Twenty Seven
Jakes kept his gaze on the unconscious man in front of him as the door opened.
There was a pause, a heavy sigh, and then Thursday's weary voice.
"I thought I'd find you here".
"Where else would I be?"
"In your own room? It's there for a reason, you know".
He finally turned to him, with a somewhat irritated look.
"I don't need a hospital bed".
"No, you just need to rest" He replied calmly, "... How's the shoulder?"
Jakes glanced down at the sling holding his left arm in place, white bandages peeking out from beneath his open shirt collar.
"It'll mend".
"Not with you up and about, it won't" He scolded, dragging out a chair from the corner, "You're meant to be staying still".
"Does it look like I'm doing bloody cartwheels?!" He snapped.
Thursday raised a single eyebrow at him.
Jakes sighed.
"Sorry. I just... Sorry".
"It's alright. What you did wasn't, however".
He ran a tired hand over his face, "And what did you expect me to do? He had a gun and he was pointing it at Morse".
"I expected you to let Uniform do their job" He shot back, "And not jump in front of a bloody bullet before drawing your own weapon!"
"You telling me he didn't deserve it?"
"No. I'm not. I'm telling you it's going to be a hell of a lot of paperwork".
His gaze drifted back to the silent hospital bed.
"... Is Bright pissed?"
"That you got yourself shot? Yes" He replied simply, "That you killed Gull? Well... Not so much".
"Does he expect me back?"
"Not anytime soon, that's for sure. You're on medical leave until further notice. Both of you".
Thursday glanced at the man in between them, as if expecting a sarcastic denial or protest.
None came.
"... How is he?"
"Alive" Jakes said, with a humourless laugh, "According to the doctors, that's about all we can hope for right now".
"He will get better. You know he will" He tried to reassure, "He's nothing if not stubborn... I need to go back to the office, clear this whole mess up. Strange will be by later to get your version of events, and Doctor DeBryn said he'd call in after processing Gull's body... I take it you won't be home tonight?"
"Not tonight" He said, shaking his head and vaguely wondering when the Thursdays had become home, "The doctors want to keep me for observation, just in case of... well, I don't know. Just in case. Can you tell Abby goodnight for me?"
"'Course. I'll bring her by, soon, with Win. Maybe Joan, too, if she's around... I'll see you tomorrow".
The older man stood and carefully put back the chair, before pausing at the door.
"And Peter?"
He glanced up.
"Try and get some sleep, alright?"
He snorted, but nodded all the same.
As if he'd sleep easily after what happened...
He'd been elated to find Morse, and almost as glad that they could finally arrest Gull again. He stood by, rather impatiently, as DeBryn treated his partner's wounds as best he could, asking him questions both for medical knowledge and to keep him awake, as Morse's gaze kept drifting in and out of focus.
"... Pet'r?"
"I'm here, Morse" He quickly replied, shuffling closer on his knees and immediately being latched onto by storm coloured eyes.
"Richmond".
He frowned, wondering if it was nonsensical babbling or actually something important.
"Morse?"
"Richmond" He repeated, half-grinning.
Jakes only had a second to dwell on it before there was a yell behind them.
Leaping to his feet, he spun around, only to find Gull breaking free of Uniform's hold and scrambling out of the police car. His hands had been cuffed behind him, Jakes had done it himself, but now, somehow, he had gotten both arms in front of him and he was running their way and-
And he had a gun.
Thursday shouted a warning and pulled DeBryn out of his line of fire before jumping in front of him. Jakes did the same with Morse, not hesitating to put himself between him and Gull, even as the maniac raised the gun, even as Jakes unholstered his own, even as they both pulled the trigger and the same time and BANG.
He didn't see Gull fall.
But he knew his aim was perfect.
Time seemed to stand still as he stumbled backwards, propelled by an invisible blow, tripping over grass and dirt and Morse before landing, hard, on his back on the ground below. He slowly blinked, noting the absolute terror that Thursday was looking at him with, and then suddenly, everything sped up again.
There was yelling, flashing lights, people running around and back and forth and then his guvnor was there, shaking him and screaming his name and he blinked once more before the pain caught up with him.
"Holy fuck".
It felt like his entire left side was on fire and he suddenly gasped for breath.
Thursday grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, unceremoniously shoving his head between his legs and putting a heavy hand on his neck to keep him there.
Jakes was almost positive that the man was shouting at him, but he couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears and his own haggard breath. He slowly got it under control, eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to block out the pain, the ache, the feeling of hot blood spilling down his skin.
-the fuck were you thinking?! Don't you think one bloody son is enough for me to lose today?! I swear to god Peter if the job doesn't kill me then the stress of you two absolute fucking idiots will! What the-"
Christ, Thursday was loud.
And also incredibly angry.
He didn't think he'd ever seen him so furious.
It wasn't until much much later that he actually processed what Thursday was saying, and realised that not only was it one of the first times that his guvnor had used his first name, but he also hadn't called him anything other than 'Peter' since.
Right now, however, he was more focused on the first half of the tirade.
One bloody son is enough for me to lose.
One bloody son.
Morse.
Desperately pulling up the last dredges of his energy, he fought against the hands holding him down and scrambled back to try and catch a glimpse of Morse.
He was where he'd left him, half propped up against the wall, a strange look on his face and his eyes half closed.
"'orse?"
His voice was taut with pain and he agonizingly cleared his throat.
"Morse!"
The younger man's head slowly fell to the side to face him.
His eyes were glazed over, and Jakes wasn't sure how much he was actually seeing. DeBryn was still shoving gauze and bandages and pieces of ripped up cloth at every bleeding wound he could reach. Thursday seemed to be doing the same to Jakes' left shoulder, but he blocked out the deep-rooted ache and the man's curses to try and reach his partner's hand.
His fingers fell short by a mere inche.
"Morse".
Baby blue eyes cleared, for a split second, before slowly, ever so slowly, falling shut.
Jakes froze.
In the distance, the sirens had stopped and paramedics were racing their way.
Morse's eyes remained closed.
DeBryn half-heartedly tapped his face, trying to get him to wake, and Jakes half-heard Thursday frantically calling his own name.
They managed to lift Morse onto the stretcher, shouting things about blood pressure and hypovolemic shock, while another man dressed in the same white uniform crouched down next to him.
Jakes wanted to snap at him, to tell him to go to Morse, to help him instead because he needed it more than Jakes did and why can't they see that go to him you bloody idiot not me Morse not me not-
Thursday lifted his arm when he couldn't do it himself, limbs strangely heavy and uncooperative, and the paramedic pulled out an injection and told him to count back from ten.
He was out before he could even start.
Waking up in hospital wasn't a new experience, but it wasn't exactly one he enjoyed, and as soon as the doctors left, Jakes painfully pulled on the spare shirt someone had left him, and found his way to Morse's room.
His partner looked terrible.
Pale, worn down, somehow thinner than usual. He was hooked up to a hundred-and-one machines that Jakes couldn't even begin to name, and there was a breathing tube in his mouth and three needles in his hand, connected to an IV bag, blood bag, and what he could only assume was some kind of antibiotics. Most of his skin was bandaged, thick gauze straining against medical tape in some places and mere butterfly plasters in others. His right arm was held in a sling, a mirror image of Jakes, and both wrists were surrounded by inch thick bandages. If he lifted the blankets, he knew he'd find just as heavy dressing around his right thigh. The skin that he could see was discoloured by various stages of bruises; sickly yellows and greens on his chest and arms, violent blues and purples around his throat.
Morse looked fragile, lying in that bed, unnaturally still and too perfectly positioned. He looked vulnerable, damaged, somehow breakable.
Jakes was almost too afraid to hold his hand.
By the time Thursday could visit, it was almost lunch, and despite his lack of appetite, he gratefully took the half sandwich offered and forced himself to eat it. They hadn't said much, just sat there and stared at the wounded creature between them.
He didn't even smile when he heard that Gull was dead, merely nodding once and sardonically replying with "I guess Richmond kills Richard after all".
Thursday had given him a look for the macabre humour, warned him not to pull any stupid stunts again, and then left, promising to return that evening.
It was dark, now, and Jakes couldn't help but wonder if it was dark where Morse had been kept too.
Strange had paid a visit, as promised, and after taking his statement, had caught him up on the latest news.
They'd found a room, he'd said, where Morse had likely been kept. It was damp and cold and smelt like blood. There were two metal chairs in the middle, bolted to the floor, and trace fragments of glass on the ground against one of the walls. There were no windows, only one door, and red stained handcuffs on the floor.
Three days Morse had been there for.
Three. Bloody. Days.
England survived the assault, but Jakes distantly wondered for how long. He knew it was pointless to torture himself with such thoughts, but every time he tried to stop, he remembered how Morse had literally been tortured, and the never-ending cycle began again, keeping him awake and pained and tormented.
It was close to three in the morning before he finally drifted off.
He was awoken some hours later, by the sound of low voices talking.
Jakes slowly opened his eyes, feeling disconnected and heavy headed, and strangely out of sync with the world around him. Directly in front of him, was a pale, bandaged hand, and it took some time before he realised that he must have fallen asleep with his head on Morse's bed. There was something heavy and warm draped over him too, and based on the familiar tobacco he could vaguely smell, it was less likely to be a blanket and more likely to be Thursday's coat.
Slowly straightening up, he couldn't bite back the groan as his shoulder moved from the awkward position, and all talking immediately stopped around him.
If he were in less pain, he'd have laughed at how comical it was.
A quick glance at Morse revealed no change, and he ran a tired hand through his hair and he turned to face the other visitors.
Both DeBryn and Thursday stared back at him, the latter somewhat concerned and the former somewhat annoyed.
"If you'd stayed in bed like you were supposed to, Sergeant" He remarked, "You wouldn't be hurting right now".
"Don't get righteous on me, doc, it's too late for that".
DeBryn sighed but nodded, walking over to carefully help him move the stiff shoulder.
"The bandages need to be changed".
"Can you do it?"
He got an assessing look from behind clear spectacles.
"... I can" He eventually replied, "Let me see if I can find the required apparatus".
They both watched him leave, before Thursday sighed and gave him a half-hearted glare.
"You know, when I told you to get some sleep, Peter, I didn't mean in here".
"Did you honestly expect me to leave?"
"... No" He reluctantly admitted, "But Win will be by later, with some clothes for you. I suggest you sleep then, in a proper bed, while she keeps vigil".
"Abby?"
"Joan has her for the day. We thought it best that you both heal a little before bringing her in... We don't want to frighten to poor child".
He couldn't help but agree, staring at Morse's stitches and bruises and the blood still speckling his hair. He didn't imagine he looked much better himself, in that regard, and then found himself desperately trying not to think about the red staining his hands.
Thankfully, DeBryn returned not long after and derailed his train of thoughts.
"You're lucky I have friends in this hospital" He huffed, pushing a small tray in ahead of him, "Or they would be none too keen about me treating their patient".
"Thank you" He replied quietly, awkwardly shrugging off Thursday's coat.
The doctor merely gestured at the window and told him to pull his chair up closer so they'd have more light.
He was grateful that his shirt was a button down, and couldn't imagine the added hassle and pain that would be involved with a simple t-shirt. It still took some manoeuvring and a few bitten off curses to free his shoulder, however, and Jakes quickly turned his attention to the outside world to try and block it out.
The window was large and clean, and he guessed that they were about three or four floors up. It was bright outside, but not sunny, and very few cars passed below. Early then, but not too early, or else Thursday and DeBryn wouldn't be here.
He frowned.
"What time is it?"
"Oh, the freshness of the morning, the early morning rosy, when the kiss of night, betrayed in dew, yet lingers on the leaves".
Jakes paused; the words familiar somehow.
"Dawn?" He replied, "What's that? Five, six, o'clock?"
The doctor gave him a surprised, but pleased, look as he finished unwinding the bandages.
"Morse is teaching you something, then".
"Or maybe I'm just getting used to your cryptic ways".
"There's nothing cryptic about poetry, Sergeant. Only people who don't understand it".
He huffed a laugh, all too aware that it was something Morse would say himself, if in less kind words.
"Just after half six, I reckon" Thursday answered, "I left home on the hour, and haven't been here that long".
Jakes slowly nodded.
He'd gotten no more than three hours sleep, then.
No wonder he still felt like death warmed over.
DeBryn caught his look and gave him one of his own.
"After I'm done here, you're going to sleep".
"What? No, I'm-"
"If you finish that with 'fine', Peter, I'll shoot you myself" Thursday growled.
"... I was actually going to say 'okay".
The inspector let out a deep breath and met his gaze evenly.
"The doctor's say he won't wake for two or three days at least. Not with the medicine he's on, and not with the rest he needs... You won't be much good to him when he wakes if you hardly stand yourself".
Jakes scowled and looked away.
"I'll be here for another two hours, Peter. I can wake you before I leave for the station, and then you can sit with him until Win arrives. I'm not asking you to leave him for twelve hours, though god knows I should, it's just for a small while, alright?"
DeBryn finished rewrapping the wound, and he slowly pulled back on his shirt.
"... Two hours?"
"Two hours" Thursday agreed.
His gaze drifted past him and back to Morse.
He knew he wouldn't wake for a while yet, and he knew that he was relatively in the clear, death wise. It was stupid that he didn't want to leave him, given how he couldn't do anything to help, but he didn't like the thought of letting him alone either, not when he looked so small and fragile.
"I'll be here" His boss prompted, "And I'm sure that the doctor has another half hour to spare".
"I'm not needed below until nine" DeBryn confirmed, "Sleep, Jakes. We'll stay with him until you return".