Neverending Peace

Treacherous Slope

Taylor had drifted off, held in Joe's arms; the dexamethanol had finally kicked in, and the sheer relief of the fading of her headache, coupled with the comfort of being held through her breakdown, had made her fall into a deep, restful sleep.

She wasn't sure what time it was, but the room was still completely dark when she woke again.

Well, almost completely dark. From beside the bed, the glow of Joe's laptop computer's monitor cast the room in an odd half-light, one that stretched far enough to illuminate the young man's frowning face.

Taylor lifted an eyebrow, watching him in silence for a moment, before murmuring, "You're going to go blind if you keep reading like that."

Joe jumped, slightly, when Taylor spoke, but smiled. "Haven't yet," he replied, still scanning the article on the screen in front of him. He reached the end, and looked up. "How're you feeling?"

Taylor paused, considering. The pounding in her skull had remained at bay, now only the faintest glimmer of pain. Compared to what she was used to, it was so scarce she barely noticed it. Other than that, she was simply tired. She smiled. "Pretty good, actually," she responded. Then, "What are you doing, anyway? What time is it?"

"Just after three," Joe replied, stretching, his joints making a rapid series of popping noises. "You were snoring, so I figured you were doing better." He smiled, and yawned. "And I'm just doing a little research. Couldn't sleep."

Taylor raised his eyebrows, looking Joe over. "You certainly look like you could now," he said. She slid back on the bed, making a space, which she patted with her hand. "Care to give it another try?"

"In a bit, yeah. I just want to finish reading this case study..." Joe yawned again, but shook his head, blinking at the screen. He'd gone soft, staying up this late after a full day would've been easy a few months ago.

Taylor frowned. "Joe... look at you. You're dead on your feet. Or your ass, as it were," she joked. "Come on. Come to bed already, before you nod off and that fancy laptop of yours ends up in a million pieces when you drop it on the floor."

"It hasn't yet, and Jack's knocked it over half a dozen times..." But Joe shut the laptop, blinking in the sudden dark, giving his eyes time to adjust before crawling onto the bed with Taylor. He yawned once more, hearing his jaw crack as he did. "Sleep does sound good, though," he offered, laying his head on Taylor's shoulder, one arm across her chest.

Taylor wrapped him in her arms, comfortable again with the solid weight of the younger man's body back where it belonged. "So what were you researching, anyway?" she murmured, more to simply stave off sleep for a few more moments than anything else. It was the first time they'd been able to lie comfortably together without Taylor's head attempting to implode in well over three weeks, and Taylor had missed being able to focus on the sheer physical comfort and pleasure of having Joe pressed against her.

Joe hesitated for a moment. This was so nice, the two of them pressed together, feeling Taylor's arms around him...he didn't want to ruin it, by bringing up what he'd been doing. Not that he'd found anything remotely encouraging, but then he hadn't been looking long. He finally shrugged, snuggling closer. "Something for a a performance...Just trying to keep busy until I got tired again."

Taylor smiled, hidden in Joe's hair. "You're one dedicated manager" she murmured, already drifting again. "Find what you were looking for?"

Joe felt a sudden swell of emotion rise within him, and he snuggled closer to Taylor, listening as his breathing got deeper. "Not yet," he whispered.

But I'll be damned if I'm going to stop trying.

Taylor's P.O.V

It was five days until I had chemo again. Five days of sitting around at home, getting calls from my crying mom, puking, and an absence of work to distract me. I was dreading the sixth day, chemo day, but after that I was going to go back to work. I would need to give myself a day to recover, but then I would return. I tried not to think about how hard it would be to hide. Right now, I needed to focus on the positive.

My mom sat in the chair beside me as we waited for the nurse to take me back with her. I tapped my feet on the white linoleum. The whole thing only took about fifteen minutes; it was the waiting that drove me the most insane. I was about to burst when a nurse finally pulled us back.
We sat in a small room with a connected bathroom that I was relieved to see. The nurse came in to give me a paper cup of pills and we waited another thirty minutes until the doctor came back.

"Does it hurt?" Mom squeaked as the needle was inserted into my skin.

"No," it wasn't a lie. The process wasn't painful. It was the afterwards that was hellacious, but she already looked freaked out enough. "You still haven't told Dad, right?"

She looked somber. "He deserves to know."

"You told him?"

"No, I didn't tell him, but I really think you should. He loves you, he would want to know."

I shook my head. I didn't want to hear it, even if it was true. Not right now, in this chair, as the meds were hitting and sleep was beginning to sound so enticing. "Just not yet."

Once again, I hadn't realized I had fallen asleep until I was awake and sprinting as best I could to the toilet. Mom walked in and rubbed little circles on my back. I thought about how badly I had needed it last time around.

The vomit burned my throat and my mouth tasted disgusting and acidic. I took delicate sips of the water bottle she procured.

A song began playing from the room. My ringtone. "Mom, can you grab my phone for me?" She looked at me, apparently unsure of whether I should be taking phone calls right now, but got up anyways. I anxiously waited while she seemed to be taking her time. I was worried the call was about to drop when she returned, cell phone in hand. I accepted it quickly and saw the name on the phone Tree. I swiped open the call.

"Hi, Tree," my voice came out hoarse despite my best efforts to sound normal.

"Taylor Swift," she began.

"Good morning to you too," she was so to the point, but I loved her consistency, no matter how I teased.

"It is three in the afternoon."

"Eh."

"I am calling to inquire when you're doing the show," she said.

It was weird to think about that, crouched in front of the toilet, one hand holding up my phone, the other holding my stomach. An excitement bubbled up in my chest. Today was Tuesday. As much as I didn't want to, it was only logical to give myself a whole day to recover.

"Thursday."

"And you're sure you will be well enough?" her tone was one of concern.

"Yup!" I said, immediately ending the call. It was a miracle I had managed to go the entire call without vomiting or coughing so it was time to pay. I hacked so hard my stomach ached.

"You're going to go back doing shows?" Mom asked, having listened to the entire phone call. "The fans don't know about this?" she made the connection. She was never one to check the news or look at posts online mostly not since this new era of my life had started.

I shook my head and waited until I was sure I wouldn't start puking to answer. "It'll be fine. I'll tell them soon," even I could hear what a weak excuse it was.

"You can't be working in your condition."

It was a rational statement. An obvious one. But it frustrated me. I knew that it wasn't going to work, but I didn't want to face the truth. I sighed deeply. "Please, Mom."

She didn't argue anymore.