fletcher charleston / edward blake (funnypapers) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2010-11-28 20:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | fletcher charleston, gemma ford |
Who: Fletcher Charleston and Gemma Davenport
What: Fletcher finds out that he didn't have a good week.
When: Sunday, early afternoon (the drugs took awhile to wear off).
Where: St. Vincent's, LA.
Warnings: Language.
Fletcher spent the first few hours back in his own body plagued by vivid dreams. Mostly it was reliving the last few moments he'd been conscious over and over with different variations. The shooter kept changing, shifting through people from his past, people from CORE or from the other side. The ones he'd looked down a scope at right before he pulled the trigger. Sometimes there other people there. Gemma. Lorne. April. Julian. His father, who he hadn't laid eyes on in years. The worst was when he wasn't he victim, but they were. He'd stand, frozen in the way that only happens in dreams, and watch while they were gunned down instead of him. For a few brief moments caught between drug induced sleep and opening his eyes, he thought he had died. This was the hell that had been designed for him, and he would never know anything else.
Son of a bitch. The sound of Eddie's voice helped him fight his way awake. He wasn't dead, not if that bastard was still here. He sucked in a deep breath as he opened his eyes, letting it out raggedly when his entire right side throbbed in protest. That was the first thing he noticed, the persistent pain. The hard mattress and quiet beeping suggested that he was in a hospital. So at least part of what he thought he'd dreamed was a reality. Those memories came back slowly, of him hitting the ground after the bullets had come out of nowhere. By all rights, he should have been dead. The Resistance wasn't exactly known for leaving jobs half done. The more he thought about it, the more the pieces started falling in to place. Hadn't Eddie been gone? He'd had, what, a whole week without hearing him. Yet now he could feel the other man's nagging presence, even if he wasn't actually saying anything. How long had he been here?
The beeping sped up as more and more came back to him. Gemma. What if they'd gone after her? He didn't have a clue how long he'd been out, and any questions sent Eddie's way were completely stonewalled. It didn't take him long to come to the conclusion that he had to get out of here. He had to make sure his wife and brother were okay, and he had to find out what the hell had happened. The moment he tried to sit up on his own, though, he cursed. "God damn." Moving only made the pain worse, and there were all sorts of tubes and wires and at least one needle keeping him in place. With a little maneuvering (his right arm was stuck in a sling), he pulled the plastic contraption off of his index finger, ignoring the frantic squeal of the machine monitoring his heart rate. Then he went for the tubes taped under his nose. It wasn't the sort of thing that was easy to do one handed, and he'd hardly made any progress when the door to his room swung open.