heart to keep time with Brian’s.
Justin remembered a physical phenomenon he had learned in physics during the senior year of high school. Entrainment--two oscillating bodies have the tendency to sift phases so that they can vibrate in harmony. He remembered what his professor had said, If you were to set two pendulums to swing at different rates and then bring them closer together, they will eventually swing at the same rate. It is the way the universe conserves energy.
Justin held Brian tighter. His arms enclosed his neck, his hands digging into Brian’s shoulder blades. He thought that maybe if he held Brian closer and tighter, their heartbeats would be entrained to each other. So if Brian ever slipped into the void, Justin would always be able to pull him back.
No, he whispered to the space between them, to the abyss in Brian’s eyes. You are not taking him.
----
Ironic. If Brian were to describe cancer in one word, it would be ironic. Brian chuckled to himself. Of course it would be testicular cancer. Fucking hilarious, the irony of it all. Just fucking hilarious. Brian let out a louder laugh.
The cold of the tile floor was making him delirious. Or maybe it was the dehydration from all the vomiting, or the fatigue, or the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything all day, or maybe it was because he felt like death, three times over.
Out, out brief candle, Brian muttered under his breath. Cancer, as it turned out, was not so hilarious.
----
There were many nights (and weeks and days and hours, too many times) where Justin laid awake in bed, studying the way light fell across the ceiling. He barely slept anymore. The sickness had taken over everything. Fears and doubts and questions kept Justin awake every night.
Brian never slept well and Justin kept vigil over him. He watched Brian’s eyes fluttered beneath the lids, shifting in dreams Justin would know nothing about. The raise and fall of Brian’s chest became jagged and sharp. He was suddenly seized by panic, like time passing by too fast: there was not enough time. He wondered too, if this was what Brian had felt after the bashing.
Justin wanted to save Brian.
You’ll always be beautiful. You’ll always be young, Justin heard himself say. His words spilled out like casting a life preserver into the bottomless ocean at night. You are my highest reverence.
----
After all the nights (and weeks and days and hours, too many to count), Justin had effectively memorized the shadows on the loft ceiling at any given time of night. The lights were always the brightest before midnight. That was when the lights were the brightest and the dark shapes danced. The streets were the least busy after 2am, so the only source of light was the lone street lamp outside of Brian’s building. The entire ceiling was washed with a dim whitish yellow.
Justin had watched many sunrises from the loft ceiling. The sunrise started with splashing the bedroom with an eerie blue light. Then everything became brighter and the colors poured in: first yellow, then pink and red and orange, until finally sunlight spilled in, making everything golden and new.
Brian would sometimes watch the sunrise with Justin, because Brian barely slept through the entire night anymore. They would lie in bed together within the exquisite silence of the early morning and watched as the colors seep in, bringing in yet another day. And Justin would think of how, under any other circumstances, Brian would never be caught dead doing something so lesbianic.
----
Another blizzard came and went. In the morning, the entire city was covered in a layer of forgetful snow. Everything was white and bright and clear. The sky was crystalline blue-the bluest sky Justin had ever seen. The air was crisp and fresh against his skin. Justin squint into the distance and was taken by its clarity. Justin felt like he could see anything, as if the world had opened up and revealed all its secrets.
But Brian did not see the snow with either wonder or awe. He took one look at the roads and handed Justin the keys.
----
March was not any warmer than the months before. Justin tried in vain to heat up the loft; he closed all the drapes over the floor to ceiling windows and even turned on the oven with the door open. But when Brian came home early from the office, bearing with him the bitter cold of the streets and the heavy fatigue of radiation, the loft never seemed warm enough.
----
It was towards the end of the radiation regiment. The nausea and fatigue came on stronger and keener. Brian didn’t even bother showing up at the office anymore and went straight home after the hospital. He would sleep for hours and still feel tired.
Justin helped Brian out of his coat and pulled him through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Brian was too tired to protest when Justin started to unbutton the expertly pressed Prada shirt, to unbuckle the pristine leather of the Gucci belt, and to pull off the soft fabric of the pin strip Hugo Boss pants. Justin held Brian in the shower, letting the warm water wash away the winter from Brian’s skin and the stiffness from Brian’s muscles.
Finally, Justin lay down in bed with Brian and hummed soft nonsense against the warmth of Brian’s throat. Sshh, don’t think about anything. Just go to sleep. Ssshhh. Until Brian’s breathing became slow and measured.
Justin stayed with Brian, their bodies curved to fit together like cobblestones. To the world (from tricks to clients to friends), Brian always smelled like cigarettes and Armani aftershave. But the Brain Justin knew smelled of sweat, skin, and the warm autumn. Justin breathed in the heat between their bodies and their lips. Justin breathed in enough Brian until the traces of soap, smoke, aftershave, and hospital sterility faded; until all he could distinguish was the familiar scent of Brian.
Every time, Justin was comforted by the fact that the Brian he knew was still there, underneath it all.
----
Justin thought he didn’t notice. But of course he noticed: how could he not? Brian watched as Justin slept less and less, ate less and less. Justin lost weight and became more anxious. Dark circles appeared around his eyes. Brian wanted Justin to stop worrying, stop bearing the responsibility, or just leave him-anything at all. He wasn’t the one who had cancer and he should start acting like it. But Brian still felt the guilt weigh him down further each day Justin stayed by his side.
Guilt and something else, as well. Something unnamable.
----
Brian hated the starkness of hospital rooms. The walls were white, the curtains were white. Everything was sterile and barren, like the winter outside. Everyone looked the same; just eyes peeking out from medical face masks and scrubs caps. And everyone spoke to him in the same sympathetic, sensitive tone that made Brian feel like a corpse at a wake.
Justin thought that the hospital walls were an off white, slightly gray. It was the color of snow and of winter mornings. Somehow the color was reassuring, because Justin knew that all winters ended with the arrival of the spring.
----
You lost weight, Brian finally said, like making an announcement.
Justin didn’t look away from the book in his hand.
You lost weight, Brian said again, a little desperate and a little frustrated.
Justin shrugged. I know.
Not satisfied, Brian took the book away. Are you trying a new diet? As soon as the sarcastic words left his mouth, he regretted them. He was afraid that Justin might tell him that he was on the my-boyfriend-has-cancer-low-fat diet.
No, Justin said instead, while looking at the coffee table as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Brian sighed and let silence wash into the space between them and into the places where words should be. Instead, Brian wondered when Justin had become so brave.
----
Brian realized that the two of them wore matching scars. Justin’s had come from the hatred and malice of society that tried to kill him with a baseball bat; his scar, a long white contusion on the corner of his forehead, the world had seen and probed. Brian’s, however, had come from himself; a cancer growing and spreading inside that had tried to kill him. His scar, on the other hand, was small and hidden from the world. No one would even know of its existence, not even the tricks. Brian’s scar, only Justin saw.
----
When Jack died of cancer, Brian said. I wonder if he ever felt like this, like life is being drained right out of you, like your entire body is giving in. He took another drag of cigarette, letting the smoke settle into his lungs. Or if he was too far gone to feel anything at all.
Justin frowned; he didn’t know if it was because of the smoke or the words spilling out of Brian’s mouth. The doctor said no more cigarettes, Justin tried.
When I get lung cancer, I’ll start worrying about it, Brian replied. His voice was cold and indifferent, like commenting on the weather.
Justin stiffened. No, he said, louder than he had intended. Brian’s words hit him harder than he realized. No. You are going to be fine. There will be no more cancer. You said, Justin was rambling and he couldn’t stop, they caught it early. You said--you are going to be fine. There’s no more cancer.
Brian turned to look at Justin. Suddenly Justin’s face looked darker, hollower. He reached out to pull Justin into a hug, feeling ribs beneath his hands. I’m going to be fine, Brian sighed, feeling guilty again. Stop worrying. I’m going to be fine, I promise. So stop worrying.
Justin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He allowed himself to be held--it had been such a long time since Brian held him like this--and bathed in the warmth of their bodies. Finally, when his heart rate slowed, Justin said firmly, You are not Jack.
----
The treatments have stopped. But the symptoms didn’t. Brian only went to the office in the mornings. After lunch, he came back to the loft and rested.
April is the cruelest month, Brian told Justin with a wry grin playing on his lips. He was reclined on the white sofa, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
Justin returned the smile, nuzzled his nose against Brian’s hair. It had barely registered in his mind that it was April until now. It had been four months since the first round of radiation had started. April meant that the snow was going to melt. April meant that the days were getting longer and the darkness was going to leave Brian’s eyes and color was going to return to Brian’s face. April meant so many things to Justin.
April is the cruelest month, Justin repeated. Suddenly, the past four months seemed at once as long as four years and as short as four days. The winter was ending, finally. Justin kissed Brian, pushing his tongue into his mouth as though he will find all the answers to his questions there. For the first time, it seemed, Justin did not taste the sterility and bitterness against the wet hotness of Brian’s lips. It had been such a long time since Brian kissed him like this.
When Justin broke away for air, he suddenly understood the meaning of the winter, because every winter ended with the spring, because rebirth could only follow death.
Shantih, shantih, shantih. Justin whispered into Brian’s open mouth and somehow, he even believed it.
----
Once upon a time (had it really been that long ago?), Brian had thought that James Dean had got it right. Go out with a bang, not a whimper. But these days, Brian no longer had time to entertain such thoughts.
Spring was here. And as the air warmed, Brian found that his body, much like the earth, was waking up. He stayed at the office through the entire work day. Justin started to spend the night at Daphne’s every now and then.
On those nights when the loft was empty saved for his own presence, Brian suddenly realized how hauntingly big his bed was or how fifteen feet high ceilings never kept in much heat. The silence covered him, lulled him to sleep. But he no longer felt the intimacy of death. It was a peaceful silence, the silence that only Justin could leave behind.
Brian was use to being left behind, just as he had always absently believed that he never needed anyone else other than himself. Because there had been a baseball bat, violin music, and impromptu trips to Ibiza.
Something entirely different, though, had solidified between them in the past four months. Brian was caught, like everyone else, in this old chaos of the sun, in this mess of beginnings and endings, all too entirely human.
Brian had never been afraid of death, but now Brian was afraid of losing.
----
The first rain came down: soft and gentle like a haiku, falling like a symphony against glass windows. It was the early morning when Brian woke up and he watched Justin sketch on the dinner table-hands moving, a sharp ferocity in his eyes. It was the first time Brian had seen Justin draw since the chicken soup.
Hey, he said softly, as if afraid of disrupting the creation of something extraordinary.
Justin looked up and smiled. Hey.
Then Justin continued sketching and Brian got up to make coffee. The rain was falling. Brian looked out the window and thought of how summer would come to Pittsburgh soon. When he turned back to watch Justin, Brian suddenly saw Justin so clearly that he thought that he could split Justin in two.
It was something like a reincarnation.
----
Years from now, Brian would try to forget trips to Ibiza, the deafening bang of the loft door, and the chicken soup. Brian would look back on these four months, on these four years, and suddenly cling to the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing. Maybe that was love, Brian didn’t know, but he finally know why Justin came back and why he stayed.
Years from now, Brian would try to recount the times Justin had left him. There had been the promise of romance, the call of Hollywood lights, and the exhilaration of the art world, but Justin came back. In the future there would be many more times when Justin would leave, because Justin was audacious and wanting and pure. But cancer had taught him something. Brian could see finally how the two of them had built their entire relationship on the side of a Möbius’s strip, where every end was also a beginning.