Author's Note: Alright, this is my first story guys. This was a quick drabble I did last night right after watching the episode. I was disappointed that we didn't get much of a reaction from Eli, but here's my interpretation of him dealing with Clare's cancer and was inspired by next week's promo! Hope you dig!
Since arriving back in Toronto it was near impossible to tear Eli away from Clare's side.
True, there were times he'd leave, but it was never for long. There were very few exceptions:
He would go out and bring her back better food if she had the appetite for it. He had brought some of her favorite books, along with some new titles he thought maybe she'd like from the library. If she didn't have the energy, he'd gladly read out loud while she rested in bed.
He had brought her flowers and her favorite movies (and watched every single one without a hint of criticism, by the way).
(Okay, only slight criticism).
He never left during the nights. He was content with sleeping in a chair.
Anything to make her life easier, he would do it.
But, he knew couldn't make everything easier.
Earlier that day when he had returned from picking himself up more clothes and breakfast, she wouldn't see him. Not maliciously, but rather in embarrassment and shame.
She had shaved her head completely rather than watching it fall out in clumps in the shower and as she brushed, as advised by the nurses, but she hadn't wanted to see him—or rather, she didn't want him to see her.
He had caught a quick glimpse though, and it was enough to make his heart break. She was still beautiful, always so; but it did make everything feel more real than it had been since she began treatment. She looked the part of a cancer patient, the ones Eli would see in commercials about donating to cancer funds but never batted much of an eyelash to. Realization to their new reality came crashing in all at once, and it was enough to make him physically ill.
He accepted her wishes, deciding to give her space for now, and turned on his heels to leave. But mostly because he didn't want her to see him cry.
The sticky Summer air hit his skin as soon as he stepped out of the cool Hospital, and during the walk back to his car Clare hadn't left his mind. Cancer, Chemotherapy, the utter grief and heartache in Clare's voice—it echoed until he just couldn't take it.
When he got into the car, it was as if it all came crashing down all at once. The heaviness in his chest and shoulders was enough to make him physically sink forward into his arms as they folded over the steering wheel of the car. He sobbed hard into his arms, and they quickly became wet with his tears. He clenched the wheel so hard in his hands he knew his knuckles went white, but he paid that no mind. He only felt sadness and grief and anger, and everything around him seemed to fade.
Of all the people around them, it had to be Clare. She was always so kind and good. She was compassionate, she was bright, she was always caring of others; she was innocent with enough hard times on her plate in the past couple years that it just seemed downright wrong and surreal. It was just a reminder at how cruel reality was. No matter how good of a person you are, tragedy pays no mind.
He would switch places with her in a single heartbeat if he could.
Sucking in a breath Eli slowly sat up and leaned back against the seat. He gave a heavy sigh, trying to get himself together but found that the more he tried to calm down, the more tears ran down his flushed cheeks.
She was dying right before his eyes, and he couldn't get the thought out of his head. He knew the survival rate was more than half, but there was still the tragic thirty percent that hung over his head. He tried not to think of it—he tried ever since he came home from New York. He knew what cancer meant, knew all the emotional and physical agony that came with it-but he didn't want to think about the obvious: the possible tragic outcome, he shook it off every chance he could. It was hard to think about, and at first he hadn't. He was numb when he first heard her news. They hadn't sunk in that night in his room, or on the plane, or the airport. Even as he cried into his father's shoulder before he headed to the hospital on the morning of his arrival, it still hadn't processed to its full effect.
Now, it wouldn't cease.
He leaned against the bathroom door of his parents' house, inhaling a deep breath that shook slightly with raw emotion. His eyes immediately welled up with hot tears, but he kept them at bay, and quickly wiped them just before they fell.
Don't think about the negative. Be strong. Do it for her.
Do it for her.
He stood in front of the mirror and ran his hand through his thick dark locks. He slowly brought his hand away and moved it to the drawer without breaking his gaze in the glass. Shuffling through the square space, he pulled out a razor.
"I don't want you to see me like this."
His lower lip trembled as he heard the tears in her voice ring over in his head, again and again. He closed his eyes and switched the razor on with a flick of his thumb. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, razor buzzing in his grip.
Chunk by chunk his hair fell in brown clumps onto his shoulders and to the floor below around his feet until the last one fell. He then ran his hand over his now bald scalp.
Now they were equal.
Anything to ease her pain, he would do. He'll make her see she's not alone, and she'd never have to be.
Not while he was around.