Ocean's Eleven
[Daniel wasn't awake, and then he was.
Sobriety was like a serrated knife on the edge of Daniel's consciousness. He hadn't been this sober in years and he'd forgotten what it felt like to be totally aware of himself and his surroundings. He was fully cognizant, for example, of the itch/pain/suction feeling of the needle strapped into his arm, and he could not even pretend a mere dim understanding of the kind of chemicals they had him on to prevent him from falling apart through the lack of various key fluids and working dependencies. He was even aware of the television on in the room next door, and he heard George W. Bush's slightly creaky tones railing agains Bin Laden and he knew, without even being fully awake, his approximate time, date, and location. Sobriety, for Daniel, was total immediacy, even drugged and leashed to various anonymous machines.
He hated it.
He moved in an attempt to get comfortable on the bed, realizing from the stiffness, particularly on his throat and arms, that he must be various pretty shades of blue and black in those places. He couldn't even move his right wrist. He opened his eyes like a leopard someone had left out in the enclosure as the tranquilizers wore off; pissed and vague at the same time. Lin was there, he realized, with some relief. Lin had headphones, he realized, with some consternation.]