A song-fic by <3beats21.

The doctor was staring at him expectantly. “Your daughter, Mr. Jonas, is diagnosed with leukemia. I assume you’ve heard of it?”

He had heard of it. Everyone who doesn’t live under a rock had heard of the cancer of the blood. He was so shaken, he couldn’t breathe, let alone talk. His hands were trembling uncontrollably as he stared at the doctor, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Leukemia. Thousands, even millions of people don’t survive that.

“Mr. Jonas? Are you all right?”

The words were echoing in his ears. It wasn’t possible. The little girl who was always singing and dancing, talking, smiling -- she couldn’t have cancer. His little girl adored him, and he adored her. How could it be? The little girl who laughed at the littlest things, who danced with him to Here Comes the Sun after dinner every night when he was home. Cancer.

“C-Can…can I see her?” His voice sounded choked, forced. He didn’t want to talk right now. He just wanted to see her, to hold her, take the sickness away from her.

“Absolutely.” The doctor led him into the room. The room smelled too clean. The lights were too bright. The sheets were too crisp. And all the monitors, the drips, the beeping sounds…it was a torture chamber.

His little girl was there. Sitting up, bright eyed and smiling. “Daddy!” she crowed, throwing her arms wide.

She was always happy to see him. It was because he was never home. He regretted that immediately, feeling his stomach sink to somewhere near his toes. He forced a smile through his emotions, however, and strode over to her bedside.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice shaking just a bit.

Immediately, she noticed something was wrong. Though blissful at times, the girl was very observant. Her mood changed, going from ecstatic to see her papa to concerned. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, pretty girl,” he said, casting away his shock. He ran his hand down her hair, knowing that’s what made her feel secure and loved. Smiling softly, he watched as she relaxed and, with the smile on her face, petted his own curls.

“Daddy, you have pretty hair,” she said, taking one of the curls and pulling on it gently. She let go, and squealed with delight as it bounced back into place.

“You have beautiful hair.” He winked at her, sending her into a fit of giggles and smiles. He felt his heart soar. Just like old times.

“I’ll be right back, pretty girl,” he said slowly. He had to go call his family. He didn’t want to leave her, but they had to know. He stood haltingly, and gazed at her for a few moments. He moved away from the bedside and into the hallway, heading towards the pay phone. He couldn’t use his cell.

He dialed his brother’s cell phone first. It rang three times before the famed singer and actor picked up.

“Hey, little bro, what’s up?” He sounded cheerful. In the background, voices reached a high crescendo of laughter. He must be at a catered lunch or an awards taping.

“I have some bad news,” he said, his voice low and barely audible.

His brother’s mood changed immediately. “What happened? What’s going on? Is it…?”

“She has cancer,” he whispered, dropping his head into his hands. “Cancer. My baby girl has cancer!” He choked out an orphan sob, squeezing his eyes tight to keep from crying.

“I’ll be right there, and did you call…?”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head as if he could see him. “I’ll call him. And them. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. I’ll be right there. Hold on,” he said, and hung up.

He called his other brother and his parents. They were all just as shocked as he was. They all said they would be there for him. Silently, he retreated back to his daughter’s hospital room, where she was still sitting up and smiling.

“Hey.” His two brothers engulfed him in a sea of warm arms and the smell of hair gel and cologne. “We’re sorry, bro. She’s so young and beautiful…”

“Thanks guys,” he murmured into their shoulders, hugging them back. It was like old times, constantly surrounded by his family, free comfort and shoulders to cry on always there. But since he and his brothers decided to go their separate ways, spend some time with their respective families, those things he had taken for granted had suddenly vanished.

But they were always close in case of an emergency.

They let go of him, their eyes sad and sympathetic. “C’mon, let’s go see her.”

She was just as happy to see her uncles as she was her father. They were never around, so she took so much joy in seeing them.

“What’re you guys doing here?” she asked, a little confused. Her dark brown eyes glittered. “I’m only here for a check-up. Hey, you wanna see my boo-boo?” She showed them her elbow, which was overtaken by a dark, black-and-blue bruise.

She had gotten it from falling.

On the carpet.

He grimaced and noticed how pale she looked. How dark the circles were under her eyes. She was weak, but glowing.

While the three of them, her uncles and her, talked from guitars to their recent shows and everything in between, he sat in the chair nearby. He watched his brothers fawn over their niece. Silently, he wondered what it’d be like if it was one of his nieces or nephews that were diagnosed with this disease. He’d probably be doing the same thing as his brothers were, fawning over them and joking with them to lighten the mood.

“Mr. Jonas?” The doctor had returned. He looked disturbed by the loud voices coming from the bedside, but he didn’t say anything. “More visitors.”

His mother, father, and younger brother stood in the doorway. His mother had tears in her eyes, and her makeup was running. She held her arms open, and he fell into them with a gratefulness he had never experienced before.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said, stroking his hair like she did when he was a kid. “We all love her above and beyond. And Alison is standing alongside you, just like we are.”

At the mention of his wife, his heart starting thudding erratically. He tightened his jaw and said nothing. His mind was reeling. He forced down his emotions, letting go of his mother, and shook hands with his father and his brother.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you for coming out.”

“You’re more than welcome,” his father said, his eyes hard, but sad. “This is a hard time for all of us.”

“Grandma! Grandpa! Uncle Frankie!” She was beyond happy now. She was smiling broadly, practically jumping out of the bed to give them all a giant hug. “What’s going on? This is like a party!”

Everyone laughed at that. She was so excited that her entire family was in the same room as her.

“Hey, Grandma, were you crying?” Her happiness suddenly drained from her face, replaced with concern. “What’s wrong?” She hopped down from the bed and made her way towards her grandmother.

“Nothing, honey.” She gave her a big hug, and each of them in turn.

He watched his family gather around her again, to talk to her and make her smile more. His heart was still wrenched from the mention of Alison. First her, now my baby girl.

All this time moves by

She worsened with time. Three months had gone past, and all that had changed was how pale her face was, and how dark the circles were under her eyes. She had lost her luster, but that didn’t make her less beautiful. Every day, she greeted him in the morning and said goodnight to him with a smile. God was slowly taking her away from him.

He understood the fact that God wanted everyone back home at some point in time. But she was so young. She didn’t experience the thrill of a first love, the growing pains that came with puberty, the love and affection that only grew as she got older. At night he let the tears fall, because that was the only time she wouldn’t see them. She hated it when he cried.

“We would like to try chemotherapy on the child,” the doctor said one day. He had grown to hate and appreciate this man, because he caused his baby girl pain, but kept her alive and living. “It will give her a somewhat better chance to live.”

“A ‘somewhat better chance to live’?” he repeated, his voice sounding haggard and exhausted. Many sleepless nights had been spent in this hospital.

“Mr. Jonas,” the doctor continued, glancing down at his clipboard. “Your daughter is so tiny and so young, we’re not sure if her immune system is strong enough to even ward off a common cold at this point. Chemotherapy, I think, is the way to go.”

He stiffened, glancing down at the ground. “Whatever you think is best, Doctor,” he said slowly. “You’re the one at the helm.”

The doctor nodded and turned on his heel, walking down the hallway.

He entered the hospital room that had been his daughter’s room since the beginning. They had only returned home once, to collect some things to bring with them. Clothes, a picture frame or two, and a suitcase full of her favorite books. She loved to read. He even brought his prized guitar with him, to sing her to sleep when she was scared or felt especially under the weather.

“Hi, Daddy.” She was laying down, to tired to sit up. She smiled weakly at him, and he felt his heart sink.

“How’re you feeling, pretty girl?” He knelt down, took her hand, holding it up to press it against his cheek. She felt cold. He shivered.

“Good. What about you?” She moved her hand, cupping his chin with her small fingers. “You look sad.”

“I’m alright,” he said, stroking her forehead with his thumb. “I’m concerned about you. Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m okay, Daddy!” she crowed, with as much strength as she could. She beamed, and he noticed how her eyes crinkled every time she smiled. How she glowed. Every time you smile or laugh you glow… He grimaced at the thought of that song.

“Can you sing to me, Daddy?” she asked. “Please? The one you used to sing to Mama before she was sick.”

“Which one?” he asked, his throat closing. He bent down, searching for his guitar, so that she wouldn’t see the emotion written like a book across his face. He controlled himself. He took his guitar up with him, placing it in that familiar place on his thigh. He strummed a few times, feeling the strings twang between his calloused fingers.

“The one you sang to her when you got married,” she replied. “ ‘Hello Beautiful.’”

He smiled ruefully. “You remember that, huh?”

She nodded.

“Okay…” he strummed for a few seconds, and started singing Pop Goes The Weasel instead.

“Daddy!” she said, laughing. “That’s not the song!”

“Are you sure?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her and grinning.

“I am sure!” She giggled some more, closing her eyes.

He sang for her. He let his voice hit notes he had never hit before, let it soar. He let his voice, his words, his music, wash over his pretty girl, let it heal her and take the deadly sickness away from her body. Please God, he prayed as he sang, don’t take her away from me. He felt a tear slip down his cheek and land on his hand. She means so much. Please, leave her here with me.

“Why are you crying?!” Her distressed voice pulled him from the music, the praying. His eyes fell on her face, her brows constricted with concern, her brown, sparkling eyes deep with worry. “Don’t cry. Don’t ever cry, Daddy.”

In the middle of the night, he was shaken awake by the doctor. “Mr. Jonas!” the doctor said, practically shouting. “I’m afraid…”

“No!” His eyes widened with terror. His heart started thudding hard, rat-a-tatting against his ribs as he pulled himself to his feet. He rushed over to his daughter’s bed, saw her just as pale and weak she was before he had drifted to sleep. But somehow, she looked more at peace.

Her long eyelashes fluttered open, revealing deep, chocolate brown eyes, much like his own. She smiled weakly at the sight of him. She reached for his hand, and he grasped her small one in his like it was a last link to love and life. He felt tears coursing down his cheeks, because he knew it was time.

God was bringing her back home.

“Daddy…” she whispered, and he bent forward, closer to her. “I’m gonna see Mama now. Want me to tell her you say hi?” She grinned, which made him smile through his tears. “Please, Daddy, don’t be sad. Don’t ever be sad. Keep singing. Mama and me love it when you sing. I love you, Daddy.”

Her eyes closed for the last time.

He gripped her hand harder, his tears coming in forceful droves now. “Oh, God!” he cried. He was sure that his heart had stopped beating. He bent down, his head close to her chest. “No, no, no. Please, God, no!” His tears dampened her hospital gown. He closed his fist around the sheets, closed his eyes and let himself cry freely. God, I begged you! I pleaded with you, prayed every night! And you take both of them away from me! Why?

Because it was her time, he rationed with himself. He calmed down, slowly, surely, but he did. The sun was rising, the birds singing outside the hospital window. He stood, stroking his daughter’s pale face for the last time. He bent his head, thinking about the song he wrote when he was fifteen years old, diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.

He raised his face to the sun. They would all be together again someday. He closed his eyes and thought, A little bit longer…and we’ll be together again.

Fin