Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 8/?
Gene Hunt paced back and forth, silently, forbiddingly, his behavior incredibly like that of a caged animal. The hospital waiting room was filled with smoke from his constant chaining of cigarettes, the small table littered with overflowing ashtrays and empty fag packets. The nurses in the station occasionally glanced up to stare, wide-eyed, at the innumerous flasks that he was pulling from his various pockets and taking long swigs from. Gene began to suspect that they had a little betting pool going, in regards to which flask he would pull from next. Somehow, the thought comforted him.
Nearly four hours had passed since he had come and relieved Annie, startled by the tears in her eyes. He hated it when women cried. Not nearly as bad as when men cried, mind, but he still hated it. He had nearly gotten into another fight with Denslow, but had somehow allowed the ire to fall away when Annie stood and placed a hand on his shoulder; it reminded him, in an odd way, of the way Sam had patted him on the shoulder as they discussed his brother. Gene paused in his pacing and shook his head, still not sure how he had ever managed to let Sam know about Stu; he’d never told anyone else about his brother, not old Harry, not Ray; he hadn’t even told Lucy what had happened to Stu, and she hadn’t asked; occasionally, she’d be filling out Christmas cards and she’d look at the wedding photo on the mantel, at the brother standing proudly as a groomsman, and she’d look up at him… And say nothing. Lucy had gotten rather good at saying nothing, over the years.
Gene slowly sat down in one of the hard, plastic chairs of the waiting area, pulling out one of his flasks and realizing that he’d already drained it. He tried all of the others, slowly pulling them from their hidden places in his jacket, and coming to the startling realization that he’d managed to drain them all. He shook his head, wondering how many packets of cigarettes he must have gone through in the same amount of time, and imagining Sam, glaring at him, a slightly amused, slightly disgusted, and slightly concerned look of exasperation on his face, his finger pointing at the fags and booze, saying, “You know, that shit will kill you…” Gene slipped the last empty flask back into place and buried his head in his hands.
Annie had mentioned that something had happened, but she wasn’t sure what, and then Denslow had appeared, stating that Sam had actually woken up, against their expectations, and tried to free himself from the various machines and bandages covering him. He had then continued to explain that the tube running down Sam’s throat had had to be replaced, and that they were sedating him heavily to keep him asleep. When Gene had started to prickle at this, Denslow had explained that Sam needed to remain unconscious while the tubes were in place, in order to keep himself from accidentally injuring himself. Annie’s hand and a reassuring notice from Denslow, that Sam would likely be able to be taken off of the respirator in 48 hours, were the only things that kept Gene from punching him in the face.
Gene lowered his head and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his palms down over his face and lips, trying to calm himself and to straighten his thoughts. He closed his eyes and shook his head, then clambered back up to his feet and slowly approached the nurses’ station, watching as the more timid looking nurses suddenly became totally engrossed in their work or moved to check on paperwork at the far side of the station. One of the older ladies, who bore a striking resemblance to Phyllis in both body and demeanor, straightened her little white cap and stared him straight on.
“I want to see him. Not long, just for a minute.” Gene grunted it out softly, his words slurring slightly from the amount of alcohol he’d already ingested. The nurse eyed him warily, placing her hands on her hips.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you see him now, Sir. He’s still on the respirator, under heavy sedation, and he’s not to have visitors. Especially not great, smelly louts who’ve already drunk enough liquor to fell a horse.” The nurse’s tone was harsh and matronly, and Gene drew himself up to tower over her, a sneer contorting his features.
“Now see here, you dozy old cow, I, I am a Detective Chief Inspector with the Manchester police, and that is one of my fine officers,” Gene became slightly aware of the fact that he was slurring his words again, and swaying slightly on his feet. He felt slightly angry with himself over the fact that he had stopped pacing and let the alcohol, which he had firmly convinced himself he had not had too much of, start to catch up to him as he sat still.
The nurse stood her ground, obviously unimpressed by the impressive height and swelling chest of Gene Hunt, a thing that very few people could say. “And I, Sir, am the Chief Duty Nurse of the Intensive Care Unit at Saint James’ Hospital in Manchester.” She continued to stare at him, and he felt himself begin to whither slightly in her gaze.
“Oh, lovely. Well met by a lardy old bat in a cap, is it? I don’t think so… Not so long as there’s a hole in me arse!” Gene turned and started to make his way down the hall to Room 11, and the nurse made her way out of the station and towards him with the firm, purposeful stride that seemed to only be cultivated by head nurses, headmistresses, and librarians. Gene felt his hackles rise as she caught him by the elbow, staring up at him from a height that barely reached his chest.
“I think not, Sir. Now sit down, or I will have security remove you!” The woman started to pull on Gene’s elbow, and he glowered at her.
“Can’t call security, you dried up old bitch! Your doctor’s already said a member of the police force can be present, and presently I am that member of the police force, and you will let me see my inspector,” Gene’s words were coming more rapidly, still tainted by the thick alcoholic slur, and his eyes flashed as he spat them out at her.
“Right now, Sir, that boy needs rest, and he cannot get it with some drunken lunatic crashing about his room. Now if you will kindly…” The nurse started to pull on Gene’s elbow again, and he ripped his arm out of her grasp, stumbling slightly backwards and brushing his fingertips along the floor to catch himself, then righting himself and advancing on her, placing both of his hands, and a considerable amount of his weight, on her shoulders.
“That boy… That boy’s a fine lad, and he’s got nowt but me, and I didn’t even know it until this happened, and he’s just a fine copper, and a fine lad, and I, I, I just want to see him…” Gene’s face and voice dissolved into a strained desperation for a moment, and the nurse’s eyebrows knotted together in sympathy before she moved his hands off of her shoulders. He straightened and squared his shoulders, inhaling sharply through his nose, his expression turning and tone colored by anger once again. “I want to see him. Just a minute.” His voice was slurring less now, and his last sentence was a hard command.
The head nurse looked him up and down appraisingly, and then sighed and nodded. “Just for a minute. One minute. Absolutely no more. And quiet. Do you understand me?” She raised a finger and waggled it at Gene, and he was once again struck at how much she resembled the stuffy old headmistress of his dilapidated old junior school, and every librarian he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting, and, consequently, upsetting.
“Just a minute’s all I’m asking, Love,” Gene deflated somewhat, letting his shoulders droop, and kept his tone low and level. She nodded approvingly at him and led him towards the door to Room 11, her gait still clipped and professional. He lowered his head and jammed his hands into his pants pockets as he followed her, trying to keep his own gait steady and straight as they approached the door. The nurse slowly pushed the door open and then stood with her back to the door, holding it open, one eye on the bed that held Sam, the other on the hallway.
“One minute. Starting now,” the head nurse stated it as a short, clipped proclamation, and continued to keep her gaze flitting between Sam’s bed and the hallway. Gene had a sinking feeling that she was actually looking at the old clock above the nurses’ station, and he slowly made his way over to stand next to the bed, looking down at Sam, so close that his thighs touched the edge of the mattress.
The bandages had been removed from Sam’s eyes, and the tubes had been removed from the sides of his chest, but the thick plastic tube of the respirator still snaked up and into his mouth, and the left side of his face was still obscured by bandages from jaw to cheek. Tighter bandages had been applied to his arms, and the sheet that had previously covered him from the waist down was now drawn up and over his chest, hiding the remainder of the bandages from view. Gene took in the sounds of the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the steady hiss and flap of the respirator’s air pump, the scent of antiseptic, the strange combination of dark and light that the hospital’s lighting created as it cast glazed yellow circles around Sam’s form.
Gene slowly and carefully raised one hand to Sam’s exposed cheek, cradling his DI’s face in his palm, lightly stroking his fingertips over the temple and the high cheekbone, feeling the pad of his hand slowly make its way over the rounded curve of Sam’s cheek, the smooth flesh made rough with stubble. He let his fingers slowly trace the line of the sideburn that crept down the right side of Sam’s face, marveling at how soft it seemed compared to normal facial hair, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Sam…” He whispered the name softly, afraid that if he spoke it more loudly, the tears that were threatening him would finally come, or the nurse would usher him out for being too loud. Neither prospect appealed to him, and he let the corners of his mouth arch upwards in the smallest of smiles as he turned his head around to glance at her with his peripheral vision, “He’s not so cold anymore. That’s good, yeah? And you’ve stopped with the blood bottle, that’s good too, right?”
The nurse gave him a very slight, patronizing grin and nodded, then gave him another, much deeper look of appraisal than she had before, her eyes widening slightly. Gene frowned, wondering what she could possibly be doing, his hand still gently stroking Sam’s face. The nurse gave him another small nod before starting to move away from the door. “One more minute. I’m counting. If you’re not out by then, I’m calling security. And they will escort you out of the hospital if I say so, no matter what any of the doctors has said.” She slowly moved away, letting the door shut soundlessly behind her, leaving Gene alone in the room with Sam.
Gene smiled, “Poxy old crow has a heart after all, eh, Sammy boy?” He let his other hand drift to the bed, and grasped Sam’s right hand in his own, cradling it as softly as he cradled Sam’s face with his left hand. The long fingers were horribly still, and a loop of bandage snaked upwards across Sam’s palm, securing the long series of white cotton shrouds that covered Sam’s arm and obscuring the flesh between Sam’s fingers and thumb.
“You’re coming back to me soon, yeah? You’d better, Sammy boy, or you’re getting a kicking.” Gene tried to keep his voice steady, but it broke on the last word, and he sucked in his lower lip, trying desperately to keep himself from crying. He hated crying; it wasn’t manly, it wasn’t strong, or tough, or anything that a good copper was. “You’re coming back to me,” he heard his voice crack again as he repeated it, and he turned his head around slowly, making sure that the door was securely shut and that there was no one else in the room, and then slowly bent down over Sam’s face. Gene let his lips lightly brush the exposed right side of Sam’s mouth, barely feeling the full curve of Sam’s lips, and then he brought his lips higher and gave a longer, full kiss to Sam’s temple.
“You tell anyone about that, and I’ll have your hide, you hear? I’m not a fairy. I just… I just want you to come back to me, is all. Right picky pain in the arse, that’s what I want, my same old Sam….” Gene let his voice trail off, and then lowered his face down to Sam’s hand, careful not to move the bandaged limb, and he kissed the back of Sam’s hand as well, lips softly parting over the graceful fingers. He straightened and inhaled through his nose, fighting tears again. “Sam… Sammy boy…” He let his hands move away from the prone body of his DI, and then backed away towards the door, his eyes still locked on Sam’s face, until he felt his back hit the door. He turned and left the room, stealing one last glance at the motionless form on the bed.
The head nurse watched Gene carefully as he slowly shuffled back to the waiting area and lowered himself into one of the chairs, neither drinking nor smoking; Gene simply sat, his eyes on the ground. She threw him a sympathetic glance before returning to her paperwork.
While Gene was busy relieving Annie of her position at the hospital, Ray was silently driving his car through the streets of Manchester, eventually reaching a long block of houses in a neat and tidy working class neighborhood. Small flower beds filled the tiny front gardens, and the occasional football banner flapped in the wind. Ray slowly pulled up in front of the small house that was their destination. He cut the engine and pulled up on the parking brake, then turned to face Chris, who had been silent for their entire drive.
“You want me to wait here while you go and change?” Ray didn’t really fancy the idea of meeting Chris’ parents, and had never been in the house, despite having picked up and dropped off the younger detective on many occasions over the years. Chris shrugged and remained in his seat, and Ray sighed.
“Chris!” He said it loudly and forcefully, trying to be commanding without shouting, and Chris started and turned to him. “You want me to wait here or what?”
Chris looked over and seemed surprised to find that they had reached his house, then turned back to Ray, “You can come in, if you want. There’s beer in the fridge, if you want. Shouldn’t take me long, just need a wash and a change is all.” He still seemed far too distant to Ray, too distant even for Chris on his worst day, and Ray’s brow crinkled as he scrutinized him.
“Your old lady and old man home?” Ray asked with trepidation, uneasy at the thought of meeting Chris’ parents. He watched, stunned, as Chris’ eyes went wide, and then the younger man turned to him, his features twisted with deep confusion.
“What? My what?”
“Your parents, you div. They home?”
“Don’t have, Ray. They’ve both passed. It was me grandad’s house, and then me mum’s. Nowt but me there now.” Chris was still staring confusedly at Ray, and he let his gaze fall to the floor, suddenly feeling like he’s said far too much, breeching some secret law of buddy cop confidentiality. Ray raised his eyebrows as he realized the error of his assumption, then sighed as he opened the door and moved out of the driver’s side of the car, moving around the body of the vehicle and into the street, opening the passenger door.
“So you’ve got a family house and all, and you didn’t mention? I tell you, Chris, you are a boy. Just mention you have a nice house, and you can get any bird you want in there, I swear it. This Saturday we’ll go out and you’ll see, eh?” Ray opened the door for Chris and ushered him out, trying to make reassuring conversation. “Seriously, mate, just pick a pair of tits and let it slip you’ve got a nice place, it’ll work a treat.” He followed Chris up to the front door, watching as Chris, head still bowed, staring at his shoes, fumbled to take his keys out of his pocket. Ray was about to rip into him with another jibe, but stopped when he noticed that Chris’ hands were shaking.
Ray kept silent as Chris unlocked and opened the door, and then followed him inside of the house. The walls were totally bare, and Ray looked off to one side to see a small living room, also with bare walls. A bookcase holding a few books and records stood in the corner, along with an old record player on a little side table, and the room was nearly filled all the way by the furniture, a couch, two arm chairs, a coffee table and two end tables. They all looked at least 40 years old, and Ray guessed that Chris had inherited the furniture along with the house. There was a single framed photo on the mantel of the small fireplace, and even from the doorway Ray could make out a man in uniform, a young woman, and a small boy. Chris and his parents, Ray guessed. He pulled his head out of the room’s doorway and noticed that Chris was watching him intently.
“Need to redecorate, mate. Turn this place into a right love palace, you could. Nice and cozy, some flowery wallpaper and shite like that, this could be a right fanny magnet, you know,” Ray tried to smile his most devious smile, then noticed a panicked look creeping over Chris’ features as the younger man turned and dashed down the hallway, past a sparse and bare-walled dining room, and into a small kitchen. Ray stood still for a second, stunned, and then followed the path that Chris had hastily taken, finding his friend bent over the kitchen sink, retching.
“Whoa, whoa… Steady on, mate…” Ray tried to look away and give his friend some privacy, then noticed that Chris was still retching after a full minute, his back jerking with each dry heave. He frowned and moved towards Chris, placing one hand on the spasming back and reaching the other hand around to Chris’ chest, trying to straighten him out into a full standing position. The spasms slowly subsided and Chris started to gasp, panting rapidly. Ray maneuvered him away from the sink and over to one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, rubbing his hand in slow circles on the other man’s back as he corralled him into place.
“Easy, easy there mate. Nice and steady,” he added, not sure what to say as Chris’ breathing slowly began to regulate. His eyes were still wide, a shocked, frightened look contorting his features, and Ray frowned and moved a hand to his friend’s forehead. “Think you’ve got something, mate. Oughtta stay here, get a good kip in; I’ll take both our shifts with the boss. Take a rain check on that blackjack game.” He pulled back and stood next to Chris, whose breath was normal once again, still frowning.
Chris shook his head, and then stood, shakily. “’m fine. Told you already, something I ate. Don’t - don’t mean to be such a div. Gonna go wash up, be down soon,” Chris hastily pushed past Ray, then started to walk back down the hallway, eventually turning around the end of a banister and starting to climb the staircase that started opposite the doorway to the living room. Ray stared after him, still frowning, not sure how to handle his friend’s behavior. The younger man was usually clumsy and off track, mostly with humorous consequences, but Ray had never seen him this… Odd. Ray continued to frown as he heard water start to run upstairs, then headed back into the kitchen to retrieve one of the proffered beers. He found several bottles of Thwaite’s Dark Mild, grabbed one, and then headed back to the living room, where he sat, nursing it and trying to make sense of Chris’ strange behavior.
Ray continued to mull over the oddities of the past few days, still wondering how so many things could happen so quickly, completely losing track of time as his beer slowly grew warm, when Chris came down the stairs, wearing clean clothes, clean shaven, and smelling of mouthwash and Denim aftershave. His shirt collar was still undone, and his tie hung loosely on both sides of his neck. He moved into the living room and sat down on one of the chairs, directly opposite to Ray, his hands fumbling with the knot of his necktie.
“Oh, here, you nonce,” Ray smiled mockingly at Chris and reached forward to tie Chris’ tie for him, just as he had on hundreds of previous occasions, but Chris pulled back, shaking his head.
“’Bout time I started tying my own ties, eh?” He kept his gaze fixed on the coffee table as he flipped a strand of tie over his shoulder, glared at it angrily, and then yanked it around and down, finally completing the knot. Ray stared at the curve of Chris’ throat for a moment, trying hard not to make it apparent just what he was looking at, and drank down the last of his beer with a sigh.
A strange tension filled the air as the two men stared at the coffee table, both occasionally stealing glances at each other. Ray let his face stay locked in a confused frown, and Chris seemed much more nervous than was normal, even for him. Ray tried to get an eye to eye lock with Chris, and noticed that the beautiful mismatched eyes were rimmed in red. “Chris, you’ve nowt been cryin,’ ‘ave you? Over the boss? He’ll be all right, you know. Dozy git’ll probably be back in just a few days, an’ you can show ‘im the tape you made, good li’l lap dog an’ all,” Ray tried to smile as he threw the jibe at Chris, but the response that he received was not at all what he had expected. Chris threw his hands over his head, clasping them behind his neck and then moving to muss his freshly combed hair. When he spoke, his voice was dark and hard, so much so that it seemed unfamiliar to Ray.
“Stop saying that. ‘E won’t be. An’ it’s not what I’m upset about,” Chris’ voice softened back into his usual tone, cracking slightly and threatening to break, “I mean, I’m not upset about nothing. Just tired. Look, we should head over there. ‘S a long drive out to hospital, yeah?” Chris climbed to his feet and moved towards the doorway, and Ray followed, confusion and concern continuing to twist his features. The two of them slowly made their way out of the front door, Chris turning to lock it behind them, and then they silently moved down to the curb and to the car, climbing silently into their seats.
Ray let his gaze dart sideways at Chris once more, and found that the eerily vacant, hollow expression had again taken over Chris’ face. He slid the key into the ignition, but didn’t turn the engine over. “You sure you’re all right?”
Something inside of Chris seemed to give, and he leaned back in his seat, his hands moving awkwardly up and down, as if he weren’t sure whether to cross them over his chest, or reach up behind his head, or just let them fall to his sides. He let his arms settle down before he spoke, his eyes still staring forward and his voice waivering, “You have to keep askin’ me that? Course I’m all right. You always have to treat me like a child, you know? Why is that? Have to step in for poor little Chris, useless, stupid git Chris, bloody soft nonce moron that he is, dozy sod couldn’t find his way out of a paper sack, couldn’t figure out nowt, bloody useless, stupid, idiot div Chris, brainless poofter and all,” Chris punched the dashboard and then let his arms start roaming again, running his hands through his hair, crossing his arms, grasping at the handle above the door. His breath came fast for a few moments, and then he seemed to calm down. “Sorry,” he muttered, averting his gaze to the floor boards of the car.
Ray shook his head and leaned over the wheel, “You know that’s not true. You’re not useless. Just learnin,’ is all. An’ you know we only say those things for fun, yeah? ‘S just some fun. Look, if you want me to ease off on that, I will. And the others too, an’ all. All right? You’re a good copper, Chris. And a good mate. Just learnin,’ is all, and it’s just some friendly jokin’, we mean nowt by it.” He stretched out a hand and patted Chris on the knee, and the other man seemed to crumple up a bit.
“Sorry,” Chris said again as he turned his face away from Ray, looking out the window and at the house, rubbing his palms and wrists over his eyes as he struggled to keep from crying. “I know that. Sorry… It’s just… Let’s go, Ray. Let’s just go.” He tried to smile at Ray, then let his face fall back into the vacant stare, which he fixed on the road.
Ray frowned again and turned the key, and the two of them were again silent as they made their way to the hospital. The two of them slowly got out of the car in the hospital car park, then made their way to the entrance, and into the lift, each still refusing to break the silence or to meet the other’s eyes. When the lift finally deposited them on the floor that held ICU, they disembarked and made their way over to the waiting area, Chris trying to hide the fact that he had never been there before, and was following Ray for directions. When they turned the final corner, each was slightly shocked to see Gene sitting in a chair, head in his hands, eyes red rimmed and cloudy.
“Gov,” Ray said as he and Chris came forward, and Gene let himself snap upwards, his face hardening.
“Took you girls long enough, didn’t it?” Gene stood and threw his coat on almost immediately, and Ray and Chris took in the sight of the overflowing ashtrays and empty cigarette packets, and the strong smell of scotch emanating from every bit of Gene.
Gene was glad that the last hour had sobered him somewhat, although he found himself acutely aware that he was, once again, desperate for a drink. He looked at his two detectives, not really noticing them, and immediately moved to leave, deciding that the waiting would, most definitely, drive him mad. “He’s still not to have visitors. I’ll be at the station, so if anything happens, you call me there. Cartwright’ll be back in 8 hours. I want one of you here at all times, just in case something does happen, and if it does, you call me at the station. Understood?”
Ray and Chris nodded in unison as Gene started to move, rather quickly, towards the lift. A nurse scampered up to empty the ashtrays into a small dust bin, and to sweep the packets that littered the table into it, as well. She looked up, saw Ray looking at her, and then scampered away. Ray shrugged at this as he and Chris moved to sit in the hard plastic chairs, Chris making sure to leave an empty seat between the two of them, a move that Ray found slightly odd, until Chris moved to stretch out over the row of hard plastic seats, his head resting on the empty seat next to Ray.
“Told you, you could stay at yours and kip there,” Ray sighed as he watched Chris squirm into an odd, sideways lying position.
“Wouldn’t wake up soon enough to come here, an’ I want to be here, case sommat happens.” Chris’ voice was already starting to fade into sleep, and Ray leaned forward and peeled off his jacket, bunching it up and then lifting Chris’ head with one hand, trying to slide the jacket under it as a pillow.
“Here, like this, you div,” Ray muttered as he fixed the crumpled jacket under Chris’ head, noticing that the other man had already fallen asleep. He took a moment to stroke Chris’ hair slowly, curving it behind his ear, and then leaned back in his own chair, still trying to make sense of his friend’s bizarre behavior, and of everything that had happened over the past few days.
*Blood work is still a mess, Matthews.*
*ICP is at 23 mils, that’s far too high*
*It can’t be a clot. Baum, will you look at this?*
* I’m with Jamison. Not a clot. AVM? It looks too solid… Are you sure it’s not a mass?*
*That would explain the seizure that caused the initial accident*
Sam awoke in the woods, naked, and found that the ground in front of him was a sheer drop off, the land jutting out over nothing, the forest giving way to a great yawning precipice, the drop seeming to go on forever, nothing but darkness below. “What the bloody hell are they talking about? I never had any seizure before the accident! And where the hell am I? You said I made it out of the woods, I woke up! I’m out of the bloody damned woods, now you let me wake up! This is my life, and my fantasy, and I say that it’s going to end with me waking up, right now!”
The voices of the double and the little girl seemed to float out at him from all directions, and he felt his heart start to beat more and more rapidly as he heard their laughter spinning around him.
“I said, I want to wake up! Do you hear me? You told me that I could! I’m out of your stupid bloody wood, now let me wake up! You want to talk about bargains? You’re certainly not upholding yours, you bastards! Now let me wake up, and let me wake up now!” Sam felt anger burning deep inside of him, and suddenly, the ground gave way, and he found himself screaming, shouting, calling for help as he began to fall, tumbling through cooling air into infinite blackness, the strange, windy sensation of the fall pulling all around him, gravity seeming to grow stronger as his descent continued.
*Christ, how did we miss that?*
*Anyone you can call in, Baum?*
*Morgan; we should definitely call Morgan. I want his opinion, now*
* I still don’t believe it*
*It’s in a very hard to read area, it’s understandable*
*I was so sure it was a clot, but that explains everything*
*Need to run more tests - need to*
*Get him back to the ICU for now, keep monitoring the pressure and the blood chemistry. What happened to that poor old woman; is she the mother?*
The voices swelled and faded, like a radio with someone playing with the volume dial, sounds rapidly increasing and decreasing in volume, and then starting to distort and fade, a strange, warping quality overtaking them, twisting them like static. Sam found himself engulfed in black once again, and then, slowly, he was… He was opening his eyes!
A tall man with thinning ginger hair was standing above him, talking to him, and he tried to focus on the words that the man, who was clad in a white coat that obviously marked him as a doctor, was saying to him.
“Need you to relax, Sam. I just removed the endotr… The air tube in your throat, but your chest can’t take much, all right? You need to stay still. Do you understand me, Sam? Mr. Tyler? Can you blink twice for me?” The man’s voice was kind and stern, and Sam tried to follow the instructions that it was giving him, forcing his eyelids, which seemed suddenly to be made of lead, to open and close.
“Very good, Sam. Very good. Don’t try to speak just yet, all right? You’ve been on a ventilator for nearly four days now. Your friends have been coming, you know. There’s never been a time when one of them wasn’t here. And both of your DCIs, too.” The man’s voice was still kind, but Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly; perhaps the doctor was just unsure of different police ranks. He tried to move his head, to sit up, but found that he couldn’t move at all. His body seemed to be weighted down, and the world was starting to sway, not quite spinning, just swaying, mildly, from side to side.
“Don’t try to move, Sam. You need to rest now. I’ve placed an oxygen mask, and there’s going to be a specially trained nurse in here every half hour, listening to your breathing, as well as other staff monitoring your vital signs. Can you blink twice again, to show you understand what I’m saying? Very good, Sam. Very good. I’m actually your surgeon, and I’m going to be handing the case over to another specialist soon, and you’ve got another trauma specialist here, as well, Dr. Gale, who’s been looking into a lot of your other injuries…” The man’s voice trailed off, almost as if he were upset by something, and confusion gripped Sam for a moment.
‘Other injuries?’ Sam wondered, then realized that the man had to be talking about damage caused by the accident. Sam figured that at the speed at which he was hit, he was likely to have sustained major damage, and he started to try and take stock of what injuries he might have sustained. A dull, numb sensation seemed to hold his entire body, however, and he found himself unable to feel anything. The swaying gradually increased, and the world started to slide in and out of focus.
“I’m sedating you for the last time, Sam, and you’re likely to rest on your own for quite some time. Your friends are still coming, it would seem, and you’ve shown… Well, it’s been miraculous. You’ve given a good fight, Sam, and it looks like you’ve won, so far, at least. We’re still very concerned about your lungs, but even those are improving remarkably well.” The doctor’s voice was starting to fade, and Sam found that the weight that was dragging his eyelids down was becoming far too heavy to fight.
‘I did it. 2006. I’m back. And when I wake up again, I can tell Mum not to worry, and Auntie Heather, and maybe Maya, God, I know I let her go, but that was only a month ago, a month ago in that crazy 1973 fantasy. Maybe it’s only been a day, here in the real world,’ Sam’s thoughts began to stumble and trip over themselves as he let the relief flood through him, so glad that he was finally back in 2006. He let the swaying motion overtake him, and sleep, true, honest sleep, embraced him in its comforting arms.
Gene Hunt returned to the police station, feeling as if a rock had been set deep within his gut, and was startled to see his desk sergeant standing outside, on the hard steps, waiting for him. A look of absolute horror twisted Phyllis’ dour features, and for a moment, Gene felt his blood turn to ice.
“Tell me they didn’t call from the hospital, Phyllis, tell me…” She raised a hand, and locked haunted eyes onto Gene’s.
“Gov… PC Stanley just radioed in about five minutes ago… I was going to call you… They’ve found another one. Same MO. Another body… Fresh.”
All comments, critiques, and general gabbery welcome and highly encouraged.
Nearly four hours had passed since he had come and relieved Annie, startled by the tears in her eyes. He hated it when women cried. Not nearly as bad as when men cried, mind, but he still hated it. He had nearly gotten into another fight with Denslow, but had somehow allowed the ire to fall away when Annie stood and placed a hand on his shoulder; it reminded him, in an odd way, of the way Sam had patted him on the shoulder as they discussed his brother. Gene paused in his pacing and shook his head, still not sure how he had ever managed to let Sam know about Stu; he’d never told anyone else about his brother, not old Harry, not Ray; he hadn’t even told Lucy what had happened to Stu, and she hadn’t asked; occasionally, she’d be filling out Christmas cards and she’d look at the wedding photo on the mantel, at the brother standing proudly as a groomsman, and she’d look up at him… And say nothing. Lucy had gotten rather good at saying nothing, over the years.
Gene slowly sat down in one of the hard, plastic chairs of the waiting area, pulling out one of his flasks and realizing that he’d already drained it. He tried all of the others, slowly pulling them from their hidden places in his jacket, and coming to the startling realization that he’d managed to drain them all. He shook his head, wondering how many packets of cigarettes he must have gone through in the same amount of time, and imagining Sam, glaring at him, a slightly amused, slightly disgusted, and slightly concerned look of exasperation on his face, his finger pointing at the fags and booze, saying, “You know, that shit will kill you…” Gene slipped the last empty flask back into place and buried his head in his hands.
Annie had mentioned that something had happened, but she wasn’t sure what, and then Denslow had appeared, stating that Sam had actually woken up, against their expectations, and tried to free himself from the various machines and bandages covering him. He had then continued to explain that the tube running down Sam’s throat had had to be replaced, and that they were sedating him heavily to keep him asleep. When Gene had started to prickle at this, Denslow had explained that Sam needed to remain unconscious while the tubes were in place, in order to keep himself from accidentally injuring himself. Annie’s hand and a reassuring notice from Denslow, that Sam would likely be able to be taken off of the respirator in 48 hours, were the only things that kept Gene from punching him in the face.
Gene lowered his head and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his palms down over his face and lips, trying to calm himself and to straighten his thoughts. He closed his eyes and shook his head, then clambered back up to his feet and slowly approached the nurses’ station, watching as the more timid looking nurses suddenly became totally engrossed in their work or moved to check on paperwork at the far side of the station. One of the older ladies, who bore a striking resemblance to Phyllis in both body and demeanor, straightened her little white cap and stared him straight on.
“I want to see him. Not long, just for a minute.” Gene grunted it out softly, his words slurring slightly from the amount of alcohol he’d already ingested. The nurse eyed him warily, placing her hands on her hips.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you see him now, Sir. He’s still on the respirator, under heavy sedation, and he’s not to have visitors. Especially not great, smelly louts who’ve already drunk enough liquor to fell a horse.” The nurse’s tone was harsh and matronly, and Gene drew himself up to tower over her, a sneer contorting his features.
“Now see here, you dozy old cow, I, I am a Detective Chief Inspector with the Manchester police, and that is one of my fine officers,” Gene became slightly aware of the fact that he was slurring his words again, and swaying slightly on his feet. He felt slightly angry with himself over the fact that he had stopped pacing and let the alcohol, which he had firmly convinced himself he had not had too much of, start to catch up to him as he sat still.
The nurse stood her ground, obviously unimpressed by the impressive height and swelling chest of Gene Hunt, a thing that very few people could say. “And I, Sir, am the Chief Duty Nurse of the Intensive Care Unit at Saint James’ Hospital in Manchester.” She continued to stare at him, and he felt himself begin to whither slightly in her gaze.
“Oh, lovely. Well met by a lardy old bat in a cap, is it? I don’t think so… Not so long as there’s a hole in me arse!” Gene turned and started to make his way down the hall to Room 11, and the nurse made her way out of the station and towards him with the firm, purposeful stride that seemed to only be cultivated by head nurses, headmistresses, and librarians. Gene felt his hackles rise as she caught him by the elbow, staring up at him from a height that barely reached his chest.
“I think not, Sir. Now sit down, or I will have security remove you!” The woman started to pull on Gene’s elbow, and he glowered at her.
“Can’t call security, you dried up old bitch! Your doctor’s already said a member of the police force can be present, and presently I am that member of the police force, and you will let me see my inspector,” Gene’s words were coming more rapidly, still tainted by the thick alcoholic slur, and his eyes flashed as he spat them out at her.
“Right now, Sir, that boy needs rest, and he cannot get it with some drunken lunatic crashing about his room. Now if you will kindly…” The nurse started to pull on Gene’s elbow again, and he ripped his arm out of her grasp, stumbling slightly backwards and brushing his fingertips along the floor to catch himself, then righting himself and advancing on her, placing both of his hands, and a considerable amount of his weight, on her shoulders.
“That boy… That boy’s a fine lad, and he’s got nowt but me, and I didn’t even know it until this happened, and he’s just a fine copper, and a fine lad, and I, I, I just want to see him…” Gene’s face and voice dissolved into a strained desperation for a moment, and the nurse’s eyebrows knotted together in sympathy before she moved his hands off of her shoulders. He straightened and squared his shoulders, inhaling sharply through his nose, his expression turning and tone colored by anger once again. “I want to see him. Just a minute.” His voice was slurring less now, and his last sentence was a hard command.
The head nurse looked him up and down appraisingly, and then sighed and nodded. “Just for a minute. One minute. Absolutely no more. And quiet. Do you understand me?” She raised a finger and waggled it at Gene, and he was once again struck at how much she resembled the stuffy old headmistress of his dilapidated old junior school, and every librarian he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting, and, consequently, upsetting.
“Just a minute’s all I’m asking, Love,” Gene deflated somewhat, letting his shoulders droop, and kept his tone low and level. She nodded approvingly at him and led him towards the door to Room 11, her gait still clipped and professional. He lowered his head and jammed his hands into his pants pockets as he followed her, trying to keep his own gait steady and straight as they approached the door. The nurse slowly pushed the door open and then stood with her back to the door, holding it open, one eye on the bed that held Sam, the other on the hallway.
“One minute. Starting now,” the head nurse stated it as a short, clipped proclamation, and continued to keep her gaze flitting between Sam’s bed and the hallway. Gene had a sinking feeling that she was actually looking at the old clock above the nurses’ station, and he slowly made his way over to stand next to the bed, looking down at Sam, so close that his thighs touched the edge of the mattress.
The bandages had been removed from Sam’s eyes, and the tubes had been removed from the sides of his chest, but the thick plastic tube of the respirator still snaked up and into his mouth, and the left side of his face was still obscured by bandages from jaw to cheek. Tighter bandages had been applied to his arms, and the sheet that had previously covered him from the waist down was now drawn up and over his chest, hiding the remainder of the bandages from view. Gene took in the sounds of the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the steady hiss and flap of the respirator’s air pump, the scent of antiseptic, the strange combination of dark and light that the hospital’s lighting created as it cast glazed yellow circles around Sam’s form.
Gene slowly and carefully raised one hand to Sam’s exposed cheek, cradling his DI’s face in his palm, lightly stroking his fingertips over the temple and the high cheekbone, feeling the pad of his hand slowly make its way over the rounded curve of Sam’s cheek, the smooth flesh made rough with stubble. He let his fingers slowly trace the line of the sideburn that crept down the right side of Sam’s face, marveling at how soft it seemed compared to normal facial hair, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Sam…” He whispered the name softly, afraid that if he spoke it more loudly, the tears that were threatening him would finally come, or the nurse would usher him out for being too loud. Neither prospect appealed to him, and he let the corners of his mouth arch upwards in the smallest of smiles as he turned his head around to glance at her with his peripheral vision, “He’s not so cold anymore. That’s good, yeah? And you’ve stopped with the blood bottle, that’s good too, right?”
The nurse gave him a very slight, patronizing grin and nodded, then gave him another, much deeper look of appraisal than she had before, her eyes widening slightly. Gene frowned, wondering what she could possibly be doing, his hand still gently stroking Sam’s face. The nurse gave him another small nod before starting to move away from the door. “One more minute. I’m counting. If you’re not out by then, I’m calling security. And they will escort you out of the hospital if I say so, no matter what any of the doctors has said.” She slowly moved away, letting the door shut soundlessly behind her, leaving Gene alone in the room with Sam.
Gene smiled, “Poxy old crow has a heart after all, eh, Sammy boy?” He let his other hand drift to the bed, and grasped Sam’s right hand in his own, cradling it as softly as he cradled Sam’s face with his left hand. The long fingers were horribly still, and a loop of bandage snaked upwards across Sam’s palm, securing the long series of white cotton shrouds that covered Sam’s arm and obscuring the flesh between Sam’s fingers and thumb.
“You’re coming back to me soon, yeah? You’d better, Sammy boy, or you’re getting a kicking.” Gene tried to keep his voice steady, but it broke on the last word, and he sucked in his lower lip, trying desperately to keep himself from crying. He hated crying; it wasn’t manly, it wasn’t strong, or tough, or anything that a good copper was. “You’re coming back to me,” he heard his voice crack again as he repeated it, and he turned his head around slowly, making sure that the door was securely shut and that there was no one else in the room, and then slowly bent down over Sam’s face. Gene let his lips lightly brush the exposed right side of Sam’s mouth, barely feeling the full curve of Sam’s lips, and then he brought his lips higher and gave a longer, full kiss to Sam’s temple.
“You tell anyone about that, and I’ll have your hide, you hear? I’m not a fairy. I just… I just want you to come back to me, is all. Right picky pain in the arse, that’s what I want, my same old Sam….” Gene let his voice trail off, and then lowered his face down to Sam’s hand, careful not to move the bandaged limb, and he kissed the back of Sam’s hand as well, lips softly parting over the graceful fingers. He straightened and inhaled through his nose, fighting tears again. “Sam… Sammy boy…” He let his hands move away from the prone body of his DI, and then backed away towards the door, his eyes still locked on Sam’s face, until he felt his back hit the door. He turned and left the room, stealing one last glance at the motionless form on the bed.
The head nurse watched Gene carefully as he slowly shuffled back to the waiting area and lowered himself into one of the chairs, neither drinking nor smoking; Gene simply sat, his eyes on the ground. She threw him a sympathetic glance before returning to her paperwork.
While Gene was busy relieving Annie of her position at the hospital, Ray was silently driving his car through the streets of Manchester, eventually reaching a long block of houses in a neat and tidy working class neighborhood. Small flower beds filled the tiny front gardens, and the occasional football banner flapped in the wind. Ray slowly pulled up in front of the small house that was their destination. He cut the engine and pulled up on the parking brake, then turned to face Chris, who had been silent for their entire drive.
“You want me to wait here while you go and change?” Ray didn’t really fancy the idea of meeting Chris’ parents, and had never been in the house, despite having picked up and dropped off the younger detective on many occasions over the years. Chris shrugged and remained in his seat, and Ray sighed.
“Chris!” He said it loudly and forcefully, trying to be commanding without shouting, and Chris started and turned to him. “You want me to wait here or what?”
Chris looked over and seemed surprised to find that they had reached his house, then turned back to Ray, “You can come in, if you want. There’s beer in the fridge, if you want. Shouldn’t take me long, just need a wash and a change is all.” He still seemed far too distant to Ray, too distant even for Chris on his worst day, and Ray’s brow crinkled as he scrutinized him.
“Your old lady and old man home?” Ray asked with trepidation, uneasy at the thought of meeting Chris’ parents. He watched, stunned, as Chris’ eyes went wide, and then the younger man turned to him, his features twisted with deep confusion.
“What? My what?”
“Your parents, you div. They home?”
“Don’t have, Ray. They’ve both passed. It was me grandad’s house, and then me mum’s. Nowt but me there now.” Chris was still staring confusedly at Ray, and he let his gaze fall to the floor, suddenly feeling like he’s said far too much, breeching some secret law of buddy cop confidentiality. Ray raised his eyebrows as he realized the error of his assumption, then sighed as he opened the door and moved out of the driver’s side of the car, moving around the body of the vehicle and into the street, opening the passenger door.
“So you’ve got a family house and all, and you didn’t mention? I tell you, Chris, you are a boy. Just mention you have a nice house, and you can get any bird you want in there, I swear it. This Saturday we’ll go out and you’ll see, eh?” Ray opened the door for Chris and ushered him out, trying to make reassuring conversation. “Seriously, mate, just pick a pair of tits and let it slip you’ve got a nice place, it’ll work a treat.” He followed Chris up to the front door, watching as Chris, head still bowed, staring at his shoes, fumbled to take his keys out of his pocket. Ray was about to rip into him with another jibe, but stopped when he noticed that Chris’ hands were shaking.
Ray kept silent as Chris unlocked and opened the door, and then followed him inside of the house. The walls were totally bare, and Ray looked off to one side to see a small living room, also with bare walls. A bookcase holding a few books and records stood in the corner, along with an old record player on a little side table, and the room was nearly filled all the way by the furniture, a couch, two arm chairs, a coffee table and two end tables. They all looked at least 40 years old, and Ray guessed that Chris had inherited the furniture along with the house. There was a single framed photo on the mantel of the small fireplace, and even from the doorway Ray could make out a man in uniform, a young woman, and a small boy. Chris and his parents, Ray guessed. He pulled his head out of the room’s doorway and noticed that Chris was watching him intently.
“Need to redecorate, mate. Turn this place into a right love palace, you could. Nice and cozy, some flowery wallpaper and shite like that, this could be a right fanny magnet, you know,” Ray tried to smile his most devious smile, then noticed a panicked look creeping over Chris’ features as the younger man turned and dashed down the hallway, past a sparse and bare-walled dining room, and into a small kitchen. Ray stood still for a second, stunned, and then followed the path that Chris had hastily taken, finding his friend bent over the kitchen sink, retching.
“Whoa, whoa… Steady on, mate…” Ray tried to look away and give his friend some privacy, then noticed that Chris was still retching after a full minute, his back jerking with each dry heave. He frowned and moved towards Chris, placing one hand on the spasming back and reaching the other hand around to Chris’ chest, trying to straighten him out into a full standing position. The spasms slowly subsided and Chris started to gasp, panting rapidly. Ray maneuvered him away from the sink and over to one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, rubbing his hand in slow circles on the other man’s back as he corralled him into place.
“Easy, easy there mate. Nice and steady,” he added, not sure what to say as Chris’ breathing slowly began to regulate. His eyes were still wide, a shocked, frightened look contorting his features, and Ray frowned and moved a hand to his friend’s forehead. “Think you’ve got something, mate. Oughtta stay here, get a good kip in; I’ll take both our shifts with the boss. Take a rain check on that blackjack game.” He pulled back and stood next to Chris, whose breath was normal once again, still frowning.
Chris shook his head, and then stood, shakily. “’m fine. Told you already, something I ate. Don’t - don’t mean to be such a div. Gonna go wash up, be down soon,” Chris hastily pushed past Ray, then started to walk back down the hallway, eventually turning around the end of a banister and starting to climb the staircase that started opposite the doorway to the living room. Ray stared after him, still frowning, not sure how to handle his friend’s behavior. The younger man was usually clumsy and off track, mostly with humorous consequences, but Ray had never seen him this… Odd. Ray continued to frown as he heard water start to run upstairs, then headed back into the kitchen to retrieve one of the proffered beers. He found several bottles of Thwaite’s Dark Mild, grabbed one, and then headed back to the living room, where he sat, nursing it and trying to make sense of Chris’ strange behavior.
Ray continued to mull over the oddities of the past few days, still wondering how so many things could happen so quickly, completely losing track of time as his beer slowly grew warm, when Chris came down the stairs, wearing clean clothes, clean shaven, and smelling of mouthwash and Denim aftershave. His shirt collar was still undone, and his tie hung loosely on both sides of his neck. He moved into the living room and sat down on one of the chairs, directly opposite to Ray, his hands fumbling with the knot of his necktie.
“Oh, here, you nonce,” Ray smiled mockingly at Chris and reached forward to tie Chris’ tie for him, just as he had on hundreds of previous occasions, but Chris pulled back, shaking his head.
“’Bout time I started tying my own ties, eh?” He kept his gaze fixed on the coffee table as he flipped a strand of tie over his shoulder, glared at it angrily, and then yanked it around and down, finally completing the knot. Ray stared at the curve of Chris’ throat for a moment, trying hard not to make it apparent just what he was looking at, and drank down the last of his beer with a sigh.
A strange tension filled the air as the two men stared at the coffee table, both occasionally stealing glances at each other. Ray let his face stay locked in a confused frown, and Chris seemed much more nervous than was normal, even for him. Ray tried to get an eye to eye lock with Chris, and noticed that the beautiful mismatched eyes were rimmed in red. “Chris, you’ve nowt been cryin,’ ‘ave you? Over the boss? He’ll be all right, you know. Dozy git’ll probably be back in just a few days, an’ you can show ‘im the tape you made, good li’l lap dog an’ all,” Ray tried to smile as he threw the jibe at Chris, but the response that he received was not at all what he had expected. Chris threw his hands over his head, clasping them behind his neck and then moving to muss his freshly combed hair. When he spoke, his voice was dark and hard, so much so that it seemed unfamiliar to Ray.
“Stop saying that. ‘E won’t be. An’ it’s not what I’m upset about,” Chris’ voice softened back into his usual tone, cracking slightly and threatening to break, “I mean, I’m not upset about nothing. Just tired. Look, we should head over there. ‘S a long drive out to hospital, yeah?” Chris climbed to his feet and moved towards the doorway, and Ray followed, confusion and concern continuing to twist his features. The two of them slowly made their way out of the front door, Chris turning to lock it behind them, and then they silently moved down to the curb and to the car, climbing silently into their seats.
Ray let his gaze dart sideways at Chris once more, and found that the eerily vacant, hollow expression had again taken over Chris’ face. He slid the key into the ignition, but didn’t turn the engine over. “You sure you’re all right?”
Something inside of Chris seemed to give, and he leaned back in his seat, his hands moving awkwardly up and down, as if he weren’t sure whether to cross them over his chest, or reach up behind his head, or just let them fall to his sides. He let his arms settle down before he spoke, his eyes still staring forward and his voice waivering, “You have to keep askin’ me that? Course I’m all right. You always have to treat me like a child, you know? Why is that? Have to step in for poor little Chris, useless, stupid git Chris, bloody soft nonce moron that he is, dozy sod couldn’t find his way out of a paper sack, couldn’t figure out nowt, bloody useless, stupid, idiot div Chris, brainless poofter and all,” Chris punched the dashboard and then let his arms start roaming again, running his hands through his hair, crossing his arms, grasping at the handle above the door. His breath came fast for a few moments, and then he seemed to calm down. “Sorry,” he muttered, averting his gaze to the floor boards of the car.
Ray shook his head and leaned over the wheel, “You know that’s not true. You’re not useless. Just learnin,’ is all. An’ you know we only say those things for fun, yeah? ‘S just some fun. Look, if you want me to ease off on that, I will. And the others too, an’ all. All right? You’re a good copper, Chris. And a good mate. Just learnin,’ is all, and it’s just some friendly jokin’, we mean nowt by it.” He stretched out a hand and patted Chris on the knee, and the other man seemed to crumple up a bit.
“Sorry,” Chris said again as he turned his face away from Ray, looking out the window and at the house, rubbing his palms and wrists over his eyes as he struggled to keep from crying. “I know that. Sorry… It’s just… Let’s go, Ray. Let’s just go.” He tried to smile at Ray, then let his face fall back into the vacant stare, which he fixed on the road.
Ray frowned again and turned the key, and the two of them were again silent as they made their way to the hospital. The two of them slowly got out of the car in the hospital car park, then made their way to the entrance, and into the lift, each still refusing to break the silence or to meet the other’s eyes. When the lift finally deposited them on the floor that held ICU, they disembarked and made their way over to the waiting area, Chris trying to hide the fact that he had never been there before, and was following Ray for directions. When they turned the final corner, each was slightly shocked to see Gene sitting in a chair, head in his hands, eyes red rimmed and cloudy.
“Gov,” Ray said as he and Chris came forward, and Gene let himself snap upwards, his face hardening.
“Took you girls long enough, didn’t it?” Gene stood and threw his coat on almost immediately, and Ray and Chris took in the sight of the overflowing ashtrays and empty cigarette packets, and the strong smell of scotch emanating from every bit of Gene.
Gene was glad that the last hour had sobered him somewhat, although he found himself acutely aware that he was, once again, desperate for a drink. He looked at his two detectives, not really noticing them, and immediately moved to leave, deciding that the waiting would, most definitely, drive him mad. “He’s still not to have visitors. I’ll be at the station, so if anything happens, you call me there. Cartwright’ll be back in 8 hours. I want one of you here at all times, just in case something does happen, and if it does, you call me at the station. Understood?”
Ray and Chris nodded in unison as Gene started to move, rather quickly, towards the lift. A nurse scampered up to empty the ashtrays into a small dust bin, and to sweep the packets that littered the table into it, as well. She looked up, saw Ray looking at her, and then scampered away. Ray shrugged at this as he and Chris moved to sit in the hard plastic chairs, Chris making sure to leave an empty seat between the two of them, a move that Ray found slightly odd, until Chris moved to stretch out over the row of hard plastic seats, his head resting on the empty seat next to Ray.
“Told you, you could stay at yours and kip there,” Ray sighed as he watched Chris squirm into an odd, sideways lying position.
“Wouldn’t wake up soon enough to come here, an’ I want to be here, case sommat happens.” Chris’ voice was already starting to fade into sleep, and Ray leaned forward and peeled off his jacket, bunching it up and then lifting Chris’ head with one hand, trying to slide the jacket under it as a pillow.
“Here, like this, you div,” Ray muttered as he fixed the crumpled jacket under Chris’ head, noticing that the other man had already fallen asleep. He took a moment to stroke Chris’ hair slowly, curving it behind his ear, and then leaned back in his own chair, still trying to make sense of his friend’s bizarre behavior, and of everything that had happened over the past few days.
*Blood work is still a mess, Matthews.*
*ICP is at 23 mils, that’s far too high*
*It can’t be a clot. Baum, will you look at this?*
* I’m with Jamison. Not a clot. AVM? It looks too solid… Are you sure it’s not a mass?*
*That would explain the seizure that caused the initial accident*
Sam awoke in the woods, naked, and found that the ground in front of him was a sheer drop off, the land jutting out over nothing, the forest giving way to a great yawning precipice, the drop seeming to go on forever, nothing but darkness below. “What the bloody hell are they talking about? I never had any seizure before the accident! And where the hell am I? You said I made it out of the woods, I woke up! I’m out of the bloody damned woods, now you let me wake up! This is my life, and my fantasy, and I say that it’s going to end with me waking up, right now!”
The voices of the double and the little girl seemed to float out at him from all directions, and he felt his heart start to beat more and more rapidly as he heard their laughter spinning around him.
“I said, I want to wake up! Do you hear me? You told me that I could! I’m out of your stupid bloody wood, now let me wake up! You want to talk about bargains? You’re certainly not upholding yours, you bastards! Now let me wake up, and let me wake up now!” Sam felt anger burning deep inside of him, and suddenly, the ground gave way, and he found himself screaming, shouting, calling for help as he began to fall, tumbling through cooling air into infinite blackness, the strange, windy sensation of the fall pulling all around him, gravity seeming to grow stronger as his descent continued.
*Christ, how did we miss that?*
*Anyone you can call in, Baum?*
*Morgan; we should definitely call Morgan. I want his opinion, now*
* I still don’t believe it*
*It’s in a very hard to read area, it’s understandable*
*I was so sure it was a clot, but that explains everything*
*Need to run more tests - need to*
*Get him back to the ICU for now, keep monitoring the pressure and the blood chemistry. What happened to that poor old woman; is she the mother?*
The voices swelled and faded, like a radio with someone playing with the volume dial, sounds rapidly increasing and decreasing in volume, and then starting to distort and fade, a strange, warping quality overtaking them, twisting them like static. Sam found himself engulfed in black once again, and then, slowly, he was… He was opening his eyes!
A tall man with thinning ginger hair was standing above him, talking to him, and he tried to focus on the words that the man, who was clad in a white coat that obviously marked him as a doctor, was saying to him.
“Need you to relax, Sam. I just removed the endotr… The air tube in your throat, but your chest can’t take much, all right? You need to stay still. Do you understand me, Sam? Mr. Tyler? Can you blink twice for me?” The man’s voice was kind and stern, and Sam tried to follow the instructions that it was giving him, forcing his eyelids, which seemed suddenly to be made of lead, to open and close.
“Very good, Sam. Very good. Don’t try to speak just yet, all right? You’ve been on a ventilator for nearly four days now. Your friends have been coming, you know. There’s never been a time when one of them wasn’t here. And both of your DCIs, too.” The man’s voice was still kind, but Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly; perhaps the doctor was just unsure of different police ranks. He tried to move his head, to sit up, but found that he couldn’t move at all. His body seemed to be weighted down, and the world was starting to sway, not quite spinning, just swaying, mildly, from side to side.
“Don’t try to move, Sam. You need to rest now. I’ve placed an oxygen mask, and there’s going to be a specially trained nurse in here every half hour, listening to your breathing, as well as other staff monitoring your vital signs. Can you blink twice again, to show you understand what I’m saying? Very good, Sam. Very good. I’m actually your surgeon, and I’m going to be handing the case over to another specialist soon, and you’ve got another trauma specialist here, as well, Dr. Gale, who’s been looking into a lot of your other injuries…” The man’s voice trailed off, almost as if he were upset by something, and confusion gripped Sam for a moment.
‘Other injuries?’ Sam wondered, then realized that the man had to be talking about damage caused by the accident. Sam figured that at the speed at which he was hit, he was likely to have sustained major damage, and he started to try and take stock of what injuries he might have sustained. A dull, numb sensation seemed to hold his entire body, however, and he found himself unable to feel anything. The swaying gradually increased, and the world started to slide in and out of focus.
“I’m sedating you for the last time, Sam, and you’re likely to rest on your own for quite some time. Your friends are still coming, it would seem, and you’ve shown… Well, it’s been miraculous. You’ve given a good fight, Sam, and it looks like you’ve won, so far, at least. We’re still very concerned about your lungs, but even those are improving remarkably well.” The doctor’s voice was starting to fade, and Sam found that the weight that was dragging his eyelids down was becoming far too heavy to fight.
‘I did it. 2006. I’m back. And when I wake up again, I can tell Mum not to worry, and Auntie Heather, and maybe Maya, God, I know I let her go, but that was only a month ago, a month ago in that crazy 1973 fantasy. Maybe it’s only been a day, here in the real world,’ Sam’s thoughts began to stumble and trip over themselves as he let the relief flood through him, so glad that he was finally back in 2006. He let the swaying motion overtake him, and sleep, true, honest sleep, embraced him in its comforting arms.
Gene Hunt returned to the police station, feeling as if a rock had been set deep within his gut, and was startled to see his desk sergeant standing outside, on the hard steps, waiting for him. A look of absolute horror twisted Phyllis’ dour features, and for a moment, Gene felt his blood turn to ice.
“Tell me they didn’t call from the hospital, Phyllis, tell me…” She raised a hand, and locked haunted eyes onto Gene’s.
“Gov… PC Stanley just radioed in about five minutes ago… I was going to call you… They’ve found another one. Same MO. Another body… Fresh.”
All comments, critiques, and general gabbery welcome and highly encouraged.