The subtle yet ever-present beep prevented Rocky from slipping too far in his memories. He stared lethargically at his father, a tiny presence in the deepest depths of his conscience still hoping for any kind of twitch or movement from the lifeless body on the pristine hospital bed. His sharp focus deliberately ignored the vase of completely wilted, almost fossilized, dry broken stems and crackled pieces of brown petals scattered on the synthesized pink granite standard-issue bedside table. A satin blue bow sat untouched and vibrant wrapped around the curve of the generic glass bottle, a falsely optimistic message written in raised plastic on a sign at the junction of the ribbon, 'Get well soon!

'

Rocky tore his gaze reluctantly away to look at his watch, the time passing excruciatingly slowly, but gone before he knew it. With a sigh that exhibited the pain of years of daily heartbreak, he stood and headed to the cheap not-quite-wooden door, heavy footsteps echoing from the plodding thumps of thick rubber soles meeting bland speckled white linoleum tiles.

He paused, one hand grasping the cold brushed metal doorknob, and his eyes rose over his shoulder to give his dad a parting nod before preparing his demeanor for the outside world and briskly exiting the room.

He only walked a couple of yards before pausing again, this time looking to his right. He was met with a manila folder at eye level taped to another hospital room door, a name hastily scribbled in pen the only clue as to the identity of the inhabitant. After a moment's hesitation, Rocky tentatively cracked the door open, risking a peek at the green-haired wonderboy who had managed to defeat the odds and stay alive.

It had been a year, give or take a month or two, since the mysterious patient had been admitted. Other than the lingering effects of the shock his body went through when receiving the necessary blood transfusions, he had no extensive damage to any organs. Unfortunately, the effects that kept him comatose were to be attributed to the brain damage incurred when the blood flow had been interrupted.

The intricate network of cells in the brain could, in some cases, be fixed. However, the healing process is painstakingly slow, if it goes underway at all. Even though the damage done to his body and mind was extensive, it was not necessarily irreparable.

"Lucky bastard."

Rocky observed the figure on the bed, still lithe and formidable, but it was painfully obvious that the muscle mass he once prided himself in had atrophied visibly over the last year of complete idleness. There were nurses who would stretch the muscles daily so they wouldn't freeze permanently, but it wouldn't prevent the decay of strength.

If anything, there was no doubt that if or when Spike woke up, he would have no trouble with his flexibility. The nurses practically jumped at the chance to work with this handsome enigma simply dubbed "Tsunami". According to popular consensus, there had never been a sexier coma victim in the solar system.

He took a glance at the charts placed at the end of Spike's bed, taking note of the fact that although all of his injuries on the surface had long since healed, his overall condition hadn't changed. He frowned momentarily, wondering if it had been worth it at all to keep him alive, and pay for it himself, when he would probably never wake up.

Another thought shattered the doubt when he realized that if there was one person out there who loved Spike as much as he loved his own father, and he let him die, he would never be able to handle the guilt. If he ever found that person, he knew it would alleviate the awful ache in his heart if he could confidently say he did all he could to save him.

Money wasn't an issue. His father had left him a small fortune before the incident that stole away his consciousness occurred. Rocky was the only remaining member of his family, not dead or comatose. His mother had died giving birth to him and a twin brother, who was born sickly and died a week later. Tornado had done all that was in his power to make sure that Rocky did not suffer the same fate as his brother, and so forged a bond between them that would last both of their lifetimes. He never even let Rocky join the syndicate, for fear of losing another life to common rival warfare.

As such, Rocky became inspired to go to medical school, where he studied to become a surgeon. He had been an EMT for two years as a part of his training, and was currently interning with a surgeon at the hospital. He was at the end of his shift at nine o'clock at night when he went to visit his father, meaning by the time he checked on Spike, it was long past eleven, and he couldn't stay much longer if he wanted to wake up coherent the next morning.

He idly noticed the several small gifts and balloons by his bed, tokens of part-admiration, part-infatuation from some of the nurses in hopes of him waking and recognizing one of them as his savior, or with other equally silly motives. From the little he knew about Spike, to have cheated death at least twice and still be alive, if not to talk about it then at least to have the potential to someday, was quite an accomplishment in itself. He probably deserved much more admiration than being crushed on by some young optimistic and intelligent yet bored girls whose duty it was to look after the unconscious.

There was definitely something different about Spike that drew people to him; he seemed so strong, both physically and mentally, yet also very sad, like he had never found true peace in his life since he had lost it the first time. He had known real happiness with a family and friends and a future, and then it was all ripped away from him. He had healed those wounds and moved on, escalating to great heights as a man before it came crashing down again.

All that Rocky had heard was that a young upstart named Vicious had invoked a group of top members of the syndicate to rebel; they killed a few of Mao's closest advisors and friends, Jack Spiegel one of them. Somehow in all this, Tornado had been shot and left for dead—almost like Spike had been recently. The only difference was Tornado hadn't been able to receive help for at least an hour after blood loss had numbed him to the point of collapse. Spike was believed to have died during the massacre as well, but somehow he had managed to escape, apparently.

As for everything that happened after that, Rocky could only guess. He knew that Spike hadn't been dead for three years, at least. Rocky was already eighteen at the time of the incident, and so when his father was effectively incapacitated, he was still able to carry on and start college that fall.

Nothing had been the same since then. Rumors were exchanged around the city of Tharsis; stories of a romance gone wrong and a jealous boyfriend turning psychotic and killing his girlfriend's lover and his entire family. No one knew what to believe, and what was just total bullshit. Rocky was more in the loop than the general public, but even he only knew the vague circumstances, and wisely kept those facts to himself.

Tornado had hinted before the incident that certain members of the syndicate were perhaps less than trustworthy, but he preferred to keep the details to himself, trying to avoid getting his son any more involved in the mess than he had to be.

So Rocky was left trying to piece things together, picking up tiny clues his father let slip unintentionally, and he was still no closer to discovering the truth about everything that had happened. Maybe, if Spike ever woke up, he could finally know.

A slight rustle stirred him out of his thoughts and he slowly raised his head, the heart monitor machine speeding up to a quick galloping pace, matching his own accelerating heartbeat. Spike's eyes fluttered open and rich garnet-tinted topaz met sapphire blue. Rocky froze.

"I...Faye...where's Faye..."

Rocky opened his mouth to try and answer that he had no idea where she was, or who she was, for that matter, but his voice would not comply.

"It's Julia. She needs to know...I never told her..."

Spike's natural eye was glazed over, the other one unchanged and blank, and he was breathing heavily as though it drained him to keep them open at all.

"You...you've been in a coma for a year, Spike. You're in a hospital...No one knows you're here though."

Thankful for finding his vocal cords again, Rocky watched Spike as he clenched his fists on the white sheets and closed his eyes despondently.

"So...do they think I'm dead?"

His hoarse, long-unused voice grew quiet and cracked slightly in dread.

"Y-yes."

Spike's breathing stopped sharply and the heart monitor started racing. Rocky rushed to his side and shook his shoulders; his medical training advising against such violent movements, but his mind was still in shock from him waking up at all. He pushed the emergency call button near the bedside and requested a doctor come to see him immediately, trying his best to stay calm while the formerly-coherent and conscious man convulsed in the bed at his side.

Less than thirty seconds later the door burst open and a man and two women in scrubs and masks took over Rocky's position next to Spike, and the doctor immediately began CPR as the foreboding beeps of the heart monitor grew steadily more desultory and rapid. The line went flat.

Rocky swallowed the lump in his throat and his vision grew cloudy as he backed up into the lone visitor's chair in the room. He covered his face with his hands and sunk his elbows into his lap.

It couldn't happen...he couldn't die now. He was the lucky one, the one who was saved early enough to live. He woke up, for goodness' sake. He couldn't just die.

He was special. He had to live.

The solid tone suddenly broke up again—slowly regaining a rhythm as the doctor and two nurses sighed in relief simultaneously and started removing their latex gloves. Rocky switched a glance upwards in thanks as the younger of the two nurses moved towards him.

"It's a good thing you were here, Rocky. He might have died." She gave him a genuine smile and crouched down to meet his shocked but calmed eyes with her own appreciative gaze. She gently placed her hand on his knee and smiled again in reassurance as his stare faltered.

"He woke up. He woke up...then he just...seized up and his heartbeat went haywire..."

"He wasn't strong enough yet to stay awake for very long. Nothing's any worse, he just went back to sleep. He's still healing on the inside. It might take as long as a few years to repair the damage, but the fact that he woke up at all is...a miracle. It has to mean something's going right. Just be patient," she stood back up and smoothed out her scrubs, all the while keeping the helpful smile on her face.

"He's still in there somewhere."