The Long Way Home
Summary: As Ray recovers from an accident his friends and colleagues visit him, and secrets are revealed.
Disclaimers: Naturally I own neither Gene et al, nor LoM/A2A: they belong to Kudos and the BBC, alas...
A/N: Watching the old 'Dalziel & Pascoe' episode 'Heads you lose', and just got to thinking: what if Ray had been driving the car and not Peter?
DCI Ray Carling, as high as a kite and filled with expansive bonhomie, gazed benevolently across the table at his men. And women. Two rather foxy women, actually, even if one of them was Alex Drake. A cracking team, if he said so himself, and all his own work. He smiled at the big man sitting opposite. "A'right, Gene?"
"Ladies and gentlemen," replied the object of his address, "behold DS Ray Carling, late of the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgy-thingy… – God, I can't even say it – but now back where he belongs, propping up a bar in Luigi's. And he still doesn't know what day of the bloody week it is!"
A cheer went up from the table, echoed by others from across the room, and Ray's small dream contracted into reality. "I dreamt I was a DCI," he said sadly. "All that money, all those women…"
"Really?" said Gene. "Where – how do I get a transfer?" Yet more laughter.
Ray smiled groggily. The drugs he was tanked up on turned the world slightly sideways for a while just after he'd taken them, but it wasn't an unpleasant view, especially when young Shaz Granger – all glammed up for that dozy div Chris – and Alex leant across him to share some joke too complex for his befuddled mind to process. And to be out of that sterile white room was good, though he missed the little Indian nurse with the long, delicate fingers and eyes as large as planets.
"What's this?"
"Orange juice, Raymondo! You're off the man stuff for a while – remember? All the more for the rest of us." Again, a cheer arose from the surrounding cohorts.
"Orange juice? Bugger that!" He tried to get up, but was easily restrained by Alex, who with gentle violence held him in his seat. "Get off, Ma'am – I wanna real drink."
"Not for a while, Ray. And for God's sake don't call me Ma'am, not tonight – call me bloody Alex."
"Get off me bloody Alex." Hell, he felt like his head had been kicked in, but he wasn't so far gone that he didn't know he'd just overstepped the mark. But Alex – DI Alex, he reminded himself with irritation – didn't seem to mind.
"Welcome back, Ray," she said, as slowly his thoughts rearranged themselves. He'd been injured – yes, he remembered it, sort of – a head blow, screaming, an ambulance ride, someone holding his hand. Blimey, he hoped it hadn't been a bloke. Then silence and blackness and ceilings and medical stuff. And people coming to see him, and talking. Incessant bloody talking, when all he wanted them to do was shut up and give him some peace, but couldn't even open his mouth to say so. He looked around at all his friends, drinking and chatting happily. He couldn't follow the jumps and darts of their conversations, and his mind wandered back to those dark days when all he'd had was the mechanical bleep of machinery, and the unending stream of words…
Heavy breathing, a body beside him. Awkward coughing. Then silence.
Whispering. "You have to talk, or he won't realise you're here. You can touch him, too – look." His hand taken, placed in another, large, hot and rough.
"I'm not a bloody fairy!"
"Neither is he, but it will help."
"Huh." The sound of someone leaving. "Well, here we are." A sniff, and another long pause. "We're supposed to talk to you – Alex says it'll help. Just makes me feel like a prize jessie. She who must be obeyed… Knows about this stuff, she says, so here goes.
"Missed you at Luigi's – we would have come earlier but they said you couldn't have visitors. You've got a bloody great hole in your head, Raymondo. When they told me I thought they were looking for a brain, yeah? At least you're not Chris – wouldn't have found one then, would they?
"City won, but that's all the good news. I called your mum. She er – said she might come down." No chance. "She's been a bit busy, with Tina's kids and all that. Four nieces! You got some catching up to do – unless yours are already scattered all over the north. You do things when you're young… Sometimes wonder if I've got any out there somewhere. Be grown up now."
Another silence, longer this time. "You getting any of this, Ray, or am I sitting here talking to myself? Got a shot of whisky – thought I might put it in your feeding tube – but Bolly-prissy-knickers says it'll bugger up your drugs. So all for me." The sound of drinking. "If they catch me doing that they'll chuck me out for bad behaviour. Not the first time.
"Listen, that bird in the swanky coffee place Bols goes to – the one who wears those – tops, you know – she was asking about you. Why you hadn't been in and stuff. Getting the taste for posh, are you? I laid it on a bit, said you were just hanging on by a thread – she might come and see you. Think you might score there, Raymondo – as long as everything's in working order when you get back to the land of the living. Nice bit of skirt, that. Too young for me, of course. Can't think what she sees in you."
The door, opening, and something being pushed through it. Movement by the bed.
"Excuse me – I need to do his obs now."
"He's a bloke, love!"
"His observations."
"Oh, right. I'd er – better leave you to it." The contact with the hand broken, and new, cool hands around his arm, attaching him to machinery.
"You will come again? He needs the stimulation."
"I don't think he could respond very well at the moment."
"The stimulation of people talking to him."
"Ah. Yes, I'll make sure one of us comes every day." A movement, to the other side of the bed. "See you then, Ray – don't you go anywhere without us, will you?"
A door closing, a lightening of the atmosphere, a dull thud as though someone had just punched a wall.
Cool hands on hot skin, soothing and gentle.
"You've got to fight it, Ray – fight it, every inch of the way. Don't ever give in. Don't ever relax, or you'll lose."
No hand-holding, and he hasn't heard the door open. They sometimes don't close it, to let in fresh air.
"I know it's strange in there, and you think no-one's ever experienced what you're going through, but loads of people have, and survived. There's this thing called the Glasgow Coma Scale, and three to eight is bad, twelve to sixteen is OK, and you're on nine or ten. You're only just under, Ray – you can fight your way out if you want to, but you've got to keep trying. Never give up – hear me? You're going to think you've done it, then you're back where you started, but don't give up. Every voice you hear, everything you feel – it's all going to bring you back, piece by piece. Can you feel it – can you feel the life running through your veins? Can you feel all that life, still in there?
"Don't get too attached to whatever's going on in your head. You're supposed to be here, not there – this is where you belong. You're part of the team, and without you it doesn't work. Oops – nurse!"
Heavy footsteps: someone to empty the bags, check the drips. Wires and tubes moved and pulled, liquid flowing. "There we are, Mr Carling – all comfy again." A rich, black voice. "Let's pull that sheet over you now – it's a bit chilly in here. All right? Yes, all right." Spoken as if to a child.
"You still there? You wouldn't believe how Gene's fretting about you. Even with your girlie perm. What possessed you? Probably cost a fortune, as well. Your readings all look OK – no reason you shouldn't wake up. You've just got to want to.
"They all miss you, you know. Even Viv misses you. I thought that was weird, but he does. He thinks he knows where he is with you – respects you for that. Can't think why – make him a woman and disabled and you'd never run out of jokes, would you? You should go easier on him.
"Sorry – I didn't come here to lecture you. It's just your impact on the people you work with – you mean more to them than they'll tell you, you know that? You've got to read between the lines, see what they're thinking, not just what they're saying. Follow your instincts – follow your heart and come back. I know you can do it. Think of that girl in the coffee shop. For me – you do it for me.
"Listen – I've got to go. Busy schedule, and not much time. I'll try and get back, but you just remember everything I've told you. Keep it all in your head. Stay fighting, Ray – stay angry!"
Long minutes of silence, with only the rhythm of the machines for company. Thinking about those words – stay fighting, stay angry – trying to figure out how to do that. The door opening – a man this time – had to be the doctor. A raised voice.
"Nurse? Open some windows in here – are you trying to boil him alive?" Light in the eye – ugh! Light and pain. "Hmm – good. Slightly better response today."
Stay fighting, stay angry.
Someone stumbling, mumbled apologies. A sort of haziness that makes him realise he isn't blind. Bleeping, growing faster, the noise of feet, and those cool hands again.
"It's all right, Raymond – shhh… Did he open his eyes?"
"Er – yeah, I think so, just a bit."
"That's great, Raymond – really great – but you have to take it slowly now, yes? Don't rush it, don't get scared."
"Can he hear me?"
"Always assume he can. He's calm now – you sit and talk to him."
A chair, scraping along the floor, a soft plop as someone sits down, a sleeve resting against his arm on the bed.
"Hey mate – how's it going? You look pretty comfortable. Your head's all shaved that side, though, but it'll grow back, I expect." A pause – knowing what that means by now: someone searching for something to say. "Hey – I got to drive the Quattro yesterday – what do you think to that? The Guv and Alex were off somewhere, and me and Shaz had to answer a call. We did good, too – arrested a bloke and his bird down in Shadwell, brought them back to the station – just us! She were well chuffed.
"It's a cracking drive. Really guns. Good job you weren't in it the other day, eh? Blimey, he'd have strung you out from here to Inverness! Still, you might not have driven through that pillar. Wrecked the car. Bloody lucky you were wearing your seat-belt, mate – clunk click, every trip. It's so cool to drive, that car – I know why the Guv didn't like Alex – I mean DI Drake – driving it, though. It's really powerful – too powerful for a bird. It's a man's car – you've got to drive it when you get out of here. Tell you what, we'll sneak it out when he's busy – oh man, it'll be like lifting mopeds after school, that!"
A sudden uncomfortable silence. "Er – I haven't told you about that, have I? I'll tell you, but don't tell Shaz, OK? She'd kill me. You wouldn't believe I was a bit wild at school, would you? Well I was! Honest. A bit. I mean I didn't do drugs or anything, but…
"I bet you were wild. I bet you had all the birds and booze and stuff." A sigh. "I wish I could be like you, Ray. You always seem to get what's going on. I just stumble around and pick up the pieces. It's not fair – I do try my best. I bet you learnt to drive before you were sixteen, didn't you? I bet you had your first skirt when you were about fourteen, too… And I bet she was gorgeous.
"But you've got to get back soon, mate. I'll buy you beers for a week! Hey – you all right?" Sudden movement, a calling down the corridor. "Nurse – nurse!" Running footsteps, anxious breathing. "He – I think there's something wrong with his eyes."
Crying, you div – it's crying. I want to be left alone now. Just leave me in peace, will you?
"What's that awful noise he's making?"
"It's all right – it's quite normal when the speech functions haven't yet returned. It sounds worse than it is. Don't worry – it's a good sign."
Relieved breathing, a pat on the hand. "You hang in there, mate." Then silence, at last.
"Morning, Ray – you've got me today!" A loud, bright voice. "I'll sit on this side, then I won't get near the cannula." Hand taken in two gentle palms, held tight, kept safe.
"You're looking better now – when Gene and I came in before, you were really green. I've never seen anyone that colour, but you're looking quite human again now. At least we can talk to you – no, at least you'll hear us. We've all been talking to you for days. It's vital with coma patients to keep talking to them, did you know that?" A pause, and wondering why all the talking is necessary, when silence would have been so much more welcome. Another squeeze of the hand – gentle stroking, childlike. Wanting to respond – feeling as if his mum is there – but the muscles won't work, the messages leave but don't arrive. Wanting her to know he hears her.
"When Molly was about five, she'd been riding on – what was that damn horse's name – Pharaoh's Choice, that was it – far too tall for her, but she insisted and they said she could handle him, so… And of course he threw her, straight over a wall. She was unconscious and they made me sit and talk to her. I had no idea what to say – to my own daughter – so I babbled about horses and cats and chocolate and ballet, and she never heard a word. She was out cold all the time. I felt such a fool." Another pause. "But I was younger then, in so many ways.
"They said you'd opened your eyes – that's such a good sign, Ray, that you're physically able to respond. I know you're in there, just beneath the surface – not deep like Sam was." The voice dropping, so he had to strain to hear it. "He got through it, and so can you. Oh God, why do I always sound like Miss Jean Brodie?"
Not following the thoughts, but concentrating on the hand – focussing on the hand; really, really trying to move it – breathing harder with the effort but nothing happening – just wanting to move it! Why isn't it happening, why isn't it moving? Tears – oh no, not crying again, not in front of her – can't stop them – so angry. So frustrating – just one tear – perhaps she won't notice.
Please, don't notice.
A single finger on the cheek, where the tear is. A single kiss, where the tear used to be. "It's good, Ray. You're doing fine. Do you know how proud we all are of you? I know you won't give in – you're too near now to give in."
A trip in the brain, a light in his head. A sensation in his limbs that isn't numbness. Feeling in his fingers, impulses sent down waking, shaking nerves – a gasp. "Do it again! Ray, squeeze my hand again." Obeying, an answering grip – the first step on the road.
Laughing, with tears he can hear. Talking to someone else in the room. "He squeezed my hand! He's coming back. I told you – I told you he was too damn stubborn."
Exhaustion, wanting the touch of the hand now withdrawn, but without the power to lift his own and ask for it. But knowing he is on the way home. Knowing that he is – cared for.
"Well look at you! They said you were getting better, and they were right, weren't they?" Blinking in dim light, shadows moving near him that might be people. Trying to smile – not really knowing if it works. "Oh Ray – it's so good to see you sitting up. Well, kind of…"
"H – hi." His own voice, thick and croaky and hurting after being silent for so long.
A little shriek, and giggling. "Ray – Ray, you spoke to me! Hey, he spoke to me – he said hello. Oh Ray, you're back – for me." Arms roughly put around him, fear in case they hurt him, but no, they're careful, a body pressed softly to his, a female body that fits itself to his lying on the bed, the gentle weight of it on him, insistent and unthinking, and he knows whose.
Lifting his hand – almost involuntarily – resting it against her back. He made it work – he made his hand work… Feeling her touching him – responding to her – oh no, not that way, not like that. Trying to move the hand away but he can't, trying to do anything to stop it, feeling his cheeks flame. And now she's realised what's happening. The shame – so unfair – always a part of him's wanted her – but this isn't fair.
"Ray!" Her face is so near now he can make out her features. Hopes she can't see the fear in his eyes. He didn't mean for it to happen. "Ray – " softer now " – Ray? Oh, you wicked man." A pause – what's she doing? Is she looking? "Ray, it's all right – I don't mind. No girl would mind you – I mean – thank you." The last two words whispered, a conspiracy. "I won't tell Chris if you don't." Yeah, like he could tell.
The face moving away as the arms retreat – wanting them to stay but knowing they mustn't. Realising how lucky Chris is and wanting to be him. No, not wanting to be Chris – what is he thinking of? But wanting this forbidden thing. Trying to make a word – one word will be enough. Forgetting how to frame the sound. Wanting to say, "Sorry."
"You're a dark horse, aren't you? Certainly not dead yet. Funny…" the voice going distant, dreamy and contemplative, "I was going to ask you out, you know, before Chris asked me. I've always sort of fancied you, Ray – not now of course, now I've got Chris – but I think we could have had fun, don't you? No need to say sorry – I'm kind of flattered. I'll look at you with new eyes, now.
"No, I won't – we'll pretend it didn't happen. It didn't really, did it? Just you coming back to life, eh? You're quite the man…"
More words that he doesn't try to follow. Relief that she isn't offended, embarrassment that his body betrayed him. Bitterness that he hadn't noticed her – knowing he'd always liked her but never thought she was anything special, and realising now, too late, that she is.
Putting it all away, as the illicit desire fades. Setting his mind to the future – imagining that bird in the coffee shop, with no clothes on.
Smiling at Shaz.
The noise level had fallen as those on the periphery drifted away, leaving just the hardcore drinkers: Gene, Alex, Chris and Shaz. He'd hoped his mum would be here, but known she never would be. He was tired now, but happy, looking around at his friends and basking in their love for him.
He smiled – still a rather lopsided smile, but enough to raise answering grins and clinks of glasses. He held out his own empty glass to Alex. "Just one?"
"Absolutely not. You'll make up for it later."
"You bet." He winked at Shaz, and grinned tiredly at Chris – they were good kids, and he was happy for them. His eyes met Gene's, and he was suddenly pleased he hadn't drunk anything: if he had, he might have said something soppy, he was feeling so emotional. "Thanks, Guv." Two words to carry a lifetime of meaning.
"Ray." Gene raised his glass, and curtly nodded his understanding.
He wished he felt less fuzzy – he was still hardly sure of where he was, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why they weren't in the Railway Arms. Perhaps more had happened since the accident than he'd realised. He shook his head to clear it, then winced at his mistake.
Looking up, he saw Alex watching him, and he wished he could like her. "Alex," he said, remembering her earlier instruction.
Her hand covered his, just briefly. "It's good to have you back, Ray. Really."
He could hardly believe she meant it, and didn't reply. He was thinking of who else had come to see him: the coffee shop girl, the posh doctor Alex had got down from Scotland. There was someone else though; what was it he'd said? Stay fighting, stay angry. That was it – stay fighting, stay angry. The words that had pulled him through.
He looked around. Strange – he should have been there. Even though they didn't get on, he should have been there. Where was he?
"Er," he said, "er – where's Sam?"