Warning: medical emergency, references to trauma, sap etc.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hot Fuzz. (Damn.)

Inspired by Cozy in a Rocket by Psatt


oo2.


Nicholas disliked hospitals. There was something deeply frightening about them, something that made him feel small and naked. The staff had done everything in their power to save him, he owed them that, but they had cut into him; strangers handled his insides like tenderloin at the butcher's shop. He closed his eyes before his imagination went too far. His pulse beeped steadily by his ear. The mask over his mouth was wet and hot.

"Hello?" Doris rapped her knuckles on the door and peeked inside, bruised but cheerful. "You are awake!"

"I am," he replied tiredly.

"Good, cuz you got a visitor." She leaned outside and whispered urgently.

"Oh?" Nicholas struggled against his muscle-warming medication. "I distinctly remember hearing my doctor forbidding visitors."

"Best she not find out then, hey?" She smiled irresistibly and vanished before he could protest. He sighed and watched when the door opened a second time. A wonderful, horrible shock went through him. Danny alive in a wheelchair.

"Hey!" Danny waved, as if he might be overlooked.

"Alright benders," Wainwright peeked inside, squinting ferociously. He had eight stitches over his right eyebrow. "You got five minutes. Then we're outta here."

"Andy," Doris admonished, but she was grinning. "Alright you two, enjoy your little chat. We'll try and keep them nurses distracted." She winked and shut the door.

Nicholas chuckled softly, but grimaced and fell silent. "You look terrible."

"So do you," Danny parried, unsmiling. "I was all heroic and stuff. What did you go take a sea mine to the face for?"

"Sorry."

Danny pulled himself closer to the bed and shrugged. "Well, you didn't mean to, didjya?"

Nicholas laughed painfully. "I certainly didn't." After a contented pause, he asked, "how are you doing?"

"Well," he shrugged again, "could use a cornetto."

"Ha ah ha, don't make me laugh."

"Sorry."

Nicholas smiled and closed his eyes. "Danny," he murmured, "how are you?"

"Been better. I didn't really understand all that medical stuff they keep rattlin' out, but I'm alright now." He flushed under his partner's stare. "Somethin' about bullets and ruptured diaphragms." He hit his chest with a closed fist (and winced.) "Good as new. Which is more than I can say for you. What's your list, then?"

"List?" It took a moment to cop on. "Oh, ahm, the doctor hasn't come in yet. I woke up…" he glanced at the clock, "fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh." Danny's eyes studied Nicholas. "Hey, what happened to your hands?"

"I burned them."

"How?"

"When the mine exploded, a filing cabinet fell on top of me. The metal was hot, and when I pushed it off…." His brows quirked; the Nicholas version of a shrug. "I went looking for you."

"Really?"

"Ummhmm." Nicholas inhaled sharply and gave a start. "I'm sorry, Danny. They have me on something and I just can't keep my eyes open."

Danny's face fell. "I'll get Doris to smuggle me back to my own room." He grinned boyishly and wheeled himself to the door, opened it, and looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Nick?"

"Yes?"

"We're pretty hardcore, aren't we?"

Nicholas smiled faintly. "Yes we are."

A shadow fell upon the doorway. "I'm glad you two think so."

"Bugger."

"Detectives, move."

A white-haired woman materialized in the doorway, her face pale and smooth like glass. Her grey-green eyes darted to Sandford's finest outside. "Are you harassing my patient?"

Wainright sneer was palpable. "Yes we are."

She smiled and held the door open for Danny. "C'mon, then. Out you go. Sergeant Angel needs time to rest."

Danny waved cheekily. "Bye!"

"Bye, Danny." Nicholas frowned. "He wasn't bothering me."

The elderly woman nodded her head to someone outside. "Come back tomorrow." She actually winked, then stepped into the room and shut the door. "I know, Sergeant, but it's a bit early for visitors. You've had enough excitement." She flushed. "Goodness, where are my manners? I'm Doctor Lambert."

Nicholas exhaled heavily, something not quite a laugh. "Will Danny be alright?"

"Yes. Thanks to you, he's recovering quite nicely."

"Good."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same for you."

"Don't keep me in suspense, then."

Doctor Lambert stood near the bed. Her oval face was calm, but sad. "You have a concussion, and you suffered third degree burns on both hands and second degree burns on your forearms, as well as smoke inhalation. Your left knee, and most of the left side of your chest, was crushed. You sustained a ruptured spleen, which we removed, a punctured lung, and five broken ribs." She rubbed her hands together in professional anxiety. "When you entered the hospital, you appeared normal, which is why we suspected nothing. But once the adrenaline in your body subsided, you went into shock." She frowned and looked at the closed door. "You're what we call asplenic: you'll have a partially compromised immune system, and you're knee and hands will require physical therapy."

"But…Danny's alright?"

Lambert nodded. "He's fine."

"Good. Good." Nicholas nodded slowly. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"You've been in a coma for eight days."

"Oh." His eyelids fluttered. "I see."

Lambert leaned in close. "Would you like me to contact anyone? Parents? Siblings?"

"No, thank you." Nicholas closed his eyes. "I would like to be alone, please."


Aw, sad.

If you spot any typos/mistakes/OOCness or...y'know...you just want to flatter me, just R&R.