So much white.
He staggered and fell against a wall. It held him up, but it was cold. Cold with that brick and stone feel that crept through his bare skin and the material of his...he looked down. Red shirt. Jeans.
Boots.
A blink.
The corridor was a long one.
And ever so white.
The linoleum on the floor looked hard and unforgiving.
There was an urge to go down the corridor. It was a physical thing.
He took a step and his body complained.
Body?
He looked down again and found tanned skin and the tight muscles of his forearm.
His fist was clenched.
And bloody.
He blinked again.
He needed to...
...go down the corridor.
One step became several and he found bile welling in his throat. But there was a door at the end of the corridor, one he had to get to. Even if he didn't know why, the drive was so, so strong.
He had to get there, or die trying.
Something ran into his eye and he wiped it away.
His feet shuffled as his legs threatened to dump him on the floor and he stumbled more against the wall, but he made his way down the corridor.
The white, hospital corridor.
To the door.
He needed to go into that room.
A brush of his hand against the wall and its white became red.
Somewhere in the back of his mind someone was screaming.
It was possibly himself.
Though as he wasn't sure exactly who he was, so he wasn't sure.
Eyes of many different colours skipped though his mind mouthing a name he couldn't hear.
But he had to get to that room.
Get to the room.
Why?
But the urge didn't answer, it just pushed him forward until he stumbled across the gap between one side of the corridor and the other and he fell against the door.
It opened under his weight and he fell through it.
He caught himself on it at the last moment, just managing to keep his feet as the world spun, not appreciating the sudden movement at all.
The scene in the room slapped him in the face.
A man sitting up in bed, smiling at another man beside him.
The first had dark hair and vivid blue eyes, the second had red hair and the moment they caught sight of him, their expressions shattered. Both started moving. There was yelling.
A name.
A name.
The red haired man was suddenly in his face, clutching at him, blue-green eyes hypnotic. He was demanding something while yelling at the other man to stay in bed.
Everything hurt.
And there was something he had to tell them.
Something very important. It was the entire reason for all of this, for the fight, for the escape, for the blood on his hands.
Someone was yelling for security and he realised he had closed his eyes.
The world was slipping.
No.
He had to tell them.
They were more important than anything.
More important than breathing.
More important...
"They've got Gordon."
-o-o-o-