No.16 A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Prompt: #16 hallucinations

Robin stumbled out into the street, almost dropping her phone. Her fingers were numb, and vertigo was causing her to stumble against a parked car, triggering the alarm. She hung on to the door handle, blinking against the confusing haloes of the street lights and the rhythmic honking.

"Robin! Are you still there? Robin!"

Cormoran's frantic voice was a fraying, tinny connection to what was left of the real world.

"Robin!" He bellowed through the phone. "An ambulance is on the way! Stay where you are! Stay awake! Robin, can you hear me?"

She wanted to answer, but her tongue was refusing to form any words. Her heart was thumping in a frenetic gallop, her breath coming in quick bursts. Thoughts coagulated to nonsensical gibberish in her head, and through her confusion, she felt the urge to laugh. Whatever she'd been drugged with - it was at least wiping away the fear. How funny, to think she might die…

"Robin! Talk to me…! I'm almost there!"

XXX

She was moving. No, something was moving her. Light shone into her eyes. The prick of a needle. Pressure on her arm. A loud, plaintive wail above her.

"... tachycardic… milligrams of Narcan IV… ETA..."

A female voice was fading in and out. Colours danced behind Robin's closed eyelids. Where was the music? Something tickled under Robin's nose, and she wiped at it. A hand caught hers, warm and big.

"Leave it," the disembodied voice said anxiously. "...breathe. Just breathe. You…"

Robin blinked. More colours. A dark, burly shape at her side. That voice… What was Cormoran doing here?

An alarm sounded somewhere close. Was she still leaning against the car? But she was on her back… Robin closed her eyes again. The female voice flared up, sounding urgent.

"...V-fib … crashing…"

Robin's chest hurt. A surge of panic clamped down on her. The colours exploded into fireworks. She couldn't breathe.

"Robin!"

Cutting through the pandemonium, Cormoran's voice.

"Robin, don't… bloody hell… love you… please!"

A flash. Everything stopped.

XXX

"It was an opioid. Wardle can tell you the name, but I forgot. I'm too bloody tired…"

Seated next to Robin's hospital bed, Cormoran scrubbed his large hands over his face. What little skin was visible between his beard, his thick eyebrows and his ungroomed hair looked sallow. His blue shirt was wrinkled. The bags under his eyes belonged to someone who'd last slept under Tony Blair.

"You do look awful," Robin said.

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry." Robin pulled a guilty face. "Sorry for causing such a fuss."

She scooted up in her bed and tried to sort out the bunched-up pillow in her back without getting tangled up in her IV.

"Fuss?" Cormoran's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "You call almost dying a fuss? When you flatlined in that ambulance you nearly gave me a heart attack, Ellacott!"

He shook his dark, tousled head and briefly buried his face in his hands.

Robin looked at him with a bad conscience. A memory tickled her brain.

"So you were there…"

"Yes, yes I was." Her partner still looked shell-shocked. He nodded vehemently and with an air of disbelief. "It was a bloody nightmare. " Suddenly, his expression became insecure. "You remember?"

Robin wrinkled her nose.

"Yes. I mean… I'm not sure."

Strike's voice.

… love you…

She sat up, a little startled.

"What is it," Cormoran asked, worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Robin felt a flush creeping up her cheeks.

He couldn't have… could he?

"It's just… I think I remember something. You. Something you said."

Cormoran fidgeted on his chair. He looked nervous all of a sudden.

"Yeah?"

Robin stared at her partner. That bear of a man, exhausted, worried and looking back at her from bloodshot green eyes - did he, after all those years…?

"Oh, nothing." Robin shook her head and scratched at her neck, looking away. "Nothing, it's… I must've been hallucinating. Forget it."

Strike's face took on an odd expression, somewhere between crestfallen and utterly relieved.

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it," he said, scratching his beard.

"I was, wasn't I?"

"You were."

After an awkward moment of silence, Strike clapped his thighs and leaned forward, preparing to get up from his chair.

"Right. I have to go. Surveillance. I'm taking over Blackbird from Hutchins this morning. I'll see you tonight. Do you need anything? Anything I can bring you?"

Robin smiled against a confusing wave of disappointment.

"No. Yes! Something to eat, if you don't mind. The food here's disgusting." She shuddered in exaggeration.

Strike lifted an eyebrow. "Chinese?"

"Yes, please."

"Got it."

For some reason, Strike didn't look at her as he went out the door.