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Debbie had known that Justin was going through a rough patch right now—well, for the last few months, really, but she hadn't realized just how bad it was.

She'd had one of her regular Friday night pasta dinners with the usual gang, not really expecting Brian and Justin to come, but then they'd walked in an hour late to everyone's pleased surprise.

They were greeted, took off their coats, Brian filled his plate with some of the leftovers which Justin declined. He settled in, taking up a seat on the end of the couch; just sitting there, quiet, next to Brian while he ate and everyone pretended that everything was fine; talking and telling jokes back and forth.

Justin—Jesus, it hurt just to look at him.

The first thing Deb noticed when he'd walked in was his color; his face was gray, pale and pinched with pain. Then, after the bulky coat came off, she saw how fucking thin he was now—skin and bones, really.  He looked like those kids you see in the magazines or on TV sometimes, the ones who have anorexia. Jennifer had mentioned that he was having trouble keeping his food down, but this—Mother of God.

Then, beyond that, Deb was taken aback by the way the kid acted.  Before this, every time she'd seen him he'd been upbeat and happy to be out with his friends. He'd be joining in with the kidding around and smiling, but this time he just looked like all he wanted was to curl up in a ball somewhere, hope to God the pain would stop and sleep.

Oh, and that was the other thing—the circles under his eyes.

The damn kid looked like he hadn't slept in weeks and when she could finally pull Brian aside to ask what was going on, he just said that the radiation had burned Justin's chest with second degree burns and the mouth sores were back so, between the two, he couldn't eat and the pain stopped him from sleeping but they'd be taking care of that in the morning.

"How?"

"They're going to fit him with a portable drip."

"A what? What the fuck are you talking about—that poor baby's going to have an IV bag with him or some shit like that?"

They were in the kitchen then, Brian clearing his plate. "It's a small backpack he can keep with him; it's a morphine drip for the pain, Deb. If he needs the med he can just push a button."

Oh my God. A fucking portable morphine drip.

It doesn't take a damn medical degree to know how bad it has to be for that.

Justin is nineteen years old.

They still go down to Bethesda two days a week for the treatments but the kid isn't strong enough for any more than that and the doctors are afraid that it will do more harm than good to push it so, as Brian said, they just take it one day at a time.

When they're home they mostly stay in but then Brian told Deb about this new idea they've had—well, Justin had.

They want to start—well, they are starting, a new foundation to raise money for pediatric cancer research and kids medical needs. Yeah, we all know there are tons of foundations and groups that do that and some of them are pretty damn good, but this one has a different point of view.

They want it to be kids raising money for kids. You know how every town has some kid with leukemia or brain cancer or something? Well, take the money from bake sales and the sale of note cards and whatever and put it where it's needed.

The money raised will go, one hundred percent to Sloan Kettering and NIH (National Institute of Health).

That's what Justin is focusing on now.

He's donated a painting of his for an auction to raise money for Sloan Kettering. Sure, he knows they're heavily endowed but screw it. They helped him—or tried to and he wants to give back. In fact, they were going to deliver it themselves that week while Justin still was strong enough to do it.

Then Brian told Deb what Justin really wants his legacy to be. He even told her, "When Justin dies, he wants people to know what the gold ribbons mean."

Deb shook her head—what? Gold ribbons?

"You know how pink ribbons are for breast cancer and yellow is for the troops, red is for AIDS? A Gold ribbon is for pediatric cancer awareness and most people don't know that. That's what Justin really wants; for people to know. It's important to him." He reached into his pocket. "I have a present for you—for everyone." He handed her a small pin, maybe an inch long. It was one of the gold ribbon pins. Moving through the room he handed one to each of their friends quietly explaining what it was for.

Over on the couch, Justin had fallen asleep.

Later, after everyone had gone home and the place was put back to order, Deb sat on the end of the couch Justin had used earlier that evening.

The thing that stuck was the way Brian had phrased it. "When Justin dies, he wants that to be his legacy."

For the first time since this had started three years ago, the mask had slipped and shown the acceptance of the inevitably of what was happening.

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