He squeezed lightly when his hand was taken, and listened. "I would rather listen to what you have to say then try to talk it out of you. How else would I be supposed to even try and understand what you're feeling?" At the mention of the drawings, Sasha smiled and lifted his hand to squeeze Michael's shoulder lightly. "You are, very good. There's no way anyone could miss the emotions you portrayed. And .. I .. I'm flattered you drew me." More then that, he was amazed to have made such an impression on the other man. They had, after all, known each other only a couple of days.

Michael smiled a little. "I... well, that's nice... I hoped you wouldn't mind..." He nodded a bit, going through the pages again. There was the cat his parents had had. A skinny thing with a tail that probably weighed more than the rest of it,and large, floppy ears that reminded him of a dog. It was such a friendly thing, but it was probably dead now. And another picture before that, someone he had started to like when he was younger. Thirteen, perhaps. He had been young then---maybe that boy didn't even know he was alive now. Maybe that didn't matter. Another, even earlier than that picture---his parents' house. Two stories, arced windows, a large, green yard. Or, it was green in his mind. That tree was ancient in his eyes, and from one of its huge branches, a rope swing hung.

"I can't help but wonder if they care that I've been found." He muttered. Some time ago, Michael had drawn that man and woman from memory, but didn't want to go back that far. "Maybe they do. Maybe they'll be here tomorrow, or... sometime soon." He did torment himself with that. He wanted to see his parents again and be able to hug them after so long. Michael shook his head, passing the book back to Sasha.

"Would you like to call them? I can ... get their contact information easily." The hospital had it all, and Sasha had looked it up before ever meeting Michael. They were the other man's parents. He had a hard time believing that they wanted to hear nothing from him, not a word, not a sound. Biting his lower lip, the pale haired man fished his cellphone from his pocket. Carrying it around was a bad habit, a truly horrible one. He held it out in the palm of his hand, the number ready to be dialed. All it would take was a the push of a button, and Michael would have the chance to speak with the people he hadn't seen for seven long years.

Michael shook his head quickly, pressing his hand over Sasha's. "Please, no... I don't... I don't want to push... I don't want to... hurt them more than they've been... I would rather they contact me first. If they want to..." He disabled the call, pressing it back to Sasha. "I just hope they... will. Without me forcing them." He blinked hard, finding a pencil on one of the bedside table and flipped to a free page, bending over it slowly. "I just don't want to cause upset." He muttered, drawing thin lines. Whatever it turned out to be, he didn't know yet.

With a small sigh, he accepted the phone. Though he didn't agree with what the other man had decided to do, he wouldn't go against him... not yet, not now. Perhaps later, once Michael was feeling more secure, but then wasn't the time. "They will, I'm sure they will." Stomach grumbling reminded him of what time it was. Dinner already! Sasha smiled as he shifted from the bed and headed towards the doorway. "I'm going out for a stint in the maternity ward today, but before that I'll be making sure your dinner gets to you. Alright? And don't forget about my pager."

After hearing Michael's thoughts, those notions he had, when he was alone, Sasha wasn't sure leaving him was the best choice. But ... he had to trust him, trust that Michael did want to live. Without that will, what use was there in trying to keep him alive and well? He had to want to stay.

Michael glanced at the clock nearby. It was so late already. How did that happen? He shook his head, watching Sasha go toward the door. He nodded quickly, resting his pencil on the bed and looking to where he had laid the pager. "It'll be fine, Sasha." He said. "You don't have to look so worried..." He smiled quietly, and tilted his head down again, brushing the damp strands of hair from his eyes when they fell to block his view. Maybe he could draw Sasha again. The only kindness he'd been truly shown since seeing the sun again. Or he could start work on another figurine for him. Perhaps a delicate thing. A rose. That would take days to make, even with his nights being made up of sleeplessness.

He started sketching with intent now. He would mount it to a base which he would cover with silver powder to give it a reflective glow. What colors did each color of rose mean? He would have to ask for a book if he wanted it to come across as friendly as possible.

"I'll try not to be." Sasha waved a little, and smiled as he turned away to slip from the room. He couldn't bring himself to walk too quickly. In a way he felt like he was abandoning the other man, as unreasonable as that was. Shaking his head, Sasha wandered into the cafeteria to order his food and speak to one of the people responsible for bringing up food to Michael's room. Once that was taken care of it was easy to wander away into the maternity section of the hospital.

The sight of so many babies had him smiling brightly. There was a lot to learn though. Details to be taken care of abounded, and then there was the sad sight of premature children behind plastic walls, needing help to breathe. Then there were those he could help, delivering a newborn life to it's parents and helping them to cradle the new person in their arms. It was magical.

He worked hard on the drawings. He made specific drawings of what the base would look like---the stem would split into five small root-like fingers that would grip the base it would lie on. There would be two leaves, twisted around the stem near the top, and the petals would be spread brightly, like open arms. When Millie came in with a tray, he asked if the hospital had any books regarding roses or flowers in general. She grinned widely---one of a few happy, kind faces in a sea of seriousness and indifference---and nodded, saying she had one she would read to come up with ideas for her gardens at home, and would bring it up from her locker. She wheeled her cart away, a little quicker this time, and Michael set his notebook and pencil aside and looked at what he'd been given. A sandwich, this time. It looked somewhat soft, but inside were vegetables that, when he tested one, crunched under a bite.

Had Sasha convinced them to give him slightly harder foods? He smiled a little to himself, picking the thing up and biting into it, forcing his teeth down a little harder this time than someone else would have had to endure. He'd been given spiced apple slices as well, and they were warm, perhaps baked to take the worst of the toughness out. On the plate that had held the sandwich was a salad, and water beside it. He would often hear about terrible hospital food, but he couldn't call this terrible. Anything more than the soft, milky mush was beautiful to him. As he ate, Michael worked more on his concept, and Millie returned with a book. He thanked her, sliding it into a drawer for evening.

New life surrounded him, and yet his thoughts kept straying to an older life, bound forever to be in pain. Sasha could wish and hope that things would improve for Michael, but ... It didn't seem like they would. Oh but the children he saw, they had their whole lives ahead of them. Though some might have had a chancy beginning, he was sure they would improve, grow stronger then any of the others, because they knew right from the beginning that they needed to fight in order to survive.

Michael needed to fight in just the same way. The thought pushed Sasha into working harder that day then he ever had before. When he returned to Michael's room, and consequently his own adjoining one, all he wanted to do was collapse on the bed.. But he knew he couldn't do that, as he walked past the doorway. "Hey, how was your day?" His smile was an exhausted one.

His drawings took up two total pages, both the front and the back. He wanted to make sure he knew what he was going to do, wanted to make sure he wouldn't mess anything up and the creation would be perfect. He would have to be careful. Very careful. He would have to work on it for several days, perhaps, but it would have to be worth it in the end. It would be if it made Sasha smile. He wanted to make people smile, make them feel good. Sasha, perhaps, especially so.

He sighed, feeling tired but unable to rest, as Sasha stepped inside. "Ah... It was... normal. Or better than normal, but only normal when you were away..." He turned a few pages in his book and revealed a clean page, using a small sharpener to put a stronger point on his pencil. "You look rather tired... I hope you didn't work too hard... Ah... perhaps tomorrow, when we have some free time... we could go outside? I want to see the... the garden that's out there for the more permanent patients... I heard they're nice, and I haven't really been outside since coming here..." And the sun would have to be good on his skin. And he would be able to see the world again. He did want to see that, but only if Sasha felt up to it.

Sasha moved to sit upon the bedside with a care not to disturb Michael in anyway. Wearily, his shoulder slumped and he let his hands hang limply from his thighs. " The gardens, yes ... That would be nice. Tomorrow evening, then. I need to take care of a morning shift in the maternity ward. Tonight .. Ah tonight, I just wish I could relax." The words left his lips thoughtlessly. Once they were gone, flew through the air, Sasha regretted them immediately.

Surely they would affect Michael, make him think of himself as a burden again, when he was anything but. It was nice, walking into the room, knowing he would be welcome by the other man. A feeling like that, the sentiment, couldn't be replaced and Sasha was fast becoming used to it.

Michael looked down, biting his lips silently. What did that mean, he wondered? He had a hard time picking up on verbal cues, so he probably mistook the tone in Sasha's voice as annoyance. "You can..." He said quietly, moving his pencil lightly and in broad strokes. It would be part of a long oval for a rose-draped frame. "... I don't need someone here at all times, even if they think otherwise... I'm no child... A-and I have a call if I need it." He looked around at the phone on his beside table, and the red cord that looked like the ones in his bathroom. He was never far from a warning call if he needed one.

He closed the oval and began work on small roses and their thorny vines. "I can understand how tired you are... In a way. I'm always tired. But that's because of the sedatives, painkillers, and antidepressants I'm on..." As if reading his mind, a young man---a nurse---came in with a small tray. Michael recognized him. He was one of the more easy-going ones, but never tried to make much small talk. "Hey Mike, ready for your evening medication?"

He nodded, glancing at Sasha and holding out his hand to accept the small plastic cup and small glass of water. He only momentarily glanced into the cup---there had to be a dozen pills in it, maybe more, and he took them every morning and every evening, though Sasha hadn't seen him take them last night. He swallowed them quickly, grimacing at the few that seemed to stick in his throat until minutes later, and nodded to the nurse as he left with a quick "Good night".

Of course it had come across as wrong. Sasha shook his head, waiting for the right moment to speak. It was appalling to see how many pills Michael had to swallow, even more so when one knew how uneffective they were, how useless it seemed to be. He waited until the nurse had left, spending a small moment to ask about the medication prescribed, what effects and side effects they might have. Someone had to be informed of such things, so they could be explained, and examined.

"I would like you to help me wind down, Michael ... You're my friend, someone I can talk with about the things that have bothered me today. " He smiled. "And even in taking care of you, I can relax."

He smiled a little, still swallowing every few moments to get the feeling of stuck tablets out of his throat, and looked down at his current work. It was rather sketchy still, but obvious. "I guess I can try. I wouldn't mind listening to what's been bothering you. Maybe know you a little better. Like what your home life is like... Did things go wrong today?" He looked at Sasha with a knitted brow, partly focusing on his roses and their twisting vines and spiked leaves. The sedatives he was given wouldn't work. They wouldn't work as much as the painkillers didn't seem to work. Every small twitch made his muscles burn a little, prickle with pain as if he were lying on a bed of porcupines.

Who would he put in the frame he worked on? Perhaps his mother, the last time he saw her. Sweet, soft-faced, bright-eyed. They lived in a world free of pain or problems before Michael was stolen away. What happened after that, after the broadcasted pleas for their son back began to fade away, he didn't know. Perhaps she had aged far more than she should have. Perhaps she had gone back to a normal life. But he wanted to remember her as she was then. And the very same went for his father, a young-looking man. Thinking back, Michael had always thought they looked rather old. The concept of a young mind, perhaps.

The tanned man smiled a bit, glad to see that he had managed to reassure his charge in even such a small way. "Today, well we lost one of the premature babies ..." Lowering his gaze, Sasha stared at his now clasped hands. "The doctors, I, we did all we could but it wasn't enough. Now the parents need to be told ..." Shaking his head, the young man tried to find some way to let the feeling of crushing guilt, of sorrow, slip away. It was impossible.

"But that was the only incident. All the other newborns did very well, and the deliveries went smoothly." Sasha knew Michael has asked about other things, but his mind rested upon that day's loss. It hit him hard. He cared too much, too fast.

Michael's brows knitted in a pained manner, and he set his pencil down, grasping Sasha's hand and squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry you lost one." He said quietly. "That has to be so hard... To lose a child so young. They don't have a chance to know the world... their family... and it hurts the family too... so bad. Losing the newest member of their life." He looked down at his paper. "Sasha... maybe I could make them something... something to... remember their baby by. So they know their baby isn't forgotten..."

His voice caught. Thinking about a child born so early, and so immediately taken away from their families, their potential life, what they could be but never would be, was as painful as his physical situation. That way he wouldn't have to wonder what to draw within the frame. And that way, he didn't have to dwell on his mother. What his mother used to be. It wasn't healthy, so he was told. And he wanted the young one to be remembered.

"I'm sure they would enjoy that, Michael." Which reminded him about his own plan to try and bring some cheer to the other man's life. Animal visits were after all very good therapy for people. If anyone needed some good cheer, it was Michael. Of course Sasha did what he could but ... In his current state of mind, he wasn't much help to anyone, certainly not himself. He sighed, long and loud. Shaking his head, Sasha smiled ruefully.

He reached out even so, to press his hand upon the other man's arm.