"Then I take it back, alright? I take it all back, but -- not him!"

I'd hate myself for it. I know I would, afterwards, I'd hate myself for the bargain I made, and he would too, but in this moment, this terrible moment of realization, I would willingly bargain away the lives of all those children -- hell, the whole planet, this planet I've worked for centuries to protect -- just for that one thing. Not him. Anyone but him, everyone but him. Not him!

I can demand, plead, beg for an antidote, but it doesn't matter. He knows; he's already stopped fighting. He's just standing there, waiting, knowing. He's so calm, like he always is, facing this, his -- not his death he can't die, not the end -- facing it with the same quiet courage, that effortless confidence that won me over when we first met taking down that weevil, though I wouldn't admit it then. Time, all that time wasted, when I should have taken him, accepted him, protected him...

His gaze rests on me now, with something like pity, but it's becoming more unfocused by the second. My mind is racing, thinking, wishing, there must be something, anything; get him out, find an antidote, make him well, make him live! But he's breathed the air. He points it out. So quick, so simple, so accepting. I'd die a thousand times over to save him from this, to stop what he has accepted so quickly, but that doesn't matter, none of it matters, because he's paling, reeling, falling into me, and I can see him mentally calculating how long he has left and that hurts me more than any death I've ever died.

Not him...

I'm dying too, I can feel my lungs constricting, my breathing slowing, but I don't care, how could I care when this gorgeous, brilliant man is in my arms, dying a death he can't come back from? All I can think is no, and I realize I'm saying it out loud, repeating it like a mantra, no no no no Ianto no, as if pure determination can stop death itself.

He tells me it's not my fault, comforting me, absolving me, protecting me, with his last breaths. He can barely keep his eyes open now, but he's trying, he's trying so hard, and I'm willing him to keep his eyes on me, keep breathing, willing my very life force into him.

But then he says that, those words I never gave him, not when it mattered; he says he loves me and his eyes drift close and all I can do is hold him tighter, as tight as my weakening body will let me, begging him to stay, don't go, stay with me...

Not him...

And he does. Somehow, he opens his eyes again, draws another breath, and I can see how much the effort costs him, but he does it for me, and I draw in a ragged breath, not giving up yet, I can't give up because it's Ianto, and he's never given up on me, even when any sane man would have walked away, would have never fallen in love with the immortal man to begin with.

Not him...

It's getting harder to breathe, harder to make my lungs draw in the poisoned air, but I make myself do it, as long as Ianto is breathing so will I. Ianto... he doesn't beg me to save him, to stop the poison that's taking away his life so early, so early; he only asks me to remember him, as if I'd have any other choice. As if I could forget this man who stares death in the face without flinching, but who starts to fall apart at the thought that in a thousand years I won't remember him.

I promise and reassure and beg and plead and cry and demand -- Yes I will. I promise, I will… Ianto, Ianto don't go, don't leave me please, please don't. -- but it doesn't matter, none of it matters, because after all of the violence and bloodshed, bullets and bombs, no matter how many times I could run in and save him before, a virus has gone where I can't follow, where I can't protect him, and now he's gone, his eyes closed and breathing stilled as I rock him, still begging and hoping when I know it does no good.

Not him...

"You will die, and tomorrow your people will deliver the children."

The 456 speaks as I make myself take another breath, as I watch Ianto's face grow still, too still. It says something about the children, those children we came in here prepared to fight for. I know I'll hate myself for it later, but right now I just don't care, because the man who convinced me I could love again is dead in my arms, and in this moment, the rest of the world doesn't exist. It is just me, and him, and the plea that is still running through my mind as my body shuts down.

Not him. Please, please, not him.