I'd given up on working, but I'd still go. Frankly there was no use in me even trying to work anymore. My eyes grew too sore to accurately complete my archive work. My hands were too shaky to bring coffees to anyone, seeing as I'd already broken three mugs. I wanted to work and feel useful, but I couldn't perform well anymore. Jack told me that he simply wouldn't have me laying around at home alone all day. If I wasn't able to work, he said I needed to be where he could "keep an eye on me."

Jack and I would get up and trudge to work, where he would promptly lay me on the sofa. God I grew tired of sitting around, but I couldn't bother to care anymore. He would set me there, sometimes with a stack of papers to sign as it was one task I could complete. It worked alright, as the other team members would visit me throughout the day; make sure I still felt included and cared for. I didn't mind pity any longer. I grew okay with it; content with being felt bad for, if you will.

Owen continued to sneak me pain meds throughout the duration of my cancer. I could feel myself growing addicted to them, practically able to tell time by knowing how long it was before I could take more and counting down the hours, but it didn't matter much so late into my journey. I thanked him as he would bring them to me when Jack wasn't looking. I didn't want Jack to know how many pills I was taking. Plus, it was ideal to see your doctor every single day. You never run out of your supply.

It was around ten in the morning when Jack came to check on me again. Smiling into his "how are you doing, love?" as he crouched in front of me and grabbed my hand.

It was a particularly rough day, and the pain pills were hardly touching the full body aches that traveled from my head through my toes. My head was blurry and my eyes were burning in the lights as if I was hungover without drinking a single drop. I had the shakes as well.

"I'm alright," I said. He could see me shivering and my eyes were bright red. He didn't believe me.

"Are you cold?" He asked, feeling my forehead. I nodded. "I'll go grab you a blanket, one sec."

I watched him retreat to his office, where I could imagine he hopped down into his bunker and stripped a blanket from his bed. I looked up at Toshiko as she passed. It was like she could instantly read my mind as I felt riddled with guilt.

"It's not time to feel sorry for yourself, Ianto. You need to keep trying to put that innate guilt out of your mind. Just let it be about you." She raised her eyebrows and walked away without me saying so much as a word. I just nodded after her.

"Here, Ianto," Jack said as he wrapped me up in a thick, knit blanket. He placed a poignant kiss on my forehead before crouching down to my level again. He looked at me while tears brimmed my eyelids and threatened to jump from my eyes. "It's really bad today, isn't it?" He asked.

I nodded.

"Should we go to the hospital? They might be able to help the pain." He brushed at my hair with his finger tips.

"Please don't take me there. They can't do anything that Owen can't. I'd rather just be here than a sterile hospital where I'd be lying on a hard bed."

He nodded. "What hurts right now?"

"My whole body… everywhere." I sighed. "Nothing makes it better." He gently stroked my cheek. "Jack, I just wish it was over." He paused for just a second, but he didn't let anything pass across his face. I think he was used to having to fake it at that point.

"I know, love. I don't want you gone, but I do want the pain gone for you." It was the only response he really could have given that would make sense to such a statement. He leaned down and kissed my lips gently. "I'm going to go talk to Owen and then I'll be back, okay?"

He padded his way across the floor to the med bay. I don't think he even knew that I could overhear the conversation. He probably would not have wanted me to, but my hearing hadn't left me yet.

"You've got to get him something stronger," Jack said. "We can't just watch him suffer like this."

"You think I don't know that?" Owen responded. "The only thing I have left is morphine. Otherwise I've got nothing but ketamine, and at that point he may as well be gone with how out of it he will be."

"Morphine seems so end-stage," Jack said, his voice finally diving low enough that I couldn't hear him clearly anymore. "Are we really there yet?"

Owen put a hand on Jack's shoulder. His face was solemn. "Yes, Jack. We are unfortunately there."

Jack stayed quiet for a moment. "Isn't there a new stem cell treatment that's been approved? I heard something about it yesterday."

"By the time he got his diagnosis it was already too late to start something like that."

"I've got to get a hold of The Doctor, Owen. I thought I would've heard from him by now. Can you call Martha? She's got the phone that…"

"We've tried to ring Martha about 50 times now, mate." Owen cut him off. "She can't access him anymore."

"Well maybe we could…"

"Jack, look at me." Owen said it softly but sternly.

Jack looked up and met Owen's gaze. He was hurt, but he held it together incredibly well. "He isn't ready yet. We need to find him some more time."

Owen continued to look at him softly. "Jack, he is ready. You aren't ready, but he has been ready for some time now. We just need to keep him comfortable until his time comes, okay?"

He was completely right. I had been ready to die for a while. I had grown tired of the pain, numb to the world, and my personality continued to fade. Jack was the one who wasn't ready, and he knew that. All his efforts to help me through the difficult time had only exacerbated the fact that he loved me with his full heart. He was the one who was scared; not me.

Jack pinched his own face from his cheeks to his chin in frustration. "Can you start him on the morphine now?"

"Already ahead of you," he said. He carried a small wheeled machine up the stairs of the med bay and over to me on the couch.

He spent some time quietly plugging in the machine and starting an IV in my arm without saying a word. His face had softened over the past few months. Sure he still had a resting scowl, but he seemed gentler. Perhaps it was just a facade that he put on when I was around him, though.

When he was finally done setting me up, he turned on the machine, welcoming a gentle whirring sound into the space. "Aright, mate. When the pain gets really bad, give this button a tap, alright?"

I took the button from him. "Okay."

"Try it now if you're hurting."

I pressed and held the button, feeling a tingle as the morphine traveled up the tube and under my skin into my bloodstream. I was desperate for the relief that it would soon give me.

"Fuck's sake, Ianto," Owen said, pulling the button from my hand. "I said give it a tap, not try to crush the thing. Pressing it once shoots plenty into your bloodstream. Pressing and holding it puts more in, but isn't gonna make it hurt less. It's just gonna make you feel worse." He handed it back to me, demonstrating a tap on the button before letting go.

I had already begun to feel a numbness travel throughout my body. It felt like patches reaching out and gently covering my soreness with relief. I was in awe of what Owen had just done for me.

"You're a fucking god," I whispered. He smirked.

"If it helps enough, that thing's on a battery back up. Might do you some good to walk around a little. All your muscles are gonna be tight." I nodded at him before laying back on the couch to let the medicine start kicking in.

Jack followed shortly behind him. He crouched down next to me and took my hand again. I tilted my head again and looked at him. I reached my other hand over and stroked his hair. I put a smile on my lips. He brought my hand up to his lips.

Kissing my knuckles, he whispered, "My beautiful boy." It always made me smile when he called me that. I loved that I was his. He kissed my hand again. "My beautiful Ianto, I'm so lucky to have you."

"I feel lucky every time I see you," I said back. "I'm so glad I'm yours."

"I hope the morphine helps you feel better. Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?"

I sighed a bit. "No, I just wish I could be with you in your office." My lips were incredibly chapped, so I licked them to give them some moisture. "Can I please come up by you?"

Jack eyed the stairs. "Of course I want you up there, but I don't think I can carry you and that machine," he said, sadness flecking in his eyes.

"No… I think I can do it. I just need some help." He agreed and helped me stand.

The morphine had not kicked in fully yet, so my vision was basically red with pain, but I hobbled to the stairs, machine in hand. Jack walked right behind me; a hand on my shoulder making sure that I was still steady. We slowly made our way up the stairs. I thanked the heavens that there was an elevator in the building of my flat. Stairs put a lot of stress on my knees.

We eventually made it to the top, though it took forever to get us there. Jack opened the door to his office and I made my way in. I plopped myself on the couch he had almost instantly and tapped the button to the machine. It wasn't an especially comfortable couch. In fact, hardly anyone used it. I did not mind, though. I was happy to be close to Jack while I waited for the meds to kick in.

He walked past me and opened the hatch to his bunker. He hopped down and quickly resurfaced with a pillow and blanket. He put the pillow down so that I could shift my head onto it. Then, he tossed the blanket over me and tucked me in. He had specifically chosen my favorite blanket. It was a fuzzy grey one he had bought me about a year prior. I loved the way it felt, but we kept it with him, so it smelled like him. That was my favorite part.

He crouched down to my level again. "This is better, you were right. Now I can keep a better eye on you and be right here if you need anything."

"You're spoiling me, Jack. I'm going to get a big head." I yawned as I made the quip. The morphine was starting to work more and more, and I felt myself growing sleepy.

He smiled. "I don't mind spoiling you. Plus, you have a big enough head already." He laughed.

"Hey!" I yelled in mock offense.

"I'm kidding," he said defensively. "You know I love your head… both of them, actually." An evil grin passed onto his face.

I glared at him, though I found it as funny as he did. "I'm getting really sleepy, Jack. Do you mind if I take a nap?"

"Please rest, Ianto." He kissed my forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too," I responded. He laid a kiss on my lips.

"I will be right here the whole time if you wake up and need anything, okay? Promise you'll let me know?"

I nodded, closing my eyes pressing the morphine button again. My vision was bleary as my eyes watered, so I chose to ignore it altogether and close them. I let my hand drop from Jack's and cuddled myself into the blanket.

My eyes were then glued shut, but I heard Jack walk over to his desk, sit down, and start shuffling through some paperwork. I heard the scribble of his pen as he signed off on documents, and heard him mutter under his breath when he was caught off guard by something he received. I heard him open packages and set artifacts on his desk to be documented and archived; work I traditionally would have done, but no longer.

I heard him get up, walk over to check on me, gently petting my head, and then return to his desk. He would often whisper "I love you" under his breath as he did this. I even heard him softly humming to himself as he worked; humming songs he'd picked up on years, decades, even centuries ago.

After a while, I heard no more sounds. I drifted away into the darkness, letting my mind go swiftly and gently. I felt the tension leave my body. The warmest, coziest, most peaceful sleep overcame me, and a small smile drifted across my face. I was everywhere I needed to be. I felt freedom from the pain and grief of the life I had not yet had the chance to live. The last year had been the best year of my life. I had never felt so loved; so cared for.

I suddenly felt surrounded by love and warmth; not just Jack's presence. I heard my mum singing as she often had in the kitchen while cooking; sometimes in Welsh, sometimes in English. I couldn't make out what she was singing, but it felt familiar. I felt my gran's soft, wrinkly hands take my hand and hold it as I felt myself fall into sleep. My grand dad patted my shoulder firmly and told me "you did a good job, wyr. I'm proud of you." Finally, I felt Jack at my side again, taking my other hand and kissing it gently before pulling away.

I died in complete bliss. Jack honored my final wishes.