29(Hi guys! I've written another one-shot. I lack a bit of inspiration for my other stories, but I'm working on them. Warning, this is not a happy story)
He knows the doctor is still talking to him, but Combeferre no longer listens. He doesn't even really try. His ears are ringing too loud anyway and his mouth has turned dry. The doctor's voice seems to come from a great distance, even though he is sitting right in front of him. His eyes are soft and speak sympathy, but Combeferre doesn't feel comforted. He just wants to get out of this office. He wants to leave and go outside, where the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. Where it isn't all black and hopeless as it is inside his mind.
Nothing more we can do…
Make you as comfortable as possible…
Four, maybe five or six weeks…
His doctor's words echo through his head and he closes his eyes. He can't believe this is happening. Not to him. Not after everything. He had really hoped to hear different news.
He felt sick.
Sicker than he had in all the time the doctors were treating him. Sicker than he had when they just told him he was suffering from this illness. He should've brought someone with him. He shouldn't have gone to the doctor's appointment alone. He isn't sure he is going to be able to get himself home now. He feels dizzy and nauseous.
Combeferre sniffs softly and takes his glasses off, wiping them with his sleeve. Now, the doctor is telling him about these social workers who are trained in helping people cope with knowing they are going to die. To help 'ease the transition'. It sounds ridiculous. Combeferre doesn't want help from these people. He doesn't need it. He is almost a doctor himself, he knew his chances of surviving this disease had been slim from the beginning. He knew he would be able to come to term with this end. He would.
Combeferre didn't feel sick because he knew he was going to die. Of course, it hurt him to know that there were so many things he was never going to do now. And of course he'd give anything to hear the doctor tell him a different outcome. But he didn't feel sick because he was going to die. He felt sick, because he had no idea how to share this news with those he loved. He didn't know if he could cope with their grief. Imagining the pain in their hearts and the tears in their eyes made his stomach twist and turn with guilt. He didn't want to be the one to hurt his friends, his family.
When he leaves the doctor's office, his legs are trembling and he has to pause a couple of times to catch his breath. It's almost as if he's living a dream. Nothing seems real. His vision is blurry and the people he passes don't look like real people.
He really hopes he'd just wake up.
The journey back home is the most painful one yet and he sincerely considers to ask the taxi driver to make a turn. But he knows he has to face the facts sometime. Sooner rather than later. He knows he has to tell them. Every single one of them. He can't keep them in the blue about something as important as this. That would hurt them even more.
When he arrives home, Combeferre sinks down on his couch and stares into the distance for a while. He doesn't think about anything. His mind is blank and his eyes see nothing. He's grateful to be home alone. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle it all that well if one of their friends had been waiting there for him. What would he have said? Would he have said anything at all? He probably wouldn't. It'd be too sudden. Too soon.
Combeferre wants to be prepared when he tells them. He wants to know the things he's going to say and he wants to be prepared for the questions and reactions he's going to get. He needs to plan this out for his own peace of mind and he's going to take his time for that. His friends did not know he had a doctor's appointment that morning.
That night, he says nothing to Enjolras about the news he received.
It takes Combeferre three days to find the courage. He decides to pay all his friends a visit separately. He doesn't want to tell them during a meeting. He needs his private moments with those he cares so much about. He doesn't want to tell them all together. The pressure'd be too high and the aftermath would be too much.
Courfeyrac is the first person he tells. He visits him in the morning. The exuberant smile Courfeyrac gives him when he opens the front door sends daggers to his heart and he almost backs out. But he knows he has to do it now, or he never will. He allows his friend to make him a cup of coffee and smiles when Courfeyrac flops next to him on the couch. Getting the words out is very hard for Combeferre to do. He stammers and he stutters and he squeezes Courfeyracs hand. When he finally tells his him, his friend goes very silent and very pale. Neither of them say anything for a long while. Then Courfeyrac starts trembling and falls against his friend. He cries a lot, and begs Combeferre to let him be there every step of the way.
He stops by Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire next. Joly is the one to open the door and after one look, he pulls Combeferre in a tight embrace. As if he already knows what his friend is going to tell him. Their reactions are very different, though the news shocks them all the same. Joly squeezes his hands a lot, nods as Combeferre tells his story and asks questions about his latest medical results and their options. He also cries. Bossuet doesn't say anything. At all. He stares at the floor and doesn't meet Combeferre's eyes. It's only when Combeferre leaves that Bossuet breaks down. Grantaire grows quiet as well, but it's the angry sort of quiet. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are flashing. When he excuses himself, Combeferre can hear something break. Later that day, he receives a text from his cynical friend. It's just one word. Sorry. But it says everything and Combeferre knows he cares.
Bahorel and Feuilly give Combeferre a very mature response. They ask him questions, offer him words of comfort and wisdom and promise him that they will always be there for him. Feuilly wants to know if there is anything he can do. Neither of them cry when Combeferre tells them the news, but later he hears that Bahorel broke his hand punching the wall shortly after he left.
It's very difficult to tell Jehan the news. He's the youngest of the group and the most emotional one. Combeferre isn't a superstitious person, but he does believe in very intuitive people and Jehan is one of those people. He doesn't have to say a single word to Jehan. The younger boy just takes his hand, leads him towards his couch and embraces him. All he says is that he knows and that he is so sorry. Then the tears start flowing and they don't stop all the while Combeferre is there. Jehan gives him a book of poetry when he leaves, of which he hopes it will bring Combeferre comfort and rest in times of trouble.
The last person Combeferre tells is the hardest one.
It is already late in the evening when Enjolras finally returns home to their apartment. When Combeferre came back from his visits, he had been exhausted and he was grateful that his roommate wasn't home yet. He'd taken a shower and made himself something to eat. It had been an emotional day and Combeferre wanted nothing more but go to bed and get some sleep. Of course he couldn't. He had made his friends promise not to discuss the matter yet. Not until everyone knew.. But it wasn't fair to keep this news from Enjolras just because he was too tired to tell.
Enjolras was Combeferre's dearest and oldest friend. To themselves and to their friends, they were practically brothers. Brothers in all but blood. They had been through so much together and had seen each other at their worst and their best. Combeferre still remembers the look on his best friend's face when he told him he was diagnosed with this disease. It felt as if his own heart was ripped out of its chest.
Combeferre couldn't predict how Enjolras was going to react to the bad news this time, but he was certain that it would be devastating. And he felt terrible that he was the one who was about to hurt his young friend.
Combeferre smiles at Enjolras when his roommate opens the front door and greets him happily. He asks him how his day was and listens while Enjolras tells him all about it. But the lump in his throat is growing larger and he knows that he has to tell his friend now, or he never will.
"Julien," he interrupts Enjolras quietly when his roommate is about to start another rant about their lack of sponsors for this year's charity event. "I… I have to tell you something."
Enjolras blinks at him, then nods his head and sits down at the dinner table in front of his friend. "Yeah sure, what is it? Are you feeling alright? Do we need to go to the doctor?"
Combeferre bites his lip and feels his heart sink. Then he shakes his head and looks at Enjolras. "No, we do not need to go to a doctor… I've been to the doctor a few days ago."
"Oh…," Enjolras breathes out.
Combeferre can see he is getting nervous too and he wants to get this over with as soon as possible.
"W-What for?" Enjolras asks him quietly.
"My results…" Combeferre answers him. He looks Enjolras straight in the eyes and waits for a response, but there comes none. His friend just stares at him, breathing rapidly, and hands clenched tightly into fists.
Combeferre lets out a deep breath and feels his eyes water. "It's not good, Julien… It's not good at all."
It's silent again. Enjolras is no longer looking at him, but stares hard at the wooden tabletop. After a few long seconds, he swallows audibly and looks back up again. He has gone pale and his bottom lip is trembling.
"What… What do you mean?" Enjolras whispers anxiously, voice quivering and breaking somewhere in the middle.
At that point, Combeferre reaches across the table and takes Enjolras' hand in his own. He holds it tight. "I mean that there is nothing more they can do for me. The treatment didn't work… They're giving me four to six weeks."
And then the words are out. And everything goes to hell.
Everything spirals out of control as Enjolras jumps up from his chair, face like thunder, and starts screaming at him. And the more Combeferre tries to calm him down, the angrier Enjolras gets. He's blaming his older friend, calls him names and kicks his chair across the room.
How can you do this to me?
You promised me you'd be okay!
You told me you would get better!
How can you leave me like this?
This is all your fault!
Why didn't you tell me?
You promised!
I hate you!
Combeferre just sits there in silence and let the words come over him. Enjolras needed to get this out, he knew that. He also knew that his friend didn't mean any of the things he was saying. The last one hurt though. That really did hurt.
"Enjolras, can you please sit back down and listen to me? Please?" Combeferre tries quietly, but Enjolras twists out of his hold, grabs his bag and storms towards the front door. As it slams shut, Combeferre feels his heart break and for the first time since he received the bad news, he sinks down to the floor and starts crying.
Enjolras doesn't return for three whole days.
When he finally does, it's on a Wednesday night and Combeferre is watching a movie with Courfeyrac and Jehan. He hasn't slept since Enjolras left the apartment and he feels miserable. The guilt is eating him alive and there is nothing there to stop it. Courfeyrac is furious with Enjolras.
That evening the weather is terrible. It's storming and freezing cold. Combeferre sinks a little deeper into the couch and wishes his best friend was somewhere warm and dry. He knows he isn't with any of their friends. They would have let him know.
It's already getting late when the door to his apartment opens and reveals his best friend. The sight is enough to shatter his heart into a million pieces. Enjolras looks awful. He is still wearing the exact same clothes as the ones he had on when he left the apartment three days ago. Except, they're soaking wet now. He is shivering from head to toe, hair plastered against his forehead. His face is dirty, tear tracks clearly visible. His eyes are red and puffy. Enjolras looks downright miserable.
Combeferre gets up from his place on the couch and ignores Courfeyracs loud statements of dissatisfaction. He approaches Enjolras slowly, locking eyes with his best friend. That's when Enjolras' knees give up on him and he crashes towards the ground. Ugly sobs wrack his shivering body. He cries so hard, Combeferre is afraid he's going to make himself sick.
Combeferre closes the distance between them in record time and kneels down next to Enjolras on the floor. He takes him in his arms and holds him tight. He holds him there as long as Enjolras needs. His own shirt gets wet from his best friend's salty tears, but he doesn't care.
Enjolras cries for a very long time that evening and at one point he actually does make himself sick. He doesn't apologize for his words. Not yet. He doesn't say anything that evening, except for one thing.
"It's not fair.."
It's said between hiccups and Combeferre can barely hear it. But he agrees and there is nothing he can say against it, because it is the truth. It is not fair. None of this is fair. Not to Combeferre, not to Enjolras and not to any of their friends.
The end.
(I'm sorry… I know it's really sad. I don't know where this came from… Please leave me a little review?)