Disclaimer: I don't own any WWE Talent or any part of the WWE company. I don't own any establishments or companies mentioned throughout the story.
Rated: M
Warnings: slash, m/m sex, one-shot, character death, explicit language, and other mature themes
Before You Read: This came to me as a dream several days ago. I couldn't help but write this, no matter how sad of a topic it is.

Monday night (11:24 pm) Buffalo, NY

Chris Jericho had just finished shoving his everyday clothing into his bag when Paul Levesque poked his head into the room.

"Mandatory Talent meeting in ten minutes. Meet in the conference room," he said before leaving. Chris let out a groan.

What he wouldn't give to go back to the hotel and just fucking relax for five minutes. He'd been going nonstop for what seemed like weeks now. Knowing he'd get shit if he wasn't there, he grabbed his bags and started making his way to the conference room.

"What's this all about?" Cody Rhodes muttered angrily. He seemed to be having the same thoughts as Chris. Cody's beau, Ted DiBiase, walked beside him.

"If this is another complaint about injured or suspended Talent hanging around backstage, I'm going to be so fucking pissed," Ted muttered.

Chris blocked out Cody and Ted's complaining. While he felt the same way, he didn't see a reason to verbally bitch about it. Once inside the conference room, he noticed that he and the two lovebirds were some of the first Talent there. Beth and Natalya sat next to each other and were talking quietly to each other, while Sheamus had his feet kicked up onto the table. Cody and Ted ran off towards the girls, and Chris took a seat that wasn't near anyone. He stared around the room and made idle conversation with everyone until Paul and Vince came into the room and sat at the head of the table. They both looked exhausted, drained, and somewhat upset.

"What's up?" R-Truth asked the two men. Chris couldn't help but snort when Truth said that.

"Don't get too excited," Paul started, "but the WWE Championship is now vacant."

"Why? Did Punk get suspended or something?" Daniel Bryan asked. Vince and Paul shared a look.

"No, Punk isn't suspended," Vince began with a sigh. "He's in the hospital and has just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctors estimate he has about 2-6 months to live."

A collective wave of shock spread across the room. Chris wasn't even close to Punk, yet the devastation shot straight to his heart. His chest ached and he felt his stomach twist.

"Aren't they going to make him better?" Chris asked. Vince shook his head.

"There's nothing they can do, really. They're trying different treatments, but he's not responding to any of them."

Chris withdrew from the remainder of the conversation until everyone started staring at him. He looked around, slightly dazed. "What?"

"I asked," Paul sighed, "if you would want to fight John Cena and Big Show for the vacant title. We could do a Triple Threat match for the belt at the next pay-per-view."

Chris shook his head. "Nah, just let Cena and Show fight for it. I don't think I'm prepared for that kind of a match right now."

"Very well," Paul said. "The meeting is over."

Chris grabbed his bags and left the arena. His thoughts weren't very clear. It felt like he was standing still and everyone was rushing past him. He shook his head and went to the bus station. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing until he got off the bus at Buffalo Niagara International Airport.

Why am I here? Chris thought to himself.

His feet led him to the front counter. His mouth bought a ticket, and his hands handed over money and grabbed a ticket. His eyes looked at the location briefly, Chicago, and then his feet took him onto the plane.

Tuesday Morning (12:40 am) O'Hare International Airport, Chicago, IL

During the flight, Chris snapped back into reality and realized what his body was doing. He had texted Paul to ask which hospital Punk was at, and thankfully his hunch was right; he was in Chicago, just thirty minutes away from the airport. Chris hailed down a taxi outside of the airport.

"Northwestern Memorial Hospital," Chris told the driver once he was in the cab. He sat in silence throughout the ride and handed a fifty dollar bill to the driver once they'd reached the hospital.

"Thanks," Chris mumbled before getting out of the car. Now that he stood before the enormous hospital building, he felt kind of silly. He had hopped into normal pants and pulled a shirt on over his bare chest before leaving the arena, but his wrestling attire was still on underneath. His bag was still hung around his chest; he was sure they wouldn't let him into the patient rooms like this. Shrugging to himself, he went through the doors and walked up to the front counter.

"Hello," he said in a sweet voice, "I'm here to visit a friend of mine."

"I'm sorry, but visiting hours are from 9 am to 8:30 pm," the woman at the counter said apologetically. She looked at his bags briefly. "If you need hotel recommendations, I have a list over here."

"Thank you," Chris said. He knew there would be no sweet-talking his way into Punk's room. He grabbed the first business card he saw and gave the woman a smile. "I'll be back later, then. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she responded before turning back to her desk duties. Chris exited the building and looked down at the business card.

Avenue Crowne Plaza Hotel
160 East Huron St.
Chicago, IL 60611
(312) 787-2900

Chris looked up at the street signs and navigated his way to the hotel. He slid the business card to the man behind the check-in counter and said, "The receptionist at Northwestern Memorial said I could get a discounted stay."

"Alright," he said. "Which floor would you like your room to be on?"

"I don't care," Chris sighed. "A room is a room; just give me the cheapest, please."

"Certainly," he spoke. He hit a few things onto the computer keyboard before he handed Chris a keycard. "You're in Room 281 on the second floor. Enjoy your stay."

"Thanks," Chris responded before taking off for the stairs. He climbed them relatively slowly and made his way through the halls just as slowly before stopping outside of his door. He ran the keycard into the slot in the door and waited until it turned green to open the door. For their cheapest room, it was still nice quality with a rather large bed. Chris dropped his bags onto the floor and took off his shirt and pants before working on his boots. The covers were easy enough, but untying his boots was a bitch. Afterwards, he took off his socks and trunks until he was just in his form-fitting boxers. His stomach growled loudly; he hadn't realized how hungry he was until then. He called room service to send up something; he didn't care what.

After waiting nearly half an hour, he heard a knock on his door, "Room service."

He rolled out of bed and opened the door to find a waitress pushing a cart that had a burger in the center.

"Thanks," he said before taking the plate and shutting the door. He took it to the bed and ate it while absentmindedly watching TV. Seriously, what was going on with his mind?

Tuesday morning (10:47 am) Avenue Crowne Plaza, Chicago, IL

Chris stepped out of the shower and shook his hair dry. He couldn't sleep much during the night, and when he finally did, he slept in longer than he had planned on doing. He quickly rubbed himself dry and dressed into the first pair of clothes he saw before shoving his pockets with his wallet, keycard, and cell phone. Having walked from the hospital the night before, he easily made his way back and into the lobby. A man now stood behind the counter with his attention on the computer screen. Chris went up to the counter and rested his arms on it.

"How can I help you, sir?" he asked.

"I'm here to visit a friend," Chris said smoothly.

"Their name, sir?"

"Phil Brooks," Chris answered. He watched the man look at the computer and type a few things in.

"I'll just need your name, sir," he said.

"My name's Chris Irvine," Chris told him. He nodded and finished typing into the computer before printing something out. He slid this small piece of paper into a nametag holder and handed it to Chris.

"Just put your Visitor's Pass on, and you can see Mr. Brooks. He's in the Cancer Treatment Center; just ask one of the nurses at the nurses' station for his room."

"Thanks," Chris said. He clipped the pass onto his shirt and started walking towards the Oncology Department. On his left, though, he saw a small gift shop opened. Stuffed animals lined the window, and books and candles sat on shelves inside the store. He went in and grabbed the first stuffed animal he saw – a dark brown bear – and brought it to the cash register. He had no idea what Punk might want, but at least he wouldn't feel like an ass for not bringing anything.

"That will be fifteen dollars," the cashier said. Chris handed her a twenty.

"Keep the change, ma'am," he said quickly. He heard her thanks briefly before he left the store, bear in hand, and towards where Punk was. He took a right to the Oncology Department and wandered around until he arrived at the nurses' station.

"May I help you?" the head nurse asked. She stood behind the counter with a stack of papers in her hands.

Chris flashed his Visitor's Pass. "I'm here to see my friend, Phil Brooks."

"Come with me. He just woke up about an hour ago, so he might be a little tired still," she said. She swiftly passed Chris and seemed to fucking run down the short hallway. She motioned for him to wait outside while she knocked on the door and entered slowly.

"Good morning, Phil. You have a visitor," she announced. Chris couldn't hear Punk respond, but he must have, since the nurse stepped aside and motioned for him to enter the room. The door automatically shut behind him once he had entered the room. He couldn't bring himself to do anything at first; there were just so many machines, tubes, wires, and bags of things hanging all around Punk's bed. And then there was he himself, CM Punk, lying on the bed weakly. He looked gaunt, yellowish, sunken in, and looked as if he'd break in half if he stood up. Punk gave him a confused look.

"Chris? What are you doing here?" Punk asked. His voice was very weak and soft; the simple task of talking seemed to exhaust him. His eyes trailed down to the bear in Chris' hands and back up to Chris' eyes. "What's with the bear?"

Chris looked down at it and felt a blush spread across his cheeks. "I, uh, I thought I should get you something, but I didn't know what you'd want… so here." Chris handed the stuffed toy to Punk, who just managed to grasp it and bring it to his side. Chris crossed the room and sat down on the window seat. Punk turned his head so he could remain looking at Chris.

"I don't know why I'm here," Chris finally answered. He really didn't know. His body kind of just, did, if that made any sense. He told Punk this.

"I get it," Punk murmured. "I've had odd people visiting me for a few days now."

"When were you diagnosed?" Chris asked suddenly. Punk held the bear in his hands and moved its arms slowly.

"Few weeks ago," Punk answered. "I was too stubborn to call Vince or Paul until about a week ago, when I went into renal failure and pretty much had to stay here, where I'll spend the rest of my life, too, unless they ship me to hospice."

"It doesn't seem like they'd do that," Chris said. "I mean, if they have an inpatient oncology ward, why would they send you somewhere else?"

"They can't treat me, Chris," Punk whispered. It was obvious he was nearly drained now of energy. "I'm going to die."

"No, you're not," Chris murmured. He said it mostly to appease himself, not the other man. "There's gotta be a way…"

"There are ways, none of which have worked for me," Punk now breathed. He slowly shut his eyelids. "I'm on palliative care until I return to my maker."

Chris watched in silence as Punk's chest faintly rose and fell again in a rhythmic pattern. He had the bear in his hands still. Chris stared at Punk for some time, although he didn't really know for how long, until somebody came in with a tray of food. She put one in front of Punk, and the other she handed to Chris. "We figured you might be hungry," she said quietly, so as to not disturb Punk sleeping. "He might need some assistance with eating. If he does, just come get a nurse or have him use the call button."

"Thank you," Chris murmured back. On his tray sat a can of diet root beer, a bottle of water, an apple, a huge plate of salad, and a slice of what looked to be blueberry pie. Chris opened the bottle of water and took a hearty sip before eating some of the salad. He picked at everything until Punk started to stir again.

"Mm, is it lunch time?" he murmured sleepily. "Chris, would you raise my bed, please?"

"Sure," Chris said. He went to the foot of the bed and raised the head of the bed. Afterwards, he pushed the rolling tray so it sat near his chest.

Punk slowly grabbed his carton of milk and tried to open it. Chris watched, but didn't dare ask, as he knew this man's short temper issues. After a few tries, though, Punk slowly raised the carton towards Chris. "Open, please?"

Chris popped it open with ease and handed it back to Punk, who took a sip as quick as his weak muscles would allow him to do.

"Lunch time usually exhausts me," Punk admitted with a slight chuckle. "One of the nurses usually feeds me dinner, as I'm too damn weak to feed myself at that point. It's funny how we come into this world and leave this world in the same manner. I can't go to the bathroom on my own and someone usually has to feed me. It really does wonders to your self-worth."

Chris, not knowing how to respond, busied himself with pouring orange juice into a cup for Punk, as well as cutting everything up into bite-sized pieces so he wouldn't have to use any utensils.

"You didn't have to do that," Punk said quietly. He brought a piece of steamed carrot to his mouth and chewed it slowly. "This is kind of weird, y'know? Mr. Best in the World at Everything he Does helping Mr. Best in the World in his weakest moment. If only the fans could see us now."

"The fans would go into disarray if they saw you like this," Chris said. "I wonder what Paul and Vince are going to tell the WWE Universe regarding the title going vacant and your whereabouts."

"I gave them permission to release my condition," Punk murmured around a piece of soft, grilled chicken. "I think the fans have a right to know, don't you think?"

"That's all up to you, Punk," Chris said. "That's nobody's business but your own on who to tell."

"I know."

Chris watched Punk finish eating in silence. He left a lot of food on the tray, but he exhausted himself from chewing and moving his arms so much. Chris moved the tray away from him and stood at his bedside.

"Do you want me to lower the bed?" Chris asked.

"Just the head and just a little bit. Thanks, dude. This is much less embarrassing than annoying a nurse every ten minutes."

"It's their job," Chris told him. He waited until Punk told him to stop lowering the head of the bed before going back to the window seat.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but it's still degrading that you go from pro athlete to not even able to eat by yourself."

Punk curled into the fetal position comfortably. Chris briefly noted the bear wrapped in his arms with a smirk. "Hey, Punk, does this seat pull out or anything?"

"To a bed, yes," Punk murmured with his eyes already closed. "You can take a nap if you want. I'll burden you if I wake up."

Chris couldn't help but smirk again. Despite the cancer and aggressive treatments, Punk still maintained all of his signature sarcasm and joking mannerisms. He opened up the seat after much struggle with it and laid down on it. He used a throw pillow underneath his head and shut his eyes to welcome a few hours' sleep his way.

Tuesday afternoon (4:13 pm) Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Chicago, IL

"Chris. Chri-is. Chris!"

Chris opened his eyes tiredly and looked over at Punk, who gave him a look.

"Finally, you're awake. I thought you died or something," he joked.

"What's up?" Chris murmured. His voice sounded ridiculously groggy.

"Can you hit the button on my pain meds, please?" he asked. He pointed to a bag above his head, which was attached to his body by an IV and a tube.

Chris did as he was asked to and watched the drugs race through the tube until they reached the IV in Punk's hand.

"That should make me a decent human being for a little while anyway," he muttered sarcastically. "You think there's anything good on TV right now?"

"There might be some reruns of Family Guy or Law and Order or something," Chris told him. "What do you wanna watch?"

"A little Family Guy would be nice. I could use a laughing workout."

Chris grabbed the remote and sat on a chair next to Punk's bedside. He scrolled through the channels, but found nothing. "You think they have like, on demand or something?"

"I know they do," Punk told him. "They also have internet access, although I really don't see the point in expending my energy on screwing with my iPad only to get pissed off that I can't do what I used to do before all of this."

Chris awkwardly found an episode of the show and sat back in his seat while it started playing. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Punk smirked and laughed weakly. Suddenly, he made a disgusted face and turned towards Chris. "Can I have a tissue?"

Chris handed him a few, to which Punk hacked once and spit into the wad of tissues. "I'm sure the nurses will be thrilled that the secretions are coming up."

"The what?" Chris asked, confused.

"Since I lay down so much, my risk of getting pneumonia is high. The nurses will suck these lougies out of me by using some machine, but they prefer if it comes up naturally. They'll thank you, I'm sure, for paving the way to this spit ball."

"I am so glad I never went into nursing," Chris muttered sarcastically. Punk laughed weakly in response.

"My sister said that once, but now she's a registered nurse. Come to think of it, I think Selene was supposed to come over today."

"Maybe her shifts are all over the place," Chris offered. Punk shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't get why she feels the need to be here all the time," he spoke. "I'm not going anywhere for at least two months. I know she's super stressed right now, too, so I don't want to give her anything to worry about."

"Punk, her big brother is terminally ill. There's no way she's not going to feel any stress or anguish over that."

He shrugged him off. "I just feel guilty, is all. I know I shouldn't, but yeah. It's kind of a weird feeling, like why you're here."

"Okay, I understand now," Chris said. They finished watching the rest of the episode in silence, and before they could get past idle conversation, a different woman from earlier pushed a tray of food into the room.

"What's on the menu tonight, Nadine?" Punk asked. She set a tray down on top of his rolling tray and gave him a smile.

"Why don't you find out?" she said, smirking now. "I have a feeling you'll like it."

While Punk busied himself with trying to take the top off of his plate, Nadine handed Chris his own tray. "Here you go, sweetie."

"Thank you," Chris said sweetly. He set his tray aside and went over to Punk, who had still not removed the top from his plate. As quick as she came in, Nadine had left.

"Let me help you," Chris offered. He removed the top to reveal mac 'n cheese, steamed carrots, and a slice of bread. After, he opened and poured Punk's milk and fruit punch into separate cups and raised the head of the bed a little more.

"Thanks, Chris," Punk said genuinely. "Would you mind getting a nurse to feed me? There's no way I'm gonna be able to use the utensils and shit."

"I don't mind helping you," Chris told Punk. He watched the younger man look him over to see if this was true.

"Fine," he sighed. "Don't make fun of me, though, alright? If I could feed myself, I definitely would."

"Dude," Chris sighed slowly, "you have cancer. I'm not going to judge you or make fun of you for doing anything. Everybody needs some help from time-to-time, and right now, you need a bit more assistance than others."

Punk grunted in response. Chris could literally feel the embarrassment and shame rolling off of him as Chris took the spoon in his hand and scooped some of the cheesy noodles onto it before putting it in Punk's mouth.

"Try not to think about it," Chris suggested. He turned on another episode of Family Guy. "Watch this while you eat."

Turns out, that idea Chris had worked wonders; it kept Punk distracted enough to offset his embarrassment, but not so much that he didn't eat. When Punk started refusing any more food, he had eaten the entire portion of mac 'n cheese, half of the carrots, and had drank his milk and juice.

"I'm full, Chris," Punk announced as Chris poked his lips with the spoon again. "Thanks for helping me."

"No problem at all, Punk. I don't mind helping you with anything you need help with. Do you need anything?"

"I need another episode of Family Guy and for you to eat your own dinner now," Punk told him. He slowly pulled the stuffed bear into his lap while Chris fixed the TV and started eating his dinner. While he was feeding Punk, the aroma of his food made Chris ravenous. However, his appetite had disappeared for some reason as he forced himself to eat some mac 'n cheese. Seeing Punk so weak and self-reliant on others really pulled at his heartstrings.

"You know, Chris," Punk began slowly. Chris couldn't figure out if it was from hesitation or exhaustion that he now spoke so slowly. "I'm going to die without doing a lot of things that I had wanted to do in my life."

"Well, what do you have in mind, Punk?" Chris asked. Having his attention semi-averted from Punk's helplessness sparked his appetite again, and he continued eating.

"Well, the first thing I had in mind was that I'd always wanted to have a kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel. I wanted to tell the person I love that I love them. I wanted to get married someday, and I wanted to have children, too. I wanted to cover my body with tattoos and meet as many of my fans as I possibly could. I wanted to make the WWE Hall of Fame and I wanted to be alive to see it happen. It's a shame that I won't be able to do any of this," Punk ended with a slightly crestfallen sigh.

Chris spit his spoon back onto his tray and felt his stomach tighten again. He sighed and pushed his tray away, no doubt that his appetite had completely shriveled up. "Let's see…" Chris paused to count, "you just told me seven things you wanted to do with your life. What would you say if I told you I'd help you accomplish as many of those wishes as I could?"

"I'd say that you're the best person in the world," Punk answered with a small smile forming on his face. "Ah, shit, Chris; this wasn't some ploy to get me to call you the best in the world, was it?"

"No, although I'll admit it's an added bonus," Chris smirked. "Um, I don't know how I'd get you your kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel. Will they let you leave this place for a few hours? And who would you kiss? I could always find some hungry ring-rat."

"Dude, I don't want to kiss another dirty ring-rat," Punk complained with the same small smile on his face. "I swear to Christ that I did not want to fuck that one chick, but it happened somehow, and she gave me the nastiest case of the clap you can imagine."

"Been there, painfully pissed with that," Chris shuddered at the memory. He pissed blood for nearly a week when he succumbed to a similar fate from a ring-rat. "Cena and Orton always managed to pick up clean ring-rats; why don't we have the same luck?"

"Please," Punk snickered, "they'd say they were going to find the perfect rat, when in actuality, they were prancing off back to the hotel together to fuck."

Chris violently shook the image of Cena and Orton naked together out of his mind. "Uh, okay; now that I'm thoroughly disgusted, let's just pretend we have someone for you to kiss. You don't need to be hooked up to anything all the time to survive, do you?"

"Not really," Punk said. "I have dialysis nearly every day, but it's not all day. We could probably get out of here for a couple hours."

"Great," Chris said with some enthusiasm. "I can help you get the guts to tell that special someone that you love them. I can't really do it for you, because the wrong idea would probably be conveyed."

"You think?" Punk chuckled sarcastically.

"That's why I said it," Chris said. He hadn't picked up the sarcasm. "We could fly to Vegas or something to get you hitched really quickly. And, uh, I could help you adopt a baby. We could even adopt it together, so that, you know…"

"So that the kid has a parent when I die; you can say it, Chris. I've already gotten over the initial shock of it."

"Yeah, that," Chris said quietly. "There's tattoo shops all over Chicago, so getting you inked would be a walk in the park. And I'm sure fans will travel far and wide to meet you before your impending decline."

"I don't think anybody has called me dying slowly, yet quickly, in that manner."

"Y'know, I could probably pull quite a few strings and get you inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame a bit early…" Chris' voice trailed off after that.

Punk widened his eyes. "You-you'd do that for me?"

"Sure, Punk. I told you that if you need anything, I'll try my hardest to get it for you."

Punk averted his gaze from Chris' eyes, and instead stared at the bear in his lap. "Nobody's ever been this nice to me before. I know it's partially my own fault for pushing everyone away, but still."

Silence descended upon the two men for several moments. Punk finally looked over at Chris again. "Chris, can I tell you something? It's probably going to make a lot of this easier, although it could ultimately ruin everything."

"I'm all ears," Chris assured the nervous man. He sighed and looked up at him with his tired eyes.

"I'm not really sure how to say this," Punk confessed nervously. "I, uh, I love y-you, Chris. I love you."

Chris' eyes widened in surprise, which made Punk cover his crimson face in embarrassment. Chris, again in surprise, finally realized what made him come see Punk in the hospital in the first place.

"I love you, too," Chris murmured quietly. "I think that's why I'm here… it's because I love you, Punk. I love you, Phil."

The reddish color drained from Punk's cheeks. "It's a shame this just happened, instead of having it happen a few years ago. But I knew I had to tell you this before I died."

A newfound passion rose in Chris' chest like fire. "You are not going to die, Phil Brooks. I am going to find some way to keep you alive."

"The doctors have tried everything, Chris," Punk murmured slowly.

"Are you still on chemo?" Chris asked. Punk shook his head. "I'm going to talk to your doctor and see if we can get you on chemo so you can hopefully go into remission-"

"Chris," Phil interrupted. "Do you know what I'm like on chemo? I'm sick and weaker than I am right now. I know the chemo isn't going to do shit, so I'd rather just be in a bit of pain as opposed to throwing up all the time in my final months here. I've told my doctor that I don't want to be on chemo anymore."

Chris left the window seat and sat down next to Punk's bed. He tentatively grabbed one of Punk's hands in both of his and rubbed circles along the top with his thumbs comfortingly.

"I just realized that I love you," Chris whispered. Strong emotion laced his voice. "I don't think I can bear to lose you now."

"Chris," Punk breathed. His eyes were opened wide and a thin layer of tears covered them like a film. "I'm so sorry, Chris, but I'm going to die."

Tuesday night (10:02 pm) Avenue Crowne Plaza, Chicago, IL

"Hello?" said a tired voice on the other line. Chris had called Paul to see about getting Phil inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame a bit prematurely than was usual.

"Hey, Paul, I'm so sorry to bother you this late," Chris began quickly, "but I have a request of you that I need to ask as soon as possible."

"What's the request, Irvine?" Paul sighed.

"I need to know if Punk can get inducted into the Hall of Fame a little earlier than is usual."

"I have no idea, Chris," Paul said honestly. "I'll bring it up to Vince for you, though, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks Paul," Chris said sincerely. "Again, I'm sorry to bother you. I'll see you soon."

Chris hung the phone up and crossed "Ask Paul about HOF request" off of the list he made on the back of the hotel's business card he got the previous night. He looked at the next note on the list and did a quick Google search to find a phone number before he called it.

"Family Resource Center, my name is Kim, how may I help you?"

"Hello, Kim," Chris said smoothly, "I'm interested in adopting a child with my boyfriend."

It felt weird calling Phil his boyfriend, but he knew it was necessary for the two of them to be seen as that if they wanted to adopt together. Chris and Kim went back-and-forth with questions and answers for over half an hour.

"How long would it take for the adoption to go through successfully?" Chris asked.

"It depends on when mothers decide to give their children up for adoption," Kim told him. "Let's say this happened within one to two weeks from now. It would probably take two to three months for the adoption to go through completely and for you to bring your child home."

"Well, Kim, here's the thing; my boyfriend is terminally ill, and he always wanted to have kids before he died. He has two to six months, at best. Is there any way the adoption could go quicker?"

"I'd have to pull some strings…" Kim began slowly. "But considering the circumstances, I think we could do that for you, Chris. We will keep in touch."

"Thank you so much, Kim," Chris said earnestly. "You have no idea how much this means to he and I."

"You're certainly welcome, Chris," Kim said. "We will talk soon. Good-bye!"

Chris hung up the phone and crossed "Call adoption service" off the list. Now all he had to do was look into getting he and Punk married – if that's what Punk wanted, anyway – and finding out about a fan meet-up, as well as getting Punk out of the hospital long enough for a Ferris wheel ride and to get more tattoos. That could be settled tomorrow, he decided, when he went back to visit Punk in the hospital.

TWO WEEKS LATER;
Tuesday afternoon (2:13 pm) Navy Pier Chicago, Chicago, IL

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Chris asked his newly-appointed husband slowly. Phil sat in the wheelchair that Chris pushed him in from behind. Phil tried to turn his head to look up at Chris, but to no avail.

"I'm sure, Chris," Punk murmured quietly. The two stood in line to ride the massive Navy Pier Ferris Wheel, which would give them seven minutes of being spun around slowly together. Chris had pulled massive strings to allow the hospital to discharge Phil for a few hours to bring him to the amusement park, and it was proving to be worth the arguments he had with the hospital staff. Chris was acutely aware of how Phil's body was slowly deteriorating before their eyes; he had lost six pounds in the two weeks that Chris had spent with him. Chris refused to acknowledge the reality that Phil was dying before his eyes.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Chris pushed himself and Punk to the front of the line. He, with ease, lifted Punk out of his seat and carried the both of them onto the gondola. He made sure to allow Phil's body to rest against his own, as he was too weak to hold it up himself.

"Is he going to be okay to ride this?" the attendant asked questioningly. Chris nodded, and their gondola started to go up some to allow another group into the next gondola.

"How are you holding up, babe?" Chris asked quietly. Phil gave him a tired nod. Chris didn't press the issue; he didn't want Punk to expend his energy on talking before he had the chance to kiss him at the top of the Ferris wheel.

A few minutes passed, and the wheel was now spinning freely with all of the gondolas filled. Chris turned Punk's body some so they faced each other, and when they reached the top, Chris leaned in and gave Phil the warmest, gentlest kiss he'd ever received. He used what remained of his energy to kiss Chris back for several moments before he fell asleep against Chris' chest. Chris held Punk's head against his chest and gently stroked the back of his neck with his free hand. Once the seven minutes were up, Chris carefully lifted Punk back into his wheelchair and towards the exit of the park.

Tuesday evening (8:46 pm) Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Chicago, IL

Chris watched Punk start to stir in his bed. He had been asleep since he basically conked out on the Ferris wheel ride. The stuffed bear that Chris bought for him a few weeks prior was clutched as tightly in Punk's grasp as he could manage.

"Hello, my sleeping beauty," Chris murmured lovingly. Without having opened his eyes yet, Punk gave him a warm smile. Chris leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. He tasted so sweet and so lovely. Chris could never get enough of it.

"Chris, I've changed my mind," Punk began groggily. "I don't want to get my entire body covered in tattoos; I just want your name, and that's it."

Chris' heart swelled with love. "Okay, sweetie, if that's what you want, I'll make it happen. So far, you told me you love me, we've gotten married, you got your kiss on the top of the Ferris wheel, you met a shit ton of fans a few days ago, and you're being inducted into the Hall of Fame next week. All that's left is for you to get my name tattooed on you and for us to adopt our child."

"When's she coming?" Punk asked. He still sounded exhausted.

"Kim said she'd try to have the paperwork cleared in three weeks. The earliest we'll get her is in one month. Can you hold on that long?"

"I'm pretty sure I can," Phil said with a smile. "Can we get the tattoo next week?"

"We can get it done whenever you want it done," Chris told him. "Next week sounds perfect. I'll make the appointment. Where do you want the tattoo?"

"I want it on my hipbones," Phil said. He ran his fingers along his "V" to show Chris what he meant. "I'll have your first name on my right indent and your last name on my left."

"That sounds perfect," Chris murmured happily. He leaned forward and stole another taste of Punk's lips before he glanced at the clock and sighed. "It's nine, Phil; I'll see you tomorrow morning. You get some sleep, alright?"

"You know I will," Phil assured him. They exchanged one last kiss for the night before Chris stood up and waved good-bye to his husband and left for his hotel room.

THREE WEEKS LATER;
Monday morning (10:37 am) Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Chicago, IL

"You know what's kind of funny?" Phil began somewhat bitterly. "I can officially die any moment now. I was given two to six months to live. It's been two months."

Chris ran one of his hands through Punk's thin, brittle black hair. "Every moment I spend with you is precious. I don't want to think about that right now. You're in good health and your body is still fighting like a true champion."

He had been formally inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame early, much to the WWE Universe's surprise. Having received permission from the man himself, they were able to release why he was being inducted so early on the website. Phil hadn't been able to publically address this, as he was now so weak he could barely leave his bed anymore, even if Chris carried him around. His weight had dropped from 216 to 163 pounds in the matter of two months. He was almost-literally skin and bones and he definitely looked terminally ill.

"I'm sorry; I just can't believe how time flies so quickly."

"Me either," Chris murmured. He kissed his husband lovingly. "Have your new tattoos healed yet?"

Phil lifted his hospital gown from his knees to his chest. Chris quickly glanced at his nearly rail-thin thighs, his impossibly deep hip indentations, and his ribs poking out very clearly. In script, "Christopher Irvine" was tattooed into his hip indents. They looked clean, neat, and fully healed. Before Punk drew his gown back down, Chris glanced at his penis forlornly. He had given up any hope that the two of them would be able to have sex before Punk died, as he didn't want to injure the sick man accidentally. He hadn't even mentioned any of this to Phil, for fear that he'd become upset or angry. However, Phil seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"Oh, Chris, why didn't you tell me that you wanted to do that?" Phil murmured sadly.

"I didn't want to potentially hurt you," he murmured back just as sadly. Phil reached out and grasped Chris' face in his hands. He kissed him a few times.

"Baby, if you don't move my body much, you can do it," Phil said, giving permission for Chris to have sex with him. "I'm not too tired, so you don't have to worry about me passing out in the middle of it."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Chris asked quietly. Phil nodded and gave him another kiss, hoping to turn his attention to that of passion, not worrying over whether or not to do this.

Chris kissed him back gently before he got onto the bed as well and gently crawled up Phil's body to his mouth, where he continued kissing him. He teased Punk's member through the gown and felt it twitch and harden under his touch. He continued doing this for a few minutes until he felt Phil's cock had completely hardened. His own had done the same while he groped his husband.

Chris gently kicked off his pants, which left him in his boxers, socks, and muscle shirt. Phil slowly released Chris' erection from the fly of his boxers and motioned for Chris to move himself closer to him. He did as he was told, and Phil grasped his hips and maneuvered his pulsating member into his warm mouth.

"Oh my god," Chris hissed in pleasure. He shut his eyes and threw his head back as Phil sucked on and swallowed around his length. Once he deemed him wet enough, he removed his mouth from around his dick.

"Do it," Phil pleaded with Chris quietly. Chris carefully scooted himself down and lined himself up with Punk's entrance.

"Do you want me to prep you first?"

"No," Phil said impatiently. "I want to feel you – all of you – right now."

Chris gently held onto Phil's hips and pushed the head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle. Phil hissed out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as Chris pushed past the overwhelming tightness until he was completely seated inside of his husband.

"Move," Phil begged quietly. He let out a moan when Chris shook his head.

"I'm making sure you've adjusted," Chris murmured. After a few moments, however, he gave up with that idea and started a slow, gentle pace inside of Phil. He kissed his husband again while he made sweet, beautiful love to him. It was all he had hoped it would be and more.

While still kissing Phil and slowly thrusting inside of his tight heat, he reached one of his hands down to Phil's erection and started pumping it slowly in his hand. Phil grunted and mewled under every touch that Chris graced upon him. Their releases were both imminent.

"Fuck," they hissed out in sync. Chris shot his seed deep inside of Phil's channel while Phil shot his all over their abdomens. The sticky fluid clung to their sweaty skin as they slowly came down from their highs. Chris slowly pulled out and dressed himself again.

"Thank you so much, angel, for allowing me to do that," Chris said happily. He kissed Phil again before cleaning his spilled essence off of his abdomen. Afterwards, he pulled his gown back down and covered him back up with his blanket.

"Thank you for making love to me." During their intimate encounter, his bear had fallen onto the ground. Their eyes locked on it simultaneously, and before Phil even had to ask, Chris scooped it up and handed it to him.

"Katelyn is coming in four weeks," Chris told him suddenly. Phil's eyes brightened and he smiled.

"When did you find out?"

"Last night," Chris told him happily. "In four weeks, honey, your list will be complete."

"Thank you so much, Chris," Phil murmured. "If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened. I can't tell you enough how much I love you."

"And I can't tell you how much I love you," Chris said, smiling.

THREE AND A HALF WEEKS LATER;
Friday evening (8:17 pm) Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Chicago, IL

Phil had fallen into a coma earlier in the day, and Chris had decided to permanently stay overnight with Phil so he'd be around if the unavoidable happened during non-visiting hours. He now sat by Phil's bedside and held one of his hands in his own. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he spoke to the unconscious form in front of him.

"I guess you've held on for as long as you could have done, angel," Chris sniffled pitifully. "If you can just hang on until tomorrow afternoon, though, then you can meet Katelyn before you return to wherever you were sent from. That's what you'd say, anyway. I know you're going to Heaven, baby. You'll be a real angel soon. As much as I don't want you to leave me, I know you have to. I know you're suffering, and I don't want you in pain anymore. I want you to feel normal again. I want you to be happy and free of this disease that's encompassing your mortal existence. I'm glad that these past three months have been what they have been; I love you so much, Phil. I thank you for teaching me lessons along the way, and I thank you for your love and devotion towards me. All I ask of you is to wait until tomorrow night to go to the other side, if you can, please. I want to cross the final thing off on the list. I want you to meet Katelyn. I want you to hear her, and see her, and touch her. I know you might not be able to do that, but I hope somehow you'll know that she's there. Then I will let you go. I won't do it easily, but I want what's best for you. You are my entire world, Phil. I love you so much. Nothing can ever, or will ever, change that."

Chris continued crying for the rest of the night until he managed to fall asleep on the bed that had been pulled out from the window seat. He knew if Phil could hear or understand him even in the slightest, he would hold out just a bit longer.

Saturday afternoon (4:24 pm) Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Chicago, IL

"Hello, Chris," Kim said quietly. She entered Phil's hospital room with a tiny bundle in her arms. Chris looked up at her with his red-rimmed eyes and tried his best to give her a smile. "I just need you to sign a few papers before I let you hold her. Phil doesn't have to sign, as he's not fit to do so."

Chris eagerly signed the papers and pushed them towards Kim. She carefully handed the bundle to Chris. He drew the bundle into his chest and looked down at the beautiful infant he now held. She had smooth, pale skin with a scant amount of black hair and hazel eyes. She was beautiful and absolutely perfect. Chris' eyes watered once more.

"Thank you, Kim, for everything," Chris murmured genuinely. He gave her a small hug and wave as she left. Once the door had shut, Chris went to Phil's bedside. He was still deep in his coma.

"Look, baby, Katelyn is finally here," Chris said quietly. His voice trembled around the tears that threatened to pour down his face. He grabbed one of Phil's hands in one of his, and cradled Katelyn with just one of his hands. "Baby, if you know that she's here, and you can see her, please squeeze my hand three times. I need to know that you know she's here."

Chris waited a few moments until he felt three very gentle squeezes on his hand. Afterwards, the sound of Phil's EKG changed to one steady noise, and Chris broke down in tears almost immediately. Pancreatic cancer had officially claimed his husband's life.

FOUR DAYS LATER;
Wednesday afternoon (1:54 pm) Graceland Cemetery, Chicago, IL

Chris clutched his and Phil's daughter to his chest securely as he watched Phil's casket be lowered into the ground. His tears were flowing freely throughout the entire process, and once the gravediggers started throwing dirt down into the hole, Chris found a bench to sit on and cry. He did this for a few moments before he felt someone tapping on his shoulder. It was Selene.

"Here, Chris," she choked out. New tears started falling down her face. Chris pulled her down into a hug and they sobbed in each other's shoulders for a moment before Chris looked at what Selene had handed him. It was the teddy bear that Chris had given Phil on his first visit to the hospital three months before. And, attached to his chest with a safety pin, was a note.

Chris,
Whenever my death may be, I want you to have this bear to keep in memoriam of me. I have loved it and cherished it, as well as held it close to my beating heart for many nights and days. It's yours now. Whenever you hold it to your chest at night, you can be reminded of how I did the same when I was still alive. When you're trying to fall asleep around the unavoidable sobs at night, I want you to know that I'm with you all the time. The bear will help you do that. I love you more than I can express in words, Chris. Take care of Katelyn for the both of us, and make sure she knows that Daddy Phil loved her unconditionally. She may not have met me, but she can know that I'll always be watching over the two of you.
Until we meet again,
Phil

A/N: Again, this came to me in a dream. And it is just going to be a one-shot; sorry if you wanted more. I feel like I rushed some things a bit throughout the story, but I really didn't want to drag it on for too long. It is a one-shot, after all. This is different than my typical fics, so please tell me how I did. I would really appreciate it!
Yes, I researched ALL of this (hospital, visiting hours, gift shop, hotel, distance between hotel and hospital, pancreatic cancer, Navy Pier, the adoption agency, taxi fares...) I wanted this to be as realistic as I could make it with the setting and what-not. It took me hours (not kidding) to find all of this information. If you don't believe me, you can always Google it. c;