DISCLAIMER: I do not own BBC Casualty or any of its characters.
A/N: Hey all, we are very nearly there now. Just three more chapters to go. I can't believe I wrote this fic back in March and I'm still uploading it. Thank you for bearing with me, and thank you to those who are still reading. Please review if you have the time. I'd love to know your thoughts. As always, enjoy x
UNTIL WE GO DOWN
- Waves of Grey -
Dark patterns skitter over the walls like spider webs. Her limbs, transfixed by an ever-present pain, have long since succumbed to sleep, whilst all around translucent figures move as nameless ghosts. Old memories slip through the cracks in her mind. Names she can't quite remember. Words jumble in the fading light. And she knows that if help does not arrive soon, she will inevitably slip further and further into the void.
"Faith?" A knock from the other side. Sharp. Unexpected. "How are you doing?"
Everything is closing in. Dimming. Fading. Everything except his voice.
"Honestly? I don't feel too great, Dylan," she whispers.
Warmth and cold. A slow, thudding heartbeat - her own, she realises belatedly - curiously slow and heavy with the weight of the world.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?"
It's strange how much emotion can be heard in a faceless voice, how much concern and consideration a variation in tone can convey. Without the distraction of his expressionless façade, his voice betrays so much more. She knows he cares - though how deeply she cannot tell. Despite his apparent stoicism, Dylan cares more than most people would think possible.
"Faith?" She can hear him moving about outside, faintly aware of his growing tension. "Faith, keep talking to me. Tell me what's wrong."
Her head lolls to the left, limbs refusing to respond. Her legs jerk intermittently, muscles coiling and tensing without consent. Symptoms of shock.
"I can't m-move. I was s-standing up when we were hit, and..."
Something warm and sticky trickles down the back of her neck.
"There's... There's blood," Faith breathes heavily, blinking against dizzying nausea, "on the back of my h-head, and I, uh... can't really see anything." The spider webs grow in number, her sight darkening at the edges like smouldering paper. Burning. Fading. "My vision's really blurry. It's getting... getting a bit d-difficult to breathe."
Internal bleeding; her mind offers the diagnosis in conclusion.
"Please get me out, Dylan. Get me out of here." Panic, suffocating in its intensity, rises like a tidal wave. Air rushes from her lungs. "I'm scared."
"Hang on in there, Faith." He sounds distant, even though she knows he is less than a few metres away. "Help is on the way. It won't be long now."
A few minutes. She could manage a few more minutes.
"Are... are you okay?"
"Me? You're asking me if I'm okay?" Dylan huffs incredulously. "Faith, you're the one who..."
Neither of them can bring themselves to finish that sentence.
"Are you though?" she asks, desperate to dwell on something else.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Totally fine." The shuffling of feet; the sound of his voice lowers. "Just hurt my arm a bit, that's all. It's probably dislocated. I'm sure I'll live. Pravi's going to be fine. And the lorry driver too."
She imagines him there, on the other side, sitting on the ground with his legs stretched out. She imagines his back against her fingers, wishes he could see her reassuring smile, however feeble.
"You should have said something sooner," Dylan reprimands lightly. There's no annoyance in his tone, only a barely concealed concern. "You should have told me, Faith."
She starts to consider it: how easy it would be to slip beneath the surface, to give into the growing cold. To let it seep into her skin and freeze her forever in this moment.
"Faith?" He knocks loudly. "Keep talking to me, please."
But the thought of sleep is persistent, beckoning her to wade into the deep end.
Had the stretcher not wedged itself between her and the door, had he not convinced her to stay still, it would have been easy to slide down to the rear of the ambulance and out into the passing waters. It would have been easy to finally give in.
"I'm tired, Dylan."
"No." Several knocks this time. "No, you keep your eyes open, Faith. Alright? Just keep talking to me. What do you, um... What do you want to talk about?"
She's too exhausted to think let alone keep up a conversation.
"I don't know."
"Okay. Okay, don't talk then. Just listen."
For a while he is silent, and she wonders if he has forgotten what he'd intended to say. Or if, once again, he is shutting down. Shutting her out. Refusing to speak his mind.
"I owe you an apology."
"Dylan, you don't have to-"
"No." He interrupts, almost blurting out the words. "No, please let me say this. I... I lied to you. Before. About why I told you about Lev. Or at least partially lied anyway."
The silence that descends is no less awkward, but this time there is room for honesty. For consideration. And perhaps, given time, for healing.
"Why..." Her heartrate quickens. Tentative, bated breaths. "Why did you tell me?"
"Because I'm your friend," Dylan answers.
He's said that before. Hours ago. Days ago? And whilst it is undoubtedly the truth, there is more to be confessed. He cannot deny that now.
"I told you," Dylan continues, "because I thought you deserved to know the truth. Even if part of me knew you wouldn't believe me or you'd resent me. I don't blame you for that."
Faith shakes her head, wincing as a jolt of pain slides down her neck.
"I don't resent you, Dylan."
He chuckles lowly, but there's an evident relief in the sound.
"I'm afraid I haven't been a very good friend to you lately."
"You've always been a good friend to me," Faith murmurs. "I'm sorry if I never told you that. I don't think I ever told you how... how much I appreciated you being there when..."
Her chest is too tight, her pulse quickening with terrifying rapidity. The memory brings a smile, twisted with grief.
"When they first told me about Luka," Faith swallows, "I asked you to... to come to the hospital. You didn't have to, but you did. And you just... you sat with me. And you held my hand."
"You needed someone to talk to."
"You're a good listener."
"Not always," he disagrees.
She needs to sleep. To close her eyes and drift. She needs to tell him.
"I'm sorry I called you a liar."
"Well, you know." He bats away her apology as if it were nothing. "It's all water under the bridge, isn't it?"
"No, I really... I mean it, Dylan," she says firmly. "I am sorry."
"You're already forgiven."
Through thick and thin, Faith muses, he has been there. He has whittled his way into her memories, offering whatever help or advice or encouragement he could whilst forever being his blunt and honest self. He has been someone she could rely on. A constant.
Her best friend.
Metal creaks ominously in the surrounding silence. Somewhere in the distance: an indistinguishable murmur of disquiet and unsettled activity.
"Dylan?"
"Yes?"
"Stay with m-me? Please?" She doesn't want to be alone, can't bear the thought of drifting away into nothingness without the comforting presence of another soul. "Just... Just stay and talk to me. Don't g-go anywhere."
"I won't. I'm not going anywhere," he says. "I made you a promise, Faith. Do you remember that?"
Yes. She remembers.
She remembers the amber glow of the washroom lights around them, the ridge of her spine against the wall as she slid to the floor under a storm of consuming emotion. Untamed, and raw with grief. The crushing of her soul as she realised that she was going to lose her son.
He had sat across from her, patiently, quietly, his shoes nearly touching hers as the world had dwindled suddenly into one shattering moment of clarity.
More than anything else, she remembers the way he had held her hands. His strong fingers clutching hers. And the kindness in his eyes.
"Why are you always so good to me?"
A long, pregnant pause. He does not reply, and she finds herself slowly slipping further and further toward the brink. To the place where reality fragments. And then comes his reply:
"Because I'm your friend, Faith. And I want to continue being your friend. If you'll let me."
She doesn't deserve his forgiveness, nor his kindness, and as her fingers press against the wall her heart wells with gratitude. His friendship is something she has come to truly treasure. She cannot do without it. She cannot let him go.
Water, cold and inviting, rushes beneath her feet.
Somewhere, a far distance away, a low drone sounds. Another follows, crescendoing into a wail, and their cries rise and fall in practised succession.
"You're more than a friend to me, Dylan."