Title: Awake
Author: Kenuck
Fandom: CSI: New York
Characters: Lindsay Monroe, Don Flack, OFCs.
Spoilers: General season two; "Crisis".
Rating: K+
Warning: Disconcerting content.
Disclaimer: "Awake" is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author's Notes: I was asked for a sequel to "Crisis" and so here it is. Note: I wasn't asked for complete closure. Thanks to the wonderful Cazzie and Spunky for the beta.
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The first feeling that registered in my mind as my eyes fluttered open was that of pain. I breathed deeply and choked, startled by the foreign object in my throat. My fingers moved to my face, the tips feeling the texture of clear medical tape around my mouth. It was then that I realized I was in a hospital, and that an intubation tube was tape to my mouth to keep the device in my throat for breathing.
The image of discovering through touch is a strong one. Gradually her inspection moves beyond her to her surroundings.
Plastic tubing caught my eye, luring my vision to the needle taped into my wrist, the line leading to a ringer's solution hung on the pole next to my bed, feeding me painkillers and intravenous solution to treat dehydration.
I continued to breathe, each breath becoming more and more even as my body adjusted to breathing through the tube. My limbs felt flaccid, my whole body heavy and useless dead weight hidden beneath the fresh white linens. The painkiller – Oxycodone, according to the IV bag – was beginning to take effect on my conscious mind.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the darkness, listening to the steady tone of the machine beside me as it monitored my heartbeat.
The door to my room opened, and my eyes opened in a knee-jerk action, the machine beeping a few times as my heart rate climbed and then slowed again to a normal beat.
A nurse in blue scrubs entered and approached the bed. She checked the monitor beside me and proceeded to examine the IV line.
"Good afternoon, Detective," she said cheerfully, the framed blue eyes twinkling. "You're doing much better today."
Today? How long had it been? A day, a week? A month?
"Your condition has improved - I think we can take the tube out. Would you like the tube out of your throat?" she asked as she straightened the sheets.
Unable to reply vocally, I nodded enthusiastically. She chuckled, a smile pulling at her thin lips and creased the wrinkles around her eyes.
"All right. Sit up." She helped me sit up in the bed, A spike of pain shot through my chest, the memory I had materialized into my catalogue of life events beginning to play: I stepped around the dumpster and walked right into the path of the suspect on location.
The sense of urgency in Flack's voice played over in my ears like a broken record as he tried to talk the man out of what he was about to do. I remembered the sharp stab of the fishing knife as it seared through my clothes and punctured my skin, only to be relinquished by its owner as he dropped dead to the ground, Flack's bullet ripping through brain matter in the man's cranium.
"I'm sorry," the nurse apologized, waking me from my hellish daydream. She peeled the tape off of my mouth and told me to tilt my head back and exhale as she removed the tube from my throat.
Sputtering, saliva and bile dripped from my mouth, my body reflexively coughing it up to clear my airways just as it had when blood had filled my mouth and lungs.
"Here you are," the nameless nurse said, handing me a cup of water she had poured for me, and a napkin to wipe away the fluids.
Patting the napkin against my face, I breathed deeply, freely, without anything in my throat, helping me. My throat was raw and stung as I inhaled. I immediately took a sip of water.
The nurse cleaned up the tubing and tape and placed the water pitcher down on the table in the corner of the room where four bouquets of flowers, a plant and a caramel-coloured teddy bear were positioned. An additional table was cluttered with greeting cards - all of which had been carefully placed upright.
Catching my gaze, the nurse said, "You've had quite a few visitors."
"Who are they from?" I croaked.
"Uh . . . " She studied the gifts. "The large bouquet of white lilies is from a few people - an older gentleman, a woman with curly brunette hair, and a younger dark-haired gentleman."
Mac, Stella, and Flack.
"The carnation and daisy mix are from Dr. Hammerback."
Hmm. Hammerback must be known around here.
"The teddy bear is from a taller gentleman with curly hair," the nurse said, gesturing to her head.
Adam.
"The, uh, plant is from a delightful young man named Sheldon."
I smiled. Hawkes.
"The beautiful pink roses are from your uncle, Freddy."
"And the red roses?" It was a stupid question to ask - I already knew the answer.
The door opened to my hospital room and another nurse poked her head in and said, "Camille, he's here again."
Camille's stare moved to my eyes, which were filling up with tears, my face fighting the telltale signs of hysteria.
Danny.
I nodded to Camille, who turned to the nurse at the door. "Tell him she's awake."
"Okay." Sarah closed the door and I watched through the open blinds as she walked past the windows and disappeared from sight.
"You should get some rest, Detective," said Camille. "One more day and it looks like you'll be ready to be discharged." She smiled politely and excused herself.
I watched the windows, a nervous jitter forming in my stomach as I waited for Danny to walk in. Although I wasn't yet aware of my surroundings, I knew I would feel much better to see his face again, this time much less panicked than it had been when fell unconscious at the scene.
Patiently, I waited. But instead of Danny, I saw Don Flack walk past the windows and enter my room. He wore his usual work attire: a clean-pressed suit and colour-complimenting dress shirt and tie. But something was different about the way he looked today. It was his face; the way his eyelids drooped slightly, the corners of his mouth turned down.
"Flack," I said hoarsely.
"Lindsay." He kissed my forehead and pulled up a chair beside my bed. The expression changed mildly, a gleeful note in his voice. I could tell he was happy to see that I was awake, but what was making him appear so sombre?
"For a second, I thought you were Danny," I said, my voice just short of the embarrassment I felt for divulging that comment.
His icy blue eyes met mine and soon my small smile faded. When he spoke, I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. "Lindsay, I have something to tell you."