"Please."

The word was spoken with a desperation Collins had never wanted to hear in his lover. The melodic tone of his voice was gone, replaced with a pain that tore through his heart each time he heard it.

"Angel... I..." His voice caught in his throat, tears burning his eyes as he fought not to let them fall. Angel was in enough pain already without needing to see his. He reached down and took both of Angel's hands in his, bringing them to his lips then pressing them against his cheek, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I can't, Angel," he managed.

"Collins," he was begging him now, and Collins could feel his heart breaking, "Tommy... it hurts... please..."

Angel had been hinting at this for days now, as he grew sicker and weaker. The agony he was in was barely muted by the constant drip of morphine into his veins. They both knew he would not be leaving the hospital, but the difference was that Angel had accepted it and Collins had not. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to have to face the reality of life without Angel. Couldn't face it.

And yet, he couldn't stand seeing the constant pain Angel was in, the desperation in his eyes. He'd never wanted to see his Angel like this, though he'd always known it was a possibility, it was the nature of their shared sickness. But now Angel was asking him to end it. To help him die, to bring death more quickly than the hellish disease was. He longed for release, and wanted it to be Collins who helped him. But how could he kill the one he loved? The only person he'd ever loved.

Opening his eyes, Collins looked down on him once more, feeling his stomach churn at what he saw in his eyes. With each moment, it seemed to grow worse. Angel didn't speak, but the question was still in his eyes, and Collins could not look away from him. What should he do?

In his heart, Collins already knew the answer. He needed to help him, to help him do this, to end his suffering, even if it would mean that his own suffering would grow. He didn't want Angel to be in any more pain.

"Tommy..." he whispered again, seeking an answer.

"Okay, Angel," he choked on the words, the tears finally spilling over and dropping onto their joined hands, "Okay."

Half an hour later, Collins was back in the hospital room, gazing down at the love of his life. A needle was in his hand, filled with the substance that would end the life of his Angel. He hesitated, looking at his pain-creased face, but seeing no doubt or uncertainty in his eyes. This was what he wanted.

Moving to the bed, Collins slipped in behind Angel, cradling his body against his chest. After a moment, he slipped the tip of the needle into the IV taped to his arm, depressing it and slowly injecting the liquid into his veins. A sob escaped him as the last of the fluid dripped into his lover's body, and he jerked the needle out of the IV, hurling it across the room and wrapping his arms tightly around Angel. His head dropped to his shoulder and he cried.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a few seconds, Collins felt a feather light touch to his cheek and opened his eyes to look at his love. Angel smiled at him, and Collins could see that for the first time in days, his pain was fading.

"I love you," Angel whispered to him, voice weak and distant.

"I love you too, Angel," Collins told him, pressing kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck; anywhere he could reach, "So much. So much."

Angel's hand slowly fell from Collins' cheek to his side and he closed his eyes, resting his head against Collins' chest, and Collins knew that it was over. With one last breath, Angel uttered his final words, and then he was gone, leaving Collins alone with his grief.

"Thank you."