A new little something by yours truly. And I think I might keep it going, too. Who knows. Let me know if it's any good.

A clipboard wielding orderly ducked out of the way as Gilbert rushed past, wide smile on his face.

"Holy- watch where you're going, Gil! This is a hospital!"

"Sorry. Being chased. You know how it is." Gilbert quickly side stepped another nurse, shooting a wink back towards the orderly, before twisting around and sprinting down the remainder of the hallway.

The orderly shook his head. "No, I don't..."

Gilbert laughed, turning around the far corner with a barely controlled skid. "Well then you're missing out, dude," he called back. Regaining his footing, he took a look at his options. Lots of doors, mostly closed, and another off-shooting hallway at the end.

Gilbert jogged a few steps, and then picked a door at random.

It closed behind him with a muffled click. Grinning, he ducked underneath the fogged rectangular window, pressing his ear against his newfound barrier. The sound of hurried footsteps and aggravated voices rose in volume, his pursuers approaching his hiding spot. Gilbert held his breath, striving for silence.

"-uck. Where'd he go?"

"Next hallway. C'mon."

"Fuckin' crazy albino..."

The footsteps and voices passed his door without hesitation, quickly fading in volume as they continued their useless pursuit.

Gilbert's smile widened. "Suckers."

Clutching his stolen prize – the brown paper-bagged lunch of one of his co-workers – he relaxed against the closed door. Now he could eat his (thieved) lunch in peace. No annoying do-gooders trying to dispose him of the fruits of his labour.

"Let's see what we have here..." Straightening his hospital scrubs, Gilbert stood up, peering into the paper bag. Its meagre contents stared back at him. A plastic-wrapped sandwich (probably peanut butter and jelly), a yogurt container, and an apple that had seen better days. Not the best lunch he'd ever stolen, but at least this time he hadn't got caught.

He reached into the bag for the apple, looking up to survey the room he had chosen at random. Maybe there'd be a chair or bed he could lounge on or something.

"Oh shit-" The bag almost fell from his grasp.

There was indeed a bed.

And it was occupied.

Gilbert bit back another curse, haphazardly fixing his scrubs. He could just see the slight form beneath the thin hospital covers, a head of wavy blond curls splayed against the white pillow. He couldn't see the patient's face, but they must have known by now he was in here, what with the abrupt entrance and all the noise he had made. Gilbert stood, waiting for a reaction. Should he duck back out without saying anything? Apologize? Apologizing seemed like a good start.

"Damn, sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here. I hope I didn't, uh, wake you or anything." He tried to school his face into an appropriately sincere expression.

When his apology was met by silence, Gilbert gave up the futile attempt and allowed himself to grimace.

"Look, I work here, okay. I'm sorry if I disturbed you but... um, do you like want me to get ya' anything..." Only the quiet beeping of machines answered him. "No? Awesome. I'll just leave then."

It was when he turned around, intent on finding a properly empty room to eat his lunch, that something clicked in his mind. The slow - too slow - beeps from the heart monitor, the quiet, stagnant silence from the patient, the small clutter of other life-sustaining machines around the bed.

Gilbert turned back towards the room, hesitating only a moment before stepping up to the bed.

The patient was asleep. But Gilbert could tell it wasn't a natural one. That much was easy to tell from the face – thin and pale with a cylindrical ventilator passing through ashen lips and a set of those nasal tubes wrapping over too-visible cheek bones. Before really thinking about it, Gilbert had snatched the charts from the foot of the bed, eyes skimming the papers, numbers confirming his suspicion. The man, probably a couple years younger than him, was verging on two months comatose.

And the prognosis was that he'd likely never wake up again.

Gilbert scowled, shoving the papers back into their holder.

"That sucks man. Comas are totally unawesome."

He stood next to the bed, looking around the room, feeling a little put-out. Eventually he remembered the bag in his hands, and the lunch he had been about to eat. A glance to the clock on the wall opposite from the bed showed that he still had twenty minutes left to his lunch break.

"Hey man, mind if I crash here to eat my grub?"

The soft whirring of machines answered him.

"Awesome. You're the best."

Gilbert dragged an abandoned looking chair near the bed frame, sprawling in it bonelessly as he took a large bite from the apple.

He was halfway through the soggy sandwich (it indeed was peanut butter and jelly) when his eyes travelled back to the comatose man. There was something about the blond patient that seemed a little off. Gilbert had worked with other unconscious patients during his internship at the hospital, and more often than not, their rooms were bright and peppered with get-well-soon gifts, an anxious loved one or two worrying around their bed-sides.

This man had no gifts, and the room was oddly listless. There wasn't a single indication that a friend or family member had been in the area in a long time. No flowers, no brightly coloured cards, no books or magazines. Nothing. Gilbert frowned.

"What's up with you, bro?" He popped the last bite of peanut-buttery bread into his mouth. "Where are your people? Are you some kinda asshole in real life or something? Chase them all away?"

He leaned forwards in his seat, peering down on the man. The pale, sunken face met his gaze, blond, wavy hair haloing its features. It looked young, innocent, and although there were the shadows of bruises hiding around the hairline, the man – still almost a boy – seemed like someone who would be a gentle, quiet being.

"Hmm, 'naw. You don't look like an asshole-y dude. You're probably one of 'em stuttering types, amirite?"

Gilbert sat back with a huff, giving another unimpressed look around the stark room. "If that's so, then why are you all alone her?" he continued out loud. "Shouldn't you have, I dunno, a doting mother or crying girlfriend or hell, a bro or two around you?" The stagnant silence felt heavy as he quieted. Gilbert frowned. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed at the hospital papers again. "What put ya' in here, anyway? Maybe your people are... I don't know, comatose too." He immediately looked for the Chief Complaint section. "Whoa man, car accident? That totally sucks. And let's see here... Family history-" Gilbert stopped short, looking briefly over to the patient. "Hey bro, you don't mind that I'm looking at your medical charts, right? I'm a nurse, so it's cool." He hummed at the silence, nodding his head after moment. "Thanks. Right, so, family history..."

The next few seconds were taken up by the shuffle of papers and the beeping of the heart monitor. Finally, Gilbert grimaced.

"Well you got a mum and dad who are registered as still alive, and a brother who must be near your age, however old you are- oh wait." Gilbert flipped the page. "Oh, you're twenty-four. Okay, a brother who is maybe older than you, maybe younger, since he's also twenty-four... Is he your twin? Twins are cool. Let's say you're twins. And he's alive, too. Healthy family. Could'a been better if you'd had a hot older sister, but whatever." Gilbert stuffed the papers back in their place, leaning back in his seat, looking at the blond man. "So you've got a mother, father, twin brother, and probably a friend or two, and let's add in a dog for the hell of it. Oh, and you're not an asshole. Probably. So where the hell is your party of worriers? You were in a fucking car accident. Where's the de-facto loved one holding your hand and all that shit?"

Gilbert huffed, feeling strangely insulted for this stranger. It was true that he disliked dealing with weepy family members as much as the next guy, but damn, everybody's got to have somebody there to cry with you went you get hurt.

And hell, if the prognosis was that you'd likely never wake up, then someone better fucking be there to cry for you.

Gilbert closed his eyes. He wondered what the hell he was doing here.

After a moment, his eyes opened.

"Oh yeah, lunch..."

A glance to the clock had him out of his chair and at the door in record time. "Shit- sorry bro, but I'm way late. It's been great, really enjoyed your company, see ya' around maybe." He tossed one last grin into the near-empty room, pushing his earlier thoughts aside.

He got back to the main lobby and slid behind the welcome desk, hoping his late entrance would go unnoticed.

"Gilbert-"

His hope was in vain.

"- you bastard. I hope you liked that lunch..."