Fic: Trauma, for talkingtothesky
Title: Trauma
Author: lacidiana
Recipient: talkingtothesky
Rating: Blue Cortina
Word Count: ~700
Prompt: Sam/Annie, timey-wimeyness, prompt word: glass.
Notes/Warnings: I am so, so incredibly sorry to everyone for the lateness of this thing -- vacationing and my own computer-killing stupidity conspired against me in every conceivable way over the break. Either way, I should have been more prepared ahead of time; my deepest apologies to talkingtothesky for her having to wait so long and my greatest thanks for her patience. ♥
Summary: "The mind's fragile -- glass, like."
---
It must be a terrible thing, Sam thought, to be mad.
Re-opening a cold case had brought him to the drab confines of a hospital's mental ward, which, he supposed, was better than visiting its mortuary. Still, even if -- as DS Roy supposed -- a patient here did have information about Suzie Lake's disappearance ten years ago, he doubted that his testimony would hold up under public scrutiny, let alone in court.
The woman at the front desk was even more skeptical.
"You want to talk to whom?"
"Malcolm Lake." Sam frowned. "He might have information about his sister's--"
"Oh, Malcolm has plenty of information." The receptionist scratched at her cheek, tapped a pencil against the desktop. "You could ask him first about the aliens, perhaps."
"Oh." Sam's stomach dropped. Brilliant.
And it was fairly "brilliant," seeing as Malcolm Lake couldn't decide whether DCI Tyler was part of the great Martian-Parliament conspiracy or needed to be alerted to it. Sam smiled wanly through the ordeal, dutifully marking down what bits he could in his memo pad.
"You've been a great help, Mr. Lake," Sam said. (He hadn't.) "Here's my card, in case you think of anything more." (He wouldn't.)
So, as Sam strode down the hall with all the stubborn dashed hope of a lost football match, he couldn't help but pause when a voice behind him called in a soft, flighty voice:
"Sam?"
He turned and saw a woman -- an old woman wrapped sloppily in the hospital's blue uniform: grey hair and thin lips; shaking hands and bony shoulders. She stared back at him, eyes wide, like she was looking at something impossible. Something unreal.
Sam put away his memo pad and reached instinctively for his badge. "Yes," he said, slowly. "I'm DCI Sam Tyler--"
She raised a hand to her mouth, breaths shuddery and weak, lips trembling. She stepped toward him. "I know who you are. Oh, Sam, I know--"
Sam stepped backward as she approached, clearing his throat and feeling foolish, embarrassed, left out of some cosmic joke. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I believe you've mistaken me for someone I'm not."
"No. No, I'd never." Sam could see the faint sheen of tears wetting the woman's yellow-tinged eyes as she reached for him. A smile tugged the corners of her lips. "I'd never mistake you, Sam. Can't you remember?"
"I…" Sam stammered, frozen in place. "I'm not quite sure--"
"It was so long ago, Sam -- us and the team -- Chris, and Ray, and the Guv…"
Sam continued staring back blankly, pinned to the spot by the weight of her stare, the sincerity of her words. The woman's smile faded; her brow creased.
"Sam?"
"Annie!"
The nurse from the front desk skittered forward, cutting off the space between Sam and the woman. Sam let out an exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding; he shook his head and busied himself with putting his badge away as the nurse took the woman's shoulders and guided her from him.
"Annie, dear, you know better than to speak to strangers--"
"It's Sam," the woman whispered, biting her lip, trying to steal a glance over her shoulder. "It's my Sam--"
The nurse sighed, nodding for an orderly down the hall.
"No, Annie. I'm afraid not."
Sam glanced up as the orderly took the woman's arm and began leading her down the hall. The nurse turned toward him and wiped her brow.
"I'm so sorry about that, sir."
"It's all right." Sam frowned and watched the woman go. "Was… 'Sam' a friend of hers?"
The nurse followed his gaze and let out a sigh. "He was her husband -- passed away years ago. Her memory's a bit foggy these days." She paused, shook her head. "The mind's fragile -- glass, like. It's strange, the things it latches on to in times of trauma."
"It certainly is," Sam murmured back.
That night, Sam headed back to the station and chased down another lead in the case's newly refurbished '04 file. In the end, he was right: Malcolm Lake never called his number.
And so he never returned.
Author: lacidiana
Recipient: talkingtothesky
Rating: Blue Cortina
Word Count: ~700
Prompt: Sam/Annie, timey-wimeyness, prompt word: glass.
Notes/Warnings: I am so, so incredibly sorry to everyone for the lateness of this thing -- vacationing and my own computer-killing stupidity conspired against me in every conceivable way over the break. Either way, I should have been more prepared ahead of time; my deepest apologies to talkingtothesky for her having to wait so long and my greatest thanks for her patience. ♥
Summary: "The mind's fragile -- glass, like."
---
It must be a terrible thing, Sam thought, to be mad.
Re-opening a cold case had brought him to the drab confines of a hospital's mental ward, which, he supposed, was better than visiting its mortuary. Still, even if -- as DS Roy supposed -- a patient here did have information about Suzie Lake's disappearance ten years ago, he doubted that his testimony would hold up under public scrutiny, let alone in court.
The woman at the front desk was even more skeptical.
"You want to talk to whom?"
"Malcolm Lake." Sam frowned. "He might have information about his sister's--"
"Oh, Malcolm has plenty of information." The receptionist scratched at her cheek, tapped a pencil against the desktop. "You could ask him first about the aliens, perhaps."
"Oh." Sam's stomach dropped. Brilliant.
And it was fairly "brilliant," seeing as Malcolm Lake couldn't decide whether DCI Tyler was part of the great Martian-Parliament conspiracy or needed to be alerted to it. Sam smiled wanly through the ordeal, dutifully marking down what bits he could in his memo pad.
"You've been a great help, Mr. Lake," Sam said. (He hadn't.) "Here's my card, in case you think of anything more." (He wouldn't.)
So, as Sam strode down the hall with all the stubborn dashed hope of a lost football match, he couldn't help but pause when a voice behind him called in a soft, flighty voice:
"Sam?"
He turned and saw a woman -- an old woman wrapped sloppily in the hospital's blue uniform: grey hair and thin lips; shaking hands and bony shoulders. She stared back at him, eyes wide, like she was looking at something impossible. Something unreal.
Sam put away his memo pad and reached instinctively for his badge. "Yes," he said, slowly. "I'm DCI Sam Tyler--"
She raised a hand to her mouth, breaths shuddery and weak, lips trembling. She stepped toward him. "I know who you are. Oh, Sam, I know--"
Sam stepped backward as she approached, clearing his throat and feeling foolish, embarrassed, left out of some cosmic joke. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I believe you've mistaken me for someone I'm not."
"No. No, I'd never." Sam could see the faint sheen of tears wetting the woman's yellow-tinged eyes as she reached for him. A smile tugged the corners of her lips. "I'd never mistake you, Sam. Can't you remember?"
"I…" Sam stammered, frozen in place. "I'm not quite sure--"
"It was so long ago, Sam -- us and the team -- Chris, and Ray, and the Guv…"
Sam continued staring back blankly, pinned to the spot by the weight of her stare, the sincerity of her words. The woman's smile faded; her brow creased.
"Sam?"
"Annie!"
The nurse from the front desk skittered forward, cutting off the space between Sam and the woman. Sam let out an exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding; he shook his head and busied himself with putting his badge away as the nurse took the woman's shoulders and guided her from him.
"Annie, dear, you know better than to speak to strangers--"
"It's Sam," the woman whispered, biting her lip, trying to steal a glance over her shoulder. "It's my Sam--"
The nurse sighed, nodding for an orderly down the hall.
"No, Annie. I'm afraid not."
Sam glanced up as the orderly took the woman's arm and began leading her down the hall. The nurse turned toward him and wiped her brow.
"I'm so sorry about that, sir."
"It's all right." Sam frowned and watched the woman go. "Was… 'Sam' a friend of hers?"
The nurse followed his gaze and let out a sigh. "He was her husband -- passed away years ago. Her memory's a bit foggy these days." She paused, shook her head. "The mind's fragile -- glass, like. It's strange, the things it latches on to in times of trauma."
"It certainly is," Sam murmured back.
That night, Sam headed back to the station and chased down another lead in the case's newly refurbished '04 file. In the end, he was right: Malcolm Lake never called his number.
And so he never returned.