Five hours later, Patsy opened the door to let a zombie-like Delia into their house.

The red head trailed after the Welshwoman into the living room and watched as she fell onto the couch, staring at the TV screen blankly. Patsy warily followed until she was sitting next to her, waiting for the other to say something. She quietly observed her red, swollen eyes, and her untidy hair still damp from her tears.

"Delia," Patsy breathed guardedly.

The brunette blinked.

"I need to call my mam," she croaked, though she made no movement to do so.

Softly, as if touching a deity, Patsy reached up and reverently brushed her fingertips along Delia's cheek, making the other draw a shaky breath.

"You need to get some sleep, darling," Patsy murmured softly.

Very slowly, Delia turned to face Patsy.

"I can't," she gasped, fresh tears beginning to trail down her cheeks. Patsy lent forward and pressed her lips over Delia's, tasting the salt from her tears.

"You are so magnificent, sweetie," Patsy shushed, pressing Delia back on the couch, "I love you so much."

Delia pulled back from the kiss, her hands forming into fists as she clutched Patsy's jacket frantically.

"Patsy, I'm so scared," she gasped before breaking off into a sob.

"Of course you are, sweetie," Patsy said in a hoarse voice, "I'm here for you, Deels, I've got you."

"I know you are," Delia wept, pulling the other in for a frantic kiss.

Their kissing continued until Delia broke down into silent sobs that racked her body, and her tears soaked Patsy's T-shirt. The red head had allowed a few silent tears streak down her own face, but kept on trying to remind herself to stay strong. Patsy brushed her lips on Delia's brow, and remained still as the brunette's sobs disintegrated into sputtering gasps before completely ceasing altogether. It took Patsy several moments to realize that she had in fact cried herself to sleep. Moving lithely, Patsy gently disentangled her limps from Delia's before fixing her arms underneath her form and lifting up with a soft grunt.

Patsy was never the athletic type.

Okay, that was partially a lie.

In her late teens she had developed quite the arm for fencing, but any other sports involved to too much dependency on other people or were too personal for her liking. While she always had the heart for sports, she never flaunted it to other people. She preferred to enjoy it on her own time, and when she did she was very good at it.

But as she picked up her wife in bridal fashion, it no longer mattered about her physique or skill in the gym. What mattered was that Delia needed to get from the couch to their bed without her beautiful, blessed feet touching the ground. The least that could be said was that Patsy surprised herself with her own strength as she gently deposited Delia on the bed before removing her shoes and tucking her in. Wiping away her own tears, Patsy left the room and softly shut the door, needing to think things through.

She wondered into the kitchen in a daze. She had initially intended to put the kettle on, but she soon forgot that idea, seating herself on a stool at the counter. The ginger sat there for God knows how long, staring into nothingness and her mind going blank.

Delia had breast cancer.

The name 'Delia' and the term 'breast cancer' sounded weird in the same sentence together. In fact, it seemed almost damnable that they were; a sin against nature. The brunette was too cheery, too good to be ill with such a disease. She was too young. Only old people on those nursing home ads got cancer. People who didn't exercise properly, or eat right; something Delia did every day. Delia had done nothing to deserve this; it was perverse that she did.

It was WRONG.

Patsy placed her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands.

She had already almost lost Delia during the Unspeakable car accident, why was this happening to them? It wasn't fair.

But then again, Patsy was being irrational. She was in denial.

Her body started shaking and Patsy began to gasp for breath, and it took several moments for her to realize she was sobbing. She cried bitterly for an indiscernible amount of time, until her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Trixie. Oh right. To other people, the world was still turning while theirs crumbled to dust in the matter of a day.

Wanna go for drinks tonight?! 11:45 am

Patsy took some shuddering deep breaths before wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve.

Now came the hard part.

Delia needed to sleep; the poor soul would have to go back in the next day to finalize a treatment plan with the oncologist that Dr. Turner referred them to. They said surgery looked like the best option, but that was if the mass hadn't travelled to other parts of the body. Patsy stared at her phone numbly, not knowing what to say. How does one reveal that one's wife was riddled with cancer to their best friend?

How did you tell said wife's parents?

…your coworkers?

…your daughter?

Patsy laid her head on the counter to stifle her remaining sniffles as she tried to regain her thoughts. Normally this was a conversation one had face-to-face, but Delia was exhausted and quite frankly, Patsy wasn't in the mood for company. The ginger could call Trixie, and tell her coworkers. Delia would want to tell her mother and father.

Patsy got up and went to the cabinet before pouring a glass of whiskey and drinking it straight. She then brought up her conversation with Trixie and punched the call button at the top.

It rang twice.

"Patsy? Is it your lunch break?" Trixie asked automatically in disbelief. They hardly ever had breaks that over lapped.

Numbly, Patsy also remembered that yes, she had work that day. And no, she did not call in sick. That was probably why she had so many missed calls.

"Trix-" Patsy choked, suddenly not able to find the words to tell her.

"Yes? Is everything alright?"

Patsy glanced at her empty glass before releasing a half sob.

"No," she wept simply.

For several minutes Trixie listened to Patsy sobbing on the other line, beyond words.

"What's wrong?!" Trixie exclaimed softly, when the sobbing abated somewhat, already guessing the severity of it. Nothing made Patsy Mount weep like that.

"D-Delia," the ginger stuttered, "We found out…sh-she has cancer…breast c-cancer."

There was silence on the other line.

"Oh…my God," Trixie breathed softly, her voice stricken, "I…oh, Patsy! Oh my God!"

Soon the pixie-haired blonde was crying in disbelief.

"Patsy!" she wept, "I'm so sorry! How…how is she? Is she bad?"

"She's so scared, Trix," Patsy whispered, taking deep, shaky breaths, "I…I don't know what to tell her. I…I have to be strong for her, but I'm scared too!" It felt good to finally confess her feelings without having to worry her already occupied wife with them.

"Of course you are darling! Especially after…after…" Trixie stammered, "Do you need me to come over?"

"I think we're good," Patsy gasped, "She's finally fallen asleep, and I have to tell Ellie…"

Ellie.

Oh…SHIT.

"You haven't told her yet?!" Trixie whispered hoarsely.

"It's something we have to tell her together, face-to-face," Patsy mumbled.

"Okay. Do you need anything? Just say the word, I'll do it."

"No, thank you Trixie," Patsy murmured, "I just…I can't…"

"I know, sweetie, I know," Trixie shushed, "You sound like you need some sleep too. Go to her, hold on to her; I'll call later tonight, okay? You need her, Patsy, I can hear it in your voice. And she definitely needs you as well."

"Okay," Patsy said numbly, "Thanks Trixie."