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Everything's Gonna be Fine (3158 words) by 
OxfordTweed
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Danny Butterman, Nicholas Angel, Doris Thatcher, Gabriel Weaver, Anne Fisher, Andrew Wainwright, Andy Cartwright, Tony Fisher
Summary: Nicholas deals with the fear if not being in control of anything.
Nicholas' world was filled with a bright, ringing, burning pain. He could not, at that moment, say where exactly it hurt, because the hurt was everywhere.
He couldn't see. Everything was white. For a moment, he thought he was dead, but quickly realized how absurd that was. If he were dead, he'd not be conscious of the blinding white and burning pain.
He could hear, but it wasn't anything useful; just a high-pitched, skull-splitting ringing that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere.
Not dead. That fact had already been well-established. Not dead, but still unable to move.
Slowly, Nicholas began to register individual hurts and pains. First was the something sharp digging into his spine. He tried to shift his weight in an effort to remove that something sharp from his back, but found himself being held down by something rather large. Large and flat. Well, mostly flat.
Handles.
Filing Cabinet.
He remembered getting thrown backwards into the filing cabinets. There was an explosion. That goddamn sea mine they'd confiscated from that crazy old fool Arthur Webbley had gone off in the evidence room. They'd forgotten about Tom Weaver, somehow. Nicholas had kicked the rubbish bin at the old man, knocking him backwards into the sea mine. He'd just come out of bloody nowhere and tried to shoot Nicholas. But somehow, he'd missed.
Danny.
He didn't miss. Danny took the shot.
Danny!
Still tormented by that god awful ringing, Nicholas pushed against the filing cabinet, his left arm burning in protest, even as the large object finally rolled off to the side. His vision not as white, but still badly blurred, he tried to get to his feet, but stumbled. He barely registered his own shouting, though only through the reverberation in his chest; that relentless ringing only seemed to get worse as he tried to move around. Shouting and stumbling, he made his way blindly over uneven terrain that should have been stained carpet and scuffed tile. Several times, he fell to his hands and knees, but he ignored the pain and pulled himself back to his feet. He couldn't let himself stop moving.
Miraculously, he found his partner, lying amidst charred brick and burnt paper. He still couldn't see much further than basic shapes, but he knew he'd found Danny. Despite all the wrong that had suddenly happened, part of him had felt very right at that moment. He knew he'd begun babbling, but could neither hear the words nor stop himself. He had to keep making those sounds, as much for himself as for Danny. At that moment in time, he needed Danny more than he'd ever needed a single other person in his life.
No one was talking to him. Everyone seemed more interested in poking needles into his arms and bending joints in directions they weren't meant to bend. The ringing was finally gone, and he could see again, but Nicholas' world was still very wrong. Every time he tried asking about Danny, the nurses or doctors or whoever happened to be in the room with him would stick him with another needle before quickly leaving the room. No wonder everyone in Sandford hated Buford Abbey; everyone in Buford Abbey was a massive wanker.
Eventually, the hospital staff stopped coming around all together, leaving Nicholas alone in his own agonizingly silent prison. There was no clock in the room, though if Nicholas had to guess, he'd say that he'd been left to his own thoughts for several weeks before that little blond-haired kid, Gabriel Weaver, wandered into his room, clutching tightly to something small.
"Sergeant Angel?" he asked cautiously, clearly knowing that he was somewhere he wasn't meant to be. He slowly approached Nicholas' bed, unable to take his eyes from the bruises and stitches that now decorated the sergeant's face. "I... I thought you might want these back."
He held out the aviator glasses Nicholas had purchased the previous night in Heston, the frames and lenses amazingly in tact. Not a damn scratch on them.
Nicholas took the sunglasses and nodded, unable to make himself speak.
"I heard from some of the doctors talking about Dan-- I mean, Constable Butterman," Gabriel said in a hushed voice. Nicholas steeled himself, angry and disappointed and upset that he was hearing news from an eavesdropping child, rather than from any of the dozen people he'd already asked. "He's out of surgery and being moved to room one-twenty seven. It's just down the hall. I thought you'd like to know that."
He smiled weakly before quickly leaving Nicholas' room, not giving the sergeant a chance to respond. Nicholas waited until he could no longer hear foot steps out in the hall before forcing himself to sit totally straight, feeling a shadow of pain in every muscle and joint, even through all the drugs in his system. He pulled the IV from the back of his hand, wondering whose sick idea it had been to put the damn needle there. He pulled himself out of bed slowly, not caring that he only had a thin linen hospital gown to barely cover himself with. There were slightly more pressing matters at hand.
The second he stepped out to the hall, he realized why Gabriel had given him the aviators. He quickly mashed them over his eyes, having not realized how dim the lights in his room were being kept. He quickly looked over at the placard next to the door, realizing just how close Danny's room was. Just a few rooms down, unless the folks in Buford Abbey couldn't count; which would not have surprised Nicholas in the least. He made his way down the hall as quickly as he could without all out sprinting, slipping unnoticed into room 127. The lights in this room were just as dim as they had been in Nicholas' prompting him to remove his sunglasses. He was greeted by the single most terrifying image he'd ever seen. Danny was there, somewhere, obscured by meters of tubes and cables and bandages.
"Oh, dear God," he muttered to himself as he stepped up to Danny's bedside.
This was not the person he'd come to love, in his own special way. That person was happy and constantly joking or talking about cop movies. The person in front of Nicholas looked about five minutes from death.
Nicholas allowed himself to slide down the wall, landing in a controlled fall on the cold tile floor. He hadn't prayed since he was twelve, but at that moment, he felt an intense need to do so. He reached up to his chest, expecting his fingers to find a small, delicate chain, but instead found only bare skin. The St. Christopher necklace his mother had given him was gone. The necklace that hadn't left his person in almost twenty years was suddenly somewhere it shouldn't have been. At that moment, all Sergeant Angel could do was cry, silently to himself beside his only friend in the world.
Nicholas was jarred awake by a shouting nurse. He jerked his head up, smacking it against the wall, which only seemed to further annoy the shouting nurse.
"Sergeant Angel, we have been looking for you for hours!" she scolded as she stomped across the room. "How long have you been on the floor?"
Nicholas didn't grant her with a response. He simply stayed on the floor, scowling up at the woman.
"Sergeant, you need to go back to your room," the nurse said, now standing over him. When he still refused to respond, she sighed and turned her attention to Danny, who was even less likely to respond to anything she said. She went about fiddling with knobs and switches for a few moments before turning her attention back to Nicholas. "Now, Sergeant, come on. Back to your room with you."
"I like it right here, thanks," Nicholas growled.
The nurse shook her head slightly. "You can come back in a few hours," she said. "Let's just go back to your room so I don't get in trouble, shall we?"
Nicholas sat, unmoving on the floor. "I want my chain back." The nurse stood, confused. "The gold chain that was around my neck," Nicholas clarified. "It's gone. I want it back."
The nurse nodded, understanding. "Okay," she agreed. "Let's go back to your room, and I'll get your chain."
Nicholas sighed deeply before slowly getting to his feet. Whatever drugs had been in his system were long gone, allowing his back to erupt in the second worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life. "Jesus Christ!" he yelped, unable to stand all the way up right.
The nurse helped him back to his room, finding the most difficulty in getting him back into bed. After a show of mild acrobatics, she had the sergeant situated somewhat comfortably before fetching fresh IV fluids
"Not in my hand," Nicholas growled, balling his fist defensively.
Tired of arguing with the sergeant, the nurse took his arm, finding the correct spot for the needle with some amount of difficulty, though neither said anything. After taping the needle securely in place, she rushed out of the room, leaving Nicholas once again alone. With every moment that passed, Nicholas' mind turned over a scenario worse than the previous one, slowly working him up into a state of panic. By the time the nurse finally returned, Nicholas was near hyperventilating, having overwhelmed himself with "what if" scenarios. The nurse held out the gold chain, which Nicholas instantly snatched from her fingers. He held the small medallion up to his lips, trying to think about anything but the present situation.
"Please leave," he said quietly, once he'd managed to regain control of his breathing. "Now."
As the nurse left the room, Nicholas fastened the delicate chain around his neck, appreciative of the oddly calming sensation it seemed to have on him. He allowed himself to lie back against the slightly elevated bed, his fingers gently rubbing the small tear drop-shaped bit of gold around his neck. Not long after, he fell asleep.
Nicholas was awake when Anne Fisher, Tony's wife, carried a small paper bag into his room. She sat it on a chair in the corner before approaching Nicholas' side. "You're being discharged shortly," she informed him softly. "You lot were lucky."
"Yes, well," Nicholas said, not wanting to remind her that Danny was still probably unconscious and hooked up to a dozen different machines just a few rooms down. He let his fingers trail back up to the chain around his neck.
"Will you need a lift back to Sandford? If you need, Tony and I have got a spare room."
"I'd rather stay here, thanks."
"Right." Anne softly brushed her hand through Nicholas' hair before turning and leaving the room, presumably to return to her husband.
Nicholas didn't watch her leave, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. A few minutes later, the nurse returned to rid his arm of the IV needle and told him that he was indeed free to go, and to just stop by the front desk on his way out. He waited for her to leave the room before climbing out of bed and retrieving the paper bag from the chair, finding in it a clean pair of street clothes, recently purchased, if the still-attached tags were anything to go by. He snapped the tags off and dressed slowly, more than a little surprised to find a pair of blue house slippers in the bag, as well; most likely because Anne had no way of telling what size shoes to buy. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, it occurred to Nicholas that the hotel was being considered a crime scene, which was why he'd been treated to a store-bought polo shirt, rather than one of his own.
Leaving the paper bag behind, he wandered out to the front desk, where a distracted receptionist had him sign his release forms. She barely pointed to the proper spaces before going back to the ringing telephones. Nicholas knew that he was breaking some sort of protocol, but he took advantage of the receptionist not paying attention to him, returning to Danny's room. The sight was no less frightening, now that his eyes had begun to work properly. Danny, taped up and unmoving, somewhere beneath endless machinery. Nicholas quietly dragged the chair from the corner up next to Danny's bedside, carefully taking one of Danny's hands in his own.
"Everything's gonna be fine," he said quietly, more to himself than to Danny. He could feel his voice hitching up in his throat, but did nothing to fight it. "Everything's gonna be fine."
Nicholas wasn't aware of another person's presence until he felt the heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Andrew, his face every bit as bruised and cut up as Nicholas'.
"Andy's dad's givin' us a ride back to Sandford," he said quietly. It didn't fit the personality Nicholas had come to know, and he wasn't sure that he liked a subdued Andrew. "There's a seat available if you'd like it."
Nicholas squeezed Danny's hand, fighting the urge to completely break down in front of the detective.
"Andy, just leave 'im," Andy said from the door way. Black eyes and stitches were apparently the new uniform of the Sandford police service. "He'll go home when he's ready."
Andrew gave Nicholas a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning and leaving the room with his partner, their footsteps falling into sync with one another. He sat in near-silence, ostensibly alone; the feint beeping of the machines the only sounds being made. The guilt weighing down on his chest became almost too much to bear. Tom Weaver meant that shot for him; not Danny. He should have been the one barely clinging to life. Danny didn't deserve this.
Nicholas wasn't sure why, but he crossed himself. It hadn't helped when he was a child, and believing it would help now wasn't easy, but somehow, it just felt like the right thing to do.
"Father, your Son accepted our sufferings to teach us the virtue of patience in human illness. Hear the prayers we offer for our sick brothers and sisters. May all who suffer pain, illness, or disease realize that they are chosen to be saints, and know that they are joined to Christ in his sufferings for the salvation of the world, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever."
He repeated the prayer several times, slightly surprised that he still knew all the words. After nearly fifteen minutes, he began saying other prayers, slowly reciting every one he remembered, which, as it turned out, happened to be quite a few. He prayed for Danny, but he also prayed for himself, begging forgiveness and swearing to return to a life of religion. He'd never managed to take that one final step to atheism, and at that moment, he was very, very thankful for that.
Nicholas did not stop praying for several hours, saying the words silently even as the nurse returned to fiddle with the machines and write down numbers. He did nothing to acknowledge her presence, and she said nothing to him, doing her job quickly as possible as to leave him alone.
Nicholas did not remember when he fell asleep, but he awoke with a slight jump, startled to find Doris standing next to him.
"I already heard from Andy and Tony that you don't want to leave, but do you need anything, Sarge?" She asked, not taking her eyes off Danny.
"No, I'm fine," he said quietly. In truth, he was starving and needed to find the men's room, but he didn't feel the need to share that information with Doris. He also didn't want to leave Danny's side. He needed to be there, in case something -- anything -- happened.
"Why don't you take a break. Find yourself something to eat," she said, apparently psychic all of a sudden. Far more likely was that she was simply aware of just how long Nicholas had spent in that damn uncomfortable chair. "Go on," she said, helping Nicholas to his feet and handing him five pounds. "I'll keep watch."
His back snapped and cracked as he reluctantly got to his feet, not finding the ability to argue at that moment. He slid the fiver into his pocket as he left the room. He made his way through the hospital in a haze, finding the loo and then the cafeteria on sheer luck. He spent the entire five pounds without taking much notice in what he had purchased, and ate quickly, not wanting to think about what could happen in his absence. He returned to room 127 to find Doris seated in that damn uncomfortable chair, lightly stroking Danny's hand with her fingers.
"How is he?" Nicholas asked softly.
"Not a sound."
Nicholas wasn't sure if that that was a good thing or not, but he didn't dare ask. He simply put his hand on Doris' shoulder, his other wandering back up to touch the chain around his neck.
"I know what he means to you," Doris said softly. "Means the same to all of us. He's been like a brother to me."
Without giving thought to his action, Nicholas took the chain from his neck and carefully put in on Danny, making sure it was fastened properly behind his neck.
"What's that?" Doris asked.
"Saint Christopher," Nicholas answered simply. "My mother gave it to me when I was a child."
"I didn't take you for a religious man, Sergeant," Doris said, still looking at the chain.
"Yes, well..." Nicholas fell silent, not sure how to address that statement for the first time in many, many years.
"It's the best we can do for him, now," Doris said as she got back to her feet and started walking toward the door. "Just pray, an' be here for him when he wakes up."
Nicholas did just that.
It was well after midnight when Nicholas first heard Danny begin to stir. He nearly jumped out of his seat as he reached for Danny's hand, letting him know that someone was there for him.
"Nngh.... Daa'?"
"No," Nicholas said, fearing that Danny didn't remember what had happened to his father. "No, Danny. It's Nicholas. I'm right here."
"Nic'las?" Danny slowly turned his head, his eyes lighting up as though he'd opened his eyes for the first time in a century. "Nic'las... why you cryin'?"
Nicholas laughed, despite everything. "Because it's been four fucking days," he said as he attempted to dry his face with his hand. "Four of the... most frightening days of my life."
Danny tried to sit up, but didn't get very far before yelping out loudly. "Nic'las, I hurt."
"I know, Danny," Nicholas said, still laughing softly. "But everything's gonna be just fine."
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Danny Butterman, Nicholas Angel, Doris Thatcher, Gabriel Weaver, Anne Fisher, Andrew Wainwright, Andy Cartwright, Tony Fisher
Summary: Nicholas deals with the fear if not being in control of anything.
Nicholas' world was filled with a bright, ringing, burning pain. He could not, at that moment, say where exactly it hurt, because the hurt was everywhere.
He couldn't see. Everything was white. For a moment, he thought he was dead, but quickly realized how absurd that was. If he were dead, he'd not be conscious of the blinding white and burning pain.
He could hear, but it wasn't anything useful; just a high-pitched, skull-splitting ringing that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere.
Not dead. That fact had already been well-established. Not dead, but still unable to move.
Slowly, Nicholas began to register individual hurts and pains. First was the something sharp digging into his spine. He tried to shift his weight in an effort to remove that something sharp from his back, but found himself being held down by something rather large. Large and flat. Well, mostly flat.
Handles.
Filing Cabinet.
He remembered getting thrown backwards into the filing cabinets. There was an explosion. That goddamn sea mine they'd confiscated from that crazy old fool Arthur Webbley had gone off in the evidence room. They'd forgotten about Tom Weaver, somehow. Nicholas had kicked the rubbish bin at the old man, knocking him backwards into the sea mine. He'd just come out of bloody nowhere and tried to shoot Nicholas. But somehow, he'd missed.
Danny.
He didn't miss. Danny took the shot.
Danny!
Still tormented by that god awful ringing, Nicholas pushed against the filing cabinet, his left arm burning in protest, even as the large object finally rolled off to the side. His vision not as white, but still badly blurred, he tried to get to his feet, but stumbled. He barely registered his own shouting, though only through the reverberation in his chest; that relentless ringing only seemed to get worse as he tried to move around. Shouting and stumbling, he made his way blindly over uneven terrain that should have been stained carpet and scuffed tile. Several times, he fell to his hands and knees, but he ignored the pain and pulled himself back to his feet. He couldn't let himself stop moving.
Miraculously, he found his partner, lying amidst charred brick and burnt paper. He still couldn't see much further than basic shapes, but he knew he'd found Danny. Despite all the wrong that had suddenly happened, part of him had felt very right at that moment. He knew he'd begun babbling, but could neither hear the words nor stop himself. He had to keep making those sounds, as much for himself as for Danny. At that moment in time, he needed Danny more than he'd ever needed a single other person in his life.
No one was talking to him. Everyone seemed more interested in poking needles into his arms and bending joints in directions they weren't meant to bend. The ringing was finally gone, and he could see again, but Nicholas' world was still very wrong. Every time he tried asking about Danny, the nurses or doctors or whoever happened to be in the room with him would stick him with another needle before quickly leaving the room. No wonder everyone in Sandford hated Buford Abbey; everyone in Buford Abbey was a massive wanker.
Eventually, the hospital staff stopped coming around all together, leaving Nicholas alone in his own agonizingly silent prison. There was no clock in the room, though if Nicholas had to guess, he'd say that he'd been left to his own thoughts for several weeks before that little blond-haired kid, Gabriel Weaver, wandered into his room, clutching tightly to something small.
"Sergeant Angel?" he asked cautiously, clearly knowing that he was somewhere he wasn't meant to be. He slowly approached Nicholas' bed, unable to take his eyes from the bruises and stitches that now decorated the sergeant's face. "I... I thought you might want these back."
He held out the aviator glasses Nicholas had purchased the previous night in Heston, the frames and lenses amazingly in tact. Not a damn scratch on them.
Nicholas took the sunglasses and nodded, unable to make himself speak.
"I heard from some of the doctors talking about Dan-- I mean, Constable Butterman," Gabriel said in a hushed voice. Nicholas steeled himself, angry and disappointed and upset that he was hearing news from an eavesdropping child, rather than from any of the dozen people he'd already asked. "He's out of surgery and being moved to room one-twenty seven. It's just down the hall. I thought you'd like to know that."
He smiled weakly before quickly leaving Nicholas' room, not giving the sergeant a chance to respond. Nicholas waited until he could no longer hear foot steps out in the hall before forcing himself to sit totally straight, feeling a shadow of pain in every muscle and joint, even through all the drugs in his system. He pulled the IV from the back of his hand, wondering whose sick idea it had been to put the damn needle there. He pulled himself out of bed slowly, not caring that he only had a thin linen hospital gown to barely cover himself with. There were slightly more pressing matters at hand.
The second he stepped out to the hall, he realized why Gabriel had given him the aviators. He quickly mashed them over his eyes, having not realized how dim the lights in his room were being kept. He quickly looked over at the placard next to the door, realizing just how close Danny's room was. Just a few rooms down, unless the folks in Buford Abbey couldn't count; which would not have surprised Nicholas in the least. He made his way down the hall as quickly as he could without all out sprinting, slipping unnoticed into room 127. The lights in this room were just as dim as they had been in Nicholas' prompting him to remove his sunglasses. He was greeted by the single most terrifying image he'd ever seen. Danny was there, somewhere, obscured by meters of tubes and cables and bandages.
"Oh, dear God," he muttered to himself as he stepped up to Danny's bedside.
This was not the person he'd come to love, in his own special way. That person was happy and constantly joking or talking about cop movies. The person in front of Nicholas looked about five minutes from death.
Nicholas allowed himself to slide down the wall, landing in a controlled fall on the cold tile floor. He hadn't prayed since he was twelve, but at that moment, he felt an intense need to do so. He reached up to his chest, expecting his fingers to find a small, delicate chain, but instead found only bare skin. The St. Christopher necklace his mother had given him was gone. The necklace that hadn't left his person in almost twenty years was suddenly somewhere it shouldn't have been. At that moment, all Sergeant Angel could do was cry, silently to himself beside his only friend in the world.
Nicholas was jarred awake by a shouting nurse. He jerked his head up, smacking it against the wall, which only seemed to further annoy the shouting nurse.
"Sergeant Angel, we have been looking for you for hours!" she scolded as she stomped across the room. "How long have you been on the floor?"
Nicholas didn't grant her with a response. He simply stayed on the floor, scowling up at the woman.
"Sergeant, you need to go back to your room," the nurse said, now standing over him. When he still refused to respond, she sighed and turned her attention to Danny, who was even less likely to respond to anything she said. She went about fiddling with knobs and switches for a few moments before turning her attention back to Nicholas. "Now, Sergeant, come on. Back to your room with you."
"I like it right here, thanks," Nicholas growled.
The nurse shook her head slightly. "You can come back in a few hours," she said. "Let's just go back to your room so I don't get in trouble, shall we?"
Nicholas sat, unmoving on the floor. "I want my chain back." The nurse stood, confused. "The gold chain that was around my neck," Nicholas clarified. "It's gone. I want it back."
The nurse nodded, understanding. "Okay," she agreed. "Let's go back to your room, and I'll get your chain."
Nicholas sighed deeply before slowly getting to his feet. Whatever drugs had been in his system were long gone, allowing his back to erupt in the second worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life. "Jesus Christ!" he yelped, unable to stand all the way up right.
The nurse helped him back to his room, finding the most difficulty in getting him back into bed. After a show of mild acrobatics, she had the sergeant situated somewhat comfortably before fetching fresh IV fluids
"Not in my hand," Nicholas growled, balling his fist defensively.
Tired of arguing with the sergeant, the nurse took his arm, finding the correct spot for the needle with some amount of difficulty, though neither said anything. After taping the needle securely in place, she rushed out of the room, leaving Nicholas once again alone. With every moment that passed, Nicholas' mind turned over a scenario worse than the previous one, slowly working him up into a state of panic. By the time the nurse finally returned, Nicholas was near hyperventilating, having overwhelmed himself with "what if" scenarios. The nurse held out the gold chain, which Nicholas instantly snatched from her fingers. He held the small medallion up to his lips, trying to think about anything but the present situation.
"Please leave," he said quietly, once he'd managed to regain control of his breathing. "Now."
As the nurse left the room, Nicholas fastened the delicate chain around his neck, appreciative of the oddly calming sensation it seemed to have on him. He allowed himself to lie back against the slightly elevated bed, his fingers gently rubbing the small tear drop-shaped bit of gold around his neck. Not long after, he fell asleep.
Nicholas was awake when Anne Fisher, Tony's wife, carried a small paper bag into his room. She sat it on a chair in the corner before approaching Nicholas' side. "You're being discharged shortly," she informed him softly. "You lot were lucky."
"Yes, well," Nicholas said, not wanting to remind her that Danny was still probably unconscious and hooked up to a dozen different machines just a few rooms down. He let his fingers trail back up to the chain around his neck.
"Will you need a lift back to Sandford? If you need, Tony and I have got a spare room."
"I'd rather stay here, thanks."
"Right." Anne softly brushed her hand through Nicholas' hair before turning and leaving the room, presumably to return to her husband.
Nicholas didn't watch her leave, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. A few minutes later, the nurse returned to rid his arm of the IV needle and told him that he was indeed free to go, and to just stop by the front desk on his way out. He waited for her to leave the room before climbing out of bed and retrieving the paper bag from the chair, finding in it a clean pair of street clothes, recently purchased, if the still-attached tags were anything to go by. He snapped the tags off and dressed slowly, more than a little surprised to find a pair of blue house slippers in the bag, as well; most likely because Anne had no way of telling what size shoes to buy. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, it occurred to Nicholas that the hotel was being considered a crime scene, which was why he'd been treated to a store-bought polo shirt, rather than one of his own.
Leaving the paper bag behind, he wandered out to the front desk, where a distracted receptionist had him sign his release forms. She barely pointed to the proper spaces before going back to the ringing telephones. Nicholas knew that he was breaking some sort of protocol, but he took advantage of the receptionist not paying attention to him, returning to Danny's room. The sight was no less frightening, now that his eyes had begun to work properly. Danny, taped up and unmoving, somewhere beneath endless machinery. Nicholas quietly dragged the chair from the corner up next to Danny's bedside, carefully taking one of Danny's hands in his own.
"Everything's gonna be fine," he said quietly, more to himself than to Danny. He could feel his voice hitching up in his throat, but did nothing to fight it. "Everything's gonna be fine."
Nicholas wasn't aware of another person's presence until he felt the heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Andrew, his face every bit as bruised and cut up as Nicholas'.
"Andy's dad's givin' us a ride back to Sandford," he said quietly. It didn't fit the personality Nicholas had come to know, and he wasn't sure that he liked a subdued Andrew. "There's a seat available if you'd like it."
Nicholas squeezed Danny's hand, fighting the urge to completely break down in front of the detective.
"Andy, just leave 'im," Andy said from the door way. Black eyes and stitches were apparently the new uniform of the Sandford police service. "He'll go home when he's ready."
Andrew gave Nicholas a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning and leaving the room with his partner, their footsteps falling into sync with one another. He sat in near-silence, ostensibly alone; the feint beeping of the machines the only sounds being made. The guilt weighing down on his chest became almost too much to bear. Tom Weaver meant that shot for him; not Danny. He should have been the one barely clinging to life. Danny didn't deserve this.
Nicholas wasn't sure why, but he crossed himself. It hadn't helped when he was a child, and believing it would help now wasn't easy, but somehow, it just felt like the right thing to do.
"Father, your Son accepted our sufferings to teach us the virtue of patience in human illness. Hear the prayers we offer for our sick brothers and sisters. May all who suffer pain, illness, or disease realize that they are chosen to be saints, and know that they are joined to Christ in his sufferings for the salvation of the world, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever."
He repeated the prayer several times, slightly surprised that he still knew all the words. After nearly fifteen minutes, he began saying other prayers, slowly reciting every one he remembered, which, as it turned out, happened to be quite a few. He prayed for Danny, but he also prayed for himself, begging forgiveness and swearing to return to a life of religion. He'd never managed to take that one final step to atheism, and at that moment, he was very, very thankful for that.
Nicholas did not stop praying for several hours, saying the words silently even as the nurse returned to fiddle with the machines and write down numbers. He did nothing to acknowledge her presence, and she said nothing to him, doing her job quickly as possible as to leave him alone.
Nicholas did not remember when he fell asleep, but he awoke with a slight jump, startled to find Doris standing next to him.
"I already heard from Andy and Tony that you don't want to leave, but do you need anything, Sarge?" She asked, not taking her eyes off Danny.
"No, I'm fine," he said quietly. In truth, he was starving and needed to find the men's room, but he didn't feel the need to share that information with Doris. He also didn't want to leave Danny's side. He needed to be there, in case something -- anything -- happened.
"Why don't you take a break. Find yourself something to eat," she said, apparently psychic all of a sudden. Far more likely was that she was simply aware of just how long Nicholas had spent in that damn uncomfortable chair. "Go on," she said, helping Nicholas to his feet and handing him five pounds. "I'll keep watch."
His back snapped and cracked as he reluctantly got to his feet, not finding the ability to argue at that moment. He slid the fiver into his pocket as he left the room. He made his way through the hospital in a haze, finding the loo and then the cafeteria on sheer luck. He spent the entire five pounds without taking much notice in what he had purchased, and ate quickly, not wanting to think about what could happen in his absence. He returned to room 127 to find Doris seated in that damn uncomfortable chair, lightly stroking Danny's hand with her fingers.
"How is he?" Nicholas asked softly.
"Not a sound."
Nicholas wasn't sure if that that was a good thing or not, but he didn't dare ask. He simply put his hand on Doris' shoulder, his other wandering back up to touch the chain around his neck.
"I know what he means to you," Doris said softly. "Means the same to all of us. He's been like a brother to me."
Without giving thought to his action, Nicholas took the chain from his neck and carefully put in on Danny, making sure it was fastened properly behind his neck.
"What's that?" Doris asked.
"Saint Christopher," Nicholas answered simply. "My mother gave it to me when I was a child."
"I didn't take you for a religious man, Sergeant," Doris said, still looking at the chain.
"Yes, well..." Nicholas fell silent, not sure how to address that statement for the first time in many, many years.
"It's the best we can do for him, now," Doris said as she got back to her feet and started walking toward the door. "Just pray, an' be here for him when he wakes up."
Nicholas did just that.
It was well after midnight when Nicholas first heard Danny begin to stir. He nearly jumped out of his seat as he reached for Danny's hand, letting him know that someone was there for him.
"Nngh.... Daa'?"
"No," Nicholas said, fearing that Danny didn't remember what had happened to his father. "No, Danny. It's Nicholas. I'm right here."
"Nic'las?" Danny slowly turned his head, his eyes lighting up as though he'd opened his eyes for the first time in a century. "Nic'las... why you cryin'?"
Nicholas laughed, despite everything. "Because it's been four fucking days," he said as he attempted to dry his face with his hand. "Four of the... most frightening days of my life."
Danny tried to sit up, but didn't get very far before yelping out loudly. "Nic'las, I hurt."
"I know, Danny," Nicholas said, still laughing softly. "But everything's gonna be just fine."
