Chapter 21: Fighting

Because she's now getting three treatments a week, they decide to change her treatment days in order to better spread them out. So at least temporarily, her treatments are now Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Rachel vomits through most of her treatment on Monday. Her friends hold the bucket and comfort her. They also joke that its a good thing Kurt isn't there. Rachel grins. On Wednesday she doesn't vomit but her head hurts. Mike puts his sunglasses on her to help block out the light. Quinn gives her earplugs. Tina rubs her back. Artie gets her a straw so that she doesn't have to move her head to drink her water.

She gets a moderate attack. Mike moves faster than Quinn and gets on the chair with her, holding her steady. He not only holds her body, he uses one arm to keep her aching head still. She grips her other friends hands. The nurse on duty places the nasal cannula on her, then gives her pain medicine so she doesn't have to suffer long. She slumps into Mike, gasping. Quinn lightly massages her shoulders and neck. Tina squeezes her hand. Artie goes to get her mom, who had stepped away to answer her phone. When she finally gets to leave, they make her use a wheelchair. Artie rolls next to her and pretends to race her. She smiles slightly, wanting to feel more amused. She's just too tired. Mike lifts her into the car. She falls asleep on the way home, knowing her grandfather will be there to carry her inside.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rachel slept on the couch. Her head hurt so much that when her grandfather tried to lift her she had nearly screamed. He'd quickly, but carefully, placed her back down. They gave her meds, which knocked her out. When she woke in the morning, her head was no longer hurting. She laid there, thinking about everything. It has been a few days since she walked on her own any distance more than a few feet. She sleeps more. She gets breathless more. Everything bad is more. Dr. Reed had called again. Her numbers are steady. They didn't drop. Her mom was relieved. Rachel was not. She wants to get better, but…..she's hurting. Her attacks. Her head. Her bruises. She looks down at her wrist. It's bruised from when her mom checked her pulse on Monday. She's weak. She's always exhausted. She's dizzy daily. She either doesn't eat, or does but then gets nauseous. Sometimes even throwing up. Rachel swallows hard. She hates this. She's sick of this. She is so done with feeling awful 24/7. She wants to get better. But at the very least, she wants this to stop. If that means dying, then she's fine with it. She just needs this to stop. She truly doesn't know how much more she can take. She's not sure how much longer she can live like this.

Rachel pushes herself into a sitting position, then waits for the room to stop tilting. She can hear her mom in the kitchen and her grandparents upstairs. She picks up the water bottle on the coffee table. When she can't get the cap off, she has to fight off tears of frustration. She lets the bottle drop and watches it roll out of sight. She hates this. Thinking of her mom's recent meltdown, she pulls herself together. She will keep fighting. For her. Rachel carefully stands. She walks slowly, leaning on furniture and the wall to get to the kitchen. Her mom turns and sees her, smiling brightly.

"Good morning, princess."

When Rachel doesn't respond or even smile back, her mom's smile dims. But only for a moment. She forces it back up and comes over, helping her to a chair. Rachel clenches her teeth. Her mom pretends not to notice her struggle to catch her breath from the short walk. Rachel puts her head down on the table. Her mom sets a bowl in front of her. She lifts her head enough to see it. Oatmeal. Honestly, it looks good. But the smell causes her stomach to roll. She likes her mom's oatmeal. It's good. Her body won't even allow her to enjoy simple things like foods she enjoys. Rachel swipes her arm out, knocking the bowl off the table. It goes flying and clatters onto the kitchen floor. It breaks, oatmeal splattering around it. Her mother jumps. Rachel grips the edge of the table, head down, and screams. It is ragged and harsh. In different circumstances, she'd never allow herself to scream like that. It could damage her vocal chords.

Her scream dies out, changing to sobs. Arms wrap around her middle and lift her. Her mom sits them on the kitchen floor. Rachel curls into her and continues to sob. More arms wrap around them both. They don't try to quiet her. They don't tell her it's okay. They just hold her and let her scream and cry. They cry with her. By the time she's all cried out, her head is pounding. So much for not having a headache anymore. She is limp and silent in their arms. Her family continues to cradle her. Her mom kisses her cheek.

"You know," Her mom begins, her tone deceptively light "you could have just told me you didn't want oatmeal."

Startled, Rachel laughs. Her family joins in. As they continue to laugh, the last of the darkness from her earlier mood dissipates.

"What's going on?" They turn to see Uncle Burt standing in the kitchen doorway.

"It was really bad oatmeal."

The laughter starts again, calmer this time, less hysterical. His eyes move between the shattered bowl of oatmeal and the family clump on the floor. Uncle Burt's eyes show his understanding.

"That's because you're missing fresh fruit." He holds up the grocery bag in his hand.

"Are you ready to get up?" Nana asks her.

"My head hurts."

Grandpa meets her eyes. "Do you think I can lift you without making it worse?"

"Maybe." She mumbles.

"Okay. I'll go slow."

Very slowly, with Nana supporting her head, Grandpa lifts her. He carries her back to the living room. Her mom brings her medicine and she falls back asleep in her grandmother's arms.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her boys are the ones to join her for treatment Friday night. Thankfully, her symptoms weren't severe. She was shaking and exhausted, but not throwing up or in pain. Kurt and Blaine squeezed on the chair with her and Finn sat next to them, holding her hand. They had a warmed blanket on her, but it didn't help the shaking. Kurt and Blaine were whisper singing a duet in her ears, making her giggle. Uncle Burt and Carole were with them, watching with small smiles. Her mom is home with her grandparents. When a mild attack strikes, cutting off her laughter, the boys continue to sing. They just hold her tighter. She's grateful. She focuses on breathing and listens to them sing. She rests her head on Kurt's shoulder. She takes comfort in her brother's presence and falls asleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The book in her hands feels like lead. Shelby clutches it, feeling sick. She looks up at her parents.

"Seriously?"

"It could help."

"It may not be necessary."

"It could still help, Shel."

She looks back down at it. It's a book on what to expect when a loved one is dying. And how to handle it. She sets it down.

"I don't—"

"Shelby,"

"No!"

"Ignoring it won't make it less true. Wouldn't you rather be prepared?"

She looks at her father incredulously. "Be prepared? To watch my daughter die?"

"Yes."

She storms out of the room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She caves and reads it. Not cover to cover. But, she does skim the parts that….could…potentially…..be relevant. Looking over at her daughter sleeping next to her, she knows the potential is there. She lightly strokes her child's pale face.

Please, God.

Please.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The hum of conversation fades in and out. There's laughter and even the occasional singing or arguing. Happy chatter surrounds her. Her friends fill the room. She's being held by Finn, though Brittany is on her other side, pressing close to her, so it's almost like both of them are holding her. Rachel has been dozing, drifting in and out. Too tired to join the conversation most of the time. A couple times, even if she didn't open her eyes, she added in her own comment. She's dizzy and tired, but otherwise fine. By her standards, she's fine. She can barely even stay awake. She can listen, though. Her friends know this, which is why they're all hanging out at her house. She's part of the group, but not really. She's there, even if she's not really participating. It's comforting. She's not forgotten. Finn had whispered, asking her if she wanted them to leave. She'd mumbled out a 'no' and 'stay'.

And so they stay.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

January comes to an end. Everyone who loves Rachel is on edge. They keep their phones fully charged, on, and on their person at all times. They visit as often as they can. For the kids, they throw themselves into preparing for Regionals. None of them intend to let Rachel down. They promised her, after all. They'd been both relieved and yet not when Rachel had told them it was okay if they lose. She just wanted them to do their best.

"If you lose even though you did your best, that's okay." She'd shrugged lightly. "If you lose because you gave up, that's a different story and shame on you." She'd added playfully with a wagging finger.

They'd laughed. But none of them intended to give less than their best. They also intended to win. Their parents, especially those who have become friends with Shelby, stop by occasionally as well. They bring lunch or coffee. Some bring full meals that Shelby just has to heat up.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Santana and Puck go to Rachel's treatment. Knowing how weak Rachel has become and that there's a gap in family visitors, they head to Rachel's house instead of meeting up at the clinic. They head over right after school, bringing McDonald's. A strawberry milkshake and fries for Rachel, full meals for the rest of them. Shelby thanks them. Rachel has had a rough day. Mark and Amy would be coming over later that night. Kelly had to leave early because she had a doctor's appointment of her own she couldn't miss. So for a few hours, it'd just be her and Rachel. That would be fine, but with Rachel having a rough day and needing to get to her treatment, she appreciated having help.

When the teens arrive, Rachel is asleep on the recliner. They wake her and convince her to sip a little of her milkshake. They're all disheartened when she only manages to drink about a quarter of it and not eat any of the fries. She falls back asleep right after.

Shelby looks at the clock and sighs. "Time to go."

The teens nod, turning off the television. She had thought it'd be awkward having the teens hanging out while her daughter sleeps, but it wasn't. She loves these kids, so it was kind of like having a niece and nephew over. And they certainly seemed comfortable she thinks with a smirk, seeing Puck's feet up on the coffee table. Shelby grabs Rachel's coat and boots. Santana lifts the blanket and slides the boots on Rachel's feet. Shelby pushes the blanket the rest of the way off and starts to slide one of Rachel's arms through a coat sleeve. Her daughter wakes, blinking blearily.

"Mom?"

"Let's get your coat on, hun."

Rachel's face falls. No. It doesn't just fall. The girl looks crushed. She pulls her arm back, out of the sleeve.

"No." She whines.

Shelby is a little surprised. Sure, Rachel complains sometimes, but she really isn't a whiner. Especially about things like going to treatment. She'll grumble and complain, but not whine.

"We don't want to be late." She grabs her hand again.

Rachel pulls it away. "I don't wanna go."

Shelby sighs sympathetically. "I know you don't, honey. But we need to."

Big fat tears start sliding down Rachel's face. "Please, Mom. I don't want to go!"

Her face falls. A glance at the other two teens shows they're upset as well. She wipes the tears away. "Rachel, you need—"

Her daughter starts crying in earnest. "Please! I don't feel good! Treatment will just make me feel worse!"

"Rach—"

Rachel struggles to pull the blanket back over herself and squeezes her eyes shut, tears still streaming steadily down. Shelby's heart breaks. She feels her own tears rise to the surface and blinks them away. She kneels by the chair and rubs Rachel's arm.

"Sweetheart, I know you don't feel good. But these treatments—"

"—aren't working. So please…..don't make me suffer the side effects."

Shelby closes her eyes and presses a hand to her mouth. She pulls herself together. "I'll make sure they give you medicine to help the side effects."

"It's cold."

"We'll get the car started. That way, once you get in it, it'll already be warm. You'll only be cold for a moment."

Rachel groans and continues to cry. Puck grabs her keys and, at her nod, heads to the garage to start the car and get the heat going. Santana and Shelby try to sit Rachel up. She fights them. She twists and pulls her arms against herself, trying to curl up. The whole time she is crying and repeating "please" desperately. Shelby presses her face into her hands, trying to stop her own tears. Santana isn't even bothering to hide hers. The girl climbs onto the chair with Rachel and holds her. She whispers a steady string of Spanish that frankly Shelby doesn't understand. She catches a few words like "love" and "strong" and "heart" and "together". Rachel continues to cry, but stops fighting. Shelby isn't sure if its because of Santana's words or because she exhausted herself too much and no longer has the strength to fight them. Santana holds up Rachel's arm and Shelby slides it into the coat sleeve. They sit her up and slide her other arm into the other sleeve. Santana holds her while Shelby zippers her up. Shelby gently cradles Rachel's face and gets her to open her eyes.

"I love you, Rachel. So much. Please trust that I would not make you suffer through anything that I didn't think would benefit you. And I will do everything I can to ease the side effects. Okay?"

Rachel's voice is hoarse. Weak. "I just….don't…..want to."

"I know, baby."

"I don't feel good."

Shelby kisses her forehead. "I know. I'm so sorry."

Puck stands behind her. "Car's warm."

Shelby stands and puts on her own coat. Puck picks Rachel up gently, cradling her against him.

"Noah…..please…." The boy's face remains dry, but his expression becomes crestfallen.

Rachel falls asleep on the drive over. When they arrive, Shelby pulls right up to the curb at the front entrance, knowing they'll need a wheelchair. Puck hops out to get one. The cold from the door opening and closing wakes Rachel. Seeing where they are, she begins to cry again. Santana holds her and tries to comfort her. When Puck returns, he has a wheelchair and a nurse with him. Nurse Robin is frowning worriedly as she approaches the car. She opens the door and leans in.

"Hi, Rachel. We've got a wheelchair all ready for you."

"No….please…"

One of Shelby's hands has a death grip on the steering wheel. The other arm leans on the door, her hand pressed against her mouth. Silent tears drip down her cheeks. She can't even bring herself to turn around to look at her sobbing daughter.

"We even have an electric blanket, already warm and ready for you."

"Please, I already….don't….feel good…..please…."

The nurse continues to try to coax Rachel out of the car, but the girl clings to Santana and cries. Shelby glances in the rear view mirror and sees Santana crying. Rachel is shivering. Nurse Robin sighs.

"Okay, I'll be back in a minute. Wait here."

Puck climbs back in the car and shuts the door. The tough looking boy gently takes Rachel's hand and starts softly singing "Sweet Caroline" to her. After a few minutes, Nurse Robin returns with the on-site doctor. The man introduces himself to them all, then walks to the driver's window. Shelby rolls it down.

"With your permission, we'd like to sedate her."

Listening to her daughter continue to cry and plead behind her, she nods. "Okay."

The doctor leans into the car to Rachel and injects a sedative directly into her chest port. It works fast. In under a minute, she is knocked out.

"Since she's unconscious, can I carry her?" Puck asks softly.

"Of course."

Santana unbuckles her, then follows them inside. Shelby parks. She rests her head on the steering wheel and lets herself bawl for a couple minutes. When she's released enough to be able to stay calm, she wipes her face and heads inside. She finds Rachel's treatment is already underway. Shelby frowns when she sees they also put her on oxygen. She's under an electric blanket and they've reclined the chair so that she can sleep comfortably. Santana and Puck are sitting on one side, leaving the other side available for Shelby to sit. She smiles kindly at them. Puck is holding Santana's hand. Santana is holding one of Rachel's hands, though she made sure to keep the warm blanket over it.

They sit quietly. Eventually the kids take out homework, which Shelby helps them with. With an hour left in treatment, Rachel begins shaking lightly. They frown. Nurse Robin comes by and checks on her.

"We want to make it as easy as possible for her. We can give her anti-nausea medication and a mild pain medication. That way she shouldn't feel too poorly when she wakes."

"Thank you." Shelby softly brushes Rachel's hair back off her face.

Nurse Robin nods and injects the medications. "And, there's another option. Though, it depends on your finances."

Shelby frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You could hire a nurse to make home visits. Someone to come and do the treatment in your home, so that she doesn't have to leave the house."

Shelby blinks. "I didn't realize that was an option."

"Usually, it's not. It's not generally recommended. We like patients to be in a controlled setting when they receive treatment. However, Rachel has been getting these for over a year with no adverse effects…..other than the side effects, that is. Her body has never rejected a treatment and she's never had any sort of allergic reaction or complication from them. Plus, with the chest port, needles aren't even required. That reduces risks as well. You could hire a nurse to come, bring the treatment, stay to monitor her, then leave. Because it'd have to be someone highly trained and able to handle any potential complications, it is often hard to find an appropriate nurse. And costly."

Shelby frowns softly. "That would definitely be preferable to repeating today. I'll look into it, thank you."

With half an hour left, Rachel wakes. They wait, knowing it takes her a while to fully wake up. And since a sedative knocked her out, she's likely to be more groggy than usual. They're right. Rachel blinks multiple times and shifts in her seat. Her head rolls back and forth as she takes in her surroundings. She looks at them.

"Cheaters." Her voice is quiet and scratchy.

Puck and Santana snigger. Shelby smiles faintly, but her heart hurts. She kisses Rachel's cheek.

"Are you cold?" Santana asks.

"No."

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Are you nauseous?"

"No."

"Then it sounds like you made a big deal out of nothing, drama queen." Santana teases her.

Rachel glares half-heartedly at her. "Hey, San?"

Santana raises an eyebrow, waiting. Rachel moves the blanket enough for the girl to see her hand and smirks. Shelby can't see Rachel's hand, but assumes she's giving her the middle finger based on the amused reactions from the other two teens. Rachel slept in Puck's arms on the way home. He was reluctant to hand her over to her uncle when they got there. His hesitation combined with the look on his face already brought a lump to Shelby's throat. When he kisses her forehead before handing her to Mark, tears sting her eyes. Shelby hugs the boy tight. Santana, too.

"Thank you, both of you. I would not have been able to get her to and through her treatment without you here. I know it was as hard for you two as it was for me. If you need to talk, you can call me or come back over at any time."

They nod. "Can you just…have her call or text us when….if…she's feeling up to it later? We don't care what time."

"Of course."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Puck doesn't drive them home right away. They're too angry. Too upset. He takes them to the Rage Room. They smash and scream until they are too tired to keep going.

"I'd rather just get drunk." Puck complains, chest still heaving from the effort of smashing everything with the sledgehammer.

"I know, me too. But we promised Rachel we'd find safe and healthy ways to deal with the fact that she is stage four. She specifically said not to get drunk." Santana reminds him, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"And why did we agree to that bullshit promise again?" He scoffs.

"Because you don't break a promise to your dying friend." Santana looks down. "And because she was right."

Puck uses his foot to push shattered plastic out of his way. "Whatever."

They trudge out and return the safety equipment to the manager at the desk. He hands them each a card.

"You and your friends have been in a few times in the past year. And I know why. We have microphones in there so that we can hear people ask for help. Your friend was right to ask you to make that promise. To help, I'm giving you these. There's a couple free sessions on each. Hold on to them for yourselves or share them with the rest of your friends; its up to you. I'd like to help you keep your promise. Instead of drinking or doing something dangerous, I'd rather you come here and vent your anger. I don't want cost to be why you don't."

"Thank you."

"Thanks, man. That's cool."

They leave, but find they're still unsettled. They've expended most of their anger, but it still hurts. Watching Rachel fight going to treatment was harder than they'd expected. They sit in the car silently.

"Mr. Schue?"

"Mr. Schue."

They drive to his apartment in silence. Their teacher answers the door looking like he had been getting ready for bed.

"My bad, Mr. Schue. We'll go."

"Wait! No. Please, come in." He watches them worriedly as he shuts the door.

He guides them to the couch and waits.

Santana breaks first, her face crumbling. "Rachel fought going to treatment."

Mr. Schuester's face falls. He sits between them and hugs them both as they cry.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Santana stares at her ceiling, watching the shadows change shape when cars pass by. She can't sleep. When she got home tonight, her mama had immediately swept her up into her arms and held her while she'd cried. While she's calmer now, there's still something keeping her from sleep. She's just not sure what. Santana sighs and flips onto her side. She feels unsettled. Giving up for now, she grabs her phone and opens YouTube. She loses time in random videos until a notification flashes on her screen. An incoming call from Rachel Berry. Her heart leaps into her throat and she answers.

"Rach?"

"Hi. Sorry it's late."

Santana frowns and looks at her clock. It's almost two in the morning. She shrugs. "I didn't even realize what time it was. I was watching a video."

"Anything interesting?"

"Not really." Santana admits. "I started out watching a video on popular cheer routines and somehow ended up watching sea turtles."

Rachel giggles quietly. "That's quite a rabbit hole you stumbled down."

The Latina grins. "Yeah."

"Is there any connection at all between the cheering and the turtles?"

"Other than cheering for how cute the sea turtles are? Nope."

"Hm. Odd." The sound of her friend shifting in bed floats through. "So, um…I'm sorry. About earlier."

Santana swallows and forces a casual tone. "Whatever. I'm used to your ridiculous dramas. Always making a big deal out of something minor."

A soft laugh. "True, but still. I know it was hard for you. So I'm sorry I put you through that."

"No worries, hobbit. You were entitled to a breakdown."

"You're kind of awesome. You know that, right?"

"Well, no shit. I'm the best!" Rachel's laughter eases the last of her tension. "Have you called Puck?"

"I'll call him next."

"Good. We'll talk soon."

"Yeah. We will. Goodnight, San."

"Night, Berry."

She puts her phone down with a smile. Exhaustion presses her down into her mattress. The final piece she'd needed falls into place and she finally falls asleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Puck sits in his truck, his leg bouncing. Adrenaline flows through him. Is he seriously doing this? He looks around the parking lot, making sure it's still empty. He runs a hand through his Mohawk. It's for a good cause.

"Aunt Shelby already talked to the insurance company this morning and they don't see it as medically necessary, so they won't cover the cost of a nurse." Kurt explains.

"That's bullshit." Puck snaps.

"Seriously, you guys didn't see her last night. She was hysterical, begging us not to make her go." Santana's eyes fill with tears just remembering it. Brittany grabs her hand. "If there's anything we can do to make it so she doesn't have to leave her house, it should be covered."

"Yeah, but insurance companies won't see it that way." Artie counters.

"Isn't it putting more strain on her body by stressing her out like that? Couldn't that make it a medical issue?" Tina questions.

"It's not enough."

"I hate to point out the obvious here, but she wasn't fighting leaving her house. She was fighting getting treatment." Quinn looks around at them. "She could still fight a nurse who comes to her house to give her treatment."

Everyone pauses, mulling it over. She's right and they hate it.

"Okay, you may be right, but having a nurse come to the house means they can start her treatment while she's still asleep and comfortable in her own home. She still may fight it, but she'll be more comfortable."

"And I really don't think her mom needs to go through that again." Puck chimes in quietly.

"Well….how much is it out of pocket?" Mercedes asks.

Kurt sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "A lot."

"We could hold a bake sale." Everyone looks at Brittany.

Mr. Schuester hesitantly thanks her for her idea. "That's a good start, but a bake sale won't be enough to cover it. Maybe one home visit, at most."

The group spent the rest of rehearsal discussing how to raise money for Rachel's at-home-treatment nurse.

Now he sits, staring at an ATM attached to a convenience store. He's not sure how to get it out, though. Hit it with his car? No, if he damages his car he won't have a getaway vehicle. Puck grabs a crowbar and walks up to the thing. He hesitates. An image of Rachel laughing flashes in his mind. Then a memory of her singing. And finally, memories from the previous night. Rachel sobbing, begging them not to make her go, but too weak to actually fight them off. Resolve strengthened, Puck jams the crowbar into the crevice between the ATM and wall. He pushes, hearing the creaking of the plastic as he puts pressure on it.

"FREEZE!"

Puck drops the crowbar and spins, hands going up. Two police officers stand several feet away, guns drawn and aimed right at him. His heart feels like it is going to pound out of his chest. So not only did he fail to get the money for Rachel, but he failed to get away. He's just….a failure. Like always.

"Put your hands behind your head, son."

Jaw clenched, he does as he's told. They come closer and guide him to his knees. As the handcuffs click shut on his wrists, reality sinks in. A man in a suit walks up to them while talking to another officer.

"You were robbing the ATM at my store. Did you think there wouldn't be cameras and alarms? You were sitting in your truck looking at the ATM for a while. I was suspicious and called the police." The man in the suit starts talking as soon as he's close enough.

Puck looks down. No. He hadn't thought. That was the problem.

"He's just a stupid kid." One officer remarks, scoffing.

"Well, this stupid kid is going to Juvie. Maybe that'll teach him to think first."

Puck thinks about his mom and sister; their disappointment in him. Then something occurs to him. If he's going to Juvie he won't be around to help Rachel. He won't be around to help his friends deal with it. He won't be around if she dies. She'll die while he's locked up. He won't be there. He won't get to say goodbye. His hard exterior cracks, his heart feeling crushed and terrified at the same time. His head snaps up and he doesn't even care about the tears flooding his face.

"Please! I'm begging you. I fucked up, I get that. But….please….if I'm going to Juvie, can it wait? Like a month?" He hates how desperate he sounds. But fuck, he is desperate.

The men around him laugh, amused by his request.

"Oh, yes. We'll let you go and you just remember to show up at Juvenile Detention Hall in a couple weeks. So sorry to interfere with your schedule." One cop replies sarcastically.

The other officers continue to laugh. The suited man doesn't. He's watching Puck. The tough teen lets the man see his terror.

"Please," He speaks softly, focusing on the suited man. "I'm sorry for trying to rob you. I really am! But I'm desperate. I need to be there for her. For them."

"Should have thought of that before trying to rob an ATM." A different cop tells him.

Puck shudders. He won't be able to keep his promise. He won't be there for them. For her. Will she think he forgot her? His face crumbles more. The cops are making fun of him. He doesn't care. They don't understand how deeply he just fucked up. But then he hears the suited man tell the officers to quiet down.

"Son, I'm going to give you one chance to explain yourself. You'd better be honest."

Noah Puckerman looks up into the curious eyes of the man in the suit and swallows hard. "My friend is dying. She has a rare blood disease and she's in stage 4. She has about a month left to live." The suited man's face changes almost imperceptibly, but Puck catches it. "She has to go to a clinic for treatments three times a week. Last night…..last night she already wasn't feeling well. She fought going. She was…..crying and begging us not to make her go 'cause the treatments just make her feel worse."

An officer scoffs, interrupting him. "If she only has a month left to live, why is she still going to treatments? You're lying."

Puck snarls at him. "The doctors said she could start getting better if her body just starts responding to the treatments better. She might not die, then. But she needs to get the treatments for that to happen." Still angry, but down to a glare, he continues. "Besides, even if they don't make her better, the treatments are slowing down the illness. If she stops getting them, she'll be dead in a matter of days."

Still cuffed, he can't wipes his tears. He looks back at the suited man. "I'm sorry to hear it, son. But what does that have to do with you robbing me?"

"They just told her mom yesterday that she can hire a nurse to come give her the treatments at home. That way, she won't have to travel in the cold all the way to the clinic. She can get treatments in the comfort of her own home. We thought, doing it that way, she'd be more comfortable and less likely to fight us. But the insurance company won't cover it because it's not 'medically necessary'." He takes a deep breath. "So I'm sorry for trying to rob you. I just….I was with her last night when she was fighting going to treatment. I wanted to help. Money will help but I don't have any. I just….want to make this as easy on her as I can. And if I'm thrown in Juvie, I won't be around to help her or our friends." He stammers his final sentence. "I won't be there….if….when…if she dies. I won't get a chance to say goodbye. I need to be there."

Everyone is silent. He works to calm down. After a few minutes of silence, the suited man sighs.

"My name is Antonio Reyes. I own this chain of convenience stores. I have been called ruthless in business dealings. But I also have a heart." The man, Antonio, crouches down to be eye level with Puck. "We're going to find out if you're telling the truth. If you are, I won't press charges. But if I find out anything you just said was a lie, I will charge you to the fullest extent of the law. Got it?"

Puck nods, breathing easier now. The cops guide him into the back of a squad car. He'd told them Rachel's address. He bounces his leg the whole way there, not knowing what kind of reception he's going to get showing up like this. Thankfully they un-cuff him before walking him to the front door. Puck stops the officer on his right from ringing the bell. The cop glares at him, but he merely points to the sign on the door that says to please knock. Grumbling quietly, the officer knocks. Rachel's grandfather opens the door.

"Noah? What's going on?"

Puck squirms. "Um, can I come in for a few minutes? Please?"

The man steps back, allowing them entry. "Just…..keep your voices down, please. She has another headache."

Rachel lays on the couch under a blanket. Her eyes are closed. She's wearing the nasal cannula. Mr. Reyes steps up next to him, taking in the sight of the girl on the couch. Puck tries to see her from a stranger's point of view; she looks stage 4. He hesitantly enters and sits on the floor next to the couch. He brushes her hair back from her face. None of the adults talk. Rachel's family doesn't want to make things worse and the cops are confused and uncertain what to do. Rachel's eyes flutter open.

"No-ah?"

He misses her loud voice. Strong and full of energy. He hasn't heard it in a while. He hopes he'll hear it again one day. Recalling that she has a headache, he speaks softly. "Hey, Jew-babe."

Her eyes flick over the officers behind him. "You in trouble?"

Shame twists his gut. "Maybe."

She looks into his eyes for a moment, then reaches a hand out for him. He takes it gently. "I love you anyway, moron."

He laughs softly. "Thanks. Right back at you."

Rachel turns her head, wincing slightly. She seems to realize that Mr. Reyes is in charge and addresses him. "What'd he do?"

Mr. Reyes smiles gently at her. "He tried to help you with something. He just did it in a very stupid way."

Rachel smiles back slightly. "That sounds….like…him. I don't know….what he did…" She's either really in pain or tiring, because her words are slowing down. "…..but please don't…..take him away…I need him….here."

Mr. Reyes' posture shifts, softening. "I'll do what I can do keep him with you, young lady." Then he addresses Rachel's family. "I don't want to take up too much more of your time. But I do have a few questions. Can we speak in your kitchen?"

Puck starts to stand, knowing he's going to have to explain himself, but he's halted by Rachel gripping him tighter. He looks down.

"Please…." Her voice is even softer than before. "Don't go."

A lump forms in his throat and he turns to Mr. Reyes. The man nods, so Puck sits back down. "I'm not going anywhere, Rachel."

"Good. Need you."

The adults file out of the living room. In moments, a dull murmur of voices start up in the kitchen.

"Did I lay it on too thick?" Rachel grins at him.

"What?"

She chuckles. "I'm tired and my head hurts, but not that badly. If I need to lay it on thick to get you out of trouble, I'll do it happily."

Her voice is stronger than before. He laughs quietly, amused, impressed, and relieved. "Thanks, Jew-babe. I think it helped. It certainly won't hurt my chances."

Her smile dims but she doesn't let go of his hand. She plays with his fingers. "What did you do?"

He clears his throat. "I, uh…tried to steal an ATM."

Her lips twitch. Her eyes crinkle in amusement. "Noah…."

"Yeah, I know. It was stupid."

"Why?"

"To pay for your nurse."

She sighs. "That was stupid."

He looks down at their hands. "Yeah."

"But sweet."

When he looks back up, she's smiling at him. He grins. Rachel is asleep when the adults re-enter the room. He tenses.

"Noah…." Ms. Corcoran sighs.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to add to your stress, I swear."

She smiles at him tiredly. "I know you weren't. I also know you weren't thinking."

Puck nervously looks at Mr. Reyes. "Sir? Am I going to Juvie?"

Antonio Reyes sighs, looking at Puck's hand wrapped around Rachel's. "No, son. You're not."

He can breathe again. His muscles relax. "Thank you."

"But, you will need to do some community service in exchange."

Puck grimaces, prepared to argue and complain. He stops. Argue and complain. About a little community service? He looks at his friend's sleeping face. "Okay."

The officers and Mr. Reyes leave. Puck rises to do the same, but Ms. Corcoran grabs his arm and guides him to the kitchen where she forces him to sit.

"It was a kind, but unwise, action."

He nods, not sure what to say.

"While money is a slight issue, my family will chip in to help out. And Mr. Reyes has generously offered a donation to help out. But its a moot point, Noah. We haven't found a nurse that is both qualified and available to hire to come out here three times a week. We'll keep looking, but we'll just keep bringing her to the clinic for now."

"What if….what if she reacts like last night again?"

Ms. Corcoran takes his hand. "Then she has a big family to carry her and comfort her."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kurt comes over that night. Rachel knows he's been struggling. They all have, but Kurt more than her other friends. He's used to getting to sleep with her once in a while. He still does, just not as often these days. But now, with time possibly slipping away and after hearing about her fighting going to treatment, he can't stay away. Rachel watches her mom hug Kurt tight and talk quietly to him. She can't hear the words, but Kurt hugs her back just as tight and nods. Her mom pulls back, cups his cheek, smiles at him, then kisses his other cheek before letting him go. Kurt's eyes shine. Rachel loves seeing them so close. It makes her feel warm and happy. She wonders if that's how Kurt feels watching her and Uncle Burt together. It'd explain why he never got jealous of the attention she gets from his dad.

They get ready for bed like the old days. Talking, giggling, arguing, and overall basking in the comfort of the other's company. Once they're finally in bed, she curls into her brother. A small smile plays on her lips. She loves curling up to sleep with her mom. But Kurt has been the one she's snuggled with for years. He brings a level of comfort and peace that no one else can. Sometimes he literally feels like her other half…..platonically, of course. Her brother. Her twin. She feels him pull her just a little bit closer. She hears the long intake of breath. He's breathing in her scent, she realizes. He needed this. He needed to spend a night holding her. She decides she needed it, too. She needed to snuggle with him.

Curled up with Kurt, she thinks about how much he means to her. And how much she means to him. That, of course, leads to her thinking about everyone else she loves. And how much they all mean to her and how much she means to them. They've been there for her, rallying around her. Supporting her. Loving her. She loves them so much. Rachel thinks about the pain, the attacks, the fatigue, the fear, and everything else. She wants it to end. She needs it to end. This is hell. But her loved ones….they've been putting themselves through hell to support her. Because they love her and want her to survive. Rachel shifts her head, pressing her face further into Kurt's chest. She listens to his heartbeat and feels his arms around her.

"I love you, Tink." The words are whispered, like he's not sure if she's asleep or not.

If you love someone, you let them go.

Right?

She hears a faint sniffle. No. They will hold her through the pain. They will carry her when she can't walk. They will comfort her. And her? She will fight. For them. She knows perfectly well that if she didn't have them, she wouldn't bother. It wouldn't be worth it. But because of them…...Even if she only had Kurt by her side, she realizes she'd still fight. For him.

Even though the bastard burned all of her animal sweaters.