The ceiling was white acoustic tile, with hard white florescent light panels.
It was an unfamiliar ceiling.
Well, so was the rest of the room. A soft beeping- rhythmic and high pitched; sounding shrill in the small room was the only noise. Only the faint scent of disinfectant, and the sound of dust dancing in the breeze of the air conditioner in a shaft of sunlight that shot into his room, reflecting off the white tile floor and casting a haze up the walls. The light didn't quite reach him- his bed was in the center of the room. There was a soft beeping noise, a steady rhythm.
Probably... it was one-o'clock in the after noon. He blinked.
He'd forgotten about the rest of his body, it was numb, thankfully. He probably didn't want to know what it felt like. What had happened?
A motorcycle- girl with red hair flying down the street, just as he stepped onto the crosswalk- right turn on red. Dodge- light green- car...
He forced his eyes open again in a desperate measure to blank out the images. That wasn't what happened at all! What had happened?
Redhead- sword, flying towards him- No time to move- pain! Right in the heart- her friends watching...
A click- the door opened with a soft swish. That girl... His eyes shifted towards her as the redhead paused. She was... very short. Her cheek had a bruise, deep purple covering the side of her face and threatening to give her a black eye, her hand was bandaged. Was that all? In her arms she held a large vase of flowers, barely able to see over them. After a moment of hesitation, she stepped forward, setting the vase on a table beside his bed. His eyes followed her.
Swallowing, she looked down at her hands, and then scratched the side of her nose. "I... wanted to apologize again," she said softly. "It was my fault..."
He stared at her, listening to the dust motes as silence fell.
Finally, she lifted her eyes- then frowned, leaning forward a bit, "I thought... your eyes were blue," she murmured, then moved back again, "sorry, I just... I don't think I'll ever forget what happened." Her red-brown eyes watered. She had very large eyes, a pixie like face, very tiny body. His eyes settled upon her A-32's... Remembering himself, he flicked his eyes back up towards her face- finding her glaring at him. "I wanted to ask something too. How did you know my name?"
For a long moment, silence fell again. Stupid beeping noise, it was really starting to get on his nerves- and the rhythm had picked up. "Well?" she asked.
Once more, he closed his eyes, feeling as if he knew this girl- but didn't. Forcing a swallow with his dry mouth, he licked his lips, prying them apart with a sticky tongue. Ugh, he wanted to brush his teeth. "I don't know," he forced out, voice cracking.
"What do you mean you don't know!" she raised her voice, shouting at him, then clamped her lips shut, looking back towards the still open door. "You asked me about the future," she gestured vaguely towards the flowers.
He looked towards them. "...Great big beautiful flower," he murmured.
She nodded, "So how did you know my name?"
Admittedly, he did feel as if he knew her, but darkness was creeping in at the edges of his vision again. He opened his mouth to tell her something, but the thought slipped away before he could get a better hold on it. The world faded.
An echo of a voice, "Ma'am! You're not supposed to be here..."
There was a young woman with dark hair standing next to his bed, fingers lightly pinching his wrist, her eyes intent on her watch as she silently counted. He stared up at her quietly for a second. "Sylphiel?" he asked her.
Her head lifted and she looked towards him, her nametag said 'S. Raada'. Softly, her lips moved into a smile that warmed his heart, her hand moving to his forehead, brushing his maroon bangs back from his eyes. "You're doing very well, better than we hoped," she told him, her green eyes sparkling. "Better than we expected actually."
His eyes moved towards the vase on the table beside him- the one the redhead had left. The flowers were wilting. Outside it was still day, but earlier, barely past dawn. "Where am I?"
She straightened, picking up her clipboard, writing down something before she answered him. "You're in Holy Flagoon Hospital, the critical care ward," she smiled once more, clasping her clipboard against her thighs with both hands, tipping her head to the side- hair falling across her shoulder in a soft ripple. Her clothes were all white, a short shirt and skirt outfit and a little white hat, a little red circle emblem on her right breast, her nametag on the left.
"May I have some water?"
Once more, her lips smiled, sending a flicker of amazement through his heart. She set the clipboard down on his shins, moving off briefly and returning with the requested water. Hitting a button, he was raised the upper end of his bed slightly and she held the paper cup to his lips. His upper body felt strange, his left arm held out at a weird angle, something was wrapped around his chest, constricting his breathing, and further down, his left leg was wrapped in something hard and gritty feeling. He sipped the offered water, nearly choked, but drank as much as he could, emptying the cup. "It's good that you're thirsty," she told him, "Means your body is starting to work right again." Gentle fingers touched his hair again, caressing it lightly, her eyes soft and encouraging. "Can you remember anything about what happened?"
A wave of pain spiked through him as he coughed, the edges of the room turning black- those waves of chaos lapping at his world. He focused his eyes on hers, forcing those waves back. No- he didn't want to go there again. "I destroyed Sairaag," he told her, "You killed me- you and... that redhead."
Her eyes went wide, then sad, "No sir, that didn't happen."
"Didn't... happen? No wonder you can smile at me." His eyes turned towards the flowers again, they were old, not dried out, as if someone had watered them, "You took care of them?" he asked softly, "You talked to me..."
Again, she smiled, "Yes, I did. You haven't had any visitors and I always found that people seem to heal faster when they're getting a little bit of attention every day." Once more, her hand was running through his hair- a very soothing gesture and his eyes fell half lidded. Her thumb gently caressed across his eyebrow, smoothing the short hairs there.
"Would you forgive me... if I did destroy Sairaag?"
She looked a bit worried, "It would depend, I suppose... on why."
He wanted to shake his head, but couldn't find the strength to do so. "Because- I couldn't stop her... I was weak and couldn't stop her from making me." He closed his eyes- seeing the woman with black hair and hard hazel eyes- standing over him, "Am I nothing but a copy?"
The air shifted and he opened his eyes, looking up at Ms. S. Raada, "I don't think that happened, sir," she repeated softly. Her hair fell forward over her shoulder as she bent over him, piling on his chest; she smelled like flowers and somehow he found the strength to move his right hand a fraction of an inch from where it rested on his chest, touching those silken dark strands. The beeping picked up in time with his heart.
Blushing, she straightened, hands pulling her short jacket down and brushing wrinkles from her skirt. Lifting her eyes to meet his again, she smiled. "You don't have any twins," she told him reassuringly, "so you couldn't possibly be a copy." She laughed softly, "Otherwise, what would they be using to make you? A Xerox machine? Besides, even twins are different from each other, they may be similar, but they'll always be different in some ways."
For a moment, he was shocked, then laughed, though he didn't have the strength to give more than a few breathy cough-like sounds, though his smile stayed in place. "Thank you... Sylphiel."
"You're welcome," she replied, genuinely pleased to see him smiling. Reaching out, she took her clipboard and moved to the end of the bed, hooking it there. Lifting her eyes back towards his, she smiled once more. "Try and rest, get better- get stronger so you can live your new life."
His fingers curled on the bed sheet. "Sylphiel... to you... who am I?"
Slender fingers lifted a lock of her hair, playing idly with the ends. "I don't know yet," she replied, looking down shyly, "I'm not supposed to get too involved with patients." Her eyes flicked upwards again, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "But I'll tell you what I see; I see a young man with a very bright future ahead of him." Dropping her hair, she patted his ankle gently. "So get better so you can get out there and find out what it is."
He watched as she left, feeling the shadow of her touch on his face still, heart still beating somewhat fast. Settling back in his bed, he stared forward; glad that she'd left him sitting up- now he could see more of the room. Though there wasn't much to see, just gray walls, white tile floor, a white ceiling, and a metal pole with a bag hanging from it- a plastic tube running between it and a needle in the back of his right hand.
At least now, he could take better inventory of his body, the befuddlement of sleep slipping away and leaving only his confused memories. His left arm was covered from wrist to shoulder in hard plaster. He tried to move his fingers and a stab of pain made him stop quickly. Two small patches were stuck on his chest beneath a light wrap of bandaging; they pulled a little as he breathed. Breathing hurt, as if his chest had been split in two and was barely held together. His left leg was in a cast as well, from knee down to his toes.
A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered something that... didn't happen? It involved the woman in black and some machine that fed him and regenerated his power when he used too much...
Didn't happen? How was she so sure of that? He definitely remembered it. Sylphiel had been so upset about him destroying Flagoon too.
Managing to turn his head, he looked out the window at the giant tree he could see in the distance. "Flagoon..." he whispered. It still stood, and he was obviously not buried under it. If he didn't destroy Sairaag, then what really happened?
Closing his eyes and forcing himself to think back to those moments of sheer panic, he desperately tried to sort though everything that had happened. At last, he came up with two scenarios- one where a redhead ran him through with a sword, the second where she came tearing around a corner doing a right on red with a motorcycle and he'd leaped back, then barely dodged an oncoming car only to be hit with the motorcycle. If... the one with the sword didn't happen- hypothetical question, as he knew in his heart that it did- then the other version must be true.
That begged the question...
"Who am I?"
Fatigue caught up with him at last and he allowed the darkness to claim him once more. He could figure out the rest later. Sylphiel seemed to believe he had plenty of time.