Disclaimer: Murdoch Mysteries is the property of Maureen Jennings, YTV and ITV, so anything you recognise in this story, it's likely I don't own it.
Ta.
His head ached, that was what brought him back from the darkness, it didn't just ache, it hurt quite a bit…like toothache but at the very back of his head. He also noticed that the light was very bright and he screwed up his eyes against it, willing his brain to recall any events that might have led to this pain in his head.
He'd been out on the street, he and George and Higgins had been on the trail of a serial murderer and he'd gone ahead, around the corner and…
…the memory stopped there.
A complete blank
He took a deep breath, getting a whiff of disinfectant and an odd oily scent, and let it out slowly, his mind now picking up sounds…beeping, feet shuffling, the slight buzz of low voices and the rattling of wheels.
Carefully, wincing against the bright lights, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at a ceiling made of off-white tiles, a slight turn of his aching head found him staring at unfamiliar machinery and an unfamiliar room.
Now panicking he tried to sit upright but found himself held back by a hand
"That's not a good idea, Will" a familiar voice to his left said, "the doctor's said you're supposed to lie still"
Not knowing what else to do, he lay back down and turned slightly in the direction of the voice.
"George" he croaked out and blinked, not quite believing what he saw.
It was George Crabtree alright, but he looked…different. Instead of being slicked neatly back, George's hair was styled into soft spikes, making him look more boyish than usual.
His clothing too was different. Instead of his normal uniform, he was wearing dark blue pants and a shirt in a peculiar light green shade (that surely must have cost him more than a week's wage, no one of George's salary could possibly afford something in that colour).
William blinked again, but no the picture before him hadn't changed. George still sat there, with that odd hairstyle in those odd clothes. Was this some sort of dream?
"What happened?" he asked, finally deciding that he needed answers, "Where am I?"
"In hospital," George answered, "one of them hit you on the back of the head, you got as far as the car and then you passed out, so Higgins and I brought here quick as we could"
There was a word in there that he didn't recognise, but at the moment he couldn't think what it was…it was easier just to let the world go blurry for awhile, then next thing he remembered was vague voices, one he assumed was George and one he didn't recognise, before being bundled and strapped into a carriage, only vaguely aware of snippets of conversation as street lights went past faster than usual, he wondered what medicine he'd been given
"…I should call…"
"…only worry her, might be nothing…"
"…Sophie, at least…"
"…got his keys? I'll get him some clothes for tomorrow"
"…on the sofa."
There was more walking, a light and softness, someone put a mug of tea in his hands and he drank it, barely aware of the taste.
This was, it had to be said, a strange dream, if it was that at all, he let everything swim around him, a jangling of keys, a door shutting, a door opening and closing, he sincerely hoped this was just a dream…please let it just be a strange dream
"Will?" a female voice cut into the fog of his mind, "are you OK?"
He blinked, the fog lifting briefly…the woman standing in front of him he knew…another familiar face
"Miss Whittering?"
Annabelle's hair (a shade or two darker than Brackenreid's) like George's, was also styled differently. It had been cut short, almost like a boy's but definitely a feminine style, nothing like the tight braided hairstyle he knew she always wore during daylight hours. The lighting was too dim for him to make out her clothes, or was that just the stupor from the medication?
"…Right…" she blinked and handed him a bundle before continuing, "I brought you some pyjamas from your place, and some clothes for tomorrow. Tonight you're sleeping on the sofa here, the doctor told us to keep an eye on you."
"I could not intrude on you like that…it would be bad for your reputation…not to mention, The Inspector would have my head if word should get out." He didn't know if this was Annabelle's dwelling, but he knew how protective Inspector Brackenreid was of his niece, he would not be impressed if he found out that William had spent the night in even the same vicinity as her.
"It's no problem, you've done it before" George's voice said, before he appeared over Annabelle's shoulder, "oh the stories this sofa could tell!"
Oh, so this must be George's dwelling. That made much more sense. Then his staying here for the duration of the night was well and good, though he was quite certain he had never stayed at George's residence before. Once again, he put this down to mishearing due to the medication.
As if on automatic, William got changed, seeing nothing of his surroundings, save to note that the fabric of his sleeping clothes was much softer than he remembered them to be
And then there was darkness, he welcomed it with open arms and let it envelope him and he lay down on the afore-mentioned sofa.
Oblivion, he decided, was a good thing.
TBC
Author's Note: I want to thank my friend Sarah for letting me bounce my ideas off her head, also for helping me work out the plot line for this story and for letting me borrow her OC for the rest of the story.