Short, pointless oneshot that I've been writing when I can't sleep. Not really sure what it's actually about, but I hope you sort of enjoy it. Sorry if there're any hazy details, you'll have to use your imagination to fill in the gaps :) please let me know what you think.
When the nightmares returned to her for a second week, Ella looked across at George. The light from the corridor caught her brother's eyes, telling her that he too was awake. She got up from the single mattress they were sharing on the floor slowly, painfully, and padded out of the hospital store room and down the corridor. After a week here, she thought she must know the way to her mother's room better than anyone. From the entrance to the room, she saw her father in his usual chair by her bed.
"I can't sleep, Daddy," she whispered.
Tom jumped slightly. He turned to face his daughter, who was trailing a t-shirt of his behind her on the floor like a comfort blanket.
"Neither can I, Sweetie," he smiled tiredly. He beckoned to her. She approached the bed. Tom looked at his daughter, her arm in a cast, breathing flatly to avoid the pain of her broken ribs. His four year old daughter, who always seemed to be getting hurt, had never sustained injuries quite as bad as these from the car accident. He looked at Sam, lying in a coma in front of him. Six years married, and it could be a simple patch of ice on an unusually frosty September's drive to a first day of school that tore them apart.
Tom would have hugged Ella and lifted her into his arms, but it hurt her too much, so she turned her back to the bed, and pushed herself up onto it, a technique she had developed, and sat by Sam's feet.
"How's Mummy?" she mumbled, knowing the answer would be the same as every other night.
"She's doing fine, Els, just fine." It wasn't exactly a lie; there had been no change in Sam's condition since yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that.
"Dad?" George appeared in the doorway.
"Can't sleep?" Tom guessed. He shook his head. "Neither can we. Come here," Tom said, patting his knee. At ten years old, George thought he was much too old to be sitting on his father's lap, but maybe not tonight. "Seems like Mummy is the only one who can get any sleep tonight," Tom almost chuckled. It was just like Sam to sleep through everything.
Tom noted their pale skin, the circles under their eyes. He hated doing this to his children. After the accident, he had tried to get them to stay with their grandparents, to keep going to school as normal, but it hadn't worked. The nightmares had not stopped, but it was easier now, with both of them close to him, and he could be close to Sam too. So they slept in a room in the hospital, not much bigger than a cupboard, near Sam's room, going to school whenever they could. Hopefully this routine would not carry on much longer - they were going home next week. George, like him, had been on the right side of the car; they had both escaped with only a few scratches, but Ella and Sam... Well, the result was in front of him.
Before George clambered onto his father's knees, Tom pulled his chair closer to the bed, and produced a large, heavy book from a bag on the floor. When George was settled into his chest he opened it. It wasn't a book either Ella or George recognised. It was a photo album, bought by Sam for Tom many birthdays ago. Tom had brought it with him for comfort on nights like this, but he remembered he had never shown it to either of them. He flicked to the first page. A exhausted but triumphant-looking Sam grinned out of a photo, holding a tiny baby in her arms.
"That's you, George, about a minute after you were born," Tom smiled. He remembered that day like it had only just happened. On the next page was another shot. This time an older George was sitting on the edge of a sofa, holding a baby Ella.
"And that's you, Ella. I think Mummy took that photo," he said. The children's faces lit up. It was lovely to seen them happy for once. For their whole time at the hospital, the atmosphere had been bleak and silent, and it scared Tom; he missed the laughter, the bickering, the pointless conversations of childhood.
Tom turned the pages of the album, going through countless shots of his and Sam's wedding, the children's christenings, birthday parties, and Christmas photos. There were so many photos of Sam, her hands trying to block the camera, looking embarrassed. The photos were arranged randomly, some from the start of their relationship, some from after the kids were born. Tom laughed. The children smiled, each page bringing back old memories for them. It was a welcome distraction. Gradually, the night became early morning, and Tom looked up to see his daughter curled up at her mother's feet, her eyes closed. He checked his son. Asleep as well, and they both had sleepy smiles on their faces. Tom himself felt his eyes become heavy and dry. He was too tired to move his children to their mattress, so he closed his eyes, looking forward to sleep for the first time that week. The children were going to be just fie, and so was Sam.
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