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Deborah didn’t want to look at the papers Ava had printed out for her.
Pages and pages of articles. Experimental treatments. Clinical trials. New therapies. Specialists all over the world. Desperate fragments of hope she had gathered all night like someone trying to stop a flood with her bare hands.
But Deborah refused to look at any of them.
“I’m not doing treatment, Ava. I’ve made my decision. It’s what I want.”
The words hit exactly as hard as they had the first time. And the second. And every time after that.
It made Ava angry and desperate.
“Of course it is. Everything's about you! You know, there are a lot of people that you should be thinking about right now besides yourself!”
“Ava, honey. Please, don't do this.”
“No, you! Please!” Ava screamed at her and started sobbing. Tears ran down her cheeks and her chest felt tight enough to crack. The emotional pain was unbearable.
For years she had worked beside Deborah. Admired her. Fought with her. Made her laugh. Learned every version of her moods, every expression, every impossible standard she held herself to.
And somewhere along the way, she'd fallen hopelessly in love with her.
The age difference had never mattered.
Nothing had.
Not when they’d made each other laugh.
Ava had loved her for years, hopelessly, stupidly, impossibly and irrevocably with all her heart.
And now she was forced to say goodbye?
That couldn’t be.
For a moment Ava waited. For a compromise. For a miracle.
Anything.
But none came.
”Please.” Ava's voice cracked. “Please, don't leave me. Pl... please.”
The words hung in the air, raw and naked. They both had asked this from each other before throughout the years, but this time, Deborah only shook her head as she whispered: “I'm sorry.”
The silence that followed felt endless and then Ava rushed from the room, crying harder than before.
Deborah didn't move.
Didn't change her mind.
Didn't take the words back.
She only sat there crying too, tears slipping silently down her cheeks as she closed her eyes.
Ava barely made it to her bedroom before her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, her shoulder hitting the frame, but she hardly registered the impact. She felt like dying herself.
A sob ripped through her. Then another.
She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face against them, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could somehow hold herself together.
But she was falling apart.
Every breath hurt.
Every thought hurt.
All these years she’d loved Deborah in silence. Years of convincing herself it didn't matter. That being close to her was enough. That friendship was enough.
And now she was losing her.
Not to someone else.
Not to distance.
Not to time.
To a decision Deborah had made for herself.
Her whole body shook violently as the sounds of her sobs echoed through the suite.
She didn't hear Deborah approach at first. Only when a shadow appeared in the doorway Ava lifted her head.
Deborah simply stood there, one hand resting against the frame, as she watched the younger woman on the floor.
The sight on Ava's face nearly broke her. She wasn’t prepared for the raw grief, for the desperation and the complete devastation.
For a moment Deborah considered leaving, to give Ava space.
Instead, she slowly crossed the room. Each step felt impossibly heavy.
When she reached Ava, she lowered herself carefully onto the floor beside her. It took more effort than she was accustomed to.
Neither of them spoke and the silence stretched between them.
Ava stared at the carpet as Deborah carefully looked at her.
They sat close enough that their shoulders almost touched and yet it was enough that neither knew how to bridge the distance.
Finally, Ava spoke, her voice wrecked.
“You said if you get treatment, you don’t want to put me through it all.”
“Yes, I did.”
Ava let out a bitter laugh.
“But do you honestly think making me witness how you kill yourself is any better?”
Big fat tears were streaming down her face.
“Do you really asking me to just sit here and watch you decide to die?"
Deborah looked away.
"You want me to hold your hand while you get on a train to Zurich?"
Ava's breathing became ragged. "How can you even ask that of me?"
“Because you’re the closest person I have in my life.” Deborah whispered, her eyes immediately filling with tears as well.
“And you are in mine…” Ava said. “…that’s why I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
The words seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, somewhere she'd spent years trying to keep them hidden.
But none of that mattered anymore now.
In a few days Deborah would be gone.
There was no point protecting herself any longer.
No point carrying the secret to the grave Deborah was choosing.
Ava lifted her head, endless tears kept streaming down her face.
"I can't lose you."
Deborah's expression softened immediately.
"Ava..."
"No."
Ava shook her head.
"No, I need you to hear this."
Her voice was trembling so badly she could barely get the words out, but she forced herself to continue, because if she didn't say it now, she might never get another chance.
"I can't lose you because..." She laughed helplessly through her tears. "…because… I love you."
Deborah's breath caught, as Ava turned to look at her for the first time. Really looked at her. At the woman she'd loved for so long.
"I love you." Ava repeated, her voice heartbroken. "I've loved you for years."
Deborah didn't move. Didn't speak.
Ava pushed on anyway.
"I tried not to."
A broken laugh escaped her.
"God, I tried." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
"But every day I worked with you, every stupid conversation, every laugh, every moment..." She shook her head. "It just got worse."
Deborah stared at her.
"I never cared about the age difference. I never cared what anyone else thought. The only thing I ever cared about was you."
Ava could barely breathe through her confession.
"So no, I can't sit here and be supportive."
Her voice rose.
"I can't pretend any longer that this is okay."
"Ava…"
"No!"
The word came out sharp and pained.
"I can't watch the person I love most in the world kill herself."
Deborah visibly flinched and Ava immediately hated herself for it. But she couldn't stop.
"I can't let that happen."
Her voice dissolved into tears again.
"I can't… and I need you to understand that.”
Deborah blinked several times as if trying to process the words.
"Oh, Ava," she finally whispered. Just those two words.
Ava dropped her gaze to the floor. The courage that had carried the words out seemed to vanish and she braced herself for whatever came next.
Of course, Deborah wouldn't feel the same. Deborah was facing the end of her life and Ava had just handed her an impossible burden on top of everything else.
"You don't have to say anything.” Ava hurried to say. “I know the timing is awful. And I know this isn't exactly..." She gestured helplessly between them. "...the moment anyone would choose for a declaration of love. Plus, I know you don’t feel the same.”
When Ava looked back up, Deborah's eyes were filled with grief.
"You should have told me."
Ava let out a strangled laugh. "When?"
Deborah couldn't answer.
Because they both knew there had never been a right time.
They hadn’t been always on the best terms and they had fought so much in the past. They’d been separated for an entire year. There had always been work. The tour, the Special, Late Night and the MSG show.
And now there was cancer.
And Zurich.
And a clock that wouldn't stop ticking.
Ava wiped angrily at her tears, but they kept coming.
"So, no." Her voice trembled. "I can't sit here and smile and support this… I can't say goodbye, Deborah… because I love you too much.”
Deborah was crying openly now. So was Ava.
"I want more time with you, Deb. More laughs. More days like these here in Paris… and not let you go.”
Slowly, carefully, the older woman reached for Ava's hand, finally aware of the immense pain she was causing.
Ava froze instantly when Deborah intertwined their fingers.
The gesture was so small. So gentle.
Yet it felt monumental.
Tears slid down Deborah's cheeks and she closed her eyes. Ava could feel her hand trembling in hers.
"Ava," Deborah whispered. "What if you're wrong?"
Ava blinked in confusion.
"About what?"
Deborah's voice came out quiet and small. "About me not feeling the same."
She opened her eyes and looked absolutely wrecked. But the rejection Ava expected wasn't in Deborah's eyes. On the contrary.
"I love you too, honey.”
The words hit Ava like a physical force.
"What?"
"I love you too."
A shaky laugh escaped her.
"God help me, Ava, I have for a long time too."
Ava stared at her, unable to breathe, unable to think.
All those years.
All those missed chances.
All those moments that suddenly made sense.
"Then why …?"
"I didn't think I had the right. You deserved someone with a future. Someone younger. Someone better than me."
"Don't say that!"
"Ava…"
"Don't decide what I deserve."
The words came out fiercer than she intended.
"I never asked for perfect."
Deborah's composure cracked.
"You didn't ask for this either."
"No, I didn’t."
Ava moved closer and their knees touched. Her voice shook with emotions.
"But I’m here."
Ava's eyes searched Deborah’s desperately.
"You're still here."
The words landed somewhere deep. Somewhere Deborah had spent weeks trying not to look at. Because then she would see what she would leave behind. Who she would leave behind.
Ava's hand tightened around hers.
"I know you're scared."
Deborah's eyes filled again.
"I’m terrified.”
"I know you're tired."
A tiny nod.
"So tired."
Ava swallowed.
"But you're not alone. You never were and you don't have to carry this by yourself anymore."
Deborah looked down at their joined hands.
She'd convinced herself there was nothing left worth fighting for and had already begun saying goodbye. That there was nothing left that outweighed the suffering that was coming.
And now Ava was sitting beside her.
Holding her hand like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Looking at her as though every extra day mattered.
Every hour.
Every minute.
Every breath.
Deborah suddenly felt something she hadn't allowed herself to feel since the diagnosis.
A reason.
Her throat tightened.
"Ava..."
Ava immediately looked up.
"What?"
The question came out terrified as if she expected another goodbye.
Deborah's eyes overflowed.
"I don't know if treatment will work."
"I know."
"I don't know how much time I have."
Ava nodded.
"I know that too."
"I might still die."
Ava let out a broken laugh.
"We all do eventually."
Deborah was quiet for a while, then she finally admitted: “I don't want to leave you either. That really is the hardest part."
“Then don’t!” Ava pleaded once more and Deborah started crying harder as the following words seemed to tear themselves from her chest.
"I thought I was ready. I thought I'd made peace with it."
Ava stared at her, afraid to move, afraid to speak. As if one wrong word might make the moment disappear.
"But then you looked at me like that. Like you always do.”
Deborah laughed through her tears.
"When I made my decision, I thought I'd already lost everything that mattered. I thought the future was gone."
Ava's heart tightened.
"I wasn't choosing death because I wanted to die."
Deborah swallowed.
"I was choosing it because I couldn't see a life on the other side of all this. The possibility of suffering for months only to end up in the same place anyway. So, I'd convinced myself there was nothing left worth fighting for."
Deborah's expression suddenly softened.
“And then you came along and spent an entire night looking for treatments, for solutions. For another chance. You fought harder for my future than I ever did. And on top of all of this you told me you loved me."
She looked at Ava.
"And now I can't imagine anymore getting on that train."
Ava made a small, strangled sound.
"Deb..."
"I don't know what comes next."
Deborah squeezed her hand again.
"I don't know if treatment will help."
Fresh tears rolled down Ava's face.
“At least give it a try. Please!”
Deborah nodded, giving in. "Okay, no Zurich."
"Really?" Ava whispered.
Deborah nodded again.
"Really."
The relieved sob that escaped Ava was immediate.
She threw her arms around Deborah so suddenly that Deborah nearly lost her balance.
Then she was holding her.
Holding her tightly.
Desperately.
As if she never intended to let go again.
They cried together again, clinging to each other on the bedroom floor.
Eventually, Ava shifted closer and practically climbed into Deborah's lap, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.
For several long moments neither of them spoke.
Ava buried her face against Deborah's neck.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Deborah was tracing absent-minded circles over Ava’s back.
"Maybe part of me wanted this. Wanted you to stop me."
Ava went very still and Deborah met Ava’s eyes.
"I think..." Deborah exhaled slowly. "I think somewhere deep down I hoped you'd prove me wrong."
Deborah smiled carefully.
"I'd spent weeks building all these arguments in my head. Why treatment wasn't worth it. Why it was better to leave on my own terms. Why I was making the rational choice."
Deborah's hand rose to brush damp hair away from Ava's forehead. The gesture was so helpless, yet so touching and gentle.
"You have a very annoying habit of breaking through walls I thought were permanent."
Ava's eyes were shining again. "Annoying?"
"Extremely.” Every time I decided something was settled, you challenged it.”
The blonde chuckled slightly.
"You've changed my mind about so many things over the years. Maybe some part of me never completely stopped hoping you'd find a way through this wall too. And somehow, against all odds, you’ve done exactly that.”
Deborah searched Ava’s face.
“I guess that’s why I wanted your company in the first place.”
For a moment they simply looked at each other.
Everything suddenly felt different.
The cancer was still there.
The uncertainty was still there.
The fear was still there.
But now there was something else too.
Maybe a future.
Maybe a chance.
And for the first time, maybe felt like enough.
Ava's gaze drifted to Deborah's lips before returning to her eyes. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.
Even after everything, the shyness was strangely endearing.
Deborah laughed softly.
"You know, if we're going to do this..."
Ava's eyebrows lifted.
"Do what?"
"This."
Deborah gestured vaguely between them.
"The whole admitting-we're-in-love thing."
Ava laughed. "That's the official name?"
"It's a working title."
Ava's smile widened.
"Needs refinement."
"Probably."
Neither looked away.
The distance between them seemed to shrink naturally and effortlessly.
Deborah lifted a hand to Ava's face and Ava leaned into it immediately.
And then they kissed.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
A kiss that carried years of unspoken affection.
Years of missed opportunities.
Years of wondering.
For a few seconds everything else disappeared.
The cancer.
Zurich.
The pain.
All of it.
There was only the feeling of finally being allowed to love each other openly.
Ava's hands found Deborah's shoulders.
Deborah's fingers tightened at the redhead’s waist.
Their kiss deepened and for a long moment they melted in each other’s arms.
When they finally pulled apart, neither moved very far, their foreheads resting together.
They were both smiling now.
"Hi," Ava whispered.
Deborah laughed.
"Hi."
"I love you." Ava murmured in awe.
The words came so easily now.
Deborah's eyes softened.
"I love you too, honey."
She brushed her nose against Ava’s cheek, her breath warming her skin.
"I'll call my doctor."
Ava's eyes immediately filled with fresh tears.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah… I'll talk about treatment with him, okay?"
The consolation that swept across Ava's face was almost overwhelming. It was visible in every part of her.
All tension drained from her shoulders. The fear and the desperation eased from her eyes and she suddenly looked as though she could breathe again.
Deborah had never seen anyone look so relieved.
And realizing she was the reason for it made something shift inside her.
For weeks she'd been prepared to let go.
Now she found herself wanting to hold on.
Wanting to fight.
Because there was something waiting for her.
Someone waiting for her.
Ava leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead like a promise.
Deborah closed her eyes at the sensations and for the first time since hearing the diagnosis, she allowed herself to imagine a good outcome.
To feel hope.
Because sitting there on the floor with Ava in her arms, hope suddenly felt like enough to begin with.
“Ava?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we go back and buy those salt and pepper shakers?”
The End