- two days later -

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It was his first day of work - and Harold already hated his new job before he'd even set foot inside his new place of employment. He could see the ingenuity in the approach of hiding in plain sight, of doing the tasks that needed to be done without anyone taking notice. Yet somehow he couldn't help but feel punished by the job the Machine had picked for him. The saddest part was that Harold felt he actually deserved it.

That was why he had dutifully gotten up, dressed and bid Bear goodbye early this morning at their new and cramped one-room apartment. He wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to be late for his first day of delivering flowers and gifts to patients at the local hospital.

The work didn't sound like it necessarily required a lot of brain power, and Harold feared that it would give his mind plenty of opportunities to ponder things that he did not want to think about. Not yet anyway. The wounds were still too fresh.

As expected there wasn't any need for a long training period. He was unceremoniously handed a clipboard with a list of names, room numbers, and items that needed to be delivered. Slightly appalled that, thanks to the internet, one didn't even have to show up at the sickbed of one's "friend" or family member anymore to deliver well wishes - and by the fact that the shop's on-line business was flourishing - Harold silently got to work.

Pushing his cart along the hospital's hallways hurt his sore shoulder yet he tried not to let anyone see his pain. After all he was exceedingly good at hiding his feelings and he did not want to have to answer uncomfortable questions about the origin of the hole in his shoulder.

Harold had always hated hospitals and he had never in his life imagined that he would end up working at one. But that was the point, wasn't it? This was not his life anymore, but that of a stranger struggling to make ends meet.

By the time he had delivered almost all of the items on his cart his back was aching, his shoulder was throbbing and he felt even more depressed after having been faced with numerous reminders of the fragility and unfairness of life during his trip through the various wards.

He wasn't sure if he could keep doing this and he knew that if it weren't for Bear, who needed him just as much as Harold needed the dog, he might eventually give in to the darker thoughts that had started to lurk around the periphery of his mind since the hopelessness of his situation had sunk in.

On the positive side, so far no one had even given him a second glance.

He had one more item - a beautiful bouquet of flowers - left on his cart and he consulted the floor plan by the elevators to find out in which direction the patient's room lay.

Counting down the room numbers as he limped along the hallway of the Recovery Ward, Harold stopped in front of the room he was looking for, picked up the bouquet with a small wince and knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds than carefully opened the door after not receiving a response.

The beeping of a heart monitor greeted Harold as he entered the room. He went into the bathroom where he had been told vases for flowers were kept on hand, filled the cheap porcelain with some water and stepped out into the room again. There was only one bed with one sleeping patient, and Harold silently made his way to the side table near the head of the bed in order to place the flowers where the patient would be able to see them when he woke up. Trying his best not to disturb the patient and to respect his privacy, Harold kept his eyes downcast as he approached the table and started to place the vase in the middle of it. In order to make sure he hadn't woken the patient he threw a quick glance at the man's face.

"Oh my God."

The vase crashed onto the floor, bursting into a million pieces. Harold stared at the pale and haggard face, easily recognizing the prominent features but not believing his eyes. He reached out to touch the man in front of him. He just needed to be sure that what he was seeing was real. Careful not to disturb the medical equipment Harold's trembling fingers brushed warm, living skin and his eyes were stinging with unshed tears as hope returned with a whispered name.

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"John."

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The End

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So, this is how the finale would have been like if I had had something to say in writer's room.

I hope you all enjoyed it, and if you did I certainly won't mind if you let me know. ;)

Thank you for reading and for all the encouraging reviews!