"I'm sorry."
"Fifty-two."
He took another shuddering breath and felt something cool dab over his forehead. It was him again, the gentle hands, the gentle voice that reached out to him even in the depths, the line of safety he could never reach. So much sadness now in the gentle one's voice, no longer a song, just broken words that made no sense. He didn't doubt he was responsible for that, he always was. Father yelled, mother screamed, all his fault.
"I'm sorry." he whispered, to them, to him, to the world.
"Fifty-three." the broken voice replied.
He was damp and couldn't move, everywhere hurt. He'd done something, he must have done something so bad but he couldn't remember. Couldn't remember it at all. He could only remember the pain, the pain and the gentle voice.
He could hear water falling from somewhere, was it raining? He didn't think it was raining, but he didn't trust what he thought anymore. He opened his eyes and strained through the light until he could see. It was a man, turned away his profile to Rodney. So familiar…he knew that face, those eyes and he knew what he had done, not what he had said or what he had done but he knew he'd tried to hurt him. Carson, his friend.
"Carson," he pleaded.
He was so alone now, so cold. Carson was warm, he was always warm. Never cold to anyone, not even him, oh god please don't let him have been the one to make Carson cold. He needed the warmth right now, needed the safety.
"Carson," he whimpered.
Carson rung the cloth again but he didn't look up. Was he so angry that he wouldn't even look at him? Oh God, what had he done. Whatever it was he did he didn't mean it, just please don't be angry, don't be angry.
"I'm sorry," he cried "Please."
"Fifty four," he sighed "A hundred and seventy four."
Carson pushed himself away from the stool, his shoulders slouched, Rodney watched him walk away.
"I'm sorry," he wept, "I'm sorry."
Carson didn't look back.