He was freezing. It had rained all day, which hadn't been so bad- it had been warmer when the sun had been up, weak as the light was. As the sun had set, though, the wind had sprung up and left him shivering miserably in his tangled blankets. The little shop was leaky and drafty, and sometime earlier the door's latch had finally given out, letting the wind toy with it. Squeak, squeak, wham! The door was open. That meant that other people would be inclined to look for shelter, here, which meant he should try to find a way to keep it shut... Squeeeeak, wham, wham, squeeeeak, squeak.... But he was so cold, and so tired... And wet. Where was it coming from? He'd thought this was the driest of all rooms....

Dro had had the sneaking suspicion that he was getting sick, ever since the night of the visit to the club and his very uncharacteristic actions.... The feeling of being hit by a truck had set in a couple of days ago, and his throat had been sore... He was thirsty, but the thought of drinking more cold water was nearly unbearable. The young man shivered violently, missing the sensation of several drops of water landing on his shoulder. What had he done before, when he was sick? Well, there was the MedTech clinic that usually checked him out.. And of course, there were the people that he knew that kept an eye on him... Only, now, he was up the creek without a paddle. Warmth... He needed to get warm, but how....? Maybe if he rearranged the quilts and rough wool blankets... He tugs on the twisted fabrics, wishing that he could see what he was doing... But batteries had to be preserved, and he hadn't wanted to risk using candles. There... That was a little better. Sighing, and completely missing the raspy wheeze of his own breathing, he nestles into his hollow and drifts into a fitful sleep.

How long had it been since he'd slept so safe and warm, unaware of the world at large? Years, it felt like.... In reality, it had only been about a month. He was warm, though, and despite the fact that his head and chest felt full of cotton-wool, relatively happy with this state. Of course, it would have been nicer if it wasn't such an effort to breathe, or if it didn't hurt to pull air into his lungs... He kept his eyes closed and listened. Other than a steady thrumming and beeping, he couldn't hear anyone. He did know he wasn't alone, which was only slightly reassuring. The room was dark, he knew that much as well... Chancing it, he cracked one dull hazel eye open and discovered that he was back to being incredibly myopic.

There was something stuck or taped to his left arm, too... Dro opened both eyes, now, and slowly brought his arm towards his nose. A slender bit of tubing was indeed taped to his arm for a short way before it disappeared -into- said appendage under a jumble of tape and gauze. He sifted through his jumbled memories for information on this particular scenario and came up with Ivy-line, which he didn't think was -exactly- right, but was close enough for now. The other, more typical questions remained- what was he doing here, what had happened, how had he gotten here... He dimly remembered venturing out into the rain, intending to buy a small stove or hotplate or something because he was just -freezing- between the rain and the wind and the fact that strenuous activities left him feeling like he might vomit... He still didn't feel -great-, but anything was preferable to -that-. Looking at his arm had been a lot of work, so he decided against trying to sit up. Maybe he'd gotten in touch with Them after all, or perhaps They'd found him...

He crawled up out of dreams of the strangest stuff to be greeted by nearly unbearable thin morning light and the worried sounds of a woman hovering over the machines he could barely see. She'd cheered immensely upon finding him awake, explaining to him in detail the circumstances of his being there. Bronchitis or pneumonia, or one turning into the other, or maybe just a particularly virulent(sp?) strain of this year's flu, no one was sure... But he was a lot further from Death's door than he had been when he arrived. She'd asked him about friends or family that she should contact for him, and he'd hesitated, leading her to think that he was from some broken home, a thought he did nothing to correct. Eventually, though, he -would- tell her about Them in the hope that she'd be able to get ahold of them and he could go back... He'd had quite enough of this being on his lonesome business.

When the nurse had come back with a clip board full of forms that needed filling out, he'd protested weakly... She'd told him that -she- would fill them out, all he had to do was answer questions, and he could take as much time as he needed. Dro was rather relieved by this, as he was in no hurry to divulge any more of his weaknesses than he already had. He answered all of the questions as truthfully as he could, doing his best not to tell the nurse that he'd merely let her -think- she knew his background rather than -told- her the first time she asked. The insurance was a bit of a problem, since he wasn't officially on the books as a welfare case anywhere else... She determined that they could come back to it later, after They were contacted. The young man didn't tell her that there was the off-chance that They'd laugh, tell her he was -her- problem now, and hang up on her. He wouldn't blame them, if that happened. He -had- run off on them...

A bell had begun to ring, causing her to abandon the forms and Dro, which was alright with him, as sleep was beginning to pull him under, again.

Frowning, he let the curtain fall back into place. Didn't the sun -ever- shine here? Well, a couple of days ago it -had- been... And the nurse, what was her name? Maple, that was it, -had- said they were having an unusually rainy summer... Tonight was his last night here... He could have gone today, but he'd taken one look at the rain and decided he didn't feel all that great. He was still coughing, and there were faint traces of pain when he took a very deep breath, but he was vastly improved. Besides, he still needed to call Them and let them know where he was. His gaze turned back to the door of the room, past the silent occupant of the other bed, and rested on the chart stuck to the back of the door. He'd memorized most of the shapes found in the human urinary tract over the last couple of days, and frankly, he wasn't terribly thrilled by it. As long as his worked, he was happy.

Nimble fingers button the thick shirt that Maple had found for him to wear, and his sock-muffled footfalls are noiseless as he crosses to the door. Now was as good a time as any, and They'd told him that someone would answer at the number They'd given him, no matter when he called. Granted, it wouldn't be -Them- on the other end, but the message would get passed along. The door creaked slightly as he eased it open, coinciding with a nasty coughing spell... Wonderful. Skittering into the hall, he almost bowls Arinda over, -and- manages to close the door a little more loudly than he'd intended to. The night nurse gets an apologetic grin, the skinny boy flattening himself against the wall in an attempt to get out of her way.

The woman just smiles and waves him by, continuing on her way to the back of the clinic. He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to get here on his own. Pushing the thoughts aside as he enters the waiting room, the young man fishes in the pockets of the baggy, faded jeans he wears. Those, too had been a thrift-store/lost-and-found acquisition for him. The last of his money was about gone, since he'd insisted on repaying the people that had gotten him the clothes. He hadn't asked what had happened to the set he'd been wering when he'd come in, but he was under the impression they had been in less than servicable shape.

There it was... He holds up the wrinkled square of cardstock, marveling once again at the sea-green letters that were beginning to fade in the cooler air. The gold star in the center had a good-sized crease running through it, but it still shone. A wave of gratefulness rose in him as he looked it over. The card, his bottlecap, wallet, loose change and odds and ends that he'd been carrying had all been stuck in a bag and labled with his name... So much of it could have been considered junk, he was surprised that no one had thrown any of it away.

Dr. Andrew had said that they'd had to pry the bottlecap from his hand when they were fixing him up... That bit of reminiscing had brought him up to the communications console in the corner of the lobby. It had been there a few years, and by the look of it, many a small child had been allowed to play with it as they saw fit, or as long as they weren't making calling-card calls to, oh, Theta Seven. Idly wondering why he knew his numbers but not letters, he considers the battered set-up for a moment longer. Hoping TMG Enterprises would accept collect calls, he pressed the card between his hands for a few moments to revitalize the color in the number, lifted the handset, and began dialing.

They'd come for him, after that phonecall from the traumashop. He'd had to leave a message, and was told just to wait in the lobby, somone would come get him shortly. The man, Joe, had been quietly raging when he'd 'faded in, and he had uncerimoniously dragged him towards the battered communications console, only to be stopped by one of the nurses. So, now he was confined to a dingy hotel room with his array of perscriptions and admonitions from the two night attendants on duty. Their promises to pass on his farewells to the rest of the staff had rung with sincerity, he recalled, pacing off the length of the little room.

The television was on, but the sound was down and it was tuned to the programming channel anyways. The hotel didn't get Cartoon Mania, which was disappointing in itself, and he just -knew- Joe and The Woman were going to give him a dressing-down in a minute. More than ever he wanted the warmth of the blankets in the dressmaker's shop across town, the white noise of one of his 'cards, and the familiar walls of the room in the hovel that he shared with others back in... In... He didn't even know what city he was from. That was probably a sad thing, but it didn't really bother him.

Fifteen steps to cross from the door to the window, including the detour for the foot of the bed. He supposed that he could have jumped over it, but strenuous activities left him terribly short of breath and besides, he was on the second floor. The Woman had warned him not to drop anything, or jump on the bed, or otherwise make a lot of noise. She and Joe were next door, just through the skinny door set in the wall to the right of the dresser that had the TV perched atop it. The drawers had been empty, just like the drawers in the room Dro'd had back at the place that everyone seemed to call The Hall.

They'd asked him why he'd taken off, both when he'd called in, when Joe arrived to get him, and as they were making their way here. He'd shrugged and mumbled about just wanting to see the city, which they hadn't bought. Joe doubted he was going to tell the truth, and The Woman thought he just needed some time and space, and he'd be ready to tell them the whole story. She'd also sharply informed Him that terrorising Dro wouldn't get them anywhere. Dro had been hard-pressed to hide his smile at that, and he did refrain from nodding. Later, when Joe was in the hotel office, he'd smiled and thanked her for saving him.

Fifteen paces back to the ugly, dull, burnt-sienna door with its nearly indecypherable Hotel Rules and evacuation route plaque. The boy frowned at the words swimming on the yellowing paper, then turned slowly and took the two and a half steps into the minute bathroom. He pondered the idea of sitting on the toilet and seeing if he could indeed wash his hands while doing so, then discarded it in favor of having a look at the shower. No tub, not enough room, but the stall seemed clean. No obvious mildew, anyways. A few little bars of generic soap were scattered on the faux-marble countertop and perched in the soapdish of the shower. No big thrill -there-, but he did think it might come in handy later, so a few of them were slipped into a pocket. His hand lingered there, fingertips resting against the rough edge of the bottlecap.

His bottlecap... He'd probably picked it up thinking he might be able to use it later. Dro did that with a lot of things he found, bits of wire and colored glass; tokens and paperclips and twist-ties. He never hung onto much of it for long, more often than not just giving it away. The tokens he held on to. He was about the only one he knew that could legitimately ride the subways, not that he knew where he eventually ended up... Which was another good reason not to ride alone. Being young and vulnerable-looking was bad enough, but- a soft sound caught his attenton and he sidled cautiously back into the main room.

Dro pauses, running a hand through lank dark hair. A faint noise, almost a squeak but with a more metallic tone to it but not quite a 'snick'... More of a 'squick'. Shaking his head, he listened harder. It was something in the air-conditioner, which had started before the noise had. It was almost lost in the humming of the machinery, and Dro did his best to ignore it once he'd figured out what it was. Ten steps back to the window, his hand coming out of his pocket to rest his weight on the sill. The curtains had that dusty smell that all hotel curtains had, though he hasn't had enough experience to know this. The view out the window is an uninspiring slice of concrete building and crazed asphalt, shiny metal and sparkling glass, and cloudy blue sky. So the sky was a barely-discernable shade of indigo, but indigo was -still- blue. The few lights that were on in the parking lot below shed a wan light, and they turned the vegetation forcing itself through the blacktop an interesting shade of brown. Dro sighed and wished things were more in focus...

Maybe, when They _finally_ called him in to talk with him, he would finally tell Them that he couldn't see very well. Of course, They might know already, and in that case... He guessed it'd be a moot point or something. What was taking them so long? He was getting hungry. He couldn't understand the patterns that were flashing across the surface of a sign down the way... It might have been a stationary advert for the hotel itself, he didn't know. He was tired again, too... Maybe They were just going to let him sleep and talk to him in the morning... He'd thought They would want to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't run off again... Oh, who knows with Them, he told himself. They -did- get two rooms, so maybe They trust you that much. Maybe, he answered himself. Maybe The Woman was going to sleep in one and Joe was going to sit in a chair all night and keep watch on him.

Just as he completed his eightieth crossing of the floor and was staring at the bed, one of Them tapped at the door between their rooms. Dro was torn between relief and dread at the sound. Unconsciously drawing himself up to his full height, he faces the narrow aperture and turns the knob. The Woman stands there, dressed in the same conservative blue suit she'd been wearing for the last day and a half. She smiled a bit uncertainly and took a step back, waving at the young man.

"Do come in, Drocalen. Are you hungry? We have quite a bit of ground to cover tonight..." She shuts the door behind him, then glances at her watch, muttering to herself.

Dro blinks, scrunching up his face as his eyes blur and the room fades in and out of focus. Once his vision has adjusted, he notes that the room is larger than his own, almost as if the two were part of a suite. Probably not... The cotton-fluff was back in his brain, making everything slow and as bleary as the table he was being ushered to. Joe was nowhere to be seen, which made him feel slightly better. She was looking at her watch again. Maybe Joe had gone for food?

He glanced at the brochures on the table top beside him, but the pictures were nothing special. Religious tracts, maybe, like Nate the Preacher gave away as he extolled (loudly) the rewards of virtue, faith, conversion to The Way of The Light, and the many, -many- bounties awaiting those that gave donations for the care and feeding of the poor and downtrodden. Nate... Nate, and Dru, and Jo and Bob and Lola and Tyrell and Floyd and Ben and Bill and Frieda and Salamaye and Tina and Joe and Jonny.... The faces flickered across his memory, the unxepected wave of homesickness they brought with them surprising him into folding his arms on the table and burying his face in them as he burst into tears.

He was never going home again. No one would ever know if he was alive or dead, and he'd never get to see.... Wait. She was here, or there, rather, but- It didn't matter. His thoughts turned over and over, like so many chunks of rock in an avelanche. He -wanted- to go home, even though it wasn't much of one. The soft voice of The Woman was registered but unacknowledged for the moment. He'd probably have to do things for these weird people in their somber clothes and the violent impulses... They scared him, a bit. Joe did, anyhow. And the... That place, the Hall or whatever it was called, was actually really kind of creepy, and underground! He wasn't sure he could live like that. He wasn't sure he could measure up to whatever standards these people held... At least The Woman was human. She was clucking over him, sitting next to him and patting his shoulder. She left him suddenly, taking the comfort with her as she went to open the door. He heard another voice, a bass grumble that quickly filled with dark annoyance, barely audible over his near-hysterical sobs.

Joe glares over the cartons he holds as he slips into the room. Now what? "What the hell's wrong with him -now-?" It was highly unlikely that his partner had made the kid start bawling... That wasn't her style. He strides across the room and sets the food down with a little more force than neccessary, gritting his teeth as the boy continues to cry.

"He's probably finally realizing just where he is and what his...future looks like." Her voice is calm, even, and quiet, one hand resting on Dro's shoulder. "I thought he was taking everything a little too well."

His eyes narrow, muscles in his cheeks shifting as he grinds his teeth. "Lovely. Do you think you could get him to shut up? Before I feel compelled to hurt him?"

Fury... Someone was really upset with him and were probably going to hurt him... Cooling green rain calm... The Woman's voice was trying to counteract the vexation in His voice. It had some effect, damping the ire and allowing rationality to return... Dro wanted to sit up and find out what was in the blurry white boxes that were before him, but the ebb and flow of conversation over his head, the associated images and feelings as well as the fact that he couldn't seem to get control of his breathing... He took a breath but the air was forced back out in choking breaths, he was getting short of breath, now, and he wasn't getting enough air.... The young man begins to cough, weakly, sitting up at last in hopes of creating enough room in his chest for his lungs to expand.

"He's been through quite a lot, Joe, even though he wasn't really supposed to be part of what we had been assigned to... I'll see what I can do, all right?" She gives Joe a cool look, waving at the other chair.

Grumbling to himself, he nods at Maliah's words, pulling out the chair. "Just get him quiet. We don't need anybody complaining to the management and maybe getting us arrested for God knows what... Child abuse or something..." Although it wasn't too far-fetched for Dro to be their son... Which was their cover, should anyone ask. Both of the agents stare at Drocalen as he sits bolt upright, the fright on his face unmistakable.

The sounds and impressions receded as a dull roar filled his ears. Why couldn't he breathe? At least The Man was surprised, and not just mad at him... And now The Woman was saying something to him, sharp but unintelligable. Still spluttering, he shakes his head, wondering if it was possible for whatever he had come down with to suddenly cause his lungs to quit working right. Maybe if he closed his eyes tight, held his breath...

"Drocalen? Drocalen, listen to me." Maliah has no idea what she should tell him to do. He didn't appear to be listening to her anyhow... She flicks a glance at Joe. "Should we take him back to the medics?"

His face darkens again, but he's not as mad as he was when he'd first returned. Standing, he shrugs back at the woman. "I don't know... If he's not recovered in a minute or two, we better." He ponders, then makes an executive decision and picks Dro up. Ignoring both the frantic near-terror of their charge and Maliah's puzzled squawk, he sets the boy on one of the beds and gently forces him to lie down. "Let's see if this helps."

Holding his breath did seem to be making a difference, even though he could still feel the jump and push of muscles he didn't realize he had. His eyes open again as The Woman's voice registers, her =concern worry fear uncertainty= reassuring only by the fact that he could -hear- again. Dro flinches at the sudden movements by the bigger man, trying to resist as he's lifted but lacking the strength and a true desire to do so. He doesn't understand why they want him flat on his back, but with his head tilted over the edge of the bed it -is- a little easier to exhale, his next intake shuddery but still less impeded...

"Mm... One of the principals of CPR. He looks a little better..." She steps forward and kneels, noting those greyed hazel eyes again. "Drocalen? Are you all right?"

He watches, dispassionately, wishing the kid would hurry up and recover. Their food was getting cold, he was tired of standing around, and Drocalen had some serious explaining to do. "I brought back tonight's special for you, some sort of fish Olympus or something."

People looked funny when they were upside down. Dro closes his eyes again, just lying there and enjoying the sensation of pulling air into his lungs and expelling it again, even if his breath caught and he hiccupped on occasion. She'd asked him a question, hadn't She? A slow nod is his only reply, swiping at his damp face with the back of a hand.

-Fish?- Maliah turned a glare of her own on her partner. "This is more important than food, at the moment. He'll be all right in a minute."

"Sorry, I just thought you'd like to know." The words are slightly sneery, his own black expression fixed on the boy. Making a face, he digs a handkerchief out of a pocket and hands it to her before clomping back to the small table. "Here, get him cleaned up."

She ignores Joe, watching Dro as he moves. Other than looking as if he'd been crying (big surprise -there-), he looked all right... She stands, relinquishes the square of cloth, and folds her arms. "Glad to see you're still with us. Come sit down, we can discuss this...incedent over dinner."

Joe snorts over the kindly-voiced words, opening the styrofoam boxes to see which held what. He draws an odd-looking pen from an inner pocket of his jacket and scribbles a quick 'M' on one lid, putting it off to one side. The pen is returned to its hiding place, the small table surveyed by his sharp brown eyes. Only two chairs... He rises, swapping Maliah's dinner for his own and moving to lean against the wall.

"Um." A wan smile for The Woman, followed by another nod. "Dinner...? Oh... Of course..." Meekly, Dro wipes at his nose one last time and crosses the slight distance between the bed and the chair he'd occupied briefly. He keeps his gaze down, peering at Joe out from under his lashes. "Thank you..."

"Don't mumble, kid." He watches Maliah's solicitous attention, seeming unmoved by the last few minutes.

She notes the minor peace-offering in the chair given up for her, and nods at her partner. Sitting, she opens the carton before her and blinks. "Halibut Olympia." One corner of her mouth quirks up, but she doesn't say anything further. "Perhaps you should eat first, Drocalen."

Joe frowns at her, shrugging when she shrugs at him. "We're gonna be together for a while, Drocalen. Whenever you feel like talking..."

Opening the container before him, he's struck by an unpleasant memory of feeling lucky to find something like this, looking forward to whatever half-finished meal might be inside... He thought he might start sniveling again until he shook his head and reminded himself firmly that no matter what, he was part of whatever Joe and Maliah were involved in and the food was always going to be better than what he'd been used to. He blinked, smiling a bit at the -whole- cheeseburger before him. Condensation had rendered the frech fries a little soggy, but he could deal with -that-. Everything was still so warm... They were waiting on him, weren't they? But they had said he could eat... Well, he'd start, and then he could talk for a bit... So he carefully picks up three or four fries and nibbles on them, still looking down.

Usually, she was content with the skills she did have. Now, however was one of the rare times that she wished she could get inside their charge's head, or discuss things with Joe via telepathy or something. Instead, she settled for a few fleeting handsigns and an annoyed look over her shoulder. "Did you get silverware?"

The man fishes in another pocket of his voluminous black jacket, coming up with a packet of plastic flatware and handing it to her silently. "Oh, yeah... I brought back drinks, too." Typical... He shakes his head over the warning she'd given him, retrieving two cans of generic cola and a couple of brown, lableless bottles. His own fingers flutter briefly, conveying the idea that he got her message.

[Good.] She flipped back at him, pushing the bottles aside in favor of one of the brown and white cans. Leveling a reproachful look at him, she shrugs again and starts on her own food.

Oh, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being stuck with these two... He's oblivious to any communication between them, intent on the meal. Well... Almost. The sound of the cans and bottles being set on the table catches his attention long enough for him to dart shy glances at the pair. The Woman had one of the ugly sodas, The Man was taking both of the beers back, so that meant the remainder was his. Right? They'd tell him if it wasn't... He reaches for it, turning the cool weight over in his hand before he opens it. The dual hiss-crack makes him jump a bit, but Dro recovers in time to keep from dropping his. The fizz tickled and burned faintly, making his nose itch. It was good, though, and so he said nothing. Dro goes back to eating, his motions efficient and his concentration nearly complete.

Joe twisted one of the bottlecaps off, took a long swallow, then contemplated the sandwich he'd gotten for himself. Chewing on a bite of the club, he considers the problem of Drocalen once again. Joe knew That the next time they presented a report on their progress they were going to be yelled at. There had been a recent influx of innocent bystanders that had seen too much, himself responsible for at least -two-. And on top of that, this one had escaped! Well, he'd worry about the report when it was time to. The important thing now was to determine how much the boy had said to whom regarding what.

She, on the other hand, was eating with an absent-minded air, thinking of things unrelated to their current predicament.

The last pickle slice disappears into his mouth with a flicker of tongue over fingertips. Drocalen sits up and finishes the last of his drink, blinking as he gradually becomes aware of the fact that he's not only done eating, but he's eaten everything that had been in the take-out box. Now what was he to do? He was still holding Joe's handkerchief, so he dabbed at his mouth with it, then brushed crumbs, real or imagined, off his fingers. The open box seems to draw unwanted attention, so he closed it and set it of to one side. The boy rests his hands on the table, folded over the wadded-up square of cotton, and watches them as if he'd never seen them before, waiting for Them to start interrogating him.