The next morning, Tom went to Chris's place quite early in case he found it hard to sleep.
He got inside with the keys he gave him, finding that everything was as they left it the previous night. Quietly prising the bedroom door open he found that the young male in question was still in bed, curled up under the sheets, deeply asleep.

He knew that his help didn't stop after he woke up. He could be going through shock – the fact that he refused to mention the accident might not have meant he'd forgotten at all, but had simply chosen not to remember. The best thing to have done at that point in time was to keep still and quiet, keep watch over him and look out for any signs of distress upon waking.

He didn't have long to wait, as fifteen minutes went by and the smaller body started to stir from under the sheets. He frowned at how long he was taking to wake up, deciding to inch closer to him and make him snap to.

Tom could see that he was panting, and on pulling the sheets away to get a better look noticed his ribcage rising and falling rapidly with each breath. It was nothing unusual but he did assume he was hyperventilating – probably from trauma. He wasn't at all put off at realising that he'd undressed at some point during the night, finding him in his underwear.

The younger subconsciously froze against the mattress, sensing the loss of warmth if not resisting the comforting grip on him that was attempting to pull him back out of the stupor.

"It's ok, mate," he softly spoke, sliding his dark bangs back into a more presentable position, "you're just dreaming. It's over now…relax."

His eyes flew open and he sat up in bed like a flash. "What happened?"

"You had a dream," the older replied, "I'm guessing it was from what you couldn't remember."

Chris frowned a little before realising he'd been laying, as good as exposed, in bed. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered a little.

"I had to make sure nothing serious was going on with you," Tom explained, "sorry."

"I feel so undignified," he noted dimly.

He smirked to himself. "Don't flatter yourself," he teased, "and there was nothing I hadn't seen before." He threw the covers back on top of him.

"If I can't remember anything," he looked to him slowly, "then why did I dream about it?"

"You're the one who should know things like this, not me." He stated playfully. Knowing he wasn't going to get a response out of him, he continued. "The doctors did say it isn't likely that you'd remember something within a day. For all we know it could be the start of the recall, but I'm no shrink. Don't force your thought process, ok? Give it more time."

"I know but the longer that takes the longer it'll take for me to go back to work."

Tom tipped his stockier frame to one side and placed a hand on his hip. "I don't understand," he admitted. "What is it that makes you wanna go back to work so much?"

"So that everything feels normal again."

He leant further forward. "You do realise you can't return to work, not in your state," he replied sombrely. "I'm here to help you and until the anger is sorted and your memory is back to some form of normality you aren't going anywhere."

Chris knew that the wrong way to respond was to get annoyed and order him out of his flat. He was trying like heck to help him. Preferring to keep quiet, he leant back against the headboard with his arms folded over his chest.

"I know that to you being laid up isn't an ideal situation," he went on, "but…I don't want anything to hurt you or make you sicker."

"On that note," he weakly looked to him, "I don't feel too good now."

He frowned. "What do you mean, you don't feel too good?"

"I think I have to be sick."

Once he'd finished being ill, he was taken back to bed and helped in under the sheets. "I don't know why I did that," he stated, "but I can honestly say it didn't feel good."

"What had happened over the past few days is probably responsible for that," Tom reassured him. "I know you wanna remember, but you would be doing the worst possible thing by forcing yourself to recall everything. That isn't what the doctors want."

"What do they expect from me?" He icily pointed out, his body slightly rigid with anger. "To wind up in some form of shock and vegetate?"

"No," he placed a hand on his back and rubbed him comfortingly, "they want you to rest…and to not worry about anything."

Through her light sleep, Janeece heard her mobile go off on her nightstand and she slowly answered it. She immediately sat up in bed after realising Tom had called her.

"I don't wanna worry you," he started, "but is there any chance of you taking Clara back home?"

"S-sure," she scrambled out from under the blankets, "I mean it'd take some time for us to get ready, but…Sir, is everything ok with…?"

"He's fine," he dimly replied, "but he's giving me a lot of lip at the moment."

"That doesn't sound good," she admitted. "But is there any way it'll stop?"

"The only real way it could stop is to talk to the doctors…maybe they'll give him something to relax. But he's talking about returning to work, Janeece. And since he's literally been discharged for less than a full day, I don't think he should be allowed to."

Janeece hung up and set about waking Clara who had taken up residence on her lounge sofa. "Come on, young lady. Up you get." She helped her into a sitting position. "You're going back home."

"Really?" Her eyes widened. "That soon?" She tipped her head in mild confusion. "But dad hasn't been out of hospital for long."

"Mr Clarkson needs our help," she explained. "Your dad's giving him earache."

The younger girl smirked to herself. "He probably doesn't mean it." She knew that since staying with her father there'd been times when he told her off and she answered back to him, but then he would answer her back a second time to make her stop – and that always worked.

"No, but he isn't well." The older girl replied. "And if he's not listening to what the doctors suggested he do then we should intervene."

Janeece and Clara were let in to the flat by a beat-looking Tom answering the door.

"Stupid question," the older girl stated, "but how is he?" Her query was answered by a faded look from the stocky male. "He's that well, I take it?"

"He may be bedridden," he slowly admitted, "but that doesn't stop him."

She tipped her head towards the bedroom door. "I don't hear anything."

"You wouldn't," he shook his head, "he gave up his tirade before you got here and fell asleep. I don't know for how long though."

"This isn't good," she stated. "I mean from what we saw when we visited he just…lost it. Is that what this is all about – that he's gotten angry again?"

"He's not exactly angry," he explained, "he's more or less making comments about his state. He thinks he feels fine and he wants to go back to work."

"But he can barely remember why he's sick in the first place," she protested. "A-and as for the stroke…what if something happens and we can't help him?"

"I've tried telling him that, but I think the only way round this is to send for a doctor…get him to come here and look him over, and then maybe he can give him something to fix this. If he's behaving like this he could be in some form of shock."

She nodded slowly, unaware that the younger girl had latched onto her for protection. "So why did you want us here?"

After calling the post-operative team at the hospital, one of the doctors agreed to drive out to the flat and examine the young male whilst he was asleep. "It seems like a safer situation whilst he's like this," Tom explained to him.

"His vitals are just the same as they were during recovery," he stated. "His blood pressure is a little low, but he'd been through a bit during the hospital stay – and he's still recovering."

"So would you let him return to work?"

"No," he directly replied, "absolutely not. Why did you ask?"

"'Cause that was what he said." His answer prompted a frown to emerge across the doctor's features.

"Chris is in no fit state to have said that. Have you told him to stay put and rest?"

"Oh, I've done that," the stocky male stated, "and he does listen to me in that respect. But he doesn't like it."

"Tom," the doctor smirked a little, "most of us at some time or another don't like being told to do something, especially when we otherwise feel fine. What makes you think he doesn't like it?"

"He keeps making comments," Tom admitted after a few moments of reluctance, "and he said it'd feel more normal to him if he returned to work."

The doctor was quiet for some time before peering over at the young male. "It sounds as though he's going through some form of post-traumatic stress."

"I-I did think that, but I did think more of him just being…mouthy." He swallowed hard. "So the memory problems are still there, or…not so?"

"I don't think he has ever had a memory problem to start with, come to think of it," he explained. "His behaviour is becoming more avoidant – so if he's asked to remember anything related to the accident, he blocks it out. That's probably why the headaches occur. And if he insists that he feels fit enough to work, then that could be his way of trying to forget – in other words he wants to disconnect from it."

"He has to be stopped, though, surely?" He assumed, beat. "I-I mean we all know he needs his rest but I can't ever bring myself to make him stay in bed and control him like a prisoner."

The doctor shook his head. "You won't have to," he fished around for something in his case, "not when you give him these." He handed a small box to the other male.

"I can't see how he can be given these without asking what they are."

"They're dissolvable," he went on, "and the best part of it is they're flavourless. As long as they're not taken on an empty stomach, of course."

"So these are what, exactly?" He wanted to know. "Sedatives, sleeping pills…?"

"Tranquillisers," he replied, "just very slow-releasing ones. That just means that they can make him relax, but also make him sleep if he so wishes to. It won't knock him out with each dosage, if that was what was bothering you. It works in the same way as a sedative – that it can induce sleep if he wants, but for the time being he just needs to calm down."

When the doctor left, Janeece went to speak to Tom, who hadn't left his spot next to the younger male. "What did he say?"

"Well, he can't be allowed to work, that's for sure," he replied. "He's on a course of tranquillisers, but they're ones that can be taken in fluids."

"And you needed us back for what exactly?" She enquired, folding her arms across her chest.

"I might need an extra pair of hands."