Despite his profession, Christopher O'tool could not admit to finding any real pleasure in his workspace. Oh, he loved helping people. The thrill of finding out what was wrong and fixing it, seeing someone go from unhealthy and ailing to recovered and strong, there was nothing like it in the entire world. He would have given anything in the world to make it happen anywhere other than the sterile, medicine-scented white halls of the hospital. Especially now.<br/><br/>He walked into her room and only narrowly missed the janitor with the door. "Shit--sorry, Alek," he muttered, still half awake. The coffee in his hand had yet to properly settle in, and he took another sip as he stepped more carefully into the room. The janitor waved it off.<br/><br/>"Don't sweat it, I was just wrapping up. You're here early, though."<br/><br/>"Yeah. Had to get ahead of Satan. Oh, ha, silly me, I meant Doctor Hooke." Chris settled into the chair next to the bed, sparing a brief glance at the beeping EKG machine. He set his things on the table next to her bed but did his best to avoid looking right at her. It was hard, still, to see her like that. "I don't suppose she sat up and told you she's faking it?" he asked as Alek went for the door, but the man only gave Chris a sad smile.<br/><br/>"Sorry, doc. You'll be the first to know if she does."<br/><br/>"Thanks. Have a good morning, Alek." Chris leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. Like most doctors, he was in desperate need of a shave, though he had yet to bloom into a full Viking display of hairy glory. His dishwasher-blonde hair was carefully combed and professionally styled, with just the right amount of product to keep it in place no matter how many times he touched it. Or, more appropriately, his best guess. Erin had always known just the right amount to put in. She had laughed the first time he'd come out of the bathroom with mousse in his hair, then turned him right back around to clean it out and have another go. Ever since he'd relied on her to take care of that detail. Until now, anyway.<br/><br/>He scanned a few documents and charts he'd brought along, other patients that Madelyn Hooke had insisted he attend to.<i>To help you move on,</i>she had said.<i>To help you feel like there's something you can do.</i>Chris hadn't liked it, but if she needed to know he could work while his fiance lay comatose in a hospital bed he would prove it to her. After twenty minutes, though, he decided he'd stalled long enough. His eyes turned from pages of information to a bruised hand and an arm with needles stuck into it. He reached out to take that hand, gently lacing their fingers together as his eyes continued up past her shoulder, to a face covered in bruises and wrapped in bandages.<br/><br/>"Morning, baby," he said quietly. "It's Chris. Let's see... what is there to tell you..."<br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/>DreamDeeper in the trees something moved. Slow and careful at first, every movement wary and slow. One foot in front of the other, a soft pace through trees and branches. He held a bow in one hand, an arrow strung and ready to be drawn. He slowed to a stop when he saw the bearded man laying there, and his eyes widened when he saw the flying girl appear. He waited until she drew nearer and spoke before he made himself known, straightening and holding his bow arrow down. "Hoy, there," he called softly, so as not to scare her, "I don't think he's going to wake up. Not many do when they fall as quick as he did."