Fic: Come To Your Senses (1/1), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Come To Your Senses
Author: dak
Word Count: 2327
Rating: Blue Cortina
Warning: just angst, really
Spoilers: none
Summary: Sam wakes up in hospital...
A/N: More Sam torture. Sorry. But this was made especially for
culf who wanted me to write a fic where Sam was unable to communicate through speech and writing for an extended period of time. I'm not sure if this is exactly what she was looking for but this is what ended up coming out of my brain. I blame any errors on my ongoing cold from hell. Please enjoy! (Now I know I left some fluff around here somewhere...)
Falling is a fantastic feeling. For a brief moment, one’s body is completely free as it tumbles down and through the air completely unobstructed. This was the thought Sam clung to as he was pushed out the window of his flat. Focusing on the beauty of the act of falling was much better than watching the way the shards of glass reflected the moonlight as they sliced into his skin. Or feeling the pain in his torso, every nerve fibre being yanked and twisted and ripped. Or tasting his own blood as it pooled on his tongue from somewhere inside his mouth. Or hearing the laugh of his attacker as he plummeted the two short stories from his flat and landed on the bonnet of his neighbor’s rusted car.
After that, Sam couldn’t feel much at all.
*
It was sterile. At least it smelled sterile. Antiseptic, probably. Sam wasn’t in a position to sit up and have a good look around. There were sheets, he noticed. They felt stiff and crisp but clean, at least at the parts where they were touching his skin. His mind moved slowly but finally concluded that clean sheets plus antiseptic equalled hospital. As his ears caught up with his nose, a distinct beeping pattern, slower than what was probably considered healthy, poured itself into his head, barely leaving room for a distant voice.
“Chris! Get the Guv. I think ‘e’s wakin’...”
The gruff voice faded away, followed by the beeping, then the sheets, then the antiseptic, and Sam let himself rest in blessed darkness.
*
“...just piling up everywhere. Chris and I have been trying to keep up but...”
*
A thumb stroked his hand, running smoothly over his clammy skin, the other fingers squeezing his palm tightly. Another hand brushed over his head.
“Wake up,” a woman’s voice whispered. A young woman’s voice. A voice he should know. “Please Sam.”
He would. He was going to but not yet. Not yet, Annie.
*
Pain is a relative feeling. There are so many different variables. First of all, individuals have different tolerances for pain. Then there are different types of pain - throbbing, stabbing, aching, sharp, dull. Plus, different areas of the body have different sensitivity levels. The palms of one’s hands can hurt like hell after a simple paper cut but a railroad spike stuck in one’s brain might not cause any pain at all.
Sam believed he was experiencing every type of pain imaginable, in every part of his body, as he wrenched his eyes open and was immediately blinded by the sudden influx of light.
“Move your toes, Tyler.”
The words reached his ears out of order and Sam had to piece them back together as they entered his brain.
“I said, move your goddamned toes, Inspector.”
This sentence came through much clearer but Sam still had troubled discerning its meaning. He decided to let his eyes take over and adjust, an action which brought into view the rough, unshaven face of his DCI. Yes, Gene. That was certainly Gene Hunt. Now what had he wanted?
“Sam. This is important. Can you understand me?”
Can you understand me? Yes, yes Sam thought he could, so he tried to nod that yes, yes he could but his head appeared to be strapped down six ways to Sunday and so nodding was clearly out of the picture.
“Blink or summit, Tyler. Let’s go.”
Gene needed to know something. Sam needed to let Gene know he could help. He weakly but distinctly closed and opened his eyes in quick succession.
“Good. Now, do as your told and move those skinny, little toes of yours Gladys.”
Sam’s brain decided to bypass the reasoning for Gene’s demand and focus on the command itself. Toes. They were on his feet which were connected to his ankles which connected to his legs. Sam slowly sent a thought down to his legs, to his ankles, to his feet, to his toes. Well, that was what was supposed to happen but somehow the message got lost from his brain to his legs and was probably halfway to his spleen by now. Not getting the memo, his toes stayed resolutely motionless.
Gene remained as perfectly silent and still as Sam’s toes as he allowed a minute to tick pass and waited for something that wasn’t going to happen. Finally, he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently and soothing the tired man back to sleep.
“You will, Sammy. You will.”
*
Morphine was good. Morphine was very good and Sam hated that they were giving him less of it. He knew he shouldn’t but he did and that was that so he was going to give those doctors what for, which meant he had to wake up, so he opened his eyes.
Chris. He wanted to say “Chris” but he couldn’t as he noticed for the first time that there was a highly annoying tube placed down his throat at present. Bollocks. How could he get DC Skelton’s attention away from that apparently highly engrossing comic book? Chris was close enough Sam could tap him with his hand. It wasn’t so much as a tap as it was Sam flinging his right hand jerkily outwards and having it fall onto Chris’ knee. Whatever it was, it did the trick.
“Boss?” The comic book was set down. “Boss!” Sam flexed his stiff fingers and pulled his hand back onto the bed. Chris couldn’t take his eyes off that hand. “You did it! They said...but you did!” Skelton leapt from his chair and his magazine fell to the floor though he didn’t seem to care. “I have to ring the Guv. ‘E an’ Ray are workin’ this murder, like, but ‘e’ll want to know this. I’m sure of it.” Chris smiled a huge, goofy grin and ran out of the room.
The Guv would want to know? Sam wanted to know. What he wanted to know, he wasn’t sure, but Sam was certain there was something he did need to know. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
*
He flinched as the pin pricked each of his toes, or rather his toes flinched. The doctor smiled, Gene nodded in approval, and Sam wondered when anyone was going to actually discuss with him what had happened and when the hell he could get this tube out of his mouth.
The doctor draped the thin sheet back over Sam’s feet before pulling Gene aside and speaking with him quietly. Christ, he could still hear. Why couldn’t they talk to Sam about himself? If he had more energy, and the ability to speak, Sam would have certainly yelled at them about it. Instead, he settled on sulking as it was about the only action his body had the ability to perform.
The doctor left and Gene returned to Sam’s bedside, a flask suddenly in hand.
“Oh don’t act so sulky, Dorothy. We’ve just had good news from Oz.” The Guv landed in the weak chair with such force Sam swore the room had shook. “Looks like you won’t be spendin’ the rest of your life in this bed after all.”
The rest of his life...paralyzed. Paralysis. That’s what the doctor had been worried about. That’s what Gene had been worried about. Damn it. It was so bloody obvious. His head being strapped in place, Gene asking him to move his toes, Chris’ glee over his hand, what was wrong with his brain that he hadn’t realized it sooner? He was so stupid not to have noticed. It was the fall and the drugs and he couldn’t think clearly and...
“Steady Sam.” Gene’s hand was on his shoulder again. Why? He didn’t want it there. “This was good news. You’ll be alright.”
No. No he wasn’t. Not until he knew what was going on. What was going on? Why was here? What had happened? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him? His arms were weak but he raised them anyway, wishing he had taken the time to learn sign language, then realizing it wouldn’t matter if he did anyway because Gene Hunt certainly wasn’t going to know it.
“What is it you need? One of them pretty nurses? I’ll tell you Sammy-boy, this hospital’s got more tits than a brothel in a nunnery.”
Sam dropped his arms in disgust and shut is eyes in frustration.
“You remember what happened?”
His eyes immediately popped back open. He wanted to say no. He wanted to shake his head. All he could do was stare at his Guv and hope the confusion in his eyes was clear enough.
“Were attacked in your flat. ‘Bout...three weeks ago, now.” Gene leaned back in the chair, his eyes not able to meet Sam’s. “Were a Friday. You didn’t turn up for work. Weren’t answering your phone. Had been drinking heavily at the Arms Thursday night, you had, more so than usual an’ I knew your pansy arse couldn’t handle that much drink. Thought you were just hung over.”
Drinking. He’d been drinking, yes. Why? Why, why, why? His mum. Yes, it had something to do with his mum. Sam forced his brain to recover the memory. It had been a very bad day, with a very bad case, with very bad tempers, and then he heard his mum and she had been crying and that had made everything so much worse.
“Din’t even have to pull up to the curb to see your body splayed out on some car’s bonnet.”
He had fallen. He remembered that. He was pushed.
“First thought was...” Gene’s voice sounded so quiet. So very quiet. “Thought maybe you’d...” The swish and swig of the flask.
No. He was pushed. There was a fight and he was pushed.
“But we saw all your other injuries...”
All his other? Maybe Sam didn’t want to know. Not really.
“We knew someone else had done it to you.”
Yes. There was a fight. He was beaten. He was pushed. There was laughter. The man had laughed. The man? Yes, it was a man’s laugh.
“Checked out all the usual toerags but we haven’t quite caught ‘im yet. So, soon’s you’re able, anything you could tell us Tyler might be helpful.”
There was a fight. He was pushed. Then he fell. Then he slept. He slept. The man had laughed. He slept. Slept.
“In the morning then, eh Tyler...”
Sleep was good.
*
The man had laughed. The laugh had been familiar. Or had he imagined it had been familiar? He had laughed and it sounded, it sounded like, like...
“Ha ha! Well, it’s good to know he’ll be alright.”
The man was here. He was here. The voice. He could hear it. It was the same.
“Doc says he’ll be off the respirator in a day or two. Ray an’ the Guv will love that, DI Tyler bein’ able to speak again an’ all.”
Chris. He had to tell Chris. This was the man. It was him. He could smell him. He smelled of bitter and lager and nuts.
“I have missed our illuminating chats. DI Tyler! Eh, mon brave. You’re awake!” Nelson smiled and leaned over him, grabbing his hand in an awkward handshake. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” The barman’s hands felt dry and rough and warm and threatening.
“I’ll be back in mo, Nelson. Have to go check in with the Guv.”
No, Chris. Don’t leave. Chris couldn’t leave. He heard the DC’s footsteps tap towards the door the down the hall. Sam was alone. Alone with Nelson. Alone with his attacker. The barman pulled up a chair and sat down, making himself comfortable.
“I warned you Sam,” he said in all seriousness, the Jamaican accent dropped.
Warned him? The words echoed in his head, bouncing off each other and making no sense.
“I told you bad things might happen.”
If what? Was there an if? Sam tried to look around the room, look for help, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t yell. He was trapped.
“But you were adamant about it. I knew you’d drank too much. Knew I shouldn’t have done it but you insisted.” Nelson dropped his head in his hands. His voice gentle and...remorseful? “I’m sorry you were hurt so badly.”
Why was Nelson sorry for this? Why should he be? Shouldn’t he be warning Sam, warning him not to tell anyone what happened or he would kill him? That’s how these things normally worked, wasn’t it?
“But you were so desperate. So alone.”
He was. He had been. It had been a very rough day. His mum. His mum had been crying.
“You begged me, Sam. You begged me and I...I shouldn’t have listened.”
His mum had been told there was no hope. Sammy was gone for good. Sammy couldn’t hear her comforting words, or smell her familiar perfume, or see her handmade get well cards, or feel her comforting touch. His mum had been crying and Sam realized he hadn’t been sad. He had been numb.
“You had drank so much, I should have cut you off sooner, but I could see it in your eyes, Sam. If I hadn’t agreed, you’d’ve found someone else. Someone who wouldn’t’ve cared if you lived or died.”
His mum had been crying and he hadn’t cared. He couldn’t care and he had hated himself for it.
“You said you wanted to feel. You needed my help to make you feel and this was the only way you knew how.”
He cared now. Oh God he cared now.
“Now, you better recover or I’ll never be able to live with myself Sam Tyler. And I mean recover, Sam. Inside and out.”
Chris returned. Nelson left. Sam cried but could make no sound and throughout the day no one noticed the dried tears on his pale face.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Mrs. Tyler, we seem to have made a mistake...
Author: dak
Word Count: 2327
Rating: Blue Cortina
Warning: just angst, really
Spoilers: none
Summary: Sam wakes up in hospital...
A/N: More Sam torture. Sorry. But this was made especially for
culf who wanted me to write a fic where Sam was unable to communicate through speech and writing for an extended period of time. I'm not sure if this is exactly what she was looking for but this is what ended up coming out of my brain. I blame any errors on my ongoing cold from hell. Please enjoy! (Now I know I left some fluff around here somewhere...)
Falling is a fantastic feeling. For a brief moment, one’s body is completely free as it tumbles down and through the air completely unobstructed. This was the thought Sam clung to as he was pushed out the window of his flat. Focusing on the beauty of the act of falling was much better than watching the way the shards of glass reflected the moonlight as they sliced into his skin. Or feeling the pain in his torso, every nerve fibre being yanked and twisted and ripped. Or tasting his own blood as it pooled on his tongue from somewhere inside his mouth. Or hearing the laugh of his attacker as he plummeted the two short stories from his flat and landed on the bonnet of his neighbor’s rusted car.
After that, Sam couldn’t feel much at all.
*
It was sterile. At least it smelled sterile. Antiseptic, probably. Sam wasn’t in a position to sit up and have a good look around. There were sheets, he noticed. They felt stiff and crisp but clean, at least at the parts where they were touching his skin. His mind moved slowly but finally concluded that clean sheets plus antiseptic equalled hospital. As his ears caught up with his nose, a distinct beeping pattern, slower than what was probably considered healthy, poured itself into his head, barely leaving room for a distant voice.
“Chris! Get the Guv. I think ‘e’s wakin’...”
The gruff voice faded away, followed by the beeping, then the sheets, then the antiseptic, and Sam let himself rest in blessed darkness.
*
“...just piling up everywhere. Chris and I have been trying to keep up but...”
*
A thumb stroked his hand, running smoothly over his clammy skin, the other fingers squeezing his palm tightly. Another hand brushed over his head.
“Wake up,” a woman’s voice whispered. A young woman’s voice. A voice he should know. “Please Sam.”
He would. He was going to but not yet. Not yet, Annie.
*
Pain is a relative feeling. There are so many different variables. First of all, individuals have different tolerances for pain. Then there are different types of pain - throbbing, stabbing, aching, sharp, dull. Plus, different areas of the body have different sensitivity levels. The palms of one’s hands can hurt like hell after a simple paper cut but a railroad spike stuck in one’s brain might not cause any pain at all.
Sam believed he was experiencing every type of pain imaginable, in every part of his body, as he wrenched his eyes open and was immediately blinded by the sudden influx of light.
“Move your toes, Tyler.”
The words reached his ears out of order and Sam had to piece them back together as they entered his brain.
“I said, move your goddamned toes, Inspector.”
This sentence came through much clearer but Sam still had troubled discerning its meaning. He decided to let his eyes take over and adjust, an action which brought into view the rough, unshaven face of his DCI. Yes, Gene. That was certainly Gene Hunt. Now what had he wanted?
“Sam. This is important. Can you understand me?”
Can you understand me? Yes, yes Sam thought he could, so he tried to nod that yes, yes he could but his head appeared to be strapped down six ways to Sunday and so nodding was clearly out of the picture.
“Blink or summit, Tyler. Let’s go.”
Gene needed to know something. Sam needed to let Gene know he could help. He weakly but distinctly closed and opened his eyes in quick succession.
“Good. Now, do as your told and move those skinny, little toes of yours Gladys.”
Sam’s brain decided to bypass the reasoning for Gene’s demand and focus on the command itself. Toes. They were on his feet which were connected to his ankles which connected to his legs. Sam slowly sent a thought down to his legs, to his ankles, to his feet, to his toes. Well, that was what was supposed to happen but somehow the message got lost from his brain to his legs and was probably halfway to his spleen by now. Not getting the memo, his toes stayed resolutely motionless.
Gene remained as perfectly silent and still as Sam’s toes as he allowed a minute to tick pass and waited for something that wasn’t going to happen. Finally, he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently and soothing the tired man back to sleep.
“You will, Sammy. You will.”
*
Morphine was good. Morphine was very good and Sam hated that they were giving him less of it. He knew he shouldn’t but he did and that was that so he was going to give those doctors what for, which meant he had to wake up, so he opened his eyes.
Chris. He wanted to say “Chris” but he couldn’t as he noticed for the first time that there was a highly annoying tube placed down his throat at present. Bollocks. How could he get DC Skelton’s attention away from that apparently highly engrossing comic book? Chris was close enough Sam could tap him with his hand. It wasn’t so much as a tap as it was Sam flinging his right hand jerkily outwards and having it fall onto Chris’ knee. Whatever it was, it did the trick.
“Boss?” The comic book was set down. “Boss!” Sam flexed his stiff fingers and pulled his hand back onto the bed. Chris couldn’t take his eyes off that hand. “You did it! They said...but you did!” Skelton leapt from his chair and his magazine fell to the floor though he didn’t seem to care. “I have to ring the Guv. ‘E an’ Ray are workin’ this murder, like, but ‘e’ll want to know this. I’m sure of it.” Chris smiled a huge, goofy grin and ran out of the room.
The Guv would want to know? Sam wanted to know. What he wanted to know, he wasn’t sure, but Sam was certain there was something he did need to know. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
*
He flinched as the pin pricked each of his toes, or rather his toes flinched. The doctor smiled, Gene nodded in approval, and Sam wondered when anyone was going to actually discuss with him what had happened and when the hell he could get this tube out of his mouth.
The doctor draped the thin sheet back over Sam’s feet before pulling Gene aside and speaking with him quietly. Christ, he could still hear. Why couldn’t they talk to Sam about himself? If he had more energy, and the ability to speak, Sam would have certainly yelled at them about it. Instead, he settled on sulking as it was about the only action his body had the ability to perform.
The doctor left and Gene returned to Sam’s bedside, a flask suddenly in hand.
“Oh don’t act so sulky, Dorothy. We’ve just had good news from Oz.” The Guv landed in the weak chair with such force Sam swore the room had shook. “Looks like you won’t be spendin’ the rest of your life in this bed after all.”
The rest of his life...paralyzed. Paralysis. That’s what the doctor had been worried about. That’s what Gene had been worried about. Damn it. It was so bloody obvious. His head being strapped in place, Gene asking him to move his toes, Chris’ glee over his hand, what was wrong with his brain that he hadn’t realized it sooner? He was so stupid not to have noticed. It was the fall and the drugs and he couldn’t think clearly and...
“Steady Sam.” Gene’s hand was on his shoulder again. Why? He didn’t want it there. “This was good news. You’ll be alright.”
No. No he wasn’t. Not until he knew what was going on. What was going on? Why was here? What had happened? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him? His arms were weak but he raised them anyway, wishing he had taken the time to learn sign language, then realizing it wouldn’t matter if he did anyway because Gene Hunt certainly wasn’t going to know it.
“What is it you need? One of them pretty nurses? I’ll tell you Sammy-boy, this hospital’s got more tits than a brothel in a nunnery.”
Sam dropped his arms in disgust and shut is eyes in frustration.
“You remember what happened?”
His eyes immediately popped back open. He wanted to say no. He wanted to shake his head. All he could do was stare at his Guv and hope the confusion in his eyes was clear enough.
“Were attacked in your flat. ‘Bout...three weeks ago, now.” Gene leaned back in the chair, his eyes not able to meet Sam’s. “Were a Friday. You didn’t turn up for work. Weren’t answering your phone. Had been drinking heavily at the Arms Thursday night, you had, more so than usual an’ I knew your pansy arse couldn’t handle that much drink. Thought you were just hung over.”
Drinking. He’d been drinking, yes. Why? Why, why, why? His mum. Yes, it had something to do with his mum. Sam forced his brain to recover the memory. It had been a very bad day, with a very bad case, with very bad tempers, and then he heard his mum and she had been crying and that had made everything so much worse.
“Din’t even have to pull up to the curb to see your body splayed out on some car’s bonnet.”
He had fallen. He remembered that. He was pushed.
“First thought was...” Gene’s voice sounded so quiet. So very quiet. “Thought maybe you’d...” The swish and swig of the flask.
No. He was pushed. There was a fight and he was pushed.
“But we saw all your other injuries...”
All his other? Maybe Sam didn’t want to know. Not really.
“We knew someone else had done it to you.”
Yes. There was a fight. He was beaten. He was pushed. There was laughter. The man had laughed. The man? Yes, it was a man’s laugh.
“Checked out all the usual toerags but we haven’t quite caught ‘im yet. So, soon’s you’re able, anything you could tell us Tyler might be helpful.”
There was a fight. He was pushed. Then he fell. Then he slept. He slept. The man had laughed. He slept. Slept.
“In the morning then, eh Tyler...”
Sleep was good.
*
The man had laughed. The laugh had been familiar. Or had he imagined it had been familiar? He had laughed and it sounded, it sounded like, like...
“Ha ha! Well, it’s good to know he’ll be alright.”
The man was here. He was here. The voice. He could hear it. It was the same.
“Doc says he’ll be off the respirator in a day or two. Ray an’ the Guv will love that, DI Tyler bein’ able to speak again an’ all.”
Chris. He had to tell Chris. This was the man. It was him. He could smell him. He smelled of bitter and lager and nuts.
“I have missed our illuminating chats. DI Tyler! Eh, mon brave. You’re awake!” Nelson smiled and leaned over him, grabbing his hand in an awkward handshake. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” The barman’s hands felt dry and rough and warm and threatening.
“I’ll be back in mo, Nelson. Have to go check in with the Guv.”
No, Chris. Don’t leave. Chris couldn’t leave. He heard the DC’s footsteps tap towards the door the down the hall. Sam was alone. Alone with Nelson. Alone with his attacker. The barman pulled up a chair and sat down, making himself comfortable.
“I warned you Sam,” he said in all seriousness, the Jamaican accent dropped.
Warned him? The words echoed in his head, bouncing off each other and making no sense.
“I told you bad things might happen.”
If what? Was there an if? Sam tried to look around the room, look for help, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t yell. He was trapped.
“But you were adamant about it. I knew you’d drank too much. Knew I shouldn’t have done it but you insisted.” Nelson dropped his head in his hands. His voice gentle and...remorseful? “I’m sorry you were hurt so badly.”
Why was Nelson sorry for this? Why should he be? Shouldn’t he be warning Sam, warning him not to tell anyone what happened or he would kill him? That’s how these things normally worked, wasn’t it?
“But you were so desperate. So alone.”
He was. He had been. It had been a very rough day. His mum. His mum had been crying.
“You begged me, Sam. You begged me and I...I shouldn’t have listened.”
His mum had been told there was no hope. Sammy was gone for good. Sammy couldn’t hear her comforting words, or smell her familiar perfume, or see her handmade get well cards, or feel her comforting touch. His mum had been crying and Sam realized he hadn’t been sad. He had been numb.
“You had drank so much, I should have cut you off sooner, but I could see it in your eyes, Sam. If I hadn’t agreed, you’d’ve found someone else. Someone who wouldn’t’ve cared if you lived or died.”
His mum had been crying and he hadn’t cared. He couldn’t care and he had hated himself for it.
“You said you wanted to feel. You needed my help to make you feel and this was the only way you knew how.”
He cared now. Oh God he cared now.
“Now, you better recover or I’ll never be able to live with myself Sam Tyler. And I mean recover, Sam. Inside and out.”
Chris returned. Nelson left. Sam cried but could make no sound and throughout the day no one noticed the dried tears on his pale face.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Mrs. Tyler, we seem to have made a mistake...