TDS (act 1, prologue)
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ACT I
PROLOGUE
Frantic knocking on the door echoed the pounding inside his skull. Lovely. Tommy groaned into the sheets rumpled around his head. He had no idea who could be at his door this early - well, before midday, which fell into too damn early in his book - but it was unlikely to be anyone who knew him well. He wanted to ignore it, to burrow under his rather bedraggled pillows, but the metal balls bouncing all over his brain seemed fucking invigorated by the noise, and stole away any further chance of sleep.
“Metal balls covered in spikes,” he grumbled, and grudgingly crawled out of bed.
Shit, he really should see someone about his headaches. He’d stopped telling Hana, tired of seeing her look torn between concern for him and her long distrust of technology. The only acceptable medicine, in her book, had to come directly from a plant. She’d had no compunctions about pouring that vile-tasting tea down his throat, though it had done nada for the pain.
“Head’s wandering,” he said to himself. He caught his reflection on the shiny tabletop in the living room, and felt a now-familiar jolt of surprise, as if the face he was looking at wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.
Rude idiot at the door first, existential crisis later.
Tommy smacked his hand against the identification panel set into the wall, and the blue-painted metal door slid open. Not as smoothly as it should have - he needed to get Ren to check the slip soon.
First thing he saw was a broad expanse of chest, clothed in dark fabric. Hardly unusual, Tommy knew he was on the short side, and being presently barefoot meant he didn’t even have the extra inches afforded by his work boots. His eyes did their familiar climb upward… and his next breath caught in his throat.
The floor seemed to tilt from under him, knees feeling like jelly. Pain, sharp and hot, erupted behind his eyes. His headache expanded, like it was infecting his entire body, a hot, ceaseless throbbing. His sense of time skittered away, and in its wake slipped dark oblivion.
When he came to, he was aware of strong arms holding him, his soft couch under his legs. A warm, solid body against his back. His head felt like it had been split open.
“Tommy.” That voice. Another flash of pain, though briefer. Tommy took deep breaths and realized that he’d dug his nails into the arms wrapped around his middle. Blood glinted in thin lines between faint strands of red-gold hair. But the grip around him never lessened.
For some reason, that was the thing that pissed him off. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “What have you- I don’t-” His vision swam. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth.
A tremor ran through the body supporting him. “Ssshhhh. It’s… well, obviously, it’s not okay. I don’t… you don’t have to know who I am. I just wanted to see… but I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tommy.”
The pain in that voice, controlled so tightly, deflated Tommy’s anger. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind was a mess, a whirlwind, and every coherent thought slipped away from him.
“I don’t-” know who you are, he intended to say, but right on the heels of it came the thought: Liar.
“Ssshhhh. I’m sorry. It’ll be okay. I’m sorry.” Words repeated like a mantra, fading to a mumble. The stranger moved, as if to slip away and leave Tommy on the couch. But Tommy’s fingers remained clutching at those arms, which must hurt on top of the scratches.
“Don’t leave,” he said, surprising himself. “Just… stay.” Reality was still fuzzy around the edges, and his head hurt, but it was suddenly vitally, painfully important for him to stay near this stranger.
“Okay.” Arms tightened around him again, the stranger settling back into the couch.
Time crept past. Tommy stared at the blank screen on the wall. “You know me. Do I know you?”
“You used to.”
“What happened?”
A hesitation. “I lost you.”
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