Justathing...It was quiet, the ward Ianto had been directed to. For once he was walking with a cane, a carved and treated black cane he gripped tightly, not for fear, but for anxiety. He made his way gingerly forwards, not all too sure he wanted to see what lay ahead, more to the point; who may lay ahead.
She was, as to be expected, lay in a generic hospital bed, her eyes closed in rest, her hands folded neatly across her stomach. Her hair, though now streaked with grey and wiry looking, was still forced up into ragged curls, the old follicles not quite holding as they used to.
"Pass?" Ianto said gently, his usually docile eyes worried, flecked with a writhing longing to help. But he couldn't. She wasn't ill, diseased, suffering trauma. No, she was old, and there was nothing he could do to help, no medicine he could offer, no wound he could heal.
Her eyes fluttered awake at the voice, her head instinctually turning to look at him. "Well, looks like some of us are still cheating..." She sang, an alm