(no subject)
Title: Addison Road (2/5)
Author: soleta
Pairing: None yet; eventually Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters herein are real people, thus not mine in any way, shape, or form; I have no knowledge of their activities, relationships, or sexual proclivities. The characters of Sonia and Samantha Bloom and Colin Stone are real people; I don't know them, either. This is fiction.
Summary: In which Orlando falls; the aftermath. AU.
AN: Sean, finally. I don't have any basis for Sonia or Samantha Bloom; I made them up. Also, I'm not British, and I'm not trained in any sort of medical field or knowledge, so I'm bound to get things wrong. This is an AU for more than one reason. Still for autumnlecroix.
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.'>
He woke up in stages, the way you do. He wasn't sure where he was, because his bed didn't quite feel like it usually did, but Orli was used to waking up in strange places, so he wasn't bothered. He went to flip over onto his back, but was held in place. Restrained.
Ehm.
Belatedly, the movement sent waves of pain through his body and he bit his tongue in an attempt to keep everything behind his teeth. In that moment he couldn't think, he couldn't do anything except wait for the pain to go away. Eventually, blessedly, it abated somewhat, and Orlando gritted his teeth and made a note to himself; he'd never, ever take for granted the utter absence of pain again, ever. He looked around, a little hazily, at the white, white walls and hospital equipment.
Suddenly he remembered everything; the ennui, the pipe... the fall. Orlando remembered the pain in his leg, in his back and side, and examining himself, found the bits below his waist not too painful. His left leg was up in traction, wrapped in a cast; he winced as he remembered the crunch when he fell. It was obviously broken, but he didn't know how badly; it was curiously numb. They'd obviously given him a pain shot. The remainder of his mental check brought a couple cracked ribs and a soft spot on his head to his attention and he swore. Fucking pipe! He hadn't fallen that far, but he must have landed very badly -- what the hell day was it anyway?
The room Orlando was in was white on white, and when he took his eyes off the window he winced. His eyes were far, far too sensitive to deal with all that light. The door clicked softly and he gratefully let his eyes focus on the figure in -- more white. Great. Lab coat. Doctor?
"You're awake." He was tall and rangy, with sandy hair and friendly, tired eyes. Orlando found himself liking the man straight off, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.
"Is it really that obvious?"
He grinned back, tilting his head. His smile caused his whole face to tilt and draw up, laugh lines creasing around his eyes and mouth, and something deep in Orli's brain went ping!
He settled down in a chair next to Orli's bed and pulled out a pen and a skinny file folder. "I'm Sean Bean. I'm your consultant." The doctor glanced down at his notes, then back up, watching Orlando forthrightly. "We got hold of your mother half an hour ago. She and your sister are on their way."
Orlando winced and said quickly, "You shouldn't have worried her. I'm going to be okay." He stopped as the idea occurred to him. Slowly and deliberately he added, "Or would that be a lie?"
"We're not sure yet." Orlando froze. "You had a mild concussion when they brought you in. That's taken care of, you're awake and responding, there's no evidence of intercranial bleeding, and it's already healing. Your leg is fairly badly broken, but that's also routine and we had no problems putting it back together." The doctor -- Bean -- took a deep breath and exhaled softly. "It's your back we're worried about."
Orlando felt like his reaction time and reflexes were shot; he felt slow and sluggish, and the words sounded like they were travelling down a long, echoing tunnel. "What?"
"The X-rays tell us you've snapped, fairly badly, two of the lumbar vertebrae and one of the thoracic vertebrae, and that there are possibly several hairline fractures in the same area." He sighed. "The only way we can really tell is to check when we operate."
"Operate?"
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"You're partially paralysed, Orlando. We have to go in. Right now it looks like we're going to need to put in some plates to anchor the pieces of vertebrae together, and while we're there I'm going to have a neurosurgeon look at your spinal cord - I think that's the problem." He paused. "But I have to tell you - you may never walk again."
Paralysed. You may never walk again. The words echoed in Orlando's head and he shook it once, twice, and again, harder, to banish them. They wouldn't go. Paralysed. He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, inhaled unsteadily. A thought struck him and his eyes flew open.
"But I can feel my legs. I can't be paralysed."
Dr. Bean shook his head. "It's called phantom pains. Your mind is creating nerve signals where none exist."
Orlando dug his nails, picked down to the quick, into his thigh out of habit. He froze when he realized what he was doing, when he realized that he couldn't feel the bite of sensation, even through the thin hospital blanket.
"Even if we had you on
Author: soleta
Pairing: None yet; eventually Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters herein are real people, thus not mine in any way, shape, or form; I have no knowledge of their activities, relationships, or sexual proclivities. The characters of Sonia and Samantha Bloom and Colin Stone are real people; I don't know them, either. This is fiction.
Summary: In which Orlando falls; the aftermath. AU.
AN: Sean, finally. I don't have any basis for Sonia or Samantha Bloom; I made them up. Also, I'm not British, and I'm not trained in any sort of medical field or knowledge, so I'm bound to get things wrong. This is an AU for more than one reason. Still for autumnlecroix.
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.'>
He woke up in stages, the way you do. He wasn't sure where he was, because his bed didn't quite feel like it usually did, but Orli was used to waking up in strange places, so he wasn't bothered. He went to flip over onto his back, but was held in place. Restrained.
Ehm.
Belatedly, the movement sent waves of pain through his body and he bit his tongue in an attempt to keep everything behind his teeth. In that moment he couldn't think, he couldn't do anything except wait for the pain to go away. Eventually, blessedly, it abated somewhat, and Orlando gritted his teeth and made a note to himself; he'd never, ever take for granted the utter absence of pain again, ever. He looked around, a little hazily, at the white, white walls and hospital equipment.
Suddenly he remembered everything; the ennui, the pipe... the fall. Orlando remembered the pain in his leg, in his back and side, and examining himself, found the bits below his waist not too painful. His left leg was up in traction, wrapped in a cast; he winced as he remembered the crunch when he fell. It was obviously broken, but he didn't know how badly; it was curiously numb. They'd obviously given him a pain shot. The remainder of his mental check brought a couple cracked ribs and a soft spot on his head to his attention and he swore. Fucking pipe! He hadn't fallen that far, but he must have landed very badly -- what the hell day was it anyway?
The room Orlando was in was white on white, and when he took his eyes off the window he winced. His eyes were far, far too sensitive to deal with all that light. The door clicked softly and he gratefully let his eyes focus on the figure in -- more white. Great. Lab coat. Doctor?
"You're awake." He was tall and rangy, with sandy hair and friendly, tired eyes. Orlando found himself liking the man straight off, and a ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.
"Is it really that obvious?"
He grinned back, tilting his head. His smile caused his whole face to tilt and draw up, laugh lines creasing around his eyes and mouth, and something deep in Orli's brain went ping!
He settled down in a chair next to Orli's bed and pulled out a pen and a skinny file folder. "I'm Sean Bean. I'm your consultant." The doctor glanced down at his notes, then back up, watching Orlando forthrightly. "We got hold of your mother half an hour ago. She and your sister are on their way."
Orlando winced and said quickly, "You shouldn't have worried her. I'm going to be okay." He stopped as the idea occurred to him. Slowly and deliberately he added, "Or would that be a lie?"
"We're not sure yet." Orlando froze. "You had a mild concussion when they brought you in. That's taken care of, you're awake and responding, there's no evidence of intercranial bleeding, and it's already healing. Your leg is fairly badly broken, but that's also routine and we had no problems putting it back together." The doctor -- Bean -- took a deep breath and exhaled softly. "It's your back we're worried about."
Orlando felt like his reaction time and reflexes were shot; he felt slow and sluggish, and the words sounded like they were travelling down a long, echoing tunnel. "What?"
"The X-rays tell us you've snapped, fairly badly, two of the lumbar vertebrae and one of the thoracic vertebrae, and that there are possibly several hairline fractures in the same area." He sighed. "The only way we can really tell is to check when we operate."
"Operate?"
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
"You're partially paralysed, Orlando. We have to go in. Right now it looks like we're going to need to put in some plates to anchor the pieces of vertebrae together, and while we're there I'm going to have a neurosurgeon look at your spinal cord - I think that's the problem." He paused. "But I have to tell you - you may never walk again."
Paralysed. You may never walk again. The words echoed in Orlando's head and he shook it once, twice, and again, harder, to banish them. They wouldn't go. Paralysed. He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, inhaled unsteadily. A thought struck him and his eyes flew open.
"But I can feel my legs. I can't be paralysed."
Dr. Bean shook his head. "It's called phantom pains. Your mind is creating nerve signals where none exist."
Orlando dug his nails, picked down to the quick, into his thigh out of habit. He froze when he realized what he was doing, when he realized that he couldn't feel the bite of sensation, even through the thin hospital blanket.
"Even if we had you on