"Hey, Doc? Doc?"

The old lab coat man quickly typed on a keyboard without turning to the boy who'd entered. The doctor's goggles reflected his screen. He had puffy, white hair and wore strange gloves with wiring across their surface. "Rodent? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Everyone's busy." Rodent raised himself on a chair behind the doctor and struggled to scoot backward. "Only you can be busy and still talk with me." His head tilted. "Besides. You're one of the few that call me by my name."

"To my detriment." There wasn't a break in the clacking of keys from the doctor's keyboard. "Services are still chewing me for calling a sick child a 'rodent.'"

"Just means you care more about me than stupid rules!"

"Stupid rules that could lose me privileges, Rodent."

"I'm sorry."

The doctor finally looked at him. "Why are you here, Rodent?"

Rodent glanced between his legs. "Rocket isn't getting any better."

The doctor gazed at him. "Indeed." He returned to the screen. "Everyone's well aware of that."

Rodent struggled. "But... why isn't he doing better?"

The doctor stopped typing. He looked at the ceiling. The question rang in his head. "Why? Why, you ask?" He exhaled a chuckle. "I haven't heard that question in a while." He spun his seat around, facing Rodent. "Why do you ask?"

Rodent's mouth opened, but the words did not come right away. He was not the thinking sort—the kind to feel too deeply about things. He was the fool, the idiot, the one lagged behind everyone else. This was not a situation he was supposed to be in. He felt immature and unequipped to even be in this position.

"I-It's just… o-out of all my friends… I-I… I'm the only one that doesn't want anything." Rodent's shoulders lowered as his voice croaked. "I don't care if I live. D-Don't care if I d-die. I-I have no dreams. Nothing that I want. Nothing like the stuff that they want."

The doctor remained composed. "You're a simple boy. Nothing wrong with wanting simple things—a simple life."

"But Rocket wants to work on planes! Fly them! Talks hours and hours about that stuff!" Rodent collapsed. "I don't want anything like that! Don't care what happens to me! Only I'm like that! I even told everyone I don't mind going first!"

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He gripped the chair. "S-So why... am I... the one who is going to... t-to..."

The doctor took a deep breath.

"I could explain why you'll live longer and why your friend will die sooner." The doctor relaxed in his seat. "But the truth is, no matter how well the explanation is, it will never feel good enough. The reasons, perfectly realized, will never feel justified."

Rodent sank further.

"It should be the other way, you might feel." The doctor looked at the child directly. "That the kid who wants nothing and doesn't fear death should be the one to die—all so that those who want more, who fear death, may go on living instead. It might feel like a natural calculation in your still-developing mind." The doctor shook his head. "But you should learn that the world does not work that way. Life does not work that way. We cannot impose upon it."

Rodent squeaked, tearful. "T-Then… w-what can we do?"

"We can only do the best with what life gives us." The doctor turned back to his computer. "So do your best, Rodent. You cannot change life. But you can change the lives of those around you—at least a little bit. Focus instead on what you can do, no matter how minimal it might be. Only in that can you keep a modicum of hope inside your heart."

Rodent sat there shaking his head, still crying silently, wiping his eyes while the doctor typed away, never leaving the room. After an hour or so passed, the doctor turned off the screen and rose from his chair, coming to offer his hand to the boy.

"Carlos should be out of surgery soon," the doctor said. "We cannot change the results of how that surgery went."

Rodent looked up at the hand with puffy eyes.

"But we can be there for him, and regardless the news, try to cheer our friend up." The doctor nodded. "So smile, Rodent. Always smile. Smile even while everyone else is crying—smile even when it seems there will never be a reason to smile again." He smiled a large, worn-out smile. "It's during those times that people are desperate to see a smile—that, if someone is still able to smile, there must be a reason why they can do so. Smiles bring about hope. Someone must be the person to smile."

With tears streaking out from his goggles, the doctor still wore that smile. "So let that person be you, Rodent. Don't let them see you cry. Don't let them see you being weak. Smile, Rodent. Let even your reflection see your smile—all so you can trick yourself as well."

The doctor nodded. "So how about it, Rodent? Will you smile for me?"

And Rodent, wiping his tears and grabbing the doctor's hand, closed his eyes and smiled as broadly as he could, still pained and hurt on the inside, though starting to chuckle in a way that should be impossible for someone in his current situation, causing things to change both externally and internally.

"Thatta boy."