Stop fucking lookin' at me that way.
Stop pretending you care, stop acting nice, and god-damn it would you stop crying?
Please stop crying…
Look… We both knew something was wrong when I hacked up blood and we both saw that there were getting to be more times when I'd need to stop to catch my breath. We both saw they were lasting longer too.
Don't you damn well go and say you haven't been expecting this.
You don't need to try and explain what advanced-stage epidermoid carcinoma is. It's not important. All I need to know is that sooner or later, my lungs are going to give out and I won't be able to breathe. Then I'll die and you, your ghoul and your boyfriend can have a nice life without me.
I know you don't even feel as sorry for me as you do for yourself. I don't need you to treat me special because you're feeling guilty for every time you've been a bitch and I don't need you to kiss me when you're crying and looking like total shit. Just save it.
I probably taste of ash and blood…
Don't try and make up for anything. I really don't care. I don't want a taste of what you keep under that skirt and I don't need a pity fuck when it's for your sake, kid. Just put your shirt back on, get off me and get the fuck out of my face.
You've got some nerve. Did you know that kid? You're crying and acting hopeless when you're the doctor and I'm supposed to be the patient. I ask and you say you're crying for me because I won't. You're goddamn right I won't. I don't cry. Ever.
Besides, death ain't even sad. Death is as real as the sun in the sky to everyone out here, but hell. You're a vault kid. You don't know a damn thing about death. I've lost friends and family twice over to the fucking ravages of the wastes you know, and I've moved on. Just like you should do. I don't even need to be dead for you to do it.
Kid… I'm not going to leave you yet. I'm not going to die the second you let go of me and I'm not going to be useless just because there's a countdown over my head. Let's just pretend it's all the same and do what we do best. All your crying is making me want to shoot something, anyway.
I know I'm a sick old man, kid. But I was a sicker old man before you came along. You helped me get back out there and live the way I always have. You don't owe me anything, kid. You don't need to do anything nice for old Jericho; you don't need to climb on for a while so I can fuck one last time and you don't need to cry so I can feel like somebody actually cares about me for once.
No kid. I'm not going to stop; I'm going to keep going. I'm gonna be by your side until the gasping, choking, bitter end whether you like it or not.
Because it's not you who owes me anything. Not at all…
It's me who owes you everything.
It kind of clicked with me that Jericho is actually dying and it made me kind of sad. There's obviously no way he's gonna get treatment for advanced lung cancer in the Wasteland, so I wrote this to make me feel a little better.