Michael Bishop [Nikita] (nohighfives) wrote in borderscenes, @ 2014-06-03 23:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | michael bishop, nikita bishop |
Who: Nikita and Michael Bishop
What: Trying to sleep
Where: Their room
When: Backdated to two nights after their arrival
Warnings: Mikey doesn't want to sleep
Michael had been staying at Divison ever since the accident, even after he was cleared to stray from Medical. He wanted to stay close, just on case. He'd lost his hand, and while the cut had been clean and the stump was healing nicely, he slept better knowing Medical was just down the hall. At least that's what he kept telling himself, but who was he kidding? He wasn't sleeping at all unless he medicated his brain. He wasn't an addict, he wasn't even taking his pain pills, he just needed help sleeping, and who could blame him when every time he closed his eyes he found himself back on the road, pinned under a burning car...
He resisted going back to the apartment with Nikita for a number of reasons, but not because he didn't want to be with her. He loved her. She wore his ring, and hand or no hand, he planned to marry her someday. Apparently that day had already come and gone for her, and he was a bit behind the times. He had no idea how to process that. He had no idea how to wrap his head around the fact they were here in this strange place, and from different points in time. Maybe his arm got infected, maybe he was having delusions, or something. That made some sense, but...but he wasn't quite sure. How could he be sure of anything when everything was so out of whack?
He'd taken a shower, and now he was laying in bed. His mechanical prosthetic arm lay on the bedside table, the fingers curled under giving it a spiderlike appearance. Michael folded his left arm behind his head and tried to ignore the hulking black contraption. He was grateful for it, sure. He had a long way to go with his recovery and learning to manipulate it, but he wasn't left to walk around with nothing but a stump. He had a hand, such as it was, it was his.
He had no intention of sleeping. How could he? He hadn't taken the sleeping pills. He knew what would happen if he allowed himself to drift off, and he didn't want to put Nikita through that. She had enough guilt about what had happened to him, what she had been forced to do to save his life. He sighed, determined to stay awake, certain that he would stay awake without taking a sleep aide, just as he had the previous two nights. He was exhausted, his body needed sleep, but he could fight it, he had to, for Nikita's sake.
It took a while, but he finally slipped into the blanket of sleep. In sleep, he whimpered. He curled his knees up to his chest. He went rigid against the mattress, his body tense and taut. He shook with the memory of that night. The pain that rocketed through his crushed hand, the numb that came after, as he lay in Nikita's arms on the ground while the car burned his hand until there was nothing left but charred bone. He cried out, his body still tense and locked in the nightmare scene playing itself out in his mind.