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‘I can’t go no lower,’ said the Hatter: ‘I’m on the floor, as it is.’

- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Now

Oz didn’t feel well tonight.

He’d thrown up an hour ago and the stomach acid was dissolving his teeth.

His lips felt dry, probably because he was dehydrated and his organs would soon start shutting down.

He had a headache, which was a clear sign of a blood clot in his brain or a stress related aneurysm.

His legs hurt, which undoubtedly indicated deep vein thrombosis.

He still felt out of breath and the muscles under his eyes hurt, which were symptoms not even his mind could connect to a deadly disease or ailment.

To be honest… Oz just felt tired. Straight down to what remained of his soul.

He was pretty good at self-diagnosing his medical problems though. He always had been. It was an essential element of his day.

But Oz didn’t really care about that right now.

Despite his obsession with keeping germ-free and following the rules in order to avoid catastrophe, Oz wasn’t overly concerned about what might happen to him.

Sure, he might always buy new socks rather than washing his old ones– because otherwise it was the equivalent of wearing dirty diapers strapped to your feet– but that was just common sense.

No, at the deepest level, Oz’s series of obsessions and rituals weren’t really to protect him at all. Some of them could be used that way, but the ultimate goal was about protecting others. Given the choice, Oz would gladly shoulder the burden of tragedy alone.

That was the job.

That was what Oz signed up for. That was why Oz routinely left the safety of his home, which went against every instinct in his body.

Going out into the world was stressful, dirty, and dangerous.

It needlessly exposed him to germs, which would then be tracked back into his apartment. Oz didn’t like doing it. But he did.

Because bad things should happen to Oz .

No one else.

No, at the moment, Oz didn’t care at all about the fact that he was sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, of all things.

A HOSPITAL! That was where dangerous pathogens lived, for Pete’s sake!

This whole building was so contaminated that it wouldn’t be safe to be here, even if you leveled the whole thing and then drowned the area in enough disinfectant to rival the Biblical flood.

He didn’t care at all about that right now.

He absently looked down at the red curl in the palm of his hand.

It was her hair. The paramedics had cut it off of her when they tried to suture the wound to her head and…

No.

She was going to be fine . She had to be. He’d followed all his rituals to the letter, hadn’t he?

He was pretty sure he had, anyway. And if he hadn’t that would just… well, that would be the end of him. It would have proven that he was a selfish piece of trash, who couldn’t even do one simple thing. He had failed to do one of his rituals, and someone he cared about had…

He swallowed, as he thought about the end of that sentence.

No. Miss Quentin was going to be fine .

He had watched Multifarious fall from the building into one of the trash receptacles this afternoon, and as he rushed to check on his coworker, he discovered that the masked figure was in fact the woman he’d been rather infatuated with, Natalie Quentin.

She was an employee at Oz’s favorite store and…

well, the truth was that it was his favorite store because she worked there, but that was immaterial.

In either case, the sudden realization that the two people were one in the same should have come as a much bigger surprise to him than it actually did. It was like he’d known it all along somehow. Or maybe that was just a coping mechanism.

The woman had been all but dead, whether he knew who she really was or not. The fall had crushed her beautiful body but she was still somehow clinging to life.

And all of this was Oz’s fault.

That was the only explanation.

Oz had failed to do something… and that had brought this about.

He was being punished by some unseen force, most likely because he hadn’t managed to count the number of times the siren sound repeated for the entire ambulance ride.

He’d tried. He tried so hard , but he just couldn’t.

And now that lapse had brought about this horrible event.

His life was dying.

The only thing in this world that Oz had ever wanted.

Everything was dying around him. And Oz was forced to watch.

Again.

“I think it’s going to rain.” Sydney Voldar, AKA “The Poacher,” said conversationally from the seat next to him outside the hospital’s ICU.

“I’ve got a pain in my left leg.” He tapped his right knee for some reason, but didn’t bother to explain how a random ache was at all indicative of rain, especially when it wasn’t afflicting the leg specified.

Oz continued staring at the strand of red hair in his gloved hand, but the other man didn’t take the hint that Oz didn’t really feel like talking.

Sydney was one of those magical people who could have an entire conversation with you, without you ever needing to say a word.

He had more than enough thoughts, feelings, and ideas to fill up any pauses.

The man was a child.

A large, murderously violent child.

“Yeah…” Poacher continued, clearing his throat. “Ever since that confounded lion got hold of me, I’ve...”

“Is your story going somewhere?” Oz croaked out, the first time he could remember speaking for an extended period. “Is the rain or lion somehow material to whether or not Miss Quentin survives?”

The other man appeared to think about that for a moment.

“Not to my knowledge, no.” Sydney finally decided, shaking his head.

“That lion hasn’t shown itself in years, so odds are that it won’t appear tonight.

” He took on a determined face. “But don’t worry.

I’m ready if it does. I’m always ready. ”

Oz went back to staring at the hair.

Poacher frowned down at it, then at Oz’s shaved head. “Don’t think that’s your color, New Guy.”

“No.” Oz agreed, trying not to cry. “I should have known better. It’s… it’s made for beautiful things. Not trash.”

“Riiiiight...” Poacher drew out, sounding uncertain. “And that means…?”

“Nothing.” Oz’s voice sounded dead, even to his own ears. “Trash means nothing. It can’t amount to anything, because of what it is. ”

“Trash?”Poacher guessed.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

Oz continued staring at the red curl in his hand, thinking about the graceful way Natalie’s hair moved when she walked. Wanting the opportunity to see that even just once more. Wanting that so much it made him want to cry.

“Oz?” Poacher asked, sounding concerned. “What are you thinking about right now?”

“Lieber Coffee…” Oz whispered, somewhere far away. A place he hated, but a sight which brought him the only comfort he’d ever known.

“You want coffee?” Poacher sounded amazed by that, but got to his feet. “No problem, I’ll go get you some, my man.”

That got Oz’s attention, yanking him out of his memories.

“NO COFFEE!” Oz bellowed. “That pot probably hasn’t been washed since the Bicentennial! You’ll get sick, then make her sick! Her doctors sick! The maintenance people so sick they miss something! You’ll take the entire building down with you! You’ll kill her! ”

“Jesus!” Poacher jumped at the sudden change in volume. “How in the fuck can coffee cause structural failure?”

“It just… it just…” Oz kept staring at the curl of red hair, “…can.”

“Huh.” Poacher’s eyes cut over to the coffee pot in sudden suspicion. “Well, learn something new every day, I suppose.” He flopped down into the seat again. “They should put a warning label on those things, man.”

“The adhesive used on most warning labels is toxic.” Oz all but whispered, still feeling like he was in a daze.

“Huh.” Poacher’s eyebrows rose. “Didn’t know that either. Good to know.”

They fell into silence again and Oz lost all concept of time. He was dimly aware of the fact that his clueless companion had gotten a tennis ball from somewhere, and was now casually bouncing it off of the wall across the hall from them.

A large, murderously violent child who was incapable of sitting still for more than five seconds at a time.

“…which makes sense, if you really think about it.” Sydney finished up a thought Oz had missed the beginning of, but somehow was still sure that the man’s conclusion was factually incorrect.

”And I’ve often thought you can tell a lot about a person by how they answer that question, you know?

” He tossed the ball against the wall again.

“You’re lost in the mountains. A bear attacks you and you’re unable to get away.

It rips you half to death. Just before killing you, it walks away.

You don’t know if it’s because it’s through with you or if it’s just taking a little break and will return.

You have one bullet in your rifle. Do you take the shot at the retreating bear and risk angering it?

If you miss or fail to kill it, it might come back and finish you off.

Or do you hope it is leaving for good and not take the opportunity to shoot it while you still can?

” He nodded to himself. “Really makes you think about some stuff.” He turned to look at Oz. “What’s your vote, man?”

Oz wasn’t listening.

“I’d shoot.” Sydney decided after a moment, as if there had ever been a question as to whether or not he would choose the most violent response to any given situation.

“Take your shot and live with the consequences, that’s what I say.

” He was silent for a long beat. “Because the bear always comes back. Always.”

Oz still wasn’t listening, only dimly aware of the man’s chatter.