Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 11b/?
*Sam? My poor darling Sammy… Please, please darling, please be all right. Doctors say you’ve got pneumonia, some sort of special hospital type, but they’re looking after you, and I’m here. Remember when I got pneumonia, couple years back, and you took some of your holiday time, stayed with me the whole time? You’ve always been such a good boy, looking after me, protecting me, ever since you were small. I love you, darling, and I’m going to look after you now. I promise.*
Sam felt the world tilt and swirl around him, felt his breath burning in his chest as he heard his mother’s words. 2006. He struggled to open his eyes, to make it back to reality, then slowly saw light filtering around him. His entire body felt heavy, not like it had before, much heavier. Like something was pressing down on him, hard, holding him into place. He forced his eyes all the way open, then took in the world around him. 1973. It had to be. No television, no electronics on the IV next to him, horrible, garish wallpaper. He tried to turn his head, but found that it, too, was pressed into place. A woman in an old-fashioned police uniform was watching him, and her eyes went wide as she saw him open his.
“DI Tyler? Sir? I’m WPC Sutton… Sarah, I’m Sarah, Sir. Can you hear me?” The woman leaned closely over him, and Sam started to try and form words, every breath sending hot, stabbing pains through his chest. She turned away, practically bolting from the room, before he could even muster the strength and air needed for a single word. He thought that he could hear her in the hallway, but the sounds were muted, the sounds of the entire world seemed muted, and the world was swaying, oddly, to and fro, back and forth around him.
“Maddie! He’s awake, he’s… Annie! You’re back! He’s just woken up!” Quick footfalls seemed to thunder, thickly, in Sam’s ears, like a storm in the distance, and Sam wondered if he was hearing footfalls, or if it were really a thunderstorm outside of the hospital. Another face appeared above him, much more familiar, leaning in close to him, and he took in the comforting scent of Annie. She was blurry around the edges, and swaying, just like the room, but it was definitely her.
“Sam! Sam, can you hear me?” He felt Annie grasp his hand in her right hand, felt her left hand go to the side of his face. It was a solid, stable feeling, incredibly kind against the cruelty of the stilted, shifting world. He continued to try and speak, trying to form her name, finding that his tongue was weighted down heavily, as well, his breath still stabbing and burning through him.
“Sam? It’s me, it’s Annie. Can you hear me?” He felt her hand move against his face, and saw her turn, her head moving out of his field of vision. “Oh, God… What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Her voice was horribly muffled and distant, the words barely audible, and he saw a blue and white blur beside her, guessing that it had to be a nurse. She came in closer again, and her face focused before his eyes.
“Annie?” Sam managed to gasp out the word, finally, the weight lessening on his tongue. His thoughts ran and tripped over one another as he tried to think of something, the sounds of his mother and of Annie overlapping, maddeningly, in his mind.
“Sam, I’m here, Sam,” he heard Annie’s voice more clearly now, although his peripherals refused to focus, and the world was still spinning about. The weight seemed to be lessening, leaking away from him, and he moved his hand, grasping hers. “That’s right! That’s good, Sam, I’m right here,” Annie said as she felt his grip around her hand.
“Annie… My mum… Is she all right?” No, that wasn’t right, Annie wasn’t in the same world as mum… Sam’s thoughts continued to trip over one another, and he swore that he saw the silhouette of his mother, bleeding through the blurred image of Annie above him. She faded, in and out, slowly leaking away, and Sam tried to tighten his grip on Annie’s hand. “Annie, look after my mum…”
“Your mum’s not here, Sam…” Annie’s eyes were filling his vision, they were locked onto his, and he tried to make her understand, he knew his mum wasn’t in 1973, she was in 2006… But she had been there, hadn’t she? Bleeding through the worlds - could Annie do the same? It didn’t make sense at all, and yet, it made perfect sense, and Sam let his hand tighten further on Annie’s.
“She’s so upset… About all this… Look after her, Annie…” No, it didn’t make sense, but it had to. If anyone could help his mum, it was Annie. Annie always knew what to say, always had a caring word. She’d find his mum, stop her from worrying, let her know that he was all right.
“Shh, Sam, don’t try to talk. You’re not well, but you’ll be better soon, I promise… I’m going to look after you, I promise. Shhh,” Annie started to run her hand along his face, and the feeling was comforting. Sam kept his eyes locked on hers, trying to think of what it was that he needed to say. There was something that he had to tell her, something important, incredibly important, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He had to remember something, from the other night - from his time in the warehouse, hanging from the ceiling, sliding along the floor. The thought stumbled against others in his mind, but the urgency continued to flood through his brain. He had to remember…
A sound like a roaring lion came from out in the hallway, and the door to Sam’s small room burst open again, Gene Hunt thundering through. Again, the world shook and rumbled, and Sam wondered if there was some sort of freak hurricane outside of the hospital. “Why the hell didn’t you call me? How long?” He watched hands, unmistakably Gene’s, pull Annie away from him and spin her about. “How bloody long’s he been like this? They said they were heading it off at the pass, that damned lardy bastard ponce of a doctor said he was stopping it before it started!” Sam heard Gene’s voice as muffled thunder, raging, howling sounds like animals screeching in a zoo, growling, rumbling beats in the air around him. He tried to move again, and found that he had regained some control of his body.
“I’ve only just got here meself, Gov!” Annie cried as Gene shook her, his hand gripping her shoulders tightly, fury raging in his face. “Maddie and Sarah just told me, but Gov, he’s, he’s…” The nurse swept between them, positioning herself between Annie and Gene.
“I’ll have none of that in here, Mr. Hunt, and you can leave if you’re going to be bellowing about like that! I won’t stand for it anywhere in this hospital, let alone in an ICU room! And you’ve got another thing coming if you don’t think I’ll grab you by the ear and drag you out myself, Sir,” the nurse’s face was bright red, matching Gene’s, and the two seemed locked into a staring contest. Annie’s gaze flickered between the two of them, her eyes searching both of theirs, looking for some sign of reason behind the fury. Gene started in again.
“Oh, is that what you’ll do, you dried up old cow? What I want to know is, why the bloody hell haven’t you been doing your job? That boy’s been through hell, and he’s supposed to be being helped in this damnable shit heap you call a hospital, and for all I know you lot are just dancing around like Shirley Bassey in here all night, and when we brought him to you, he sure as all bloody hell didn’t have bloody pneumonia! So would you mind telling me when I can buy an album with your rendition of the Banana Boat Song, or perhaps, even better, what the fucking hell is going on?” Gene was screaming, spittle flying from his lips at the nurse, who refused to back down, and who advanced on Gene, actually bridging the few inches between the two of them.
The thunder and howling noises continued around Sam, and he struggled to pick up on what it was, mustering all of his strength and struggling against the pain and the weight in his limbs, feeling his body moving into an upright position. Yes, yes, that was it, steady does it… He started to shift his legs, and saw Annie’s back, and the sides of Gene and a nurse… Was Gene screaming at the nurse? Of all the… Sam tried to pick up on the sounds, but the horrid muffling and strange sounds continued to flood his ears, accompanied by a horrible, swift tilt that rocked the entire world from side to side, shifting it about like a fun fair ride.
“No, he only had a stove in chest when you brought him to us, and was nearly dead as it was! And if you dare to question the integrity or the capability of my team, ever again, I will ring your wife and tell her that you’ve been doing your own impersonation, of Shirley TEMPLE, in nought but my used knickers, just to get all your kinks and kicks in for the night, you great, smelly, inebriated, lout!” The nurse threw this back at Gene, who paused for a moment, not expecting that from any woman; well, perhaps from Phyllis, and the current nurse did resemble his desk sergeant just slightly…
“Good one, that,” Gene said, and he and the nurse both deflated slightly, backing away from one another. “But why the hell wasn’t I called?” Gene asked, fire still burning behind his eyes. The nurse shook her head.
“Doctor Denslow left orders to call you, but Doctor Barrie canceled them - said you weren’t to be contacted, we were to call the other fella, the one from Hyde - I figured you were in on that, what with you all being from the police,” the nurse said, and Gene felt his fists clench at his sides.
“That bloody great poof of said WHAT?” Gene shouted, and the nurse crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m only following orders, Sir, so if you’ll kindly CALM THE HELL DOWN!” She shouted this last command so loudly that Annie flinched, and she waited for Gene to make a move against the nurse, but none came.
“Gov…” All three of them turned, then, to see Sam, sitting up, his legs dangling over the side of the bed, one hand clutching at his chest as he removed the oxygen mask with his other hand. “Gov… Have… Have to tell…” Sam’s voice was strained and rasping, his breath coming in thin, wet hitches, and Gene was horribly reminded of his breathing, filled with blood, as they raced away from Myers’ studio in the ambulance. The nurse jolted forward and moved the oxygen mask back over Sam’s mouth and nose, then started to press him back, moving to lift his legs back up and onto the bed.
“Easy, easy there, Mr. Tyler. You need to stay still, dear, come on, that’s a good lad,” the nurse was saying as she lifted Sam’s legs back, but he started to struggle against her, pulling himself forward, and spots of blood started to appear on the bandages covering his arms.
“Oi, someone, get your arses in here now! He needs help! Move!” Gene shouted out the door, then rushed forward, grabbing Sam under the armpits and hauling him back onto the bed, holding his shoulders down, shock and fear coloring his face as he stared at Sam. Sam reached up and grabbed the lapels of his coat, clinging to him, his eyes wide, shining brightly in the yellow light of the room.
“Gov… There was… Heard all three… Different hands… His hands… Smaller… Smaller than the rough ones… Larger than mine… It was two… Then me… God… It was me… But the third… You have to stop… Stop him…” Sam’s voice was thin and frantic, spilling out in a strained hiss between the horrible, wet hitches, and more patches of red were starting to appear under the bandages. Gene gazed at him in horror, realizing what he was talking about, forcing himself to memorize every word as Sam spoke them.
“I’ve got you, Sammy, hands were smaller than Myers, but larger than yours… Sam, stop, stop struggling,” Gene tried to pull Sam’s hands away, but Sam’s fingers were tightened around his coat like a vice.
“Not… Not rough… Think… Left handed… Had to be… Yes… Had to be…” Sam continued to try to force out every detail of the abduction that he could think of, tried to remember anything else, and he suddenly looked over and watched as the world crystallized into perfect, razor sharp clarity, the colors standing out like high definition before him. There was his double, standing behind a horrified Annie, once again wrapping his hands around her waist, kissing her neck, running his tongue along the ridge of her throat…
“No! Get… Get him… Annie… Gov, get him… Away from Annie… Gov, behind you…” Sam’s grip on Gene’s coat lessened as Gene turned away, seeing Annie standing, alone, aghast. He turned back to Sam, who was starting to struggle for air, thick, wet rasps issuing from his throat, even under the mask.
“Lift him up, just slightly, at an angle,” the nurse commanded, and she reached down and started to turn a crank on the side of the bed, adjusting it up at an angle and under Sam’s shoulders as Gene complied, pulling Sam upwards. She then grabbed Sam’s shoulders away from Gene and rested him back, straightening his chest and pressing his arms to his sides, adjusting the set of his neck and head. Sam’s eyes were still darting around the room wildly, but he’d stopped struggling, and his breathing was becoming more even as the nurse adjusted the pressure his weight was putting on his lungs, and straightened his diaphragm. “Pneumonia patients are normally elevated at an angle,” she explained, “makes it easier for them to breath, but we didn’t want to do that because of his ribs. As is, he’s put more of a strain on his ribcage than lying like this could ever do, so the doctor might let him stay like this, if there’s no real damage,” she said, and then watched as three nurses came flying into the room.
“Get Barrie in here now, call him in from home if he isn’t here yet, and if he isn’t, get Denslow - he always starts early. Allen and Bridges are on call, too, if you can’t get Denslow or Barrie, get one of them, and get a suture kit in here - he’s ripped out stitches, we’re going to need to re-suture and irrigate the wounds again,” the nurse rambled off orders quickly, then started taking a pulse reading from Sam’s wrist. She checked the IV lines, then turned to Gene. “You might want to leave - I’ve got to look over his chest, and the doctor’s likely going to want you out, too,” suddenly, she was talking to Gene calmly and clearly, letting him know what was going on, and he could have kissed her for it.
“Go ahead and look, I’m not leaving until I have to,” Gene said, slowly moving even closer, trying to stay out of her way and look Sam in the eyes at the same time. “Sam?” Gene saw Sam’s eyes fly towards him, saw his throat and mouth start to move, and then he placed his hands, lightly, on Sam’s shoulders. “Don’t talk. No more bloody talking, all right? And no more moving, you’ll hurt yourself. Good lad. Just lay still, all right?” He thought he saw Sam nod, and noticed the fear start to subside in Sam’s eyes. “You’ve given us good stuff, Sam, and we’ll all be going through it. We’ll get the bastard. You don’t worry about it, all right?”
The nurse started to undo the bandages on Sam’s chest, and Gene tried to keep from gasping or punching the wall when he saw the angry red line of a surgical cut, held together with bizarre, spiking bits of silk thread. His ribs were a mass of red, purple, yellow and green bruises, but they were all, thankfully, back in place. The nurse was running her hands over them, very lightly, then softly probing the skin around the stitching. “No ribs misplaced, then, to the best of my knowledge, seems he’s still all right, doctor will need to make sure, though. Doctor might even let him stay lifted up at an angle, if this didn’t do any harm. Don’t look like it did. Just pulled out a few stitches, same as on his arms, and we’ll get that taken care of, just a minute.” She smiled at Gene, who smiled back.
“Be all right, then, will he?” Gene asked, letting out the breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.
The nurse nodded, “Just a few stitches need re-doing, is all. Need the doctor to make sure, but I’m pretty confident on that accord. No, just needs to stay still, let the bones knit, fight off the pneumonia. Skin’ll knit itself even sooner.” She turned to Sam, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hear that, dear? Just stay still, you’ll be right as rain in just a bit. Two shakes, and it’ll all be a bad memory.”
Gene looked back at Sam’s face, saw his eyes fluttering shut again. “Hear that, Sammy boy? First person I trust in this whole fucking place, and she says you’ll be fine. Good enough for me,” Gene said, and the nurse gave him a small, wry smile. Sam’s eyes closed again, and Gene softly laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at the nurse, realizing that it was the same one that had allowed him to see Sam alone the other day. “You’ll take good care of him, you cross old bitch?”
“Course I will, you great pile of bilge,” the nurse replied, and then a man stood in the doorway. “Doctor Allen; patient woke up, tried to move about far too much,” the nurse said, and the man walked up to the bed as Gene left, grasping Annie about the shoulders and pulling her out, as well. Gene couldn’t make out what the nurse and the doctor were saying, but Sam was lying still, asleep again. The two WPC’s were still standing in the hallway, stricken looks on their faces, and Gene scowled at them.
“Well? Hadn’t you two better be getting home, you damned tarts? You’re back on night shift again tonight, midnight, now move, on the double!” They nodded, and then turned to leave, glancing back at Annie and Gene every so often, and Gene continued to scowl at them. He removed his arm from Annie’s shoulder, then lit up a cigarette and headed towards the chairs of the waiting area. The two of them sat down next to each other, and Gene turned to Annie.
“He’ll be all right. That sodding bitch is the first person I trust ‘round this place, and she said so.” Annie tried to keep from either laughing or crying, and just looked down at the floor for a moment, then back at Gene.
“Want me to detect a packet of Garibaldis, Sir?” She asked, trying to think of something that she could do while she tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened.
“That’d be lovely, Miss Marple. And one for yourself, while you’re at it. Thing number one and thing number two should be here shortly, and then, we’ve got our work cut out for us. I want you in on this. Just for a bit. Set up shifts, like we did before. Just might need your pretty little brain on this,” Gene said, and Annie smiled.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, then added, “Chris was going to go over that tape he made, of the Myers interrogation, with me.”
“Lovely. Now, about those Garibaldis - chop chop, Sweetheart,” he said, and Annie moved back towards to lift, trying to remember which floor the hospital canteen had been on.
Gene sat, smiling after her, and then turned, placing his face in his hands, and allowed a few tears to fall before he let his face harden again, straightened himself up and lit another cigarette, reaching into his pocket for one of his flasks. It was going to be a long day.
All comments, criticism, etc. are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated! Comments = love.