(Untitled)

[mr_gaeta]

[About a month after this.]In a bed near the very end of the rows of cubicles, Gaeta's curled on his side, watching the wall. He's tucked one arm near his head, encircling the pillow; the other arm -- which has an IV line trailing from it, stuck to a vein already traced in angry reds and purples -- wraps tight around his abdomen like a shield

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[stilljustandrew]

Andrew stands there for a long moment, completely silent, just watching.

I'll see you again, he said that night, not knowing if it were true but hoping, hoping.

This is not quite the reunion he hoped for.

"Hey," he says finally, softly.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta lifts his head, turns it just enough to look up at Andrew. He blinks.

And then frowns slightly, like he's attempting to puzzle out a particularly difficult navigation problem.

[stilljustandrew]

The dear familiarity of that expression makes him blink back tears, even as he's starting to smile.

Still soft: "Hi, Felix."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta continues to blink owlishly, uncertain. A few more beats pass in silence before a tiny flicker of hope kindles itself.

"You're here," he hazards; it's more question than statement.