((A/N: The next couple of chapters are being taken from how my treatment progressed. Everyone who undergoes chemo has varied side effects and timings on when those side effects hit. Also, a special shoutout to a new reader whom I have met on Discord - Kidkeeper! I salute you, fellow Pink Warrior!))

Phase Six: Hair Loss

Following the second treatment, Barbara certainly felt more aware of how her body took the chemotherapy. She made a few inquiries about her medication, adjusted how she took the nausea pills, made certain that through the treatment she was wearing Vendel's bracelet (and getting compliments about it) and the result was she was confined to her bed for only a day, about two days afterwards. Though she had some joint stiffness and locking in her hands it wasn't anything detrimental, and Dr. Coraline told her to monitor it which was she doing as well as taking a few more prescriptions to try and head off any long-term bone or joint problems. All in all she ton this as considerable progress.

But that couldn't stop some side effects from happening, and no matter how she thought she was prepared Barbara still felt a shock when, after leaving a relaxing shower before dinner, she toweled her hair dry and saw undeniable proof of that fact. With a sigh, she headed downstairs to tell Jim. He was in the kitchen, naturally, and the smells produced by his cooking was wonderful.

"Almost done, mom!" he cheerfully commented over his shoulder when he heard her approach, then frowned and turned more when he saw her resigned expression. "Mom, what's wrong? So you feel sick? Should I call your doctor?"

"No, honey. I feel fine. But..." Barbara sighed, then just ran a hand through her hair and showed him the results. "I think it's time." Jim swallowed heavily, but nodded and set the timer on the stove. Dinner would be fine for a bit.

A few minutes later, with newspaper on the floor beneath a chair for her to sit in and a towel around her shoulders, Jim asked his mom once more.

"Are you sure?" Barbara took a breath, but nodded.

"Cancer can call the shots on a lot of things, but this I can decide. Go ahead." Jim nodded, quietly awed by her courage again, then began cutting. Soon red locks littered the papers, and the electric razor took it turn.

Then it was over.

"Okay, done." Jim put the razor on the counter, then came around to look at his mom. "For what it's worth, mom, I think you still look great!" Barbara smiled.

"Thank you, honey." She stood, carefully slipping the towel into the chair so she didn't scatter anything around, then hugged him. "And thank you for doing that for me. I'll be right back, though. I want to change shirts." Jim nodded and began cleaning up as Barbara went upstairs, quietly gathering a bit of the hair to save if she wanted to.

Upstairs in her room Barbara changed shirts, tossing the previous one into the hamper to wash, and enjoyed a good meal.

But as she turned in to sleep she paused as her eyes caught sight of the half-opened master bathroom door. She hesitated in her thoughts, then took a deep breath and moved across the room to enter and look at herself in the mirror.

She made certain to stay quiet so Jim wouldn't hear her tears.

It was a bit...odd, to say the least, to have Barbara home so often. Or at least that was Draal's opinion. Though they'd gotten fairly used to one another since she'd been informed about her son's role as Trollhunter their interactions had been limited by her often-varied working hours and her son's duties, added to the simple fact that by his Troll nature Draal was more active at night and resting during the day, usually in Trollmarket, while the human was the opposite.

But since she began her leave from work their encounters had increased. She would venture down into the basement when she felt the energy to do so to adjust the furnace or do a load of laundry (something she'd joked that she was much more proficient with than her cooking), and catch the warrior taking his quiet nighttime vigil over the household. The first time had actually startled Draal a bit (the fact that he'd been snacking on coals had absolutely nothing to do with it!), but she'd seemed surprised to see him as well and had jumped. By this point it no longer did so and she'd even come down simply to drop off some things she thought he'd might like or to get his thoughts on her son's training.

Given that Draal lived part-time in the Lake household he also was in a unique position to know how well they were holding up with Barbara's ordeal more so than the other Trolls. To his understanding all was proceeding according to plan. Her Counsel of War was very wise indeed.

This particular night Draal knew the Trollhunter was out on a patrol that he couldn't pass to one of them, so the Troll warrior was in the basement keeping an eye on the household. He could hear Barbara above moving around in the kitchen; Jim had made certain that she had a dinner ready to heat up before he left. The warrior hadn't expected anything, so he was a bit surprised to hear the basement door open and her footsteps coming down. She was holding a hamper; ah, laundry night.

"Good evening, Draal." Draal grunted a reply, mouth full of socks he'd been given that had been un-repairable. He chewed, watching her and thinking something was odd…

Oh, that was it. She was wearing a cloth of some kind on her head. Not like a bandana or towel, or a band like Bagdwella wore in her hair. This was something shinier and patterned and that covered everything. As he watched she loaded the wash, though to his eyes she seemed highly uncomfortable. She kept adjusting the cloth on her head, tugging at it and pushing it here and there. Swallowing he tipped his head, and as she turned to get the detergent she noticed, making a questioning sound.

"You seem uncomfortable," he explained as he stood. "I do not believe it is because of me. If that thing on your head is bothering you, then why wear it?" Barbara seemed startled, then looked away. One hand came up almost subconsciously to touch the headwrap.

"It's not bothering me… not nearly as bad as the wig did." Draal did know what a 'wig' was. Difficult to eat, kinda stringy in his opinion. Tended to stick in his throat. But how a wig fit into the situation was beyond him. Perhaps his confusion was on his face because Barbara sighed, though she smiled at him, bravely Draal thought.

"Did Jim ever explain why my chemotherapy makes me so sick?"

"Not really." Draal wasn't about to clarify that when Jim had been elaborating on things he'd not paid a lot of attention. All that medical stuff went clean over his horns.

"Well, chemotherapy fights cancer, tries to shrink it, by attacking cells in the body that replicate themselves quickly. That's what cancer does. But chemotherapy can't tell the difference between cancer cells and normal cells that just happen to replicate quickly as well. Like skin, the lining of the stomach, nails…. And hair." She pushed the wrap aside, showing she had none. It was a bit surprising given that Draal was so used to seeing her red locks though he didn't do more than hum softly.

"So the cancer has caused you to lose your hair, and that is bothering you?" Barbara tugged it back into place, turning back to add the detergent as if nothing was wrong and keeping her tone light and casual - a mask if ever Draal had heard one.

"Well, I mean, it's not like I wasn't expecting it. It happens to virtually all cancer patients. But…." Though she couldn't bear to think of Jim knowing her thoughts for some reason telling them to Draal was easier. Perhaps it was the emotional distance, something closer to well-acquainted individuals or light friendship rather than the mother-son bond she had with Jim, or maybe it was his steady calmness. But either way it gave her the strength to speak further, especially when he prompted at her hesitation.

"But?"

"But… well, before when I felt up to it I could go outside and take a walk, or go shopping with Jim, pick him up from school, things like that. I could forget for a bit that I was sick. No one could tell, and if I wore a mask in public they might think I just had a cold, or allergies, things like that. But now… it's a universal sign that someone with no hair, or a head wrapped in a scarf, and wearing a mask…." Her voice dropped off, but Draal didn't need her to continue.

"At a look, everyone can tell." He could understood; to this day at moments he was reminded by the looks of others how he disgraced himself by challenging the Trollhunter. But at the same time compassion or coddling wasn't really his thing. So even as she nodded he gave a soft huff. "Why does that bother you?" At first Barbara looked at him sharply, as if offended, but then seemed to think that it was a culture difference prompting his question.

"Because I don't like how they look at me. I don't like being reminded of it - it's hard enough being reminded of it every time I see my port, or get sick, or see Jim looking at me, worried, every time I cough or don't have any energy to do anything."

"Bar-bura." Something about the way he said her name had Barbara looking at him, and the look in his eyes was somehow encouraging. "Do not let the stares of others bother you. They may see someone to pity, but I see someone who is fighting a battle that they had better pray they never have to fight. I see a warrior. Your… port, and the loss of your hair are the scars of battle as much as my arm is." He closed his metal hand with a sharp clang for emphasis. "To be tired and need rest from battle is normal for anyone, and being sick is another form of battle that you are waging. If they think to pity you, then they are fools. They should look at you with admiration because you have the strength they wish they had." Through all this Barbara's eyes grew wide, then filled with tears. Draal awkwardly coughed and looked away. "Er, sorr-"

"Thank you." Barbara's voice stopped Draal's in his throat, and he looked back at her to see she was smiling wearily. "I think I needed to hear that. Battle scars. You're right, this is a fight I have to win, and this is just what happens. Their stares and expressions shouldn't bother me - I shouldn't let them." She took a deep breath, turning to finish setting up the laundry and giving Draal a pat on the arm before heading back upstairs.

Draal sat down and picked up another beyond-salvation sock to consume and count days. Barbara had just had a treatment that past Tuesday.

There was time for a thought he had to be completed.

Monday night. Tomorrow morning was yet another treatment session, the third in her plan. Barbara was relaxing on the couch while Jim was upstairs doing some homework. Flipping through the channels the woman was hoping to find a good movie to watch when she felt the floor vibrate from their basement Troll's knocking request to come up. No one else was in the house and she thought it might have been a Call for her son, so Barbara sat up more and stomped in reply. A few moments later the basement door opened and the big Troll gingerly made his way into the room.

"Good evening, Draal," Barbara greeted, briefly noticing he had a bundle of something - looked like some discarded cloth folded in a bundle - in one hand. He grunted in reply, looking around.

"Where's the Trollhunter?"

"Upstairs in his room. Is he needed? I can call him down." She started to stand but Draal shook his head.

"No. I came here to… give you something." Draal stepped forward, Barbara sitting back down, and handed her the bundle he'd held. There was something wrapped within, and when Barbara looked at the Troll he frowned - definitely uncomfortable - and gestured at her. "Open it." Barbara looked once more at the bundle then carefully unwrapped the cylindrical object.

No, objects, plural, as two leather things with leather ties and rounded metal studs tumbled into her lap. They were small, far too small for a Troll. In fact they looked… like they might fit her.

"I hope you don't mind - I borrowed one of your cold-weather shirts to get the size. I, er, put it in the laundry hamper downstairs."

"I don't mind, Draal. But if I may ask?"

"They're bracers," the warrior clarified; Barbara had thought it looked like that from what she'd seen in movies she hadn't been certain. "Warrior's bracers. For you to wear, so that anyone who looks at you knows you are a warrior in battle, and to maybe inspire the others at the…clinic you go to to fight as well." Barbara smiled, tentatively slipping one of them onto her arm and loosely tying it to check the fit.

"Thank you, Draal. This does make me feel like a warrior. I'll wear them tomorrow." Draal nodded, then returned to the basement with no further comment.

Barbara got a lot of compliments on her new bracers when she wore them to the infusion the next day and questions on where she got them. Her answer was simply, "They were made by a good friend."