Who: Sam and Liam What: Visiting time Where: The hospital Liam is staying at When: Recent! Warnings/Rating: Some sad times, nothing more.
Sam hated mental hospitals.
The one she'd been in was state run, arrest mandate and 72 hours of observation (until Neil sprung her early). It had been the place the fucking crazies that were dangerous to themselves or others were being held before trials and shit. She remembered strip searches and pat downs, and she remembered barred windows and one-hour, supervised visitation, like she'd killed someone or something. But Jack had reassured her that Liam could have visitors in his room, so yeah, okay, maybe this wouldn't be like that. Still, she reserved the right to turn the fuck around and leave if it was too much, because no way she was going to lose her shit where they could take her freedom away again. Yeah, no, so not happening.
But the private facility seemed ok, and Sam walked in wearing jeans and a grey sweatshirt, black flip flops on her feet and her hair pulled back. She hadn't brought anything with her, because she'd forgotten during all that nervousness, but it was the thought that counted, right? She kept her eyes averted, pinpoint irises indicating she was less than clean when she walked into the visitor's area to wait for Liam to be notified of her arrival.
Nearly ten minutes later, a nurse appeared in the visitor’s area to lead Sam back to Liam’s private room. Down a corridor, to the left, his room was at the end of the hallway, and at a glance, it was no different than any generic hospital room, save for the attached anteroom for observation. The nurse left Sam at the door with instructions to call if they needed any help, before disappearing down the hallway.
Inside, Liam was in bed, blankets pulled up to his waist, eyes half-closed as he drifted in a state somewhere that wasn’t quite wakefulness or sleep. Between the medications that Jack had him on, his world had turned into a state of near-drowsiness that left him quiet and sedate more often than not. The IV hung to his right, a constant drip of fluids and the anti-psychotic, and even when the door opened, he only half-stirred from where he was laying. The nurse, of course, had told him that there was a visitor, but that was only enough to rouse his attention for a handful of seconds before he lapsed again into quiet.
If he had been more aware, there would have been anger, irritation, frustration that what should have been a twenty-four hour stay had turned into something longer, Jack passing it off as ‘I’ll sign off on your release when I feel you’re ready,’ and clearly, he did not think that Liam was. But the world was comfortable, quiet, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue against him right then. Besides, with that quiet came a stillness inside; maybe she really wasn’t inside him.
Sam followed the nurse back nervously and without talking. She didn't have anything to say, and Liam's state (when she walked into the room) answered any questions she had. She didn't greet him immediately. Instead, she walked over to the IV and looked at the names on the clear bags. She'd been in the nuthouse, and she knew which fuckers to stay away from by the names on the bags. It just made her worry spike, the amount of shit they had Liam on, and she wondered if he'd cracked beyond fixing, because fuck. Clozaril? So they thought he was a fucking schizophrenic? She looked down at the bed a second later, and she wondered if she was sane enough for this herself. But she was here, and she wasn't going to run out the fucking door without saying anything. That would just make shit worse, right?
So she sat on the edge of the bed, and she waited for him to notice her. Her skin itched, and she wanted a fucking benzo, or a hit, but she folded her hands in her lap, and she wondered why the world couldn't just calm the fuck down long enough to let her catch up. "Hey, baby. Playing fucking hookey, huh?" she asked.
It was partially the dip of the mattress when she sat and partially the sound of her voice that drew Liam from the fog he had drifted into. Blue eyes, normally so bright, were pale and bloodshot, and bit by bit, he struggled to push himself up to sit, reaching up to run a hand through dark hair that was mussed from sleeping. “Wouldn’t call this playing hookey,” Liam responded quietly, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm, giving it a short rub. “You didn’t have to come, Sam. But...” He studied her for a moment, head slowly tilting to the side, and then he gave her arm a squeeze, tight. “Thanks. Millions of thanks. Tired of seeing nurses. And Jack. Welcome face in here.”
"I don't know, baby, Jack's kind of fucking hot," she joked, all teasing in her inky blue eyes. She closed her fingers over the hand on her arm for a second, and then she sat back and looked around the room. "And I don't know. This place isn't fucking terrible. Has Seven come to visit yet?" Despite saying it wasn't terrible, the place did make her skin crawl, but that was her own fucked up damage and nothing to do with him. And despite his bloodshot eyes and how out of it he was, she was glad that he'd come here, because the shit he'd been saying really had worried her. So, yeah, some good and some bad, and maybe this would help him finally get Tristan out of his system.
Liam managed a tired laugh at that before he settled back against his pillows, burying his hands back down beneath the blankets, at least until the pull of the IV reminded him that he only had so much freedom. A sigh escaped him and he shifted, pulling that arm out from beneath the blankets before he eased again. “I don’t know if Seven knows I’m here. I- I haven’t talked to him. And they took my phone, so I haven’t been able to call anyone. I had Jack tell you, but... that’s it.” Tilting his head back, Liam glanced towards the pole holding the bags of fluid, eyes drooping a moment later before he glanced back towards Sam. “I’ve never been in a hospital before. I don’t think I enjoy it much,” he commented, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. “Twenty-four hours. It’s longer, isn’t it? Jack... he won’t tell me when. When I can leave. So.” A flicker of worry crossed his face, fleeing and gone in a second.
"I can tell Seven once I leave, baby. He's probably losing his fucking shit if you just disappeared," she said, and her mind wandered a moment as she wondered if anyone would notice if she just fell off the face of the fucking earth for days. She didn't like that thought, and she didn't like the potential answer. "And I don't know, Liam. When I was in for observation, it was a mandatory 72-hours, and they tried to keep me longer, but Neil busted me out. I think you should stay however long Jack wants you to. He's a good fucking guy, and even I was worried about you when we talked." It was unintentional candor, but he had freaked her the fuck out, and he might as well know it. She didn't actually think he was schizophrenic, despite the medicine hanging from the IV pole, but she did think Tristan had turned him around to the point where he didn't put his own ass before his obsessions. She knew how that was, and it wasn't Liam - no fucking way.
At the mention of Seven, Liam perked, if the delayed reaction could be called that. “I doubt he’s that worried about me,” Liam responded, and maybe it was the way he had been since meeting Tristan, or something else altogether, but the man was having difficulties coming to terms with someone like Seven wanting anything to do with someone like him. He drew quiet after that, looking down to the hand laying atop the blankets, stretching his fingers out, feeling somehow disconnected from everything. “You were worried?” Liam asked, daring to glance up towards her for a moment before he simply shifted forward, reaching out to wind his arms around her and draw in close for a hug. It was an impulsive thing, almost desperate, and so unlike him that he didn’t even recognize himself in the action. Liam wasn’t someone who went to others for comfort, he was the one who people went to for comfort instead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Quit that shit," she said of his assurance that Seven wasn't worried about him. "You can put yourself down to Jack or the nurses, but not to me. Fuck that shit. I won't listen to it," she said, not caring that he was hooked up to an IV. No way. They'd argued about this before, and they'd argue about it until the cows came home. Sam just wasn't down with that self-pity bullshit. "And of course I'm worried, Liam. Tristan has turned you around so many times you can't even figure out where you were heading before." She took a deep breath, deep and steady, and she tried to find her cool again and grab it back from wherever it had gone. It was the room, the IV, what it all pointed to, and she needed to just chill and get through it. She went into the hug without protest, because the thing surprised her enough that she didn't fight it. "Baby, you don't have to apologize to anyone. You just need to get better, that's all," she said, awkward hug and awkward patting to his back.
There were no arguments against her words, nothing said at all as Liam simply hugged her, remaining there longer than was probably proper, but before too long, he was settling back with his back against the pillows once more. “Get better...” Liam murmured, wondering for a moment how he had come to this point in his life, so far away from where he had been, and it made him wonder if he would ever get back to that place in his life. “I’m sure this is bothering you, being here,” he said a moment later, glancing up towards her with those bloodshot, lost blue eyes. “You don’t have to stay. I just- I understand. If you need to leave.”
"Quit telling me what to do, Liam," she chastised, sitting back and looking at him. "I fucking hate it here. It reminds me of when I was locked up," she said honestly. "This place is nice. The place I was in wasn't, and it freaks me out a little." No point in lying. Even drugged like he was, it was probably obvious that she was fucking miserable. But whatever, she hadn't come here to make herself feel better. "What does Jack say is wrong? Did he give you any idea?" Because this had gone beyond just being obsessed with Tristan, hadn't it?
Liam was able to meet her gaze for only a moment before something had him looking away, gaze sliding towards the far wall, remembering when Sam had called him from the hospital after that thing with the door. It seemed a lifetime ago, as did most things he was remembering. “They haven’t really told me much,” Liam responded, glancing back towards her briefly. “They come in, ask me questions. Adjust whatever it is that’s flowing through my veins, and then they go back to watching me. Always. Watching.” He reached up with his good hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at his eyes hard. “I like to think it’s just a nervous breakdown.” The words came with a hollow laugh following behind, his hand dropping to his lap. “Or I’m really crazy. I’ve not discounted that, honestly.”
"Artsy people do tend to be nuts," she said, though there was more worry there than she intended there to be. In truth, she looked tired. Everyone and everything seemed to be a fucking mess lately, and everyone just seemed to be getting worse. How far could they all go before they fucking snapped into a million pieces? Her family had never been big on the holidays, and Santa had never visited the Alexanders, but she very much wished for some normalcy for Christmas. She wondered if that shit could be boxed up and put under a tree. Liam could go home, sane and without needing someone to slice him open for whatever reason. He and Seven could roast a turkey, and Liam could write a fucking book, and there could be hot sex where no one cried. But that seemed too much to ask for lately. "You aren't crazy, baby," she added, but there was no fucking strength behind it - none.
There was something about her tone, something about the words she chose and the way the were said that struck a heavy chord deep inside of him. It came without warning, that tightness in his chest, the stinging behind his eyes, and bit by careful bit, Liam doubled over against his now bent legs. His breath was heavy, but there was no mistaking the shake of his shoulders, the hard breaths, the way he hid his head, his face, in his arms. It was a lot of things coming out all at once, worry and doubt, and most of all fear.
Crying wasn't something Sam had a lot of experience with, and that fear on his face made her almost as afraid as the fucking asylum did. She reached out a hand, unsure and tentative, and she rubbed his shoulder. It should be someone else here with him. One of those women that knew how to give hugs and make people feel better just by existing and being present. But she wasn't one of those women. She was some fucked up awkward thing, made more so by recent events. "Baby, it's going to be ok. Life just knocked your ass over. It didn't take you out for the count." And how she hoped that was fucking true.
“I just want her out of me, Sam,” Liam said, barely able to be understood amongst the heaving sobs that shook his shoulders. Her hand was a welcomed presence against his shoulder, groping up to close his fingers over hers, squeezing tight for all that he was worth at that moment. A hiccup, a cough, and though that feeling inside didn’t ease at all, the tears came to a long halt. He felt torn up inside, and only half of that could be blamed on the woman who was to blame for all of what was happening. He lifted his head, rested it against his knees, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand as his eyes drifted shut once more. “I want her out of me,” he repeated quietly, because no matter how much he wanted to believe the doctors that saw him, to believe Jack, that gnawing feeling hadn’t gone away, that feeling that he wasn’t alone in his own body, and that wasn’t just the presence he felt back there, not Raoul, so very not Raoul in its coldness. He was afraid to mention that, even to Sam.
Oh, god. Yeah, there were certain things Sam needed more drugs in her system to deal with, and this was one of them. She'd freaked out about it on the phone, Liam's belief that Tristan was somehow inside him, and it was even worse in person. She backed up, her fingers literally yanking out of his, too much fucking panic for delicateness. She couldn't even think about that level of crazy without her skin crawling, without feeling like there was an itch she couldn't get to. "Tristan isn't inside anyone, Liam," she said, but it was uttered as her feet met with the cold tile of the room, and she was obviously in full blown retreat mode. She'd get a nurse. She'd get a doctor. She'd get someone. "I'll tell Seven," she promised as she backed up, because she could do that, right? It would make up for this, for this retreat with sweating palms and damp temples, but, yeah, maybe she just needed to stop pretending she was ok. People believed it, and people depended on her, and then this shit happened, because she just wasn't strong enough to carry everyone else, not when she could barely get herself through the day without a cocktail of drugs. "Sorry," she whimpered. She wanted a hit.
When Sam pulled away, Liam didn’t hear the words that she said, lifting his head to watch her retreat, and while it wasn’t hurt that was etched across his face, there was certainly something upset by her reaction. But he didn’t say anything in response, just watched as she retreated towards the door. He didn’t blame her for needing to leave, wanting to leave, instead giving a tug to his blankets to pull them up around himself once again, settling back in against the mattress and curling with his back towards her.
She reached the door, and she turned back once to look at him. She should stay, she knew. She should stay. She should be that friend. She loved Liam in some way. Not sex, yeah, no, but something, and it wasn't a lack of caring that sent her out the door. It was just the opposite. She gave him one last look, a long one directed at the curve of his back, and she ran out of the door, unable to stay and watch him be broken any longer.