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Title: Things Known  Characters/Ships: Jerkuff Genre/Category:  Angst Word Count: 1234 Short Summary: They should have known. Should have seen the signs. They should have seen it coming before it was almost too late. 

It hit them fast. One moment there was Jeff, beautiful, golden Jeff, their still blonde lover standing on the beach, bare skin glistening in the sunlight with water as he moved out of the ocean, moving toward them with a smile on his face. The next moment, it seemed, he was laying in a hospital bed, his normally bright eyes shit behind paper thin lids, his skin pale and seemingly translucent, the only sign of his life being the beeping and whirring of machines around him. Tubes ran from his arm, a cobweb of ins and outs, and the word hung above him like an omen.

  Cancer.

  It started with a freckle. No one had noticed the freckle, just at the top of Jeff's right shoulder, overlooked save for the time Kurt had mouthed at the spot. He could remember it, the phantom bump of the slightly raised skin, could taste it when he thought of it, a bad taste settling in his mouth as if the poison had spread into him, as if mocking him, teasing him. You should have noticed, you should have seen something wrong, it mocked him, burning his tongue. He should have seen that this freckle, this harmless little freckle, would take the light out of his blonde. It should have been a red flag, some sign screaming cancer. He had mapped out Jeff's body twenty years ago. This wasn't new territory, some area uncharted. It was Jeff's shoulder, a place he had seen, touched, kissed, tasted for years. It should have been a red flag. He should have known.

  It continued with a flu. Jeff had called Jeremy while the older was at his office one morning, saying that he wasn’t feeling so great and he would be staying home from work. Jeremy had brushed it off a a day flu, a bad bug biting his husband. He should have realized, when Jeff was curled in his arms, feverish, barely able to talk from his swollen throat, still trying to crack jokes to get his mind off the pain as Jeremy read over the blonde’s shoulder, trying to memorize the facts for his next case. Should have remembered this was Jeff. Jeff was either healthy or he was deathly ill. Jeff didn’t get day colds. Jeff didn’t get stomach bugs or sore throats. Jeff got sinus infections so bad he had to go to the hospital when his nose started bleeding and wouldn’t stop, or got food poisoning when one of Kurt’s coworkers unknowingly put strawberry juice in the punch at his company’s annual picnic. Jeff was either healthy, or Jeff was deathly ill. But he’d simply shushed the blonde when he murmured something about his neck feeling swollen, wanting to finish his closing argument without interruption from the blonde. He should have listened. He should have taken Jeff to the hospital then, demanded they check him out, demanded they start the chemotherapy fast and hard. Should have. He should have known.

  Jeff had been the one to take that step. Feeling miserable for over a week, the blonde knew something was wrong. He knew his body well enough to know that. He felt weak and sick, couldn’t sleep but couldn’t stay awake, couldn’t go to work or please his husbands or help around the house. He didn’t know how he drove himself to the hospital that day, but he became aware when his doctor, after a day of vigorous and terrifying tests that he wished he’d had someone’s hand to hold through, sat him down and shut the door. Cancer. Melanoma that had spread to his lymph nodes and evolved into Hodgekin’s Lymphoma. Cancer. Malignant, metastasized. Cancer. Chemotherapy. Cancer. ABVD- adriamycin, bleomycin, vinblastine, and dacarbazine. Cancer. Would you like to call your husbands? A shake of the head. Cancer.

He drove home in a daze. He sat through Jeremy coming home, pressing his lips to his forehead and asking him how his day was, spouting out the lie of “I’m fine.” He sat through Kurt coming home, ranting about one of the interns at work and how she had ruined one of his designs. He sat, in that daze, through their day, until dinner. Dinner broke him. Pushing the peas around his plate, he swallowed the lump in his throat, finally lifting his head.

  “I have cancer,” he said quietly, barely audible over the din of silverware on plates. Kurt dropped his fork and Jeremy scowled at him. Scolded him, what an awful joke to make. Really, Jeff. Really. You should be asha--. When Jeremy caught Jeff’s eyes, wet with tears that were finally trying to form, he knew. The blonde wasn’t lying. Why would he lie about something like that, he wasn’t an awful person. He was their boyfriend. He was scared and sick and sitting before them and oh god, cancer.

  It was a downward spiral fast. They were sitting at the dinner table. They were at the hospital, watching their husband, terrified as deadly chemicals ran through his skin. Jeremy rubbed Jeff back when he couldn’t keep any food down, no water, nothing but stomach acid and tears falling from him as he bent over the toilet. Kurt held the blonde after he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to soothe the man, only to come back with a fistful of bleached hair. They were both there the day he was hospitalized, his body going into shock at the 105 degree fever raging through him. They were both there, visiting their husband who lay on the bed, still and lifeless save for the way the oxygen mask steamed up with each manual exhale of air.

  This wasn’t their Jeff. This wasn’t the man who they had fallen in love with. This wasn’t the man with the bright hair and talented tongue and strong, steady arms. This wasn’t the man who had fucked his way to the top alongside his boyfriends. Wasn’t the man who had been the first to embrace Jeremy after graduating Yale, who stood at Kurt’s side with the younger man’s hand clutched in his own when Burt Hummel had passed away. This wasn’t their Sunshine, all kind words and everything would be okay. This was a shadow, a pale image of that man. This wasn’t Jeff Duval, husband of Jeremy Stretton and Kurt Hummel.

There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.