a/n:So this chapter is the flashback chapter, sorry if its kinda medical and stuff. Oh also sorry if some of the stuff isn't completely 100% correct, I tried to research it as best I could! grh so many dates. I think I said that I thought thomas dies in august, forget that, I think decided it was april, not that it makes much of a difference, but yeah. Reviews welcome :D

~Flash back to Late December~

Thomas sat awkwardly on the chair outside of Dr. Clarkson's office waiting to be called in. Time was going agonisingly slow and he was dying to go in and get some answers; maybe even literally as he still had no idea what was wrong with him. He had been felling tired and worn out for weeks, and although at first he thought there was nothing wrong, as the days passed by, and the problem didn't go away, (in fact getting increasingly worse), he began to worry. He had gone in 3 weeks ago for an appointment, thinking that his fatigue was just due to lack of sleep, and maybe it was, but Clarkson wanted to investigate further. He didn't know what he'd do if it were something bad.

I'm sure it wont be, it's not like I'm going to go in and he's going to tell I'm terminally ill and going to die. I just need to relax.

One of the nurses walked up to him and told him that the doctor was ready to see him. Unwillingly, Thomas felt his guts twist themselves into knots with worry.

"Ah Thom-Mr Barrow," he corrected himself "do take a seat" Clarkson called, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

Thomas detected the uncomfortable expression on his face, and deduced, (feeling almost like he knew, from some kind of intuition that he didn't even know he possessed), that something was wrong. It had to be, why else would Clarkson look so…solemn.

With unconfirmed knowledge of bad news, Thomas suddenly felt frozen, like his legs couldn't move, like his entire body was encased in a block of ice, as he stood rigidly with his back to the door.

The under-butler shuffled over to the chair with a slight sense of trepidation. Normally he wasn't one to worry or fuss over littler things, and this was little, nothing had been confirmed yet. However, nothing had been ruled out yet either. Thomas couldn't help but feel a sickly worry overcome him. It felt like his entire life depended on this appointment.

"Now Mr Barrow, could you please just say what you've been feeling recently, one more time, just to confirm that nothing has passed by which could be…significant to your diagnosis."

Thomas knew it was bad. He already has a diagnosis in mind! He's already basically certain, he just wants to double check!

Thomas shifted in his chair, his brow furrowing as he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself and relax his features into a more natural position.

"erm well, I've been feeling tired lately, more so than usual-but maybe it's just because I'm getting older now, can't handle the whole Christmas rush like I was able to when I was younger-" Thomas tried to justify , but even he could sense that he was just making excuses.

Clarkson nodded for him to continue.

"I've um also been having some indigestion as well as some heartburn-although it is a stressful time-"

"Yes, but you haven't had the same level of these things on previous years?" Doctor Clarkson intersected, trying to convince Thomas to stop trying to make excuses. He already knew what the answer was, and Thomas telling himself there were reasons would just make the acceptance of the truth harder.

The younger man looked down at his knees and nodded slowly.

"I haven't really been feeling that hungry lately, but I've just been trying to eat anyway, it's a long day and I don't want to draw any kind of attention to myself by not eating." Thomas paused briefly, sorting through everything he'd already mentioned to find anything he'd missed.

"Oh and I've also been having some stomach pains-well not pains exactly-but something, discomfort I guess."

It was clear that Thomas was uncomfortable with talking about his feelings and state of health, and as much as Richard wished he didn't have to be the one to break the news, he knew that he had to.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this Thomas but-" He had known Thomas for ten years, and even though he wasn't particularly fond of him, he couldn't help but feel that it was like telling his own child that- "You have cancer."

He paused and waited for the under-butler to take the information in.

Thomas stared at him open mouthed in response.

Cancer?

"But…how?"

"We have found though years of research that cancer is a hereditary disease, and although you may not be aware of it in your family, what you inherit is the potential for it, not the actual cancer itself-"

"I get nothing from them my entire life…and then I get given this!" Thomas growled, anger flaring up from a place in his heart deep within him. He had promised himself that he wouldn't waste any thought or anger on his family for kicking him out and cutting him out of their life just for being who he was, but he couldn't help it.

Clarkson continued regardless of Thomas' anger.

"However there is also the theory that you could have got it as a result of trauma"

"That's ridiculous! I've never been traumatised, I, oh-"

But that was a lie. And he knew it; he had experienced being disowned by his own family and the war, that was enough trauma for anyone.

"But why would I be getting it now? Surely, I would have got it years ago, at the time?"

"It is merely a theory Mr Barrow, we can not be to certain of the legitimate cause for it. But what I can confirm to you is that cancer has a constitutional nature and has lead to an alteration in your bodily fluids. It will now proceed to spread around your body through these liquids. And I expect this has already begun to happen, so it's hard to pin point exactly what type of cancer you have, but I believe that it is located within your abdomen, perhaps stomach cancer? It's hard to tell."

Delightful.

"Is there nothing you can do?" Thomas begged, his eyes becoming glassy with unshed tears as his deathly fate dawned upon him.

"Well, there are some treatments, but I'm not sure how successful they will be, but we can at least try them. There is still time Mr Barrow, I believe that you are only in the earlier stages of cancer at the moment."

~Early March~

Two months later Thomas found himself yet again sitting in the same chair waiting to go in. However, this time he knew what was wrong generally, and was waiting to be told what could also be wrong. Thomas had never had a real, life-threatening illness before. He was use to himself, and those around him to just get ill, and then recover. He wasn't going to lie; the thought of an illness he wouldn't recover from was terrifying. It sent him into a new and alien aspect of his mind, one where the fear of dying became the norm, one where there was no hope to look to. Strangely it was much different from the war. At least there he could dream of getting out, at least then there was some hope-but really the two things couldn't be compared, the war was horrific and he wasn't going to twist it in his mind to seem like the better option. And yet, he couldn't help doing so. For the first time in his life he had something to lose, someone who would care if he didn't turn up the next day. He had never really had that before. Now he had Jimmy. In reality it almost felt like a burden, having such a big piece of news and being the one who has to decide what to do with it. He knew that if Jimmy was aware he was dying, it would hurt him so much. He might as well commit suicide in front of him; it would leave the same affects to telling the truth. He couldn't cause Jimmy the pain of knowing that he was nothing more than a dead man walking.

As time went by, and the cancer increased to new levels, or "stages" as Clarkson had started calling them. As he approached the "second stage" Dr Clarkson had insisted that Thomas start to come back more frequently. He had only been to the hospital once more since the day of his diagnosis, which he had come to refer to as merely 'that day.' He didn't want to think about it any more than he had to, nor did he want to be too precise on anything, written or spoken, and the words seemed to convey his message clear enough without actually having to convey it directly. He knew it was foolish basically speaking in code, like some kind of children's game, but he couldn't be to certain that someone wouldn't be eavesdropping to going through his personal papers.

Much like before, Thomas was called into the office. As he went to sit down, Dr Clarkson pulled out his notepad and flicked to a new page.

"Ah, Mr Barrow, I see you got my letter than." Clarkson said, looking up from the desk.

"Yes, and I burnt it" the words were out of his mouth before he even processed what he was saying. Richard looked slightly alarmed, his lips parting and his brow furrowing in surprise.

"Oh, but-"

"The best way to keep personal details private I find, is to destroy any evidence of them there is"

God, I'm making myself sound like a psychopath!

Thomas leant forwards, softening his voice to a more gentle tone.

"I erh…want to keep the details, of my erh…condition, private, and I erh, just want to make sure make sure…I don't want anyone…I really don't think it's best…" Thomas was so nervous he could barely even make coherent sentences, and he doubted he was making any sense.

For some reason Dr Clarkson nodded understandably.

"I think it's time we started prescribing you some medication. Now I have a couple things in mind, and I've already taken the liberty of getting them out as you've said that you're keen on using some treatments"

Thomas nodded vigorously in response as Clarkson pulled out a small box from his draw, placing it on the desk and opening it.

Pulling out a blue glass bottle he instructed:

"Now some of these are just medicines to try and reduce the pain" he said, placing the bottle down on the desk.

"However, I do have a few things which claim to help. I think we'll get you started on…" he fished around inside the box, "the Hoxsey Herbal treatment, which I've had ordered in from over seas. Now, I'm giving you the tonic, and hopefully it should work to remove toxins from your body. Take a small scope of the powder once a day before bed, and then come back in 2 weeks."

~Mid March~

" It didn't work." Thomas said simply, unimpressed as he glared at Clarkson from across the table.

"Well, did it give you any side effects-"

"Damn right it gave me side effects!" Thomas shouted angrily, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"Mr Barrow, please..."

"Don't Mr Barrow me! Do you know what I've had to put up with after taking your voodoo medicine? I've been taking it at night and it's been making me shake!" Thomas began, listing things off on his now raised hand, "I've been feeling far more unwell. How exactly is that medicine Dr? Nausea! I've had these God awful stomach cramps! And I can't tell you how many times I've had to get up and go to the toilet! A couple of times I've even been sick!"

By this point Thomas was in a point of near hysterics as he repeatedly waved his hand around, until slamming his fist against the desk with a loud thud!

"And look at this-" Thomas said as he slipped of his glove on his scarred hand, revealing an irritated burn towards the side, "-this is what happened when I dropped some of it on me!"

"Oh" came the quiet reply.

"Yes. Oh indeed! Y'know what? I've had enough, I'm going!" Thomas huffed, standing up.

"Mr Barrow please, just because something didn't work, that doesn't mean you should give up! You should at least try, if not for yourself, for your loved ones." Clarkson suddenly regretted his words, thinking perhaps he had stepped too far out of line.

I should at least try for Jimmy.

To Richard's surprise, Thomas sat back down and nodded calmly.

"Well, what do you have for me to try next?"

~ Another two weeks later, early April~

"How did the Brandt Grape Cure go down?" Clarkson asked cautiously.

Thomas sighed.

"Not good. I had most of the same problems as I did with the other one…I've also been feelin' strangely erh…nervous and worried since taking it."

"What about the mistletoe treatment I gave you?"

"I still don't see how it's medicine" Thomas protested, "and it's been givin' me these headaches and cold shuddery feelings, even when it's warm out"

"Well I think the best thing we can do is proceed with it and hope it helps in the long run"

~Mid April~

"Shall we recap again on how you've been lately, it's probably time we do so again, as are last appointments haven't dealt with symptoms of the actual cancer as such."

Thomas nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Now remember to include everything, because although something's may seem like nothing, the nature of cancer is rather…asymptomatic, so it's important that you try your very best to not miss anything out."

I wish he'd stop talking medical nonsense to me.

Thomas sifted through the last few weeks, and began to speak. He had been expecting this question, so was sure to make a mental list of everything before he went in.

"Well, I've been feeling weak lately, errm…I've also been feeling sort of erm…bloated every time I eat. My stomach cramps have turned into more of a pain; I have nausea, but I've only been sick a few times, and nobody saw, thank God; that mistletoe has been making me even more cold and shivery as well, I think people are starting to notice. Also I've lost quite a bit of weight to, but luckily Jimmy hasn't noticed" Thomas stopped, noticing his slip up.

Shit!

He continued quickly in hope that Clarkson would just let it go past unquestioned.

I am dying after all. Respect for the dead and the nearly dead.

"And" Thomas avoided his gaze and muttered towards the floor "constipation"

Now my pride had been well and truly crushed.

Clarkson gave a deep sigh, he knew that Thomas was close to the end, there weren't many more symptoms to discover, it was now only a matter of time, a waiting game. But he was sure that Thomas still had a few more rounds left before his time was up. He was certain.