Zac looked back at the old man who was making his way towards the cafeteria's exit, muttering to himself as he walked. His hat was slit upward off his face at the sounds of the oldster.
"Bernadette?" Grampy said, and his pocket caught on the corner of the serving line as he stumbled out of the cafeteria. Buttons spilled from the ruined pocket, falling to the hard tiles of the floor, spinning and bouncing in every direction with the sound of hundred of pebbles.
Grampy continued on - his eyes focused on something far away - his vision, his heaven. "Bernadette..." he whispered. His knees weren't working. He skid on a stray button, and his hand reached out for the support of the corridor wall. "So beautiful..." his whispy old voice uttered with no one to hear. A yellow tear formed in the corner of his eye. In slow motion - he saw it, what he saw that morning, what set him to settling the one or two affairs he had left - a visit to the Freemen memorial; a final game of cards with his best pal. He headed for the door, but he saw not the swinging doors; rather, a light.
A nimbus surrounding the fresh faced figure of woman, before the bombs fell - before the fires, before the long, long nights of shivering cold. "Oh, Bernadette... " he said and he vanished through the doors, his legs working now. He was strong back then - he weathered through the storms.
He felt that strength renew him and he simply...stepped into the light.
The One-eyed man showed no signs of surprise or concern for the old man, instead he waited for the other man to say something, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out of the pack slowly and putting it to his lips.
When nothing else was immediately said, Zac stood slowly, without regarding the other man any further, picking up his things and making his way out of the cafeteria, towards the ambulance bays he walked out into the street where his TX6600 sat in the street, retrieving two pint containers full of lighter fluid. The unlit cigarette still dangled from his lip as he moved back into the ambulance bay. He stopped near an ambulance that was up on blocks, the one that Ash had been working on for a while, trying to get it back into working order. He set the pints down on the bumper of the ambulance, pulling a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and lighting the cigarette.
An orderly found his body, laid out flat, face down just outside the doors. He went through the motions of trying to save him; but, it's clear, the old man - Grampy - the one who collected buttons - was dead.
The ambulance bays were quiet and empty.
One last button, from the old man's own coat rolled to Zac's feet.
Inside he felt a sudden sense of loss, though know the man, he did not. He heard the plink and trickle of the button and watched it skitter to his feet. Then he reached down, slowly, carefully and picked it up feeling the cool plastic against his fingertips. He stood back up, eyeing the circle then slipped it into his shirt pocket. Patting it, he watched as the old man's feet slipped away on the gurney past the door. The orderly would no doubt deposit the man's body into recycling. He pulled on the cigarette, letting the string of smoke curl it's way deep into his lungs, holding onto it for a moment before letting it go.
In a quiet mumble of infinite tenderness he said, "Thanks, Pops."
His one eye stared forward watching from the shadows as the one known as Putter hurried by through the bay, her rags swirling about her thin form as she moved. He looked up to the high opening which led out into the night of New Rydynn, watching as Putter's small form crept through the rubble, again to move back into the Hospital, oblivious to his presence. He remained silent.
Putter moved quickly through the halls of the Hospital, arriving at an unused lab where she had been repairing her belongings for the last few weeks. She lifted a bag full of her things up off of the ground and onto her shoulder, she glanced about the room a bit, taking it all in, she made sure everything was as it was when she arrived here. She moved quickly out into the hallway, making sure it was empty. She moved quickly and lightly, almost skittishly as she crept for a third time through the ambulance bay along a path towards where she had stashed the other bags which held all of her worldly belongings. As she moved through the bay she thought she detected the faintest scent of smoke, but tried to dismiss it as nothing.
"Moving day?" The voice came from the shadows of the ambulance bay. She dropped her bag and turned to peer into the darkness. She was barely able to distinguish the faint light of the cigarette she had smelt and knew immediately that it was her One-eyed tormentor who spoke from the shadows. Swearing under her breath the smaller creature bent forward to retrieve the bag full of precision instruments, avoiding looking directly at the shadowy figure who now tossed away the spent cigarette, sending a tiny splash of sparks and embers skipping across the cracked, torn concrete of the bay. Surprisingly the man with only one eye knelt forward, picking up a small wrench which had skittered out from her bag and handed it to her silently. He chuckled to himself as he sat back on his haunches. She examined the tool as if he had somehow tainted it by his touch before she replaced it into her bag. He stood up, looking around the bay coolly before looking back down to her.
"You need any help?" He asked her flatly.
She also stood, looking him coldly in his blank gaze. "I don't need any help from you." She said just as emotionlessly.
"Suit yerself," Ol' One-eye said, no trace for the living of the tenderness he had afforded the dead.
One of the janitorial staff came in to clean away the mess the old man made. The janitor, a pimply-faced boy of indeterminate youth scooped up a handful of the buttons and stuffs them in his pocket. As he went about his business, the buttons clicked and clacked together as they settled there.