Comes after Part 1. I don't own any of the characters of course. Watch out for language and what are probably adult situations. I would place this sometime during Series 2.
He waited until dark before he left his room, couldn't say why.
The stairs hurt his chest, and he squeezed his left arm against his side.
But he didn't want the light in the elevator.
He was wearing sodding ridiculous hospital pyjamas-exactly what healing properties they felt wearing them all day was lost on him. Fucking moronic.
It was so they'd know who was a patient and who was a visitor. They loved telling him what to do here. Bloody awful; he couldn't wait to leave.
There was far too much time doing nothing.
Nothing was dangerous.
Things were clearer now. Nothingness was a luxury, because now Alex had him.
Her room was different than his; there were more monitors and machines. Of course there were, but he'd been shocked when he'd stumbled in last night. In the weak light it was horrifying.
Her white skin against the tubes.
She looked serene and untroubled. Her hair was pushed back from her face and it curled around her ears. The sheet was pulled to her shoulders, and her thin hospital gown was visible. He frowned and tried to pull the sheet one-handedly the rest of the way to her neck.
He brushed her forearm resting over the bleached hospital sheet. Dry; they'd not been putting the cream on. Shaz'd be the only one who'd do that. The nurses didn't bother with the bits that weren't burned.
He felt again that she wouldn't want him touching her like this while she was asleep. She hated for him to touch her when he wasn't fucking her. She never said, just avoided being close enough.
He hated that this bothered him.
"Jesus." He shook his head to clear it and lay back. She sat back, away from him. Pulled the sheet across her. The room was dark except for the moonlight the blinds let in.
He wanted to say something to her, but they'd been screaming at each other before, and he didn't know if that was over.
"Gene... you're just the same as the rest of them, aren't you?" She muttered, but he was meant to hear. He tried to tamp any feeling down; she was obviously trying to get a rise out of him. It was harder to ignore the way she drew away from him.
He wanted her to lie against him. He wanted to do all sorts of boring things with her.
Her skin was very soft, it turned out.
"Going to bounce downstairs and tell all your friends?" She said this a little louder, looked at him. He looked away from her face and began searching for his cigarettes on the floor. He lit one up before he spoke to her.
"No...I think you know I'm not." He drew the smoke into his lungs and let it burn.
She looked down at her sheet and rubbed at her temple. He felt drained.
"Don't try to bait me, woman- I'm here, aren't I?" She chose him for something. Some reason.
She lifted her face up and regarded him, cheeks red. Her arms might bruise where he'd held her. He felt sick.
She made him angry. He didn't want it to be like this.
"You could've gone downstairs as easy as picking up the sodding milk and had any bloke there, so don't fuckin' act like I seduced your innocent self!" He wasn't very good at keeping feelings tamped down.
Her expression was unreadable. Despairing, maybe.
She didn't slap him, which was what he'd expected. It would've helped.
He left that night, before she asked him to.
After that first night they didn't speak. Not really.
Sometimes she might have been happy with him, but he wouldn't ask.
She was gentle with him sometimes, so he'd hoped. But it changed again, and at least he knew what to do then.
He hated weak men; he arrested weak men. Men who couldn't stop themselves.
He always went back, except for the last night. He might've been exhausted, or trying to make a point, or just being fucking stupid. He couldn't remember it all now.
But she'd reached for him, in the street. He remembered that.
He felt his neck, pulled the bandages.
The moon came through the blinds- horizontal bars across her face. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in the moonlight.
Of course they'd flap their soddin' gums about them behind their backs.
They saw him at the warehouse, and they saw him lose his mind in the ambulance.
Only Ray had seen how they'd had to sedate him at the hospital.
It was too bright, that was the problem; he wanted to sleep, because it fucking well hurt, but it was too bright. Sluggish, he tried to wipe his eyes, but he couldn't move his arm.
He hadn't remembered at the beginning.
He felt cold metal on his chest; they had started to cut his shirt off, and he thought, you fuckers, she likes the blue ones.
He remembered then, and it was awful.
He'd let himself lose her, she was somewhere else, and he didn't know. He hadn't stayed with her.
He tried to brace himself on the gurney; tried to stand up, but they held him. He knocked one away and leaned off the bed, felt himself losing his balance. He grabbed out at the tray and pulled himself up. His shoulder was beginning to hurt, burn. His throat was worse; felt like he'd swallowed lit coals and he was breathing them back out. The noise, they were yelling at him and to each other, the tray hit the ground and bits were flying across the floor.
He had failed her, and had to see.
He thought she would be dead.
She'd been too still. He felt her, against his chest, not moving.
He felt the room move, his head hurt and he couldn't think. She wasn't here.
He was moving, a uniform holding the back of his shirt. His young face blurred, looked scared and unsure. He reached the wall and leaned to push the boy off him. Exhausted, slow, his left shoulder sent a crack of pain straight to his dulled brain and he had to close his eyes.
He was failing her again. He roared at the boy because he couldn't hurt him.
He roared for Alex.
"Fuck off him, he's a DCI!" He felt a jerk as the hand left his shirt and he staggered against the wall.
He opened his eyes at Ray, who looked back at him with pity as he shoved the kid away.
He felt himself begin to slide; a nurse backed away with a needle. They'd stopped him.
He felt for the wall with his arm, leaving a bloody, sooty streak as he dropped to his knees.
His mind began to fuzz , but he couldn't forget.
Ray leant down.
All the noise and brightness was too much.
He found Ray's collar, but he wouldn't be standing up again.
"Ya gotta let them work on you Guv, you can't fight them like this." Noise. Hands on him.
Rage and desperation. Alex.
"She's alive, she's here."
Alex
Alex.
Blackness.
Beautiful , asleep.
Well, she wasn't asleep, was she?
She wasn't "resting" as they'd pathetically explained at him, like he was some idiot who couldn't grasp the concept of a coma.
Fucking doctors.
His shoulder was killing him. He pulled his robe tighter and resisted the urge to light a fag, knowing the smoke would irritate Alex's lungs. His skin felt tight.
He felt the air on his neck and frowned. They'd cut his hair. Neat as could be expected for a hospital.
He hadn't cared.
They wanted him to change the bandages on his shoulder and neck every day. They'd actually told him to get someone else to do it for him, but he'd manage.
He'd leave tomorrow, which was fine. They'd give him one of those inhalers, and he probably wouldn't use it. He knew he was predictable. Insanity was doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different response. So, he was the very picture of mental wellness, clearly.
He never expected anything different from himself.
So why he hurt so much now was painful to him.
It meant he was, in fact, different or changed, or something equally useless.
He'd been lying to himself, of course.
How could he be with her, and be honest about it to himself?
He knew that he loved her. He knew that she most likely did not love him.
Still, he didn't transfer her or get the fuck out himself.
He tried to pull her closer.
He felt his jaw with his right hand, whiskery and clammy. He couldn't stand the taste in his mouth one moment longer. He rose and felt his shoulder twinge; he'd been sitting here a long time. He felt for the tiny toilet door, turned on the taps and let the water turn lukewarm before he splashed some to his mouth. Spat into the sink; he wanted a shower badly.
He didn't have to look in the mirror because there wasn't enough light.
He moved back to her bed. Stood, arms hanging while he considered her beautiful face.
She would wake up tomorrow, and he would take her home.
He would figure out a way to be with her.
She'd reached for him, so he'd take that.