"Drew? Hey!"

Fingers snapped in Drew's face and he jerked back to reality, blinking in confusion at the janitor, Bill, whose fingers were responsible.

"What?"

"You went blank, right in the middle of my story. What're you thinking about?"

Drew smiled ruefully. "Nothing; I didn't even realize I was doing it." He took a last sip of coffee and checked his watch, more out of habit then anything. Then cursed under his breath. "Sorry, Bill, I lost track of time. You'll have to tell me the rest of that story later; I need to get back on the floor.'

Bill shrugged, glancing at the mop-cart sitting abandoned on the other side of the cafeteria. "Yeah, I should probably go do a spill-check too. Oh, but can I have your sandwich? Unless you plan on cramming it down between patients?"

"Oh, no, go ahead."

He had forgotten to eat lunch. Coffee, somehow, was a priority, but the actual food... he just had no appetite for it. Thankfully, Bill did. The rotund janitor could always be relied upon to make sure good food didn't get wasted, and even better, it wasn't all for himself. Drew had seen the fellow moving boxes at the local food bank and recognized the hospital's icon on some of the leftover containers.

Of course, taking leftovers for redistribution was in blatant violation of Grid Health and Safety Standards, but the hospital and the food bank were off-grid establishments. As long as that status was loudly disclosed, the proprietors gave it the go-ahead, and the off-gridders kept coming, no one could shut them down.

Lost in thought, Drew found himself wandering several turns down from his office when he finally checked room-numbers. He clicked his tongue at his absent-mindedness and turned around, only to jump when he saw Marko standing right there.

"Oh, good morning," Drew said cheerfully, though the sight of the senior doctor was a little unnerving. Marko had a way of only showing up when no one else wanted to tackle a difficult case... or when internal hospital affairs demanded attention.

"Drew," Marko replied with a nod, his tone dead serious. "We need to talk."

A shiver of unusual foreboding ran down Drew's spine. I haven't done anything wrong lately, have I? Besides being a little late getting out of lunch...

Marko wasn't in any mood to beat around the bush. He walked with Drew back to the latter's office, then immediately closed the door behind him. Drew moved cautiously around his desk, making a half-hearted attempt to find something urgent that would get him out of this talk, but there was no avoiding the senior doctor's pointed, silent, command to sit.

Marko didn't immediately follow suit. He stood behind the chair on the other side of Drew's desk for a long moment, half-frowning in thought, then sat down on the very edge and leaned forward with a piercing gaze.

"I'm sorry about this, Drew, but we can't afford to keep letting things slide because of sentimentality. I've given you every chance imaginable, but... there aren't any other chances. You can't keep working here."

The room fell silent. Drew laced his fingers together, running through the brief statement again in his head.

"I don't understand," he said finally.

"The owners, and I, have agreed that you need to be let go."

"Let go?"

"Fired."

Drew closed his eyes, raised his hands rub the bridge of his nose. "What do you mean... 'fired'?"

Marko sighed. "Drew..."

Drew opened his eyes, raising his hand in partial surrender. "I admit I've been a little tardy lately, but you can't be serious about firing me for--"

"A little tardy?" Mark demanded. "You've been coming in late on a regular basis, you've missed entire days without as much as acknowledging it, and when you do show up you're clearly half asleep most of the day. I don't know what you're doing off duty, but it's clearly more important to you then your work here."

"I don't do anything that would hinder my work, and I do not miss days," Drew protested.

"Yes, you do," insisted Marko firmly, "and I have the records if you insist on seeing them to acknowledge that fact. And even if you were showing up when you are supposed to, that leads right into the second major reason for your dismissal. Drew, you are no longer fit to work here."

Drew rose abruptly, shoving his chair back with a wooden screech. "What?"

"You have been misdiagnosing patients, sending lab results to the wrong patients, ordering unnecessary tests and operations... you sent Miss Korely down for Mister Mason's lung surgery this morning, sending her and her parents into a panic, I might add. And then no one could find you to get any answers. Where were you this morning, Drew?"

"Doing my rounds," Drew insisted, horrified, "and I haven't even gotten to Miss Korely yet today. I was going to check in with her after lunch."

Marko gestured vaguely. "This is exactly why you're no longer fit for the duties of a doctor. You have become a danger to our patients, and you can't even see it." Seeing Drew's look of increasing dismay, Marko leaned forward even more. "From friend to friend, you need to start looking after yourself, Drew."

"I don't need looking after."

"You died."

"For a few seconds! You know as well as I do clinical death takes minutes to cause serious brain damage."

"You forget what day it is."

"I'm fine!"

Marko shook his head, but did not reply. He just rose, and even before he said anything, Drew knew his outburst had changed nothing. A cold sinking feeling filled his chest.

"Go home, Drew. Get some rest."

And as if that was enough, Marko turned to leave. Drew lifted a hand, prepared to call him back, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was futile, and he felt suddenly too drained to keep trying.

Fired.

Drew leaned against an overpass, watching the cars zip past below. A box of belongings from his office sat on the sidewalk next to him.

Beautiful view. If I weren't so much of a coward, it would be a great last sight, he thought dismally. He flicked a bit of gravel over the edge, watching it fall. What was that saying? The call of the void? He couldn't remember what that felt like.

Fourteen years, and they threw him out. His entire adult life it had been an empty apartment, dusty files, lonely nights, debt and paycheck-to-paycheck, because saving lives was more important.

Now that was gone.

He flicked another bit of gravel.

He was off the grid, which meant none of the big hospitals would hire him. And the independents... a lot of them had a kind of health-care network of their own. The reasons Marko had given would surely warrant a blacklist warning, and months, if not years, of suspicion from every prospective employer.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. It was dark when he finally picked up his box and began the long, slow walk back to his apartment.

Marko was right about one thing. Rest was sounding very appealing. When he got home, Drew planned to sleep until he dreamt up a new life for himself.

That night, he dreamed of roof-racing, and awoke in the middle of it to the sensation of bugs crawling on his arms.

He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. There were no bugs, of course, but the feeling was very present and refused to fade by itself. He scrubbed at his hands and arms for several long minutes before it was finally gone.

His hands were red from the cold water. For some reason the sight of them made Drew's stomach lurch, and he leaned against the sink breathing hard.

His co-workers had been saying he looked tired lately. If only they knew what his nights really were.

When he felt well enough to move, he headed for the kitchen. As tired as he was, he knew there would be no sleep for him for another hour, at least. There was half a cup of coffee in his machine, which he poured to drink cold. Too weary to do anything else, he put in an old movie to distract himself. Even so, that bugs-crawling feeling kept trying to creep back into his arms, and he had to keep rubbing it away.

Halfway through the movie, the thought of work in the morning came to him, a comforting reminder that he needed to get some sleep. He had pulled the disc and was almost done putting it away before he remembered there was no work for him the next morning.

Nausea struck, and he ran for the bathroom again.

He spent the rest of the night in bed, sobbing.