Lee Fallon

A new supply of drugs from Kavinsky in hand, Lee heads back home, his head full of instructions and thoughts, and, at the forefront, a promise he made to Kavinsky that he would be sure to have someone around to watch over him when he started taking the important ones, the ones that should, if things go to plan, get rid of Lee's cancer. He's not entirely sure yet what that will mean, if it will remove the threat entirely or just the tumors. Either way, he'll be happy. No tumors means no liver failure, it means his lungs won't start to fail and fill up with fluid. Even if he just goes into remission, it will mean an entirely new lease on life, which is more than Lee could ever hope for.

He's going to tell Eric tonight. As soon as Eric gets off work, Lee's going to sit him down and tell him everything.

The combination painkillers/anti-nausea meds Kavinsky gave Lee last week have been helping, and the tonic and magic Molly had offered doing even more for making Lee feel better. Still, the chemo's taking a lot of out of him, and though he isn't vomiting much anymore, he still gets tired pretty quickly. The walk over to his old apartment and back wipes him out, so once he's got his medication arranged in the cabinet in the bathroom, Lee lays down for a nap.

When he wakes up he has a sweet message on his phone from Eric, and he's even more excited now that it's later in the afternoon almost time for Eric to get off at the salon and come home to him. He feels like celebrating, the last day of this round of chemo, his PICC line out, the acquisition of magic made drugs that might do even more, so he puts a nice bottle of champagne in the refrigerator to chill, ordering Chinese food to be delivered about the time Eric should be arriving him. He's full of pleasant anticipation for the second time today, and he tries to sit still, but it's so hard. He finally has to put on music and close his eyes, meditate a little so he'll stop jumping at every noise that might be Eric's car pulling up out front or Eric's keys in the lock. Breathing slowly, he calms his mind as much as he can; the energy today feels positive, optimistic, and Lee absolutely can't wait to share it with the love of his life.

His first round of chemotherapy had gone so much better than Lee had expected. He'd been sick, but not overly so, and at the end of it the results had been so positive that Lee had been even a little excited to start round two.

Four days in, however, and Lee was sure the way he felt during round one was a fluke. He'd been miserable since Monday afternoon, had no appetite of which to speak, and anything he had managed to eat (mostly because of Eric's insistence), had come back up not long after. He was given some anti-nausea meds on Wednesday which were helping take the edge off, but his entire body was still aching, his head had been pounding for days, and his gastrointestinal tract was a wreck. This was exactly what he remembered from the last time he'd done chemo years ago, and it hadn't mellowed at all with time.

On Tuesday he'd gone into the woods with Kavinsky and his compatriot, and while they'd made some good progress, the things they'd tried had ultimately failed, sending his would be saviors back to the drawing board. He had two more weeks of treatment, and while he knew he could get through it (he had before), he remembered that his friend Molly Carpentered had told him that she was going to look into some magic of her own when he spoke to her last, and now seemed like a reasonable time to see if she had any ideas. Even if she can't cure his cancer, she might be able to do something about the pain.

So this morning he sent her a text message, and she'd replied not long after, telling him of course she remembered him and that she'd be glad to come by and see what she could do for him. He'd replied with his address and many thank yous, then settled onto the couch to rest while he waited for her to make her way over.

From here.

They take the stairs more slowly tonight than the did the first time they'd come here together, not quite in as big of a rush, and certainly more sober. Lee let's them in, but he doesn't move to take off his blazer this time, just goes into the kitchen, setting down the cup of glitter and going into his pantry. He's fitted it with a pretty reasonable system of wine racks, and the bottles of wine take up fifty percent of the space, the other half nearly empty because Lee is terrible about stocking food at home.

He looks through a few bottles until he finds a sweet Vouvray from 2014 that promises to be pretty good. It's not as high in alcohol as he promised Eric, but it will be very easy to drink, and quickly, so not a bad place to start. He pulls a Riesling while he's in there as well, and he takes both to the counter to remove the corks, smelling each cork as he pulls it from the bottle.

Taking down two glasses, he fills them a third of the way with the Vouvray. "Okay, this is just the tasting pour," Lee says, meeting Eric's eyes. "After I show you how to taste it, I'll fill the glass the rest of the way," he assures Eric.

"First things first, hold the glass by the stem, not the bowl, like this," he shows Eric, grabbing the stem of his own glass about half an inch from the bowl, hooking his index finger around it and securing it with his thumb. "Then you smell it," he goes on, tipping his glass close to his nose, taking a heavy inhalation of the wine's bouquet. "And once your nose is full of the smell, you take a little in your mouth. But don't swallow right away," he says, giving Eric a heated little grin. "Roll it around in your mouth for a minute, over your tongue, then swallow." He gives Eric a demonstration, taking a small sip, holding it in his mouth, tasting all the nuances of the flavors, then swallowing.

From here.

Lee bends and pushes his jeans and briefs off and he's naked from the waist down when he stands, pulling his sweater off but leaving his t-shirt on. He takes a step toward Connor, reaching to wrap his arms low around Connor's waist and pull him close, finding Connor's mouth for another kiss, sharp and astringent from the vodka.

Honestly, Lee doesn't do a lot of research before he decides to book the inn at Kagura. He's heard various people talking about it, and it sounds sort of romantic, a cozy ski lodge in the mountains. Of course the plans aren't exactly romantic, but he doesn't think the mood will hurt anyway.

He's still shocked that Connor agreed so quickly to come here with him. As a Buddhist, Lee has let his interest in Christian holidays wane, but Christmas is still something he enjoys. And he has a lot of memories of his family, though he knows he wouldn't be seeing them anyway (always an excuse and an apology, because if his mother saw him now, she'd know), and he hates the idea of being alone. When he thought about it, who he would want to spend the day with, all he could think of was Connor.

It's dangerous, Lee knows that. They have an amazing sexual chemistry that Lee can't deny, but beyond that there's something else, something Lee can't let happen. Connor's already hurting, being here away from his family, from his life, and he can't let them fall in love. Connor seems good at distancing himself at least, so all Lee has to do is swallow anything he feels down and, if he can't stop it from blooming, at least keep it hidden.

The ride in the tram is terrifying, though the operator keeps assuring them it's fine, that the tram has never broken down as long as he's been operating it (and, based on his age, that seems like it might be decades). He also asks them about a hundred questions, mostly about their status as a couple, and Lee deflects as best as he can, glancing over at Connor periodically to make sure he's not too upset by all the implications the guy is making about them. There's a huge part of him that just wants to pretend Connor's his boyfriend and this is a grand romantic gesture, but he bites his tongue and keeps his hands to himself and reminds himself of every tumor in his body that won't let him have what he wants. He's lucky he has this, very lucky, and he won't take it for granted.

The arrive at the lodge and Lee checks them in, a nice suite, the most expensive one available. He figures there's no reason to save money here, since he won't be around to spend it anyway. And Connor's more than worth the expense.

Among the things Lee has heard about this place, he remembers the enchanted mistletoe the best. So, when he spots a bunch, he intentionally takes a step to the left to put him underneath it. He sticks in place immediately, just like he's caught between two panes of glass, and he laughs, delighted. "Connor," he says, turning his head (since his body is trapped), still smiling brightly. "Can you...?" he implores, looking up at the mistletoe above his head.

This is the voicemail of Lee Fallon. Please leave your message and I will get back to you as soon as I possibly can. Om swasti astu, may health be upon you.

As a city at its core, Minneapolis isn't all that different from Atlanta or Boston or Denver. The sizes of the buildings aren't the same, the placement of the parks are varied, but a busy street is a busy street, and Lee doesn't feel any more or less at home here than he has anywhere else he's lived.

The clinical trial he's in started yesterday. It was the standard affair: fill out forms, sign consents, meet with nurses, get jabbed by needles. The IV catheter is the same generic style they use in every hospital and outpatient facility Lee's ever been to, the chairs just as uncomfortable. It's another beige room in a long line of beige rooms, permeated with the smell of antiseptics, occupied by empty-eyed, grey-skinned people staring through each other, everybody with one foot in the grave.

There's one woman who wears pastels and laughs too loudly at everything, but at least she seems happy. She's also young, younger than Lee, and he feels a sharp twist of sympathy for her. She's latched onto an older gentleman whose wife drops him off in a black Town Car with a brown bag lunch and a thermos. There's an investment banker who comes in his business suits, a carpenter who was a roofer before his diagnosis, an aging former model, and an angry blonde woman who nearly hit Lee with her car in the parking lot yesterday morning. These are his classmates; they'll see each other two hours a day, five days a week for three months, and then probably never speak to each other again.

Lee walks to the clinic today, rather than running in. He hates admitting defeat, especially with only two months of training left before the New Year's Eve Marathon, but the drugs he got yesterday seem to have sapped some of his energy, made him jittery enough that he hardly slept. After he's done today he plans to go visit the acupuncturist he found nearby, get a treatment and see about acquiring some Chinese herbs to help him sleep.

After signing in, Lee's lead to his chair, settled, and plugged into his IV. It's old hat at this point, his veins ready for the needle, his brain prepared to gear down while he sits through the session. Leaning back, he pulls his iPod from his pocket and slips the earbuds in, finding his playlist of modern violin tracks. As soon as the music starts, he lets his eyes fall closed, focusing on his breathing – in through his nose, out through his mouth – bringing his heart rate down and his focus into his breath.

He's lost track of time when his music stops playing. It doesn't feel like he fell asleep, but it's odd that he hasn't heard from a nurse, or had anyone come to check on him. Opening his eyes, he finds he's no longer in the clinic. Instead he's seated on a bench out front of what appears, upon quick investigation, to be some kind of public ice rink. His IV has been removed, but otherwise he has everything he should have on him: his keys, his wallet, and his mp3 player.

It's chilly out, mid forties maybe, and goosebumps rise on Lee's arms immediately, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He rubs at his forearms as he stands, looking around, heading toward the first person he sees, a boy who is exiting the building behind him.

"Excuse me," he says to them, holding up a hand. "Can you tell me where I can catch a cab?"

One thing Lee hadn't considered when he'd gotten his cancer diagnosis twelve years ago was that it would involve this much traveling. And, at first, it hadn't. There were treatment centers in New Orleans that he'd gone to pretty much exclusively the first few years. But then he started getting accepted to clinical trials, and of course none of those were close to home. So began his nomadic lifestyle.

Trial number seven is in Philadelphia. He'd been home almost a year before it started, and while he's still traveling light, leaving his wine bar and his few friends is weighing heavily on him tonight, his third night in the city.

He had treatment today, and it's probably not the smartest idea to be out, but he can't stand another night alone in his apartment. Philly is a big city, so finding a gay club isn't difficult, and even though he's sitting at the bar by himself, just like he would be at home, being in a crowd of attractive men is definitely not hurting his mood. And neither is the beer in his hand, cheap as it is.