I've had this idea for a while, but last night I was woken and kept awake by a combination of seagulls and toothache, so this is the product of 3am writing. Which why it may be a bit weird, but I think it fits with what's going on in the chapter. As always, comments etc give me joy! Happy reading.


Light.

Light hurt.

His eyes weren't even open but he could still feel it curling under the edges of his eyelids. Sending a wave of pain over him. Like brain freeze.

He didn't know where he was.

He was lying down, fairly comfortable. He could here faint rustles, the odd footstep. The sound of someone else moving about. A soft hum that would be some sort of electronics.

There was a blanket over him. He wasn't cold.

The light hurt. So did his arm, a sharp ache near his elbow. It was mostly the light though. And the headache it caused.

He should open his eyes. He had been lying here for who-knows-how-long in who-knows-where, with who-knows-who rustling nearby. He should fill in the blanks.

But it would hurt. It hurt anyway and he felt vulnerable. Vulnerable not knowing. With Rustler in the room.

He opened his eyes, just a crack. Just enough for the light to pour in. Yes, as expected it hurt. Ow ow ow. The light seared him, making it difficult to think. But it hurt anyway. Just as much. Still.

It took several goes before his eyes adjusted enough to stay open. To stay open long enough to take anything in.

He was in some sort of... room.

Great powers of observation there he congratulated himself sarcastically.

A hospital maybe? There were stainless steel cabinets lining the walls, and a large worktop on which sat bandages and instruments and things he felt he should recognise but didn't. There was a …. heart monitor... by his head. It showed his heart was beating. That was good.

You really are rocking this.

And a tube going from his arm to a hanging bag. Right. Needle in arm. That's why that hurt then.

One wall was covered with posters that appeared to be checklists for various types of injury. It also had an xray of a skull. That was a good looking skull, as far as skulls go. As far as he could tell from here. He couldn't see any detail, his vision wasn't clear.

Thinking was hard. Thinking hurt almost as much as the light did.

It might have been the small movements he made looking around the room, or a change in his breathing, but it attracted the attention of the room's other occupant. The Rustler. He had been standing at the worktop rustling away but was now approaching the bedside. He pulled a stool over and sat with a small smile.

"Hey" he said, softly.

"Hey." He replied. It seemed like the thing to say.

"You've been out for about three hours, I was starting to get really worried. How do you feel?"

He thought about it. Really thought about it, and answered honestly.

"My head hurts." A simple way to describe needles wiggling their way through his brain. But more complicated words were beyond him.

The dark haired man gave a snort of amusement. "Yeah, no shit. You have a small skull fracture but no other broken bones. Do you feel nauseas at all? Dizzy?"

"No. Tired though."

The man checked the machine that was recording his heart beat and nodded "That's to be expected." He rolled up the sleeves of his red checked shirt, and pulled out his phone from his jeans pocket. He typed.

"I'll let the others know you're awake, but don't worry I won't let them all rush you at the same time."

"Thanks, nurse."

No, he wasn't a nurse. Not in those clothes.

"Anything for my favourite patient." He smiled. "I've got to do a few checks." A pen appeared in his hand, that he had been storing behind his ear. He moved it from one side to another. "Follow it." He instructed.

He tried his best, but his focus felt a little off.

"Not too bad – blurred vision?"

"A bit."

He used the pen to make a note in a small notebook.

"And todays date."

The date. Of today. He thought. Thinking was hard with stabbing brain freeze. At his hesitation the Rustler frowned in concern. "Day of the week?"

It felt like a Monday. There's was something about waking up with an i.v. in your arm and a pounding head that screamed Monday morning. But maybe it was Saturday. As this would be an awful way to spend the weekend but would indicate he had had a very good Friday night.

At his lack of response the man stood, bending to peer down and look him in the eye, telling him "It's Thursday."

Oh. Really? It didn't feel like a Thursday.

"What's my name? Do you know where you are?" Increasing concern was written across the Rustler's face as he asked those were some very simple, very easy, very basic questions. Even with his brain on fire those would require no thought.

Should require no thought.

"I'm in hospital?" He had started out that short sentence confident, but ended it with a question. This didn't really feel like a hospital. There were no windows in the room. No uniform on his... no, this man wasn't a nurse. "This isn't a hospital." The machine beside him was surely recording his increase in heart rate. Why would he be unconscious for three hours and not be in hospital?

"No you aren't in hospital. You're at home. Do you know where that is? And your name?"

Home had an almost-hospital room? Weird. He shook his head.

He instantly regretted shaking his head, the needling, stabbing, fiery cold peaking with the swift movement. He gave a grunt of pain and screwed his eyes closed again until it passed.

Before the Rustler had been calm, and that had helped him stay calm. But now Rustler sighed and creased his brow in a frown of worry.

He felt his chest heaving, scared now. Very worried now that Rustler looked worried.

Worried that he didn't know the answers. He should know what day it was, he should know where he lived, he should know his own name. The man was on the phone again, speaking this time, tone urgent.

"Scott, get down here. Now. …... I don't care if it's in pieces across the hanger floor. I need you." The man paused a second. He saw the readings. Saw his rapidly rising heart rate. Saw the expression on his face. His headache was almost forgotten now, quashed by the panic that was taking over instead.

"Get here." The man finished the call and flung the phone on the surface.

Rustler took him by the shoulders, grip firm but not too tight . He leant down slightly to say – calmly - "You're name is John and it's going to be ok. I've got you."