brain cancer fic (camren)

hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again

It starts with the headaches.
Which isn't so unusual, really — they're on break, technically, but it's still weeks on end of being shuttled from one place to another with interviewers gabbing in their ears, repeating the same goddamned questions over and over and fucking over and it's so exhausting Lauren thinks she might explode if one more person asks how her relationship is going.

Fine, she answers. Great, even. It really is. Just not with Shawn.
They don't need to know that, though.
And they don't, but they still keep asking, and three weeks into promo Lauren truly feels like her head is going to explode, like her brain is pulsing right against her skull. It's horrible and no matter how many cigarettes she smokes or pain pills and glasses of water and tea she swallows it doesn't let up; the pain subsides some but never truly goes away.
It's frustrating, but not alarming. Not yet.


Home, Lauren thinks. Home. She just can't wait to get home, where she can kick off her jeans and curl up under the covers and close her eyes and sleep for an hour or maybe ten until her brain is fully rested and not feeling like it's about to bust through her skull. But for now she's trapped in the back of a car with Camila and a driver who apparently doesn't understand that silence is golden.
If she were in a better mood, Lauren might just engage her in conversation, talking excitedly and laughing at his poor excuses for jokes but right now she's just not in the mood, and Camila notices. Of course she does. Camila notices everything.
"Your head again, hm?" Camila mumbles, lips pressed to Laurens temple. Lauren just nods weakly, making a soft whining noise and cuddling into Camilas side. Herhead is still throbbing, but with her face buried in Camilas stupid, expensive leather jacket, it's a little better because all she can smell is Camila, all warm and familiar and home. God, she can't wait to get home.
They arrive at their flat just as Lauren has started dozing. Camila thanks the driver, quick and polite - always so professional, she is - before looping a hand over Lauren shoulder and tugging her towards the door, urging her to be quick. Nobody knows where this flat is, but there's always been the chance of someone catching sight of them and following them home. Their drivers are usually good about making sure they aren't followed, looping around the neighborhood until any hangers-on are hopelessly confused, but Camila likes to be sure, anyway.
Lauren toes off her shoes as soon as she's through the front door, making a beeline for the couch and burying her face in a terribly tacky and uncomfortable decorative pillow. She feels the couch dip slightly under Camila's weight as she sits down next to her,  warm hand on her back, smoothing down her shirt and Lauren feels all the tension leave her body, turning to give Camila a grateful smile.
Camila grins back, all dimples and teeth, patting her lap invitingly and Lauren loves her so much she could die as she crawls over and rests her head in Camila's warm lap. Camila's hands are on her before she's even gotten settled, fingers stroking through her hair and scratching her scalp lightly. Lauren hums appreciatively, nuzzling into Camila's hand.
"Good, boo?" Camila asks gently, fingers pressing lightly on his temple and Lauren manages a soft uh-huh before she drifts off, wrapped up in Camila's touch and scent and it almost scares her to think she'll never be as happy as she is when she's in Camila's arms.


When she wakes up, the sky outside the window is dark, her head is still in Camila's lap, The Notebook is playing on the television, and she has to puke.
It's, like. Her head is throbbing, pain no longer dull but sharp and clawing at every inch of her, and she can feel it, can feel it crawling up her throat and she doesn't even have time to give Camila a fair warning before she jerks herself away, staggering towards the hallway bathroom and she knows she won't make it to the toilet so she aims for the sink, instead, spewing breakfast and lunch and the really good iced tea she'd been drinking in the car into the pretty marble sink with the shiny silver faucet.
She barely has time to recover before she hears Camila's footsteps approaching, socked feet on carpet and then a small hand is on her back, heat seeping through her shirt and coming to curl around her spine like a napping cat.
"Hey," Camila says gently, moving closer so her hip is bumping Lauren's waist, smoothing back the sweaty hair from Laurens forehead and Lauren is still gasping, out of breath, knuckles white as she clutches the edge of the counter. The pain is a little better now, reduced to a dull ache, like her head is being very, veryslowly squeezed by a vice instead of, say, crushed under the weight of an anvil. "Babe," she tries again, fingers gently tugging at her bicep. "What can I do?"
When she can finally breathe again, nausea still coming and going in waves, Lauren croaks out, "Water. Please." Camila is nodding, out the door and clomping on down the hall towards the kitchen before Lauren can press her back against the wall, sliding to sit on the cool tiled floor. It feels wonderful against her burning skin and she shifts so she can lay down, pressing her temple and she has to bite back a groan of relief, eyes slipping shut. It's so nice. It'd probably be nicer if it weren't the tile in their guest bathroom, but she's going to take what she can get.
She's so lost in the feeling of the freezing tiles soothing her throbbing head that he doesn't even see Camila coming back down the hallway until she's at Laurens' side, panic-stricken voice slicing through the quiet like a knife and Lauren jerks up, only to find Camila with one hand clutching a glass of ice water, the other pressed over her chest like she's nearly had a heart attack.
"Sorry," Lauren mumbles, embarrassed, but not too embarrassed to pry the glass from Camila's hand and take an almost painfully large gulp of water. "Just resting. Felt nice on my head."
Camila's eyes are wide, still coming down from the fright of finding her girlfriend lying motionless on the bathroom floor, but she cracks a tiny smile anyway. "You goof," she mutters, fingers smoothing across Laurens forehead. Checking for a fever, Lauren realizes, practically swooning at the gesture.
"You don't feel warm," Camila says finally, standing and extending a hand to Lauren, pulling her up and promptly sweeping her off her feet, gathering her up in her arms.
"Camila," she protests weakly, slamming tiny fists against Camila's small chest in vain. "Let me down."
Camila just grins, that little shit, and carries her up the stairs, depositing her gently onto their shared bed like she's precious cargo before crawling onto the bed next to her, lying on her belly and kicking her legs up, crossing and uncrossing them like a child. It's ridiculously endearing and Lauren kind of wants to kiss her.
"Camila," Lauren repeats, rolling over so as to get some distance from her favorite girl in the world. "'M sick. Gonna get you all germy."
Camila chuckles fondly, rolling over so she's just as close to Lauren as when she started. "Don't care. Gonna take care of you, boo." She rests a warm hand on Lauren's belly and her stomach flutters when she realizes yet again just how small Camila's hands are, covering almost none of the span of her torso. Camila notices too, murmuring a fond, "So big. My little Lo." And, yeah. Lauren thinks she could get used to this.


What she hasn't gotten used to, however, is the constant vomiting. Emphasis on constant. It's been just over a week since she first emptied the contents of her stomach into the sink in the downstairs bathroom, but it's just getting worse. It feels like every time she's puked her guts and then some into the toilet there's another brick weighing down her stomach, bile burning her throat. Eventually, she gives in and drags a pillow and blanket into the bathroom she shares with Camila and camps out in the tub.
When Camila finds her there, cocooned in blankets in the porcelain tub, half-asleep and drooling just a bit, she does two things. First, she laughs. Second, he scoops Lauren up and before Lauren can even protest she's in the fucking doctor's office with Camila's fingers tracing patterns on the back of her hand, feeling more nauseous than she ever did in her little bath fort.
But it's nothing. The doctor checks her vitals, asks about her symptoms, tells her to get lots of rest, drink lots of fluids and take some Advil. That's it.
Lauren's glare on the way home nearly burns a hole in the back of Camila's head.

It's been four days of following the doctor's orders to an exact t, but the pain is Lauren's head is worse than ever, like her brain is going to come oozing out her ears any second. Camila nearly laughs till she cries at the analogy, but still follows the outburst with a, "Sorry, baby. Here, let me help," and resumes massaging Lauren's scalp with gentle fingers. It helps more than Lauren cares to admit, but the second Camila's fingers are gone the pain seems to triple, so extreme at times she sees stars.
"Gonna make you another doctor's appointment in the morning," Camila mumbles later that evening when they're curled up under the covers, seeing how long they can procrastinate until Camila has to go make them something to eat. "Hate seeing you like this."
"Me too," Lauren grumbles, burying her face in a pillow and trying to ignore the tears prickling at her eyes because it fucking hurts, dammit, and no matter how much Tylenol she swallows it never ceases and she's never experienced pain this bad for such an extended period of time and she just wants it to stop.
"Want me to make dinner now?" Camila suggests, propping herself up on her elbows, hair falling into her eyes and the sight makes Lauren bite back a grin, shaking her head to the best of her ability without further upsetting her pounding head.
"In a little bit," she says, knocking Camila's elbows out from underneath her so Camila falls back onto the bed with a quiet oof. "Just stay here a while."
A while turns out to be something like half an hour in which Lauren drifts in and out of consciousness while Camila cuddles her from behind. Then, without warning she's saying, "Gonna make dinner now, boo," and before Lauren can protest she's gone and Laurenis cold and alone.
The pain in her head is still very much present, but has let up a bit, so naturally she gets up very, very slowly and follows Camila downstairs to the kitchen where she's rattling around in the cupboard, looking for something. Her face lights up adorably when she finds the gleaming silver spot she's apparently been looking for, setting it in the stove and fiddling with the knobs before becoming aware of Lauren's presence.
"You should rest," she says simply, and it should sound demanding but this is Camila and it ends up sounding more like a suggestion. Lauren shakes her head — oops, too fast, wincing as a fresh bolt of pain strikes her skull and she stumbles forward into Camila's embrace.
"Wanna stay with you and pick up on your magnificent culinary skills," she mumbles into Camila's shirt, lower lip jutting out in a pout and she knows Camila can't say no to that.
She's right. Camila grins, always so fond, reaching to absently swipe a few stray strands of hair from her face. "Okay. Right now this culinary master needs to take a wee, so." She gives Lauren a terribly goofy, endearing look before trotting off awkwardly down the hall, and Lauren can't help the giggle that escapes his lips because she loves Camila, can't imagine ever loving anyone half as much as she loves Camila.
Feeling cheeky, she peers into the pot on the stove and, finding it empty, leans against the counter, striking a ridiculous pose and waiting for Camila to return.


It's footsteps coming down the hall and the giddy, nervous feeling she gets around Camila even after all this time and she's expecting Camila to chuckle something like You're ridiculous and maybe fuck him against the wall if she's lucky, which she almost always is.
Except not this time, because Camila's eyes are warm and friendly but upon further inspection go wide with what Lauren identifies as panic; later, she realizes maybe it was fear.
"Lo!" And just like that Camila is across the room, yanking her away from the stove and shoving her left hand under the tap, and, oh. The skin of her palm is puckered and colored an angry pink. That's usually a thing somebody would notice, Lauren notes mentally, pursing her lips with her brow furrowing in confusion. Even now, it should hurt, but it doesn't. Not really. A little bit, but the pain is so distant it's hard to tell if it even belongs to her.
Camila is quiet as she holds Lauren's hand under the water for what seems like days but is most likely just a few minutes, eyes downcast and this stupid look of concern on her face that kind of makes Lauren want to cry but all she can do it stare at her rapidly reddening hand and wonder why she didn't feel it — surely she should have felt something, right? It's surprising, because Lauren certainly isn't known for her high pain tolerance and even someone like Camila who could probably be whipped across her bare back and tread on with her tongue between her teeth would surely notice something like that.
After a few minutes, Camila turns off the tap. "Stay here," she instructs Lauren, voice soft but firm, and the second she leaves the room Lauren has her back pressed against the cabinets, feeling her legs give out as she sinks to the tile, staring in awe at the blistering burn on her hand. This is a dream. It has to be a dream. She doesn't know what's happening and she's not so much afraid as she is completely bewildered. It feels suddenly like she's trying to look at the world through a haze.
Camila returns holding gauze bandages that Lauren didn't even know they had, but with a tiny smirk on her face she realizes Camila must have an entire first aid kit stashed somewhere, just in case. She's painfully gentle, crouching down and wrapping around the burn gently, from Lauren's wrist to her knuckles, secure but not tight enough to irritate the skin there. Once she's done, she cuts off the excess and places it on the counter, eyes still trained on Lauren's face.
"Why did you do that?" she asks simply, voice less suspicious and more concerned.
Lauren frowns, blinking at her. "Do what?"
"You burned yourself, love."
"Oh," Lauren laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood because Camila thinks he did it onpurpose. "No, I just...didn't notice."
Camila cocks her head a little, clearly confused. "What do you mean you didn't notice?"
Lauren doesn't know how to explain, because the more she thinks about it the crazier it sounds. "I didn't notice. I didn't feel it. I didn't even realize it was happening until you pulled me away." She chews her lip, and as she watches Camila's face darken, she almost wishes she had done it on purpose.


Camila drags her kicking and screaming to the hospital after that. Not just the regular, ho-hum doctor's office, but the goddamned ER and Lauren has never been more embarrassed, because she's just tired and under the weather and Camila is making a big fuss out nothing and oh, god, she hates needles and hospitals and doctors, hates people touching her and pressing cold metal to her skin and making her breathe in out in out so consciously, and by the time it's her turn to be checked she's nearly in tears.