Author's Note: Finally, I'm writing a fan fiction for my OTP! Though, it's a bit depressing. But hopefully, it will be decent! Comments and critiques are welcomed and very much appreciated!

He needed him. He didn't care if it was a matter of life or death, he needed him. Arthur had been alone for the majority of his life, he'd be damned if he had to be alone again.

It started with one of his kidneys. The doctor called them late at night, begging and pleading for them to come in the office the next morning. And they had done just that. Arthur remembered it clearly; the worry in the doctor's soft voice, the colour being drained from his lover's face, the emotional knife that had been stabbed in the pit of his stomach.

"It's cancer." The doctor said, as if it were nothing. From that day on, those words stuck in Arthur's mind; echoing and taunting him every waking moment. Simply, they gave Francis the treatment he needed; they removed the infected kidney and all was well again. Arthur believed that they could continue to live their lives happily without a worry of that bloody cancer coming back. But he had been wrong; boy, had he been wrong.

After the kidneys, it had somehow moved to the lymph nodes, which meant that next he had leukemia. Francis struggled day after day with chemo, growing weaker and weaker as the years progressed. Arthur continually reassured him that one day he'd be healthy again and all would be well. They had believed it, or, it was more of that they repeated it over and over again in order to believe it. The treatment continued on and off for several years until one day, after being told that he needed to receive chemo again, Francis said:

"I'm done."

Arthur gave him a glare, scowling at him. "What do you mean, 'you're done'? Done with what?" he asked.

"Done with treatment," Francis clarified. "I don't want to go through with it anymore," Arthur's jaw dropped as he glanced at the doctor's worried stricken face. "I think I've gone through enough pain in my life, I'd like to not have to worry anymore."

"Don't you know what will happen if you stop receiving treatment?!" Arthur asked. He felt a rock forming in his throat, stuck in there and if he were to speak again, tears would spill out.

"I'd get to keep my hair for more than a month?" Francis joked. He laughed, sincerely, but frowned when he noticed that Arthur wasn't having any of it. "I'm at peace with what will happen." Arthur bit his lip, trying not to cry.

"Well, I'm not. I want you to go through the treatment again. It'll work this time!" he cried, blinking back his tears. Francis looked at the doctor, who refrained from saying a word.

"Arthur," the Frenchman said, gently. "You and I both know that's not true."

"But it is!" Arthur shouted. "Come on, please! I can't…" He paused, looking away. "I can't lose you." Francis stood up from the chair and headed for the door. "Can we talk about this at home, sir?" Arthur asked. "W-we don't have to make a rash decision right now, do we?"

"Not at all," the doctor replied. "Take your time; you two may discuss the matter of things in the privacy of your own home. We, however, hope that you make the choice that is best for Francis." Arthur nodded, following his partner out of the office. Francis had already gotten a decent start out of the building and stood by their car. The two climbed into the car, Arthur in the driver's seat, and began on their way back to their flat.

"Why don't you want to go through the treatment anymore?" the Englishman snapped.

"You know why, Arthur," Francis murmured. "You just won't accept it."

"You're damn right I won't accept it! I'm not letting some stupid cancer take away the love of my life!" he cried. "Francis, I'm begging you! Please, go through the treatment again. It'll work this time"!

"Don't you want to be happy again, Arthur?" Francis asked, gazing out the window. "Think about it, without the treatment, we won't have to worry about getting me to the hospital every day. I can keep my hair, I'll get my strength back. I'll be me again," He turned and gave Arthur a smile. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, mon amour?" Arthur gripped the steering wheel with frustration, his knuckles turning white.

"It would be nice…"

"Don't you care about what I think?" Francis asked. "You haven't been the one who's been through the treatment over the years, have you? It's been me! I'd say it's more painful than the cancer itself!"

"I won't lose you!" Arthur yelled, smacking his palm against the wheel. "I can't and I won't!"

"You're not going to lose me, Arthur," Francis reached over and held Arthur's hand. "I'm right here."

"Dammit frog, you know what I mean!" he sniffed. "Maybe not right now, maybe not in a few weeks, but eventually you're going to…" His voice trailed off. No, he couldn't say it. "I can't bear to think about being alone again." Silence fell over the car, Francis fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Arthur, you'll never be alone. You know that." Francis mumbled.

"If you're…you're…gone, who's going to be at my side at night? Who's going to make sure I don't burn the kitchen down when I'm trying to cook? Who's going to love me when I absolutely hate myself?" Arthur muttered. "I can't be alone again…I just can't." They had pulled up into the parking lot for their apartment complex, and sat in silence for several minutes. Francis leaned over and kissed Arthur's cheek.

"You don't have to be, mon amour," he whispered. "You never will be."

Arthur woke up to the smell of something sweet baking in the kitchen. He rolled over to see that Francis had already woken up and had gone to the kitchen to cook the two of them breakfast. A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly climbed out of bed. He shuffled out of the room and into the small dining area in their flat, finding a cup of tea already waiting for him. The Brit sat down in his usual chair and took a sip of his tea as a plate with muffins was placed before him. "Good morning, love," he said, yawning. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than ever." Francis answered, taking the seat next to his husband. "And you."

"Alright, I suppose." He glanced over at his lover before taking a bite from his piping hot blueberry muffin. Silence settled in as they ate, Arthur felt unsure as to how to bring the topic up. He didn't want to be fighting this early in the morning. "Is there anything you'd like to do today?"

"We could go for a walk in the park," Francis answered, cheerfully. He wiped the crumbs off of his pants and flashed a smile. "I heard the weather is supposed to be nice today. And the leaves are changing colours."

"You don't want to go to the doctor's office, then?" Arthur asked. He flinched, realising that his thoughts had slipped out through his tongue and he prepared himself for any words that might be shot back at him. There was an irritated sigh from Francis as he pushed his plate away.

"I've already made my decision, Arthur." he replied. Arthur nodded, slowly.

"I suppose we can think about it some more." he added.

"No!" Francis shouted. "There's no more 'thinking about it'! I can't go through with it anymore!" He snatched the empty plates off of the small, dainty table and hurried to the kitchen. "I don't think you understand how tired I am of it all!" Francis continued, pouring himself more hot water.

"Don't you think I'm tired of it all too?" the Englishman asked. "Of course I want you to be healthy again, of course I hate seeing you in pain. Don't think I'm being selfish because I'm not! I want you to be better and happy! That's why…" Francis chuckled, leaning his lean body against the counter.

"But Arthur, I am happy," he said. "I'm happy each and every day I get to wake up by your side. When I get the chance to spend the whole day with you. I'm happy," Arthur pursed his lips, looking at the newspaper that was lying next to him and flipped over a page. "But I can't be happy if you're not happy for me."

"I don't understand how you can be happy when you're dying." Arthur mumbled.

"I'm not dying, love. I'm not," Francis urged. "I'm living. For the first time in my life, I'm living. Can't you see that?" Arthur shook his head, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Please, smile for me and let this go. We can go on all of those trips we had planned before. Won't that be wonderful?" Arthur remained silent, standing up and walking out to the balcony. Francis followed him, wrapping his arms around his worried husband. "Arthur, talk to me." he pleaded.

"How can I talk to you when you're not listening to me?" Arthur snapped. Francis stepped back, giving him some space as Arthur quickly spun around. "You're dying unless you go back and get the treatment you deserve to keep on living." Francis sighed, planting a sweet kiss against Arthur's forehead.

"Oh, Arthur," he whispered. "I don't know how to make this anymore clear for you."

"For me? Francis, I don't know how to get it through that thick head of yours that you need the treatment and therapy." Arthur yelled. Francis put a hand over Arthur's mouth, gently calming him down.

"Have you ever gone through with it?" he asked.

"What?"

"Have you ever sat through hours and hours, sitting in the most uncomfortable chair possibly in existence with radiation pulsing through your body, your blood? Have you ever felt that awful burning feeling? Have you felt like it was actually slowly killing you while you sat there, instead of saving you? Have you felt what I've felt?" Arthur's lips quivered.

"No, of course not…" the Brit began.

"I have, and it's not pleasant." Francis continued. "I know that the pain you feel is a different kind of pain, but you need to know that what I think must come first over everything else. I know you're concerned, but that is so far off from now, Arthur."

"We don't know that for sure! The cancer came back and we don't know how long until…" Francis shook his head, turning away.

"It is nothing. Think of it as something else, like a cold or the flu or…"

"This is much more serious, Francis! Much more serious!" Arthur shouted. "This is cancer! And I won't let it take you away from me! I won't allow it!"

"Arthur…"

"Please, can't you think about it? Once more? For my sake!" Arthur begged. Francis sighed and leaned against the door frame. He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at his partner. "Francis, please. I'm begging you. Think about it one more time."

"I don't think I can. I've already made my choice. I want to live again." The Frenchman muttered.

"But you're—"

"Enough," Francis hissed. "I've had enough of this. I've made my choice, Arthur," He gave him a soft, but sad smile. "I'm done."