Author's Note: Part six Didn't think I'd get this out so soon, and it's kind of long again, but I suppose that's a good thing..? Anyway, tell me if this is dragging a little, because I can either go a longer plot twist route or a shorter one, depends if you guys want epic length fic or something shorter, so let me know. Thanks so much for all the reviews – I reply to them all, except anonymous ones, though I love them as well – and story alerts and all the favouriting, it's awesome, really, big love to you all LL=W.

The first time Naomi was told she had leukemia, she was two years old and had no clue what it meant.

Her mummy had started to cry, and her daddy's face screwed up so tight his face got wrinkly all over; she had looked to Arizona Robbins, the pretty lady with the white coat and super magic smile, big blue eyes wide with confusion. Whassat mean? She asked, head tilted to one side.

You're sick, Arizona said, still smiling. She reached out a hand, touched Naomi's tiny palm. But it's okay, you don't have to be scared. I'm going to make you better.

;;

The second time, Naomi was seven and had been given the all clear just three weeks prior.

No! Her mummy had screamed at Arizona, as she paced the tiny hospital room, whilst her daddy held her in his lap and kissed the back of her head even as she felt the ends of her hair get wet with his tears. You said she was fine, that she'd been in remission for long enough and she was fine! It's a mistake, it has to be – do more tests, please, she can't –

Gina, her daddy pleaded, in the tiniest voice Naomi had ever heard. Please, stop.

She didn't, so Naomi slid down her daddy's legs and shuffled over to her mummy, tugged at the bottom of her red shirt (Naomi's favourite; it always smelled like lilies). Her mummy crouched down in front of her and cradled her cheek in her hand; Naomi's hips and back still really hurt from all the needles, and she was really scared because last time she was in hospital everything hurt and she was really sick and it was horrible and she hated it, but she didn't say anything, because her mummy was upset enough. Instead, she pressed her little palm against her mummy's face, smiled a tiny smile. It's okay, mummy. I'll be strong again, I promise. Please don't cry.

(She only cried harder).

;;

The third time, Naomi was twelve and old enough to know that she was probably going to die. (No one got this many chances at a life that was on thin ice from the offset).

She'd watched with dry eyes as her mother fell to the floor beside her bed, and Arizona had to be the one to take her into her arms; her father had his head in his hands and his jaw clenched so tightly Naomi could hear his teeth grinding.

She listed the things she knew about leukemia in her head: the treatment made her sicker than she believed the cancer ever could, made her hair fall out and grow back coarser, thicker. It made her parents have vicious fights about what was best for her, when what was best for her was for them to shut the fuck up and be there for her because she was fucking dying for Christ's sake. It would trap her inside a hospital for weeks and months whilst other kids her age tried alcohol at parties and had relationships and fun, whilst she fought for her life.

Naomi looked up from where she had been staring at her wrists – contemplating falling back on old habits and breaking the skin there just to end it all faster – in time to see her dad kick his chair out from underneath him and storm towards the door. He turned to face her, and the look he wore made her feel like such a fucking failure she forgot how to breathe. He shook his head, punched his fist through the glass window of her hospital room and fled.

It was the last time Naomi ever saw him.

;;

The fourth time, Naomi is seventeen and all she can think is Emily.

;;

Arizona is telling her they need to begin treatment right away, that she's already presenting with blasts and her white cell count is high and that chromosomes fifteen and seventeen have translocated –

"So basically I'm fucked."

Naomi can feel Gina looking at her like she's just shot a puppy, and Effy's thumb freezes where it had been drawing circles on the back of Naomi's hand, but Naomi keeps her eyes trained on Arizona, daring – begging – the doctor to contradict her.

"No," she states firmly, striding across the floor to sit on the end of her bed, "no, Naomi. You are not fucked." The blonde flinches at the obscenity, because it sounds all wrong coming from Arizona's mouth, and the bitter, mocking tone in which she says it tells Naomi how upset she is. "Your prognosis isn't good, but it's been a whole lot worse before, and you've still pulled through. With immediate treatment, you have a good chance of remission – "

"What if I don't want treatment?"

In the silence that follows, Naomi hears the word death echo through the room and bounce off the walls, the windows, whisper in the ears of everyone around her. She contemplates it for a second, what refusing medical help would mean: she would die, yes, but it would be months from now, a year maybe, and she could spend that time with Emily, in Mexico perhaps, travelling the world and building a life together, no matter how short lived it may be. No hospitals, or medecine, or waiting for death in a foreign place surrounded by strangers – just living the rest of her life with the people she loves, doing the things she's always wanted to do. It's a scary thought, the certainty of death, but it isn't anywhere near as terrifying as spending what's left of her life drained of energy from chemotherapy, lying helpless and immobilised in a hospital bed, frail and weak, her loved ones watching on as she fades away.

Maybe it's time to let go.

"Don't be silly, love. You need to get treatment, you need to get better. We talked about this, you're strong enough to fight the cancer."

"I'm tired of fighting."

Naomi closes her eyes and falls back onto her pillows, lets out a long breath. She conjures an image of Emily in her mind, the best thing that's ever happened to her, but it's the Emily that deserted her merely minutes ago in the park opposite the hospital, broken because she thinks Naomi hates her life. But the reality is so much worse than what Emily believes to be true, and Naomi cannot bear to think what it would do to her if she knew; she could walk away, go back and beg Emily to forgive her, tell her she was just messing around, and Emily wouldn't have to know about the leukemia until Naomi died; in those months inbetween, they could be happy.

(Naomi remembers with far more clarity than she'd like the expression of painful horror that graced Emily's features, and ponders the horrifying thought that Emily might not forgive her. If she can't, well; Naomi can see no point in fighting for her life if the most important thing in it is no longer there).

Whichever way she looks at it, death would be a blessing.

"Listen to me," Arizona says, with a steel in her voice that makes Naomi open her eyes to see the determination on the blonde doctor's face. "I know you're tired. I am too. But we've been fighting against this for fifteen years now, Naomi, and we've won every single time. You have been strong, and resilient – you have never given up, not once. And now is not the time to start." Arizona shifts closer to Naomi on the bed, takes her free hand gently, like she's scared she'll break her. "So you have to keep trying, okay? This is your life, and I am not going to stand by and watch you let leukemia ruin it. I can't believe you'd even think of being that selfish."

Selfish. Everything Naomi's been doing up until now has been to spare everyone else around her pain; it's why she'd held her tongue as Emily ran from her, the truth sticking in her throat. "I'm not being selfish, I – "

"Yes you are, Naomi! I can't live without you, I can't, you're all I have left! This isn't just your life we're talking about here – it's mine too."

Naomi looks her mother dead in the eye. "You're not the one who has to hurt twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, until God knows when trying to beat this shit, which obviously cannot be beaten because it's back again, for the fourth fucking time! I do not want to spend the next two years or however long slowly killing myself with medecine that doesn't fucking work only to have to do it all over again eventually anyway. I'd rather be dead."

"This could be the last time, love, it might not come back – "

"It always comes back!" Naomi's voice is loud, cracking around her words as her hands curl into fists in her bedsheets. She's just so tired. "I can't do it, okay? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I just can't."

And she's crying again, because everyone else is, and it seems fitting, and Naomi knows she's let everyone down; but a part of her is warming at the thought that she won't have to fight like she was scared to, that this nightmare is coming to end. But then she thinks of Emily – because she rarely thinks of anything else – and everything goes cold inside her.

And because Effy is too fucking intuitive for her own good, she closes a hand around Naomi's wrist and says, "You can't just leave her, Naoms."

Effy looks so small and scared and it's so reminiscent of Emily that Naomi nearly kisses her to wipe the look off her face, before she checks herself and remembers this is her best friend, and Emily's not hers to kiss anymore anyway; Effy is waiting for an answer, fingertips unsteady over her pulse point, but the only one Naomi has is one she can't voice, because the words refuse to roll off her tongue.

No, Eff, you've got it all wrong. Emily left me.

;;

She's smoking on some pensioner's wall when Cook finds her.

"Emilio! What's up muff muncher?"

It's because he looks genuinely concerned, brows furrowed and head tilted to the side, that Emily breaks down into tears for the second time that day.

"Hey, shhh, you're alright Red, Cookie's got you," Cook croons into her hair as he gathers her into his arms, standing between her legs and crouching down to her level, in what must be a very uncomfortable position, and even though Emily doesn't really like Cook at all, she clutches at his shoulders and cries into his shirt, because he's there and he's being lovely and maybe she was wrong about him.

"What's wrong, babe? Tell Cookie all about it."

Emily is crying too hard to get words out, and her cigarette is burning her fingers where they're curled into Cook's polo shirt, and the cologne he's wearing makes her feel a little sick because it's nothing like how Naomi smells and fuck, Naomi –

As if on cue, Cook asks if she and blondie have had a tizzy.

Yes, because I just found out she's cutting and injuring herself and instead of being there for her, I left her sobbing in the park because I'm a fucking coward and I didn't want to hear her say it's all my fault.

Emily doesn't tell Cook this of course, because she doubts Naomi would want him to know, and she's nothing if not loyal (that's all it is, loyalty; it's nothing to do with not wanting to see the look of disgust in Cook's eyes when he realises it's her that's to blame and she's a totally shit person for abandoning Naomi when she needs her the most).

Instead, she lifts her head from his chest, and says, "I'm scared, Cook. I pushed her into this, with me, because I thought she wanted it and was just too fucking stubborn to admit it, but what if she doesn't want it? What if she doesn't want me, and now she's stuck and unhappy and regretting everything – "

Emily breaks off, voice too thick with tears to be decipherable, and sucks her lips in to try and stop the crying, but she can't – all she can think about is Naomi and the red lines tracking across her wrist, like ink drawn on her skin; Emily pictures her slumped on the floor, holding something sharp and bleeding everywhere and she nearly vomits all over Cook's shoes. How could she have missed this? Where was she when Naomi was doing all these horrible things to herself?

(Was it because of her?)

"You listen to me, Red," Cook interrupts, holding her face in his large, rough hands and brushing tears off her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "I dunno what's got you all teary and shit, but you're worryin' for nothin', babe, trust. Blondie don't do nothin' she don't want to, you can't force that bird into anythin', she's proper stubborn, you're right about that. And she fuckin' loves you, Emily, sure as shit; yous are meant for each other, yeah, and she fuckin' knows it. She has to, otherwise there's no way she woulda turned down a willy waggle with yours truly."

And he smirks at her then, tongue caught between his teeth, and Emily laughs at him; she gets it then, why Naomi likes Cook so much, why they're so close; they're a lot alike, and Cook can be pretty sweet and caring when he's not being an arse.

But – well, Cook may be nice, but he's not all that bright, and Emily's not entirely convinced he's right. It's the many years of being made to feel worthless that's done it, made her doubt people's sincerety towards her – she's used to feeling like a spare part, something people use when needed and then discard without a second thought once they're done, and then she's forgotten. Maybe Naomi is done now, wants nothing more to do with her, resents Emily's presence in her life so much she has to cut herself to stand it.

(But then their summer together filters through Emily's mind like sunlight through glass, spilling wonderful memories onto the canvas of her brain, and she's remembering; the golden colour Naomi's hair glowed beneath the sunset's reds and oranges as they made love at the lake, the warm colour her eyes turned whenever Emily said I love you, how she'd stroke the back of Emily's hand so gently before they fell asleep together and whisper Goodnight, Emily into her neck, the skin always tingling afterward, and Emily hates to think that was all a lie, deems it impossible, even, for Naomi to have been lying all this while, knows that she's a better person than that.

Cook's face is still so close to hers, and Emily notices his eyes are similar to Naomi's, that same sort of icy blue, and Emily remembers her earlier thought about semblances. It goes deeper than blue eyes and hard demeanours. They both built walls that grew stronger as broken homes collapsed brick-by-brick into rubble around them, absent fathers and difficult childhoods sharpening their edges to stop anyone getting close enough to hurt. Naomi's life has been anything but easy, and maybe it's this, this darkness from her past that's casting shadows and making Naomi lash out (at herself, because the person she should be taking it out on abandoned her).

And if it is that, the abandonment, then Emily's just made things a million times fucking worse).

"Go find her," Cook commands, breaking into her guilty thoughts, straightening up and ruffling her hair. "Go find blondie, apologise for whatever shit went down, then shag her senseless and film it so I can watch, since I've been of such great help in getting you birds together again."

Emily's smiling as she tells him to fuck off, and he laughs uproariously like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. He scuffs his trainers on the pavement, sobers up a little bit and looks at her with sad eyes. "You've gotta fix it, Red. There's nothin' worse than lettin' the girl you love go."

Cook smiles at her tightly, and Emily feels sympathy clench around her heart, because Cook really loves Effy, and she can't imagine how awful it feels to know he can never have her; it strengthens her resolve to find Naomi and help her, give her a chance to explain and let her know that they can face this together.

If nothing else, she has to make sure Naomi knows she loves her.

"Thank you, Cook." She means it.

"You're welcome, Emily." He touches her shoulder before walking away, hands in his pockets, and Emily thinks that means that he meant it, too.

;;

It catches her off-guard, when she sees them.

She's aimlessly wandering the hospital halls, counting the number of cancer patients in the Oncology ward – eighteen, which is less than the last time she was diagnosed; Naomi wonders if it means less people have cancer these days or if the ones who had it before are now dead – because she had to get out of her room, couldn't stand the way her mum and Effy had been fucking looking at her, because she feels guilty enough, thank you very much, and they refused to discharge her without getting a psych consult first, so walking it is.

They're leaning against the nurse's station, heads close together, talking quietly. Arizona looks exhausted, like she could fall asleep where she stands, and the attractive latina beside her – Dr. Calliope Torres, an orthopedic surgeon – has a hand on her arm, fingers stroking lazy circles on the blonde's skin. Arizona looks ready to cry, is shaking her head at what Callie is saying – it's the same expression of pain her doctor had worn when she'd refused treatment earlier, and the guilt punches Naomi hard in the gut, stops her heart in her chest with its intensity. Arizona pushes away from the station in an attempt to leave, but Callie grabs her arm and crushes the blonde to her chest, captures her lips in a kiss.

Naomi knows that Arizona is a lesbian, and has been all her life, and she has met Callie many times before during her visits to the hospital – she has seen them together, as a couple, seen them hold hands and kiss and comfort each other, walk out of on call rooms red-faced and flustered, has heard them tell the other I love you. But never before has seeing them do these things made her feel like crying so hard her whole body aches, made her heart beat so hard against her ribs she feels the bones strain against her skin, made her want to scream until her throat is so raw no more sound can come out, but this time, this time she wants to do all of those things, because it's not fucking fair. That will never be her and Emily – they will never grow up together or have the chance to get married and have kids or love each other for years and years, because Naomi is dying, she's fucking dying, and there's no time for them to just be in love, because very soon, Naomi will be dead.

Maybe not. Not if you stop being such a stupid cunt and let the doctors help you.

But no, Naomi doesn't want to, because it wouldn't work anyway, it never has, and the disappointment she'd feel at knowing she'd tried and failed would rip her apart, to know that all the fighting and suffering had been for nothing; what was a few extra years, if she would be in the same place again at the end of them anyway? A few more years with Emily, however, is a different matter entirely, but no. Fucking hell, just no.

They catch her staring at them when they break apart, and Naomi realises she looks like an enormous pervy dyke, but the way their faces soften when they see the look she's wearing makes Naomi think that they get it, that they understand. She knows that Arizona has seen the green in her eyes, the envy stitched into her facial expression, and has no doubt that she'll work the angle, use it to convince her into staying and getting treatment.

Naomi is the only one who has stopped fighting, and she has never felt so alone in her entire life.

;;

Naomi has lost her phone, or it's at her house or in her hospital room, or fuck, she doesn't know and doesn't care, really, so she uses one of the hospital's payphones, borrows some change off a kind old lady in the waiting room. Her fingers shake as she dials, pressing a button on every third thud of her heart as it pounds slowly in her chest, entering a number she has called many times late at night on the rare occasions they were apart, or every day for two weeks when Emily had been on holiday in France. She knows it by heart, as she does everything about Emily.

She picks up on the fourth ring and it's both too quick and too slow all at once.

"Emily," she breathes, and Naomi hates the uncertainty and desperation in her voice, hates that Emily can do this to her. "God, Em, I'm sorry, I just…"

Emily is saying soothing words down the line, whispering her name over and over, and she sounds relieved and incredibly worried at the same time, and Naomi wraps the phone's wire tightly around her wrist, feels her heart constrict a little more with each twist of the cord and utterance of her name.

"Em, I need, I need to tell you, you have to know." She's making no sense, has no fucking clue why she even called except that she needs to hear Emily's voice, needs to know she won't hate her for not trying to fight harder, for her life, for them, for Emily. But she can't tell her about the cancer, she just can't, so it won't make any sense to Emily, who is thinking all the wrong things and Naomi is letting her.

"Naoms? What do I need to know? Listen, I'm sorry, about before, I shouldn't have left, but I didn't know what to do – I mean, God, Naomi, I had no idea – "

"It's not your fault, Em, none of this – none of this is because of you. I just, I'm weak Emily, and I'm so tired, and I need you to know that no matter what happens, I love you, okay? I really fucking love you, and this, this doesn't change that, because nothing will ever change that. You know, right? You have to know how much I love you."

Naomi hears Emily suck in a deep breath, feels the static from the shitty connection crackle against her ear. "I know."

"Don't forget it though."

"I won't – I couldn't. And I love you too, so much, and I'll never stop, I'll never stop loving you," and they're both crying now, and Naomi's hand is turning purple where the telephone wire is wound around her wrist, cutting off the blood circulation. "Whatever this is, whatever is making you do what you're doing, I'll still love you, I will always love you."

Naomi drops the receiver then, watches it fall from her shaking hand, the wire unravelling from around her wrist and blood rushing through the veins there and warming her fingers. She can still hear Emily crying, and it hurts so much, because they are talking about different things and Emily is worrying for all the wrong reasons, and Naomi is lying to her, but she cannot bring herself to tell her the truth – Naomi loves Emily, and that is the only truth worth sharing.

"You love her."

Naomi freezes. She knows that voice.

"I had this idea in my head that you were corrupting her, that she wanted to be rebellious, and you were more than happy to lead her astray. But that's not true. You love her, and she loves you."

Naomi turns around painfully slowly, fingers twisted together in prayer that it's not what she thinks. But then, Jenna Fitch is about a metre in front of her, wearing dark blue scrubs and an ID card that says she's a nurse at this hospital and fuck fuck FUCK –

"She loves you, and this is going to break her, Naomi." And she sounds so fucking sad, and she's looking at Naomi with such familiar brown eyes, and it sounds like she actually cares – but most importantly, she knows, Emily's mum knows, how the fuck does she know?

"I don't know what you're talking about," and it's completely pointless and futile because she's wearing a hospital gown and she's covered in so many bruises about a third of her skin is blue, but she has to try because this is Emily's mum and Jesus fucking Christ.

"I heard you talking to Dr. Robbins, and I've read your file – acute promyelocytic leukemia," Jenna says, and it's hearing it out loud, the official diagnosis, so harsh and brutal and like ice being pressed into her skin that finally breaks her.

"Don't tell Emily, please, she doesn't know. I can't tell her," she rushes out, sounding so small and pathetic she's surprised Jenna even hears her. She takes a step towards Jenna, grips her arm – fucking foolish really, because this woman hates her, but Naomi is really desperate and it feels like the world disappearing beneath her and she needs some fucking stability. "Please, Mrs Fitch, I know you hate me, but you love Emily, and you don't want her to get hurt. This would hurt her, so fucking much, and I don't want that, that's the last thing I want, so please. Please don't tell Emily."

Jenna looks at her in a way she never has before, the disdain and resentment in her eyes replaced with something that inflates Naomi's lungs with too much air, makes her think of Emily and how easily she hurts. Jenna puts a hand on Naomi's arm in turn, opens and closes her mouth. "It's already hurting her. She knows something isn't right." She pauses, an apology in her eyes. "Naomi, she'll never forgive you if you don't tell her, if the next time she sees you, you're dead."

And then Naomi is in pieces, and she doesn't think she'll ever be whole again.