Chapter 2

"I bet you've been dreaming about this day," the nurse said with a friendly smile as she helped Simon tie his shoelaces.

Simon wasn't altogether sure. He'd been dreaming about plenty of things - Jim Keats, Ataris, Speak and Spells - but in honesty the thought of going home was one that terrified him.

He wasn't even going 'home', he was staying with Robin for a few weeks until he was back on his feet, so he was in danger of being mollycoddled and looked after too well when all he wanted was a little peace and quiet.

"Hey you," a grinning Robin appeared at the door.

Simon smiled back nervously.

"Hey," he repeated.

"Are you ready?"

Simon took a deep breath.

"Just about," he said.

"Well, I've taken the day off work to help you settle in and take care of you," Robin smiled, "so I hope you like pizza, Pepsi and programmes about the 80s."

Oh God, thought Simon, why did he have to keep the 80s stuff on his Sky Plus box? They're recorded the 80s season to watch together; there was a drama about Boy George, some adaptation from a book and some documentaries. It had been on just a week or two before Simon's accident. Simon wasn't sure he could face the 80s playing at him through the TV screen.

"You didn't have to take the day off, you know," he said quietly.

"I did," Robin sat beside him and took his hand, "Simon, you've been through so much. Look at all the times you've taken care of me; when I broke my leg, when I had swine flu…"

"Man Flu," Simon corrected cheekily.

"…When I got my arm trapped between the railings outside the fish and chip shop," Robin continued, "believe me, it's the least I can do."

Simon smiled tiredly. Even putting his shoes on was still wearing him out.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Robin smiled back and got to his feet again, hauling Simon's bags over his shoulders.

"That's what I'm here for," he said, "Look, I'm going to go and bring the car round to the exit. Will the nurse be able to help you to the doors?"

The nurse smiled.

"Don't worry, I'll escort him safely," she said.

"You don't have to do that," Simon told her with a smile, "I'll be fine."

"Nonsense," the nurse told him, "it's a choice between walking you out or syringing the ears of Mister Davidson down the hall. I know which one I prefer doing."

Simon laughed gently and allowed the nurse to help him to his feet. He was still a little unsteady, it had taken some therapy to get him walking again but he was improving daily. He gripped the arm of his nurse to hold him steady and slowly left the room. They walked together down the corridor, round the corner and down a flight of stairs until they reached a cold-looking corridor.

"Here's where your bed was while you were unconscious," the nurse told him.

Simon felt a little strange.

"Oh," he said, "…thanks for taking me down memory lane."

He walked slowly down the corridor, not even wishing to think about how close he came to meeting a sticky end. He paused as he got to one particular door. Something made him shudder. A chill went down his spine, almost as though someone had walked across his grave.

"Was… was this my room?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh no," the nurse shook her head, "yours was actually the room next door. The patient in this room has been in a vegetative state for two years now."

Simon shuddered again. He couldn't begin to imagine what the friends and family of that patient must be going through.

"Can we get going?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," the nurse took his arm again and guided him a little more quickly down the corridor, turned left and finally toward the exit. Outside a bright, sunny day was waiting to greet him. Robin stood in front of the car, smiling broadly, holding the door open like a chauffer. All he needed was the silly hat.

"Your carriage awaits, Sir," he told Simon.

Simon gave a smile and a deep sigh. The whole, wide world was out there and a whole life lay ahead of him. He had fought so damn hard to earn his right to them, too. So why did they both seem so scary?

Simon started to wish he was back in the hospital. There were only so many cups of tea he could drink, only so many biscuits and cakes he could consume, only so many grapes he could stand to eat and only so many magazines he could read. He just wanted some peace and quiet, time alone with his thoughts. He felt awful for thinking that way because Robin was working so hard to make him comfortable but he was starting to feel nothing short of smothered.

By the time the evening came around Simon had regressed back to the Yeah, Oh and OK stage and was fading fast with exhaustion.

"I hope you're ready for an eighties marathon!" Robin said excitedly.

Simon closed his eyes briefly. He gave a sigh.

"Robin, I'm so sorry but I'm really tired," he began, "do you mind if we watch the shows another day? I think I need to get some sleep."

Robin looked at him sadly. It seemed whatever he tried to do Simon rejected. He knelt beside him on the couch and rubbed his arm.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said, "plenty of time. It's your first day back. You get to bed." He kissed Simon's forehead and gently stroked his cheek. "I'll be along later. Got some paperwork to catch up on."

"Thank you," Simon said quietly. He felt guilty for turning down the evening's entertainment but the thought of some blessed peace and quiet came as a relief to Simon. All he wanted was a little silence, a familiar bed and a peaceful, dreamless night's sleep.

Two out of three wasn't bad.

A darkness. A desperate darkness. A feeling of suffocation, maybe choking.

There's not enough air. There's never, ever enough air.

Breathing is hard, getting harder by the moment. It's so difficult to keep on moving, keep on living.

Time to give in. Time to go under. Time to give up.

That's when Simon realised it wasn't him who couldn't breathe.

"Simon," he heard a familiar voice cry out his name, "Simon, help! Help me!"

He tried to look around but it was so dark, so very black in every inch of the room that he couldn't see a thing. He tried to run, to search for the voice calling him so desperately but it was so hard to move.

"Simon, PLEASE!" the cries turned to sobs, "Help me! You're the only one who can -"

The voice was drowned out by the sound of a heartbeat, increasing in volume with every beat. Just as it reached deafening proportions it stopped and a long, loud beep replaced it.

Simon woke with a jolt, sitting up bolt-upright in bed. He was sweating and his hands were shaking. He couldn't stop himself from panting and cried out with fear.

"Simon!" Robin's alarmed voice cried his name, "what's wrong? What's the matter?"

Simon turned to him quickly, his eyes as wide as saucers. He tried to explain to him why he was so scared, he wanted to open up to him and tell him what was going on but he couldn't find the words. He didn't even know how to begin.

Eventually he brushed the sweat from his brow and looked downward.

"Bad dream," he whispered, "I had a nightmare. That's all."

Robin wrapped his arms around Simon's shoulders, doing his very best to give comfort and support but found they failed on both counts. Simon remained rigid and shaken.

"I'm here," he whispered, "I'll always be here."

Simon was grateful for the arms around his shoulders but he couldn't tell Robin that they offered little comfort because they couldn't reach inside his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you. Try to go back to sleep."

"I'd rather stay awake with you," Robin told him.

Simon laid back down. He closed his eyes.

"I'm going back to sleep," he lied, "I hope you can too."

Robin hesitated.

"If you're sure," he said quietly.

Simon nodded slowly.

"'Night, Robin."

Robin exhaled and looked sadly at Simon. There was a wall around him that he just couldn't seem to break down and he didn't know where to begin.

The following week fell into a pattern. It was a pattern of lies and politeness and skirting around the issues. Every day Robin would make Simon breakfast, kiss him goodbye and go to work and every day Simon would potter about the flat, scared to watch the TV in case a Jim Keats special came on and scared to check his messages in case he had one from someone that only existed inside his head. He would go over and over his time in 1985, trying to work out whether any of it could have been real or if he truly was crazy. Then Robin would arrive home, Simon would pretend he'd had a nice day, they'd have dinner and Simon would come up with a new way to avoid watching all the things Robin had kept on his Sky + box. Soon it would be bedtime and another round of nightmares would come and go.

One week to the day of his discharge from hospital Simon's routine was broken by a check-up at the hospital. Robin had dropped him off and then gone to pick up some shopping before picking him up again. The check-up had gone as well as Simon could have expected. There was prodding and poking and a lot of questions. Far too many questions for Simon's liking.

By the time the doctor had finished with him he felt thoroughly drained and sloped off to the hospital canteen for a quick cup of coffee before Robin collected him. He had bought his drink and was busy umming and ahhing over whether to get a jam donut or a happy smiley biscuit when he spotted a young girl sitting miserably at a table on her own. She was wearing a school uniform and couldn't have been any older than in her early teens. She looked thoroughly depressed and Simon's heart went out to her.

Instantly Simon made up his mind.

"Two of those happy, smiley biscuits please," he said.

The woman behind the counter placed two on a plate and charged Simon an extortionate amount for them. Simon almost reported how many hundreds of biscuits he could have got for that amount in nineteen eighty five but thought better of it and paid the money without complaint. He carried the plate and his drink over to the table where the teenager was sitting and placed them down.

"Now, I know it's not good practice to accept gifts from strange men," he began, "but in my defence I have a hole in my head, can only walk short distances and blackout twice a day so you're probably as safe with me as with anyone."

The girl looked up at him and didn't seem impressed by his attempt at humour. Simon sighed and sat down opposite her. There was something about the girl that seemed familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it but he felt sure he recognised her from somewhere.

"Please, tell me just to go away and I will," he began, "but you look so down… and all on your own… I just wondered if there was anything I could do? Anything you needed?" He watched her shake her head. "Anyone I can call for you?"

The girl shook her head again.

"I'm waiting for my godfather to pick me up," she said, "I was visiting my mum."

"She's in hospital?" Simon asked unnecessarily.

The girl nodded.

"She's in a coma," she said, "she's been like this for two years."

Simon's heart fell. He hated to think what the poor girl was going through.

"Two years?" he repeated, "I'm… I'm so sorry."

The girl looked down.

"They say she's starting to show some signs of response," she began, "but they've been saying that for weeks. They said this was her best chance of waking up but she's still asleep." she paused. "Today's my birthday. I really wanted her to wake up. I thought if she was going to open her eyes it would be today, but she's still laying there, dead to the world."

"Oh God," Simon breathed, "I really am so sorry. Shit." he cringed. "I mean, sugar."

The young girl actually managed to raise a smile.

"I'm fourteen, not four," she said, "I've heard worse."

Simon smiled a little. He too a deep breath.

"I missed my dad's birthday too," he said quietly. The girl looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I was in a coma," Simon said awkwardly, "like your mum, but not for so long."

"What happened?" asked the girl, "did you get shot too?"

"Shot?" Simon repeated, "Oh no, I, erm…" his accident seemed incredibly stupid in comparison, "well, I had an accident and my skull was crushed. There was pressure on my brain. That's why they had to take a bit away." he pointed to his still-bound head, "of bone, I mean. Not of my brain."

"Gosh," the girl peered at his bandages with interest, "you poor thing."

Simon passed the plate to the girl and watched her take one of the smiley biscuits. He took the plate back, lifted the second one and bit into it. After chewing thoughtfully for a moment he said,

"If I could have woken up for my dad's birthday, I would. If it was up to me, I'd have opened my eyes and sung a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday To You. I didn't make it in time, but I did keep fighting until I got back. Your mum will too."

The girl looked a little awkward.

"How do you know?" she asked.

Simon let out his breath noisily. He wasn't sure how he knew, he just did.

"Maybe… maybe because I've been there," he said quietly, "your mum has you to fight for. She'll want to get back so she can say she's sorry she missed your birthday and she'll make it up to you next year." He paused and looked at her seriously. "Don't give up on her. My family… they almost gave up on me. But I kept fighting, and I know she is too."

The girl stared at him for the longest time, then finally she gave him a little smile.

"Maybe," she said quietly.

Simon nodded.

"Really," he said, "she'll fight on as long as you keep fighting for her."

The girl gave a genuine smile. Somehow this stranger had come along and given her spirit the lift she needed that day.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Molly?" a voice caused her to turn round, "are you ready?"

Molly glanced behind her, then turned back to Simon.

"This is my godfather,v," she said, "this is…" she looked at Simon and faltered, realising he'd never introduced himself properly.

"Simon," Simon got to his feet and held out his hand to shake Ethan's.

Evan hesitated, then took it in his own.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Simon was in a coma, just like mummy," the girl said, "he woke up and he's fine, and he has a hole in his head and everything!"

Simon felt his bandage a little self-consciously.

"I'm recovering," he explained, "it's taking a while but I'm getting there."

Evan gave a nod.

"Well, good luck," he said, "I hope you continue to recuperate."

Molly gave a smile as she got to her feet.

"Bye, Simon," she said, picking up her smiley biscuit, "get better soon."

Simon smiled and raised his Styrofoam cup.

"The same to your mum," he said.

He watched as the girl left the canteen and sipped his drink. There was something so familiar about Molly. She reminded him so much of someone he used to know.

"Si!" a cheerful Robin interrupted his thoughts, "how did it go?"

Simon glanced up as Robin crossed the room and sat in Molly's chair.

"Fine," he said, "clean bill of health, still got my marbles, bought a young girl a smiley biscuit, pretty average appointment really."

"Great," Robin smiled, "hopefully you can relax a little now."

"Yeah, until the next appointment," Simon mumbled into his coffee.

Robin got back out of the chair.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"I only just bought my coffee and a smiley biscuit!" Simon protested.

"Bring them with you!" said Robin.

Simon rolled his eyes and got to his feet.

"Fine," he said, "I'll bring them with me."

"Let's go then," said Robin, leaning forward to kiss him but to his surprise Simon pulled away.

"What are you doing?" he cried, glancing around.

Robin looked at him with hurt in his eyes.

"I was just going to kiss you," he said.

"Here?"

Robin gave a nervous laugh.

"It's… it's never bothered you before," he said quietly.

Simon flinched. The memory of a thousand eighties attitudes came flooding back to him. So securely was his mind still locked in that time period that he couldn't face the rampant homophobia that he felt so sure was around them. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. He was still in 2010. He was still living in a world where he could marry his boyfriend should he choose to and where could walk down the street hand in hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry, I just hate hospitals. I just want to get home."

Robin chewed on his lip. He wasn't used to Simon behaving that way but decided to let it go, in the interests of keeping the peace.

"Then lets get you home," he whispered.

Simon nodded slowly and followed Robin out of the canteen. He hated the way he was acting but something just wasn't right. Until he could figure things out he just had to hope Robin's patience would last a little longer.