Glade you Came
-9 Movie-

-GyC-

"Hey."

The blinding light was... blinding. It made his sleep ridden eyes scream and he was forced to pull his forearm across them as a shield. 9 knew that the too-little-sleep effect would ease away in time, but for now being woken up was too premature to be healthy.

Long seconds of patient silence ticked by before he got the nerve to remove his arm. The person waiting for him was unfamiliar. He could feel his stomach sink. "Who-"

"No one that you should concern yourself with," she said with a dramatic air, waving her hands in front of her face; as if the movement would make her disappear.

9 starred at her. She had dark hair, eyes, clothes, accessories, and some high tech gadget – a grappling hook, but more advanced and small – hanging from her waste, like a fanny pack but decidedly less nerdy. Her hair, not quite black, was cut along the curve of her shoulder. The back was short, the front was long. It was what 31 had, a bob. The rest of her was completely clad in black so not an ounce of skin was showing. A robber.

Grunting he heaved himself into a sitting position. However, much like his waking up, it was too soon. The dizzying rush of blood fleeing from his head swept over him. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

"I said you-"

"Why are you robbing me?"

She blinked innocently. Her lashed were thick with mascara and they beat off her high cheeks like drums. The robber could have been twenty-five and he would have been none-the-wiser, she only looked sixteen but an effective placement of make-up could easily mask a few years. The thickness of the makeup alone told why she was here. She was a prostitute.

9 make a quick gesture for her to sit down. Normally he would be happy enough to offer her some money – but this girl looked to proud for that. She carried herself haughtily even though she had yet to walk a step. Besides, he had no money to give. Several weeks ago he had been put out of work. As a young man living during a blossoming war he would prefer to stay on the down-low.

Not to his astonishment, she didn't take his offer. Instead she opted to make a face and dive out the door.

Not a very good robber.

"Well," he said to the empty air, a habit he had gotten used to ever sine 7 moved out, "I'm up now, might as well get breakfast." The man was too scared to look at the time.

7... 7 had been his girlfriend, and fiancee, for a long time. Four years, to be precise. Several months ago he had ended that, for her sake. He had still loved her, and indeed still did, but she wanted to move. He couldn't afford to. With an irreplaceable job he could not just up and move away. Though 1 did get on his nerves, he had liked his job; up to the day that he was fired for poking around at things he ought not to. She hadn't wanted to leave him and he hadn't wanted to tie her down. So he told her, ordered her, albeit loosely for his sake, to go.

It was only a few paces from the bedroom to the kitchen, with only a bathroom in between the two. The bedroom was tiny and magically fit all of his things into it. The kitchen was tinier and couldn't fit a proper dinning table into it. The bathroom... was a bathroom.

Many people who stepped into the room mentioned the smell of coffee. To 9, coffee was a morning ritual, practised by his father and his father before him. Unlike his father, though, 9 always had a side dish of toast and jam with his drink. That was what he poured for himself now, filling up the base of the mug with dark powder before dropping a filled kettle onto the stove to boil.

That was when he heard it, the steady rapping of knuckles on the door. Then he looked at the clock – two unannounced visitors in one morning was unusual for him.

The hands read two-thirteen.

Slowly he backed away from the door. As he did so the soft tapping got harder and faster until the door was buckling under the sheer force of the other's strength. First 9 thought of 8, 1's bodyguard. He definitely had the strength to beat in the door, but he was too crass. If it were him the door would be in pieces on the floor by now. Second, he thought that he should have listened to 7 and learned how to defend hisself. He was sorely regretting putting that off for so long. Tomorrow he would have to look into that.

Then the noise stopped.

Ever the curious, 9 approached the door, slowly. There was a spy-hole in the door, if he could get that he would know exactly what he was dealing with, and be able to decide whether or not to call the cops.

9 bent toward the hole just as the frame buckled, screamed, and snapped.

The door and the man crashed down on top of him. It was like being buried under a flat elephant – that smelled like wood and looked like wood and smelt like wood.

At two in the morning, still tired, 9 was easy to knock unconscious.

-GyC-

9 awoke with a start, his body snapping from the bed. Said bed was stiff and scratchy sheets tugged at his skin. The worst part was the white. The room was colourless. The walls, white, the bed, white, and the mechanics, white. He wasn't used to this. He was used to the rugged feel of his apartment or the company.

"So you're finally awake."

He blinked, massaged his eyes and looked left. There he was met with the pleasing sight of a young man about 9's age. He had auburn hair that fell short above his eyes and around the nape of his neck. The man was obviously a doctor, clothed in a white jacket, a black collar pecking out over the cuff. A leather patch hugged his left eye; tight enough to hug the skin but thick enough to mask whatever was underneath.

Then his head gave a delayed throb and 9's grip tightened. He gave a small groan before turning to look the doctor in the eye. "I'm in a hospital, right?"

The other nodded. "Yes – 9, right? – a... young lady brought you in... In a wheel barrel."

He must have found the last part extremely funny because in the next second he had his head in his hand, laughing. 9 smiled too; he could picture himself being, quit literally, wheeled into the emergency room with one leg spiked in the air and the other lopped over the side.

Once the laughter had cooled off the doctor finally saw fit too continue; "You had a mild head injury, not severe enough to be called a concussion. We have to run a few tests now that you're awake and then you can be off."

"What kind of tests?" 9 asked. He had a general idea about them, and the doctor only confirmed his thoughts when he took a flashlight out of his pocket.

"The normal ones, shine a light in your eyes, see what you can remember, and if you can do basic math." As he talked he proceeded with the first test. His fingers tugged the lid of 9's eye down gently and the latter forced himself to stare into the too-bright contraption. When the doctor pulled away he muttered something about everything being fine. 9 sighed with relief.

The questions were... monotonous, at best. They were silly little things – like 'what is two plus two', 'the first and last letters of your name' – that the doctor was throwing at him haphazardly. Neither seemed to believe that 9 had any permanent damage.

Finally, the young doctor let 9 go. The man was all to content to pull on his jacket and leave – a hospital was never a place he could be wholly comfortable. "Hey, doc," He paused, turning toward the other. "I didn't catch your name. I'd like to know what to call you when I thank you the next time we met." he smiled.

The doctor quirked an amused eyebrow at him. "It's 5, and I'm just doing me job."

"Just don't forget me."

"How could I? You're the first patient I had come in on three wheels."

A/N: Just a slight drabble... I had planned for this to be a much bigger and thicker story but apparently time made that fly out the window - either that or I'm not meant to write for 9 - outside of Rp's.

Sorry for their OoC'ness. I tried. I really did :

Unbete'd but review if you liked it :)