But Fisher shook his head and repeated, "I want to see her, commander sir."
"You see her, then you beat it home and get some shut eye." The commander insisted.
Many unknown hours later however young John Fisher bolted up right in a cold sweat. And promptly fell off the couch. it took a very long moment to realise where he was. And even then, he had to scramble for the light to check.
Home. But not safe-!
Fisher blinked closed his eyes and took a breath. Home. Safe. Something was still giving him goosebumps though. Must have been a bad dream? One he couldn't remember. He frowned looking around him. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Bar his state of dress. He needed a shower. He could feel the track suit that wasn't his cling to him. and was very aware of his own skin his hair even his nails.
He needed a shower, but the idea made Fisher baulk.
But then wasn't sure why…
He made his way to his kitchenette to get a glass of water; hoping it would get rid of the taste in his mouth. Then stood there frowning at the sink, glass in hand, feeling like he'd forgotten something all day. He was having no luck trying to remember the dream that had woken him either.
He put the glass down. And turned off the tap. Then turned it on again. Running it cold. Turning off and running it hot. Then cold again. His mouth felt dry. But hadn't there been something wrong with the taps? Fisher sighed, wondering how he could feel so hung over. When had he last eaten? He didn't remember going out after work last night. But he must have done. His tongue felt weird in his mouth.
Cupping his hands under the faucet and drinking deeply, Fisher then swished another handful water around his moth gargled and spat. he splashed more water on his face and neck; and rubbed his eyes, scrubbing away the gritty corners of his vision.
It came to him in a flash of movie stills.
The commander ordering him to finish his shift early. The attack on Troy. Marina…
and something when the three lieutenants, had been sat together in the corridor. Him, Phones and Atlanta. And Phones had said-?
Tap still running Fisher bolted back to the living room. He fumbled for the radiotellyphone and dialled, willing the caller to pick up faster. The hospital's front desk didn't even get a chance to ask his emergency.
"It's Lieutenant Fisher. No look, that doesn't matter. I need to speak to Marina! Or Marina's doctor?" He rasped, tugging at his collar. It must have an itchy label he thought, listening to the operator.
"Yeah, actually, could you call the doctor. Please? No, I'm fine. But I've remembered something." Fisher said in reply, more calmly. "I think it could be important. Yes, I'll hold."
Fisher didn't notice his throat still felt dry.