the words ring in his ears and he clings to the small glimmer of hope they give him even as he drifts in and out. he's not unconscious, but he isn't truly awake either, his thoughts drifting and vision swimming. the walk to the car, the car ride, even getting placed on a gurney in the er all blurs together into one wild mashup he likely won't remember much of.
the nurses and doctors begin working around him and there are a few who gently urge him to keep his eyes open, to keep answering questions. his name, his birthdate, what he's studying, where he's going to school, what happened, what happened, what happened.
what happened. he tells them he can't remember, just that he went on a date, but even in the wild haze of whatever this is, he knows he can't say. he knows he can't confess. what would it say about professor fuller who brought him here? it's only then he realizes the man isn't in the room, and he doesn't see him out past the sliding doors of the exam room.
it makes sense, really, that he left.
tim would leave him behind, too, after putting him through so much in one night. he'll regret so much about this evening later, but stumbling his way to the polisci building in desperation will always be one of them.
tim's heart beats fast on the monitor as he thinks about it and a friendly nurse pats is hand, then pets his cheek, trying to guide him through deep breaths. there's an iv placed, medicine given, temperatures and blood pressures and so many, many tests. they take photos, but of what he isn't entire sure, they write things down on a paper he's told he'll have to sign later. when the room does finally go quiet, tim curls up on his side. whatever's in the iv has helped (fluids mainly), and though the room doesn't spin as much and the world feels less unsteady, he's exhausted. his face is wet - when did he cry? - and he rubs at it with the sleeve of his shirt.
he can hear nurses outside saying he'll be discharged, that he'll need to be monitored, that he will just have to sleep everything off. he doesn't even know how he'll get to the dorms, for one. how he'll make it into his bed. how he'll sleep with all the noise.
he closes his eyes against the harsh light of the room and curls in on himself a little more, dragging the thin hospital blanket around him a little closer just as he hears the door open again. must be a nurse. a doctor checking something. but if he pretends to be asleep...
but then it's professor fuller's voice that follows. he blinks up at him, wearily. ]
You're still here?
[ there's a little awe in his voice, of course. a little wonder. he'd been sure that he had watched the man walk out before. he resists the urge to reach out and touch him, to make sure it isn't some drug-induced figment of his imagination, but he doesn't. it's the sigh that stops him in his tracks.
what a burden he's become. ]
I always trust you.
[ his voice comes out a little raspy, dry from all the talking and the crying, from the throat-swelling panic he'd felt earlier. what happened? they'd ask and he realizes now he never came up with any answer for them. ]
I can try to find someone to pick me up. Take me back to the dorms.
[ who? how many people does he have in his phone that have begged him for notes or study sessions? would they answer a call? remember when you copied my entire semester's notes for the geopolitics class? could you pick me up from the hospital, i got drugged but i'm okay now!. ]
I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
[ he doesn't bother to try and sit up though, instead staying tucked into the blanket for a few more seconds, soaking up the warmth. he's not dressed for a cool evening in dc, the summer air turning chilly as a storm sweeps in from far off the east coast somewhere. ]
I can call my suite-mates. Maybe one of them? I... I don't even know what time it is.
no subject
the words ring in his ears and he clings to the small glimmer of hope they give him even as he drifts in and out. he's not unconscious, but he isn't truly awake either, his thoughts drifting and vision swimming. the walk to the car, the car ride, even getting placed on a gurney in the er all blurs together into one wild mashup he likely won't remember much of.
the nurses and doctors begin working around him and there are a few who gently urge him to keep his eyes open, to keep answering questions. his name, his birthdate, what he's studying, where he's going to school, what happened, what happened, what happened.
what happened. he tells them he can't remember, just that he went on a date, but even in the wild haze of whatever this is, he knows he can't say. he knows he can't confess. what would it say about professor fuller who brought him here? it's only then he realizes the man isn't in the room, and he doesn't see him out past the sliding doors of the exam room.
it makes sense, really, that he left.
tim would leave him behind, too, after putting him through so much in one night. he'll regret so much about this evening later, but stumbling his way to the polisci building in desperation will always be one of them.
tim's heart beats fast on the monitor as he thinks about it and a friendly nurse pats is hand, then pets his cheek, trying to guide him through deep breaths. there's an iv placed, medicine given, temperatures and blood pressures and so many, many tests. they take photos, but of what he isn't entire sure, they write things down on a paper he's told he'll have to sign later. when the room does finally go quiet, tim curls up on his side. whatever's in the iv has helped (fluids mainly), and though the room doesn't spin as much and the world feels less unsteady, he's exhausted. his face is wet - when did he cry? - and he rubs at it with the sleeve of his shirt.
he can hear nurses outside saying he'll be discharged, that he'll need to be monitored, that he will just have to sleep everything off. he doesn't even know how he'll get to the dorms, for one. how he'll make it into his bed. how he'll sleep with all the noise.
he closes his eyes against the harsh light of the room and curls in on himself a little more, dragging the thin hospital blanket around him a little closer just as he hears the door open again. must be a nurse. a doctor checking something. but if he pretends to be asleep...
but then it's professor fuller's voice that follows. he blinks up at him, wearily. ]
You're still here?
[ there's a little awe in his voice, of course. a little wonder. he'd been sure that he had watched the man walk out before. he resists the urge to reach out and touch him, to make sure it isn't some drug-induced figment of his imagination, but he doesn't. it's the sigh that stops him in his tracks.
what a burden he's become. ]
I always trust you.
[ his voice comes out a little raspy, dry from all the talking and the crying, from the throat-swelling panic he'd felt earlier. what happened? they'd ask and he realizes now he never came up with any answer for them. ]
I can try to find someone to pick me up. Take me back to the dorms.
[ who? how many people does he have in his phone that have begged him for notes or study sessions? would they answer a call? remember when you copied my entire semester's notes for the geopolitics class? could you pick me up from the hospital, i got drugged but i'm okay now!. ]
I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
[ he doesn't bother to try and sit up though, instead staying tucked into the blanket for a few more seconds, soaking up the warmth. he's not dressed for a cool evening in dc, the summer air turning chilly as a storm sweeps in from far off the east coast somewhere. ]
I can call my suite-mates. Maybe one of them? I... I don't even know what time it is.