Chapter three

"What's this?" Finn asked as he flicked the bag. She flinched. "That's the medicine," she said, starting to grow impatient. He was acting so nervous. She was at least able to calm herself down before they arrived at the doctor's office. Him? He was talking a mile a minute. "Oh…that?" His gaze followed the line that was leading into her arm; at the end, a long syringe protruded from just under her skin. It looked painful.

"Does it hurt?"

"Well, obviously it does a little…" She gently rubbed over it, her gaze now fixated on it. He frowned. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He would have taken it and put it in his own arm if he could, but that wasn't an option; or, at least a smart one. "Finn, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"I need to…" She paused after a long moment. This was going to be harder than she thought. "I've just been thinking a lot lately, about this. About us." She looked at him. Maybe he would understand where she was going? She wasn't sure. "Finn I-" Just as she began to speak, the doctor came in, and his attention was turned on that. "Everything going all right in here? You should be finishing up, soon. We didn't want to overwhelm you on the first try, we're just going to fight this as aggressively as we can." She nodded in understanding. That would probably mean a lot of her experiences would be cut short, or unable to happen at all.

"What were you saying?" He turned back to her, a small smile on his face. He leaned over, gently kissing her cheek. "Your first treatment's almost done. I'm so proud of you!" He rubbed her arm affectionately. To say that he was proud was a huge understatement. He could have had a huge, golden statue built of her and it wouldn't have felt like enough. "Where do you want to go to celebrate?" He didn't realize the effects of the chemo, and why celebrating was, to say the least, inappropriate. "I don't think that will work," she said simply. "I just want to go home." He nodded a little, clearly disappointed but understanding nonetheless.

After returning home…

She felt sick. Rachel Berry rarely felt sick. (There was once, when they'd run out of her protein supplement at the market, and she couldn't eat it for a week. That was torture.) In general, however, she was always healthy. The key to good health, after all, was a rigorous exercise routine and healthy diet. Or so she thought.

"This was probably inherited," the doctor explained. She wasn't buying it. There had to be a mistake. Nope. No mistake. Just cancer.

Back to the present, however. She walked over and immediately slumped down on the couch. Her body crumpled in-half. She was pale, which was unusual because of her complexion. Her whole body hurt. It was similar to being hit by a truck, if the truck was carrying an entire shipment of flu vaccines that had somehow broken, then spilled out onto the street coming into direct contact with her.

"Finn?" she croaked. Boom. He was right there. (Almost like one of those dogs that could fetch beer, or soda, or whatever you wanted.) "What is it?" he asked as he knelt down beside her, gently pushing her hair back. "Can you get a rag? I'm warm." She wasn't warm at all, actually. Her skin was cool to the touch and she had little bags under her eyes.

He scurried off immediately, grabbing the largest, coldest rag he could find. He walked back, placing it on her head, over her eyes. She sighed contently. Heaven, she thought. He was curious now, though. He sat next to her, his hand on her knee. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked, nervously. She didn't answer for a while. She was just as nervous as he was.

"I think we need to…" She paused again. She kept doing that. As much as he loved her, it was aggravating him. "I think we need some space," she finally said. Space? he thought. That seemed a little…harsh. "What do you mean? I can sleep on the couch," he offered. That seemed appropriate. He didn't want to risk hurting her, anyway.

"No, Finn. Not that kind of space."

"…Break-up space?" She hesitated again. It sounded a lot worse than she figured it would. That made it harder. "Yes," she said shakily.

He sat for a long while. He had the same feeling she did, minus the bags under his eyes. "I…" For the first time, he was at a loss for words. She sucked her lip in, nervously chewing on it. She tried to take his hand and he quickly jerked it away. "Please try to understand why I'm doing this," she whispered. That wouldn't help. He really couldn't even begin to think of a reason. "I still love you-"

"Don't."

"Finn, please-" He cut her off again, putting his hand up. He began to pace. His chest was rising and falling at a rapid rate. She'd never seen him so visibly frustrated. (Not since high school, anyway.) "Did I do something wrong?" He couldn't help but ask. It was usually his fault, or at least he felt like it was. She peeled the rag off her face, trying to gather the strength to stand. "No, you did nothing wrong." She was halfway off the couch when he stopped her. "You're sick," he said simply. "Just…stay there. I'll be okay." She looked at him with big, hurt eyes. "You're not even going to listen to me?" Her lip tugged into a pout. "I don't want to do this…"

He looked at her incredulously. "If you don't want to, then don't. I don't want to. And the doctor said you needed a support system…" She shook her head. It wasn't that simple. Nothing was, anymore. More than anything, he needed to understand that. "We've gone through so much of our relationship together. We've faced so many things…never anything like this." He waited for her to continue. What was this compared to anything else? Sure, it was cancer, but he just wasn't able to see the logic. "I guess what I'm asking," she finally said, "is that you make this as painless as possible. We can still be friends."

That hurt. Friends…well, most of them, didn't have the history they did. They didn't become "unofficially" engaged; they didn't dedicate themselves to each other in high school. He sat for a few more minutes, clenching his knee. The room had undergone an eerie silence. It was like one of those horror movies, on the part right before the villain jumped out and cleaned house. (It was just a lot cleaner.) "I'm just going to go."

He didn't say bye. He didn't leave slowly. He just got up, and left. She was alone again. So was he. It was really only just beginning.