They say that time slows down and your life flashes before your eyes.

It wasn't much of a life that Martin saw, if he was honest; his attention being somewhat distracted by the car headlights headed straight in his direction. He did the instant mental calculation and realised that it wasn't going to miss him.

And that this was going to hurt. A lot.

- * - * - *-

It was his hearing that came back first, slowly tuning in to the incessant beeps coming from somewhere near his right hand side. Slow rhythmic beeping, like some kind of metronome keeping a beat. It was oddly fascinating in his semi-conscious state and he listened intently as it became louder and louder, other sounds starting to bleed into his consciousness. A jangling noise. A tapping sound. Footsteps. Muted voices.

His mind suddenly realised that it was attached to a body as his hand involuntarily clawed at the surface below his body. Smooth, soft and cool.

He wasn't dead.

The realisation was sudden and his senses started to kick in at the awareness. He could smell ...bleach? The voices hummed louder in the background.

He tried to open his eyes impulsively, feeling tears forming at their edges as the light burned into them. Blinking seemed to ease the pain, though his vision was blurred. As the discomfort subsided he tried his best to focus on the ceiling above.

Becoming aware of the beeping to his side once again, he turned his head slowly to seek out the source. It took all his concentration to focus on the lights he could see, moving across a screen. Heartbeat. His heartbeat, he realised. The beeping was his heart.

He really was alive and in a hospital.

He turned his head back to the ceiling again and then tried to lift his head to look at his body lying prone. A jolt of pure pain shot through his entire body at the movement and an involuntary cry left his lips at the shock as his head fell back onto the pillow.

"Well, hey there."

A soft voice was suddenly close to him and hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes again. For a moment he struggled to focus on the face the voice belonged to. It was a strangers face. It took him a moment to realise that they...she...was still speaking to him.

"...don't move, honey. We'll get you some more pain relief."

A brief squeeze of his hand and the face was gone again.

Martin momentarily reached out for the hand that was no longer there, desperate for someone to make sense of what was happening. Frantic for someone to fill in the strange void in his head.

He closed his eyes again trying to claw at some understanding, but his mind was a confused jumble of things that made no sense. He felt so alone and frightened by what he couldn't remember.

- *-*-*-

Martin had no idea how much time had passed since his rude awakening back into the world. He'd lost all sense of reality.

He was sat propped up in bed now, a flush of pain killing drugs making him feel pleasantly numb, but probably not helping with his timekeeping. The nurse who'd been there when he awoke had returned with a doctor and they had patiently explained that he'd been in an accident in his van. A car had jumped the lights at Fitton crossroad and hit him side on. He was lucky to be alive, they told him. He'd undergone surgery for a broken pelvis and leg, and a head injury had caused swelling in his brain, which had led to his unconscious state. He'd been asleep for over six days.

They had then subjected him to a bevy of tests which hadn't given him time to think about things in any more detail. The doctor had seemed pleased with the results, something of a first for Martin exam-wise. Time, they told him, time would heal the wounds. He'd be ok physically and he'd be able to fly again.

Now he was alone again.

He hadn't thought to ask if his family knew about him or if they'd visited. Truth was that he didn't see them week to week anyway, what with flying and the van job. So unless someone had thought to call them, it was unlikely they'd even have noticed that his life had been hanging in the balance for six days.

And who'd call them?

His mind wandered to his colleagues at MJN. Surely they would have noticed he was missing? He must have had a flight booked? But then again, MJN wasn't exactly a major airline and it was entirely possible they'd had nothing booked this week. They'd assume him to be busy with the van. That's if any of them gave him any thought at all.

The students at the house definitely wouldn't have noticed his absence. That was partly his fault, he supposed. He kept very much to himself when at home. But it wasn't as if he had anything in common with them. The one adult in a house of kids.

And that was it. Those were the sum total of people in his life.

He couldn't help but notice the other beds in intensive care, filled with conscious or unconscious patients, but all with at least one relative or loved one watching anxiously. But there was no girlfriend or wife to fret over him. He'd always known it would be this way, of course. Hadn't imagined it being any other.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow, and as a tear started to fall down his cheek he made no move to wipe it away, allowing himself the luxury of self-pity, just this once.