FAKE Fic: Confusing Situation
Title: Confusing Situation
Fandom: FAKE
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ryo, Dee.
Rating: PG
Setting: After Vol. 7.
Summary: Ryo regains consciousness with no idea of where he is or how much time has passed.
Word Count: 1494
Content Notes: None needed.
Written For: Challenge 327: Amnesty at fan_flashworks, using Challenge 1: The Lost Hour.
Disclaimer: I don’t own FAKE, or the characters. They belong to the wonderful Sanami Matoh.
Getting knocked out is no fun. Coming to, disoriented, head pounding, and eyes refusing to focus in any meaningful way, the only thing Ryo is sure of at first is that whatever he’s lying on isn’t his bed. Then he muzzily decides that it’s not anyone else’s bed either, because even hospital beds are softer and warmer than this. Drier too; he can dimly feel an unpleasant, slimy dampness seeping through his clothes. Maybe that’s what dragged him back to the here and now, wherever and whenever that might be.
It’s impossible to say how long he’s been unconscious; the total lack of awareness unsurprisingly messes with his sense of passing time. It might have been no more than a few minutes, or as long as all day. He wishes he could remember what happened, but right now he can’t even remember what day it is. That gives him pause; what exactly does he remember? There must be something still in his head; unless it’s all leaked out, which is a seriously unpleasant thought. He hopes that’s not what he’s lying in.
Thinking hurts his brain, but he tries anyway and is relieved to realise he at least knows who he is: Randy Maclean, NYPD detective. That’s a promising start. Presumably, he was investigating a case when someone clonked him over the head with something and knocked him into the middle of next week.
“Is it the middle of next week?” he mumbles to himself. That’s a good question.
No, he eventually decides, probably not. If he’d been unconscious that long without anyone finding him, he’d most likely be dead by now, and he doesn’t feel dead. Seems to him, in his befuddled state, that being dead would be less painful, which means he must still be alive. In which case, why is he still lying on this cold, damp, dirty, smelly… Um, what exactly IS he lying on?
He opens his eyes, wondering why he didn’t think of doing that before, but while he’s usually pretty good at multi-tasking, one thought at a time is about all he can handle right now, and even that’s a stretch. Half a thought at a time then. Should be able to manage that.
With his eyes open he can reach a few tentative conclusions. One: he’s wet because he’s lying in a filthy rainwater puddle, and two: it’s still raining because the wetness isn’t just underneath him, it’s dripping on him from above. The rain actually feels sort of nice, it’s cool without being cold, so five: that means it’s not the middle of winter. He’s not likely to freeze to death then, that’s the first bit of good news he’s come up with.
Wait a minute, something’s not quite right there… One, two, five… What happened to four? He gives an awkward half shrug; doesn’t matter right now, he’ll find it later, it can’t have gone far.
He sighs heavily; now he’s lost his train of thought. Better find that again before it escapes him completely. He’s not up to chasing anything.
Okay, where was he? He hasn’t gone anywhere so he must still be where he was before, conscious, and outside in the rain, but where? From this angle it looks like an alleyway, but there are hundreds of those in New York, so that doesn’t help much. Maybe if he sits up, he’ll be able to see more. Getting one elbow under him, he pushes against the ground…
When his head finally stops spinning, he finds he’s now sitting with his back against the cold, damp metal of a rusting dumpster, and he congratulates himself on his success at achieving step one on his plan. Now for step two, which he still needs to figure out, although now there’s an insistent ringing in his ears, distracting him.
It’s not at all pleasant and he wishes it would go away. Maybe it’s an alarm clock, but why would there be an alarm clock in an alley? He frowns, trying to work that out, but frowning makes his headache worse so he stops. Cautiously, not wanting to make his brain slosh about too much, he looks around for the damned clock, wanting to shut it up. He can’t find any clock, but he spots a phone lying on the ground nearby.
Oh. Maybe that’s where the noise is coming from.
He picks it up, fumbles with the buttons because half of them seem to be on top of the others, but by closing one eye he eventually figures out which one to press. The ringing cuts off.
“Hello?”
He can faintly hear a distant voice and wonders why the person calling him is whispering. It takes him forever to realise it’s because they’re not. He tries holding the phone to his ear, but now the voice on the other end is shouting. Why does everything have to be so loud?
“Ryo? Ryo, are you there?”
He knows that voice.
“Dee? Don’t shout. You’re making my head vibrate.”
“Sorry, babe.” Dee’s voice drops to a more bearable volume. “Where are ya? You were supposed to be back here an hour ago!”
“That long?” Wow, he’s lost a whole hour. Last time that happened he seems to recall it being a lot more pleasurable. “Where am I?”
“That’s what I just asked you.”
“Oh. Right. Don’t know.”
“You okay?”
“It’s raining and I’m sitting in a puddle. It’s wet.” Ryo struggles to make his brain work. “I think someone knocked me out, but I don’t remember.”
There’s silence for a moment, then, “Stay on the line. I’m on my way.”
“On your way where? How can you find me if I don’t know where I am?”
“Got people homin’ in on your phone signal.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good. I like my phone, even though it’s got more buttons than I remember, and they’re all jumbled up.”
“Sounds like concussion,” another voice says.
“Mm,” Ryo agrees vaguely. “Feels like concussion too, but the rain feels nice. What was I doing here?”
“Followin’ a lead.”
“Right, because I’m a detective and I… detect things. Catch bad guys. I guess one caught me instead.”
“Could be. Just keep talkin’, bud, and don’t hang up. We’re almost there, be with ya in just a few more minutes.”
“Alright, I can do that.” There’s silence for a minute, then… “Dee? What should I talk about?”
“Anything you like.”
“Oh, that’s easy. I like you, and Bikky, and fall in New England because the colours are really pretty. And I like lemon cheesecake, and sushi, but not at the same time…” Ryo continues listing things he likes until Dee and Drake arrive, closely followed by an ambulance, and after that…
He may have lost a few more hours, he’s not sure. Either that or they all happened at once, because the next thing he’s fully aware of is being clean, dry, and mostly comfortable in a hard and lumpy hospital bed. His head aches less than it did earlier, and when he looks at things they’ve thankfully stopped overlapping. Dee is there, sitting on a chair by the bed. He looks reassuringly solid and not at all blurry, which is nice.
“Hey.”
Dee smiles, relieved. “Hey yourself. How’re ya feelin’?”
“The bed’s hard. There’s lumps in it.”
Dee snorts a laugh. “Aside from that.”
“Um… My head still aches a bit, but not as bad as it did, and I can see straight, so that’s a big improvement.”
“How many fingers?” Dee holds up one hand.
“Four.” Ah, so that’s where the four went; he seems to remember losing it earlier.
“Right! D’you remember what happened?”
“Um…” Closing his eyes, Ryo tries to think, but it proves a pointless waste of effort. “No, sorry, everything’s a blur. I don’t remember anything after…” He frowns. “We were talking maybe going to see a movie. When was that?”
“This mornin’, over breakfast.”
“Yes. You made pancakes.”
“That’s right.”
“They were good. What time is it now?”
“A little past four in the afternoon.”
Ryo sighs. “Thought I’d lost an hour, but I guess I’ve lost most of the day, and all I’ve got to show for it is a concussion and a lump on my head. Is there a lump? Feels like there should be.”
“Yeah, whoever hit ya wasn’t messin’ about.”
“If I’d known he was going to hit me, I’d have hit him first, only I don’t know who it was. Sorry I can’t remember anything useful.”
“Don’t worry about it, your memory still might come back.”
“That would be nice. I guess. Maybe.”
“Only thing matters right now is you’re alive and you’re gonna be fine. The docs wanna keep you here for a day or two, just for observation, make sure your brains didn’t get scrambled, but when ya get out, how about I make you pancakes again?”
Ryo smiles. That’s an offer he’s not about to refuse. “It’s a deal.”
The End
Fandom: FAKE
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ryo, Dee.
Rating: PG
Setting: After Vol. 7.
Summary: Ryo regains consciousness with no idea of where he is or how much time has passed.
Word Count: 1494
Content Notes: None needed.
Written For: Challenge 327: Amnesty at fan_flashworks, using Challenge 1: The Lost Hour.
Disclaimer: I don’t own FAKE, or the characters. They belong to the wonderful Sanami Matoh.
Getting knocked out is no fun. Coming to, disoriented, head pounding, and eyes refusing to focus in any meaningful way, the only thing Ryo is sure of at first is that whatever he’s lying on isn’t his bed. Then he muzzily decides that it’s not anyone else’s bed either, because even hospital beds are softer and warmer than this. Drier too; he can dimly feel an unpleasant, slimy dampness seeping through his clothes. Maybe that’s what dragged him back to the here and now, wherever and whenever that might be.
It’s impossible to say how long he’s been unconscious; the total lack of awareness unsurprisingly messes with his sense of passing time. It might have been no more than a few minutes, or as long as all day. He wishes he could remember what happened, but right now he can’t even remember what day it is. That gives him pause; what exactly does he remember? There must be something still in his head; unless it’s all leaked out, which is a seriously unpleasant thought. He hopes that’s not what he’s lying in.
Thinking hurts his brain, but he tries anyway and is relieved to realise he at least knows who he is: Randy Maclean, NYPD detective. That’s a promising start. Presumably, he was investigating a case when someone clonked him over the head with something and knocked him into the middle of next week.
“Is it the middle of next week?” he mumbles to himself. That’s a good question.
No, he eventually decides, probably not. If he’d been unconscious that long without anyone finding him, he’d most likely be dead by now, and he doesn’t feel dead. Seems to him, in his befuddled state, that being dead would be less painful, which means he must still be alive. In which case, why is he still lying on this cold, damp, dirty, smelly… Um, what exactly IS he lying on?
He opens his eyes, wondering why he didn’t think of doing that before, but while he’s usually pretty good at multi-tasking, one thought at a time is about all he can handle right now, and even that’s a stretch. Half a thought at a time then. Should be able to manage that.
With his eyes open he can reach a few tentative conclusions. One: he’s wet because he’s lying in a filthy rainwater puddle, and two: it’s still raining because the wetness isn’t just underneath him, it’s dripping on him from above. The rain actually feels sort of nice, it’s cool without being cold, so five: that means it’s not the middle of winter. He’s not likely to freeze to death then, that’s the first bit of good news he’s come up with.
Wait a minute, something’s not quite right there… One, two, five… What happened to four? He gives an awkward half shrug; doesn’t matter right now, he’ll find it later, it can’t have gone far.
He sighs heavily; now he’s lost his train of thought. Better find that again before it escapes him completely. He’s not up to chasing anything.
Okay, where was he? He hasn’t gone anywhere so he must still be where he was before, conscious, and outside in the rain, but where? From this angle it looks like an alleyway, but there are hundreds of those in New York, so that doesn’t help much. Maybe if he sits up, he’ll be able to see more. Getting one elbow under him, he pushes against the ground…
When his head finally stops spinning, he finds he’s now sitting with his back against the cold, damp metal of a rusting dumpster, and he congratulates himself on his success at achieving step one on his plan. Now for step two, which he still needs to figure out, although now there’s an insistent ringing in his ears, distracting him.
It’s not at all pleasant and he wishes it would go away. Maybe it’s an alarm clock, but why would there be an alarm clock in an alley? He frowns, trying to work that out, but frowning makes his headache worse so he stops. Cautiously, not wanting to make his brain slosh about too much, he looks around for the damned clock, wanting to shut it up. He can’t find any clock, but he spots a phone lying on the ground nearby.
Oh. Maybe that’s where the noise is coming from.
He picks it up, fumbles with the buttons because half of them seem to be on top of the others, but by closing one eye he eventually figures out which one to press. The ringing cuts off.
“Hello?”
He can faintly hear a distant voice and wonders why the person calling him is whispering. It takes him forever to realise it’s because they’re not. He tries holding the phone to his ear, but now the voice on the other end is shouting. Why does everything have to be so loud?
“Ryo? Ryo, are you there?”
He knows that voice.
“Dee? Don’t shout. You’re making my head vibrate.”
“Sorry, babe.” Dee’s voice drops to a more bearable volume. “Where are ya? You were supposed to be back here an hour ago!”
“That long?” Wow, he’s lost a whole hour. Last time that happened he seems to recall it being a lot more pleasurable. “Where am I?”
“That’s what I just asked you.”
“Oh. Right. Don’t know.”
“You okay?”
“It’s raining and I’m sitting in a puddle. It’s wet.” Ryo struggles to make his brain work. “I think someone knocked me out, but I don’t remember.”
There’s silence for a moment, then, “Stay on the line. I’m on my way.”
“On your way where? How can you find me if I don’t know where I am?”
“Got people homin’ in on your phone signal.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good. I like my phone, even though it’s got more buttons than I remember, and they’re all jumbled up.”
“Sounds like concussion,” another voice says.
“Mm,” Ryo agrees vaguely. “Feels like concussion too, but the rain feels nice. What was I doing here?”
“Followin’ a lead.”
“Right, because I’m a detective and I… detect things. Catch bad guys. I guess one caught me instead.”
“Could be. Just keep talkin’, bud, and don’t hang up. We’re almost there, be with ya in just a few more minutes.”
“Alright, I can do that.” There’s silence for a minute, then… “Dee? What should I talk about?”
“Anything you like.”
“Oh, that’s easy. I like you, and Bikky, and fall in New England because the colours are really pretty. And I like lemon cheesecake, and sushi, but not at the same time…” Ryo continues listing things he likes until Dee and Drake arrive, closely followed by an ambulance, and after that…
He may have lost a few more hours, he’s not sure. Either that or they all happened at once, because the next thing he’s fully aware of is being clean, dry, and mostly comfortable in a hard and lumpy hospital bed. His head aches less than it did earlier, and when he looks at things they’ve thankfully stopped overlapping. Dee is there, sitting on a chair by the bed. He looks reassuringly solid and not at all blurry, which is nice.
“Hey.”
Dee smiles, relieved. “Hey yourself. How’re ya feelin’?”
“The bed’s hard. There’s lumps in it.”
Dee snorts a laugh. “Aside from that.”
“Um… My head still aches a bit, but not as bad as it did, and I can see straight, so that’s a big improvement.”
“How many fingers?” Dee holds up one hand.
“Four.” Ah, so that’s where the four went; he seems to remember losing it earlier.
“Right! D’you remember what happened?”
“Um…” Closing his eyes, Ryo tries to think, but it proves a pointless waste of effort. “No, sorry, everything’s a blur. I don’t remember anything after…” He frowns. “We were talking maybe going to see a movie. When was that?”
“This mornin’, over breakfast.”
“Yes. You made pancakes.”
“That’s right.”
“They were good. What time is it now?”
“A little past four in the afternoon.”
Ryo sighs. “Thought I’d lost an hour, but I guess I’ve lost most of the day, and all I’ve got to show for it is a concussion and a lump on my head. Is there a lump? Feels like there should be.”
“Yeah, whoever hit ya wasn’t messin’ about.”
“If I’d known he was going to hit me, I’d have hit him first, only I don’t know who it was. Sorry I can’t remember anything useful.”
“Don’t worry about it, your memory still might come back.”
“That would be nice. I guess. Maybe.”
“Only thing matters right now is you’re alive and you’re gonna be fine. The docs wanna keep you here for a day or two, just for observation, make sure your brains didn’t get scrambled, but when ya get out, how about I make you pancakes again?”
Ryo smiles. That’s an offer he’s not about to refuse. “It’s a deal.”
The End