![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Breathe
Breathe series, part 1
Fandom: Spooks
Pairing: Adam/Ros
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: through 6.2
Summary: Tag to episode 6.2. No way Adam recovered that fast ;)
A/N: thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
philippacrawfor for the beta :)
"Breathe."
Ros turned smoothly in time to see the Russian fall. She scooped up the case of vaccine and just as smoothly turned back, walking as quickly as she could toward Adam.
"Just breathe."
He was breathing, and only just. Slumped against the open car door, one foot in, one foot out. His head rested precariously against the window, nodding as if he was going to pitch forward any second. His eyelashes fluttered, and blood bubbled on his lips as his breath escaped in a strangled and gurgling wheeze.
Ros set the case down and dropped to her knees, catching him as he fell forward from the car. She lowered him to the damp London pavement, and cradled his head in her lap. "Just keep breathing," she whispered, stroking his cheek. He obliged with another bloody wheeze. Ros leaned closer, still whispering. "I guess you did need me after all."
A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up, startled at first to see two people in hazmat suits bending over her. "We've got him," said the nearest, the mask muffling her voice and making her sound like an extra in a Doctor Who episode. Arms wrapped in latex and rubber lifted Adam from her lap, placing him gently on the stretcher between them.
"Wait." Ros pushed herself to her feet, grabbing for the metal case on the pavement beside her. "You need this. It's the vaccine. He needs it right away. Please," she realized she was babbling, and could hear her voice rising with each word.
"I'll take that," a new voice behind her. She whirled to see Harry standing there, among more people in Hazmat suits. Harry took the case from her hand, handed it to the others, and nodded at the two shapeless people who had paused with Adam's stretcher. They pushed him toward the entrance, and as Ros made to follow Harry grasped her arm. "Let them take care of him, Ros," he said. "You need to get yourself sorted."
Following his gaze to her shirt, she realized she was covered in Adam's blood. A new fear seized her. "But he needs the medicine now, Harry," she said, hating the cracking sound of her voice. "He's so far gone..."
"I know," Harry's voice softened. "He'll be okay, he's strong."
She nodded, turning her face away so Harry couldn't see the tears she felt forming in her eyes. "Jo?" she asked.
"Safe. Zaf?"
She shook her head. Harry sighed. "Come inside. The vaccine will be administered to the sickest first, but then they'll need to get round to us. You might as well get cleaned up while we wait."
She allowed Harry to lead her, followed by more people in vapor tight plastic and gas masks who had been allowing her the semblance of freedom, but in reality hadn't been about to let her walk away, not when she was obviously contaminated. They stepped into the barely controlled chaos of the quarantine room.
Still healthy but exposed people were pacing about, some calm but most on the edge of if not in full-blown hysteria. Sicker people on stretchers moaned, and further away were the glass partitioned isolation rooms where she saw the stretcher bearing Adam disappear. She let her mind zone and let the noise of the room flow over her and reduce itself to a mere buzzing background noise.
"Just breathe," she told herself, breathing in the smells of sickness and sterility, unwashed bodies, blood, antiseptic, soap.
Leaving Harry and the others behind she followed another of the masked people, or perhaps it was the same one, who could tell? She was handed a clean pair of scrubs and a linty white towel that had not seen the like of fabric softener for a very long time. Not that she minded, as she scrubbed her face in the tiny sterile bathroom, and pulled the stiff blue fabric over her head, discarding her bloody shirt in the trash. She stared at her pale face in the mirror, and scrubbed at it one more time for good measure. Exiting the bathroom, she moved about between the people and stretchers, looking to see where they had taken Adam.
"Ros," she turned to see Jo coming toward her, rubbing her arm. Jo looked a bit worse for wear, with a tear above her upper lip that was still oozing blood and a fresh bruise beginning to form on her cheek. Behind her was one of what Ros had started mentally calling the Rubber People. "Your turn," Jo said with a grin.
Wordlessly, the Rubber Person came up to Ros, pulled up her sleeve, and without further ceremony jabbed her in the arm with the syringe she was carrying. She deposited the needle in the sharps container a few feet away on the wall and whipped out a pen in its place.
Ros rubbed her arm as Jo had just done, and provided her name for the clipboard the Rubber Person was carrying.
"Good." The Rubber Person's voice was decidedly feminine. "The sooner we get all of you jabbed, the sooner I get out of this thing."
Jo wrinkled her nose in sympathy. "Hot, yeah?"
"And how," the Rubber Person agreed. "Not that I'm complaining, mind, considering what I've been seeing with the full blown symptomatic patients."
"Speaking of them," Ros interrupted. "Do you know what they've done with our friend? Adam Carter."
The Rubber Person consulted her clipboard. "He's in one of the trauma rooms. I can find out for you," she offered.
Ros nodded. "Thanks."
"We're free to go," Jo said, as the Rubber Woman walked away. She made no move to go herself.
"I'm going nowhere until I see Adam," Ros said.
Jo nodded. "Right. Harry's this way."
The quarantined area was thinning out fast, Ros noticed. Presumably the ambulatory patients who had been jabbed were leaving in droves, with only the really ill remaining. They walked through the open space, dodging a couple more needle welding rubber people, into the cantina where Harry was holding court over a pot of tea.
"Nothing stronger here I'm afraid," he said, pushing a mug toward each of them. "That will have to wait till later. Jo," he continued, as she sat gingerly on the plastic chair, hooking her feet about the rungs. "If Adam had gone back for you, it wouldn't have been just him who would have died. You saw all the people out there."
"I know." Jo took her mug in her hands, holding it still and not drinking.
"Including yourself, as you were also exposed."
"I know." Jo set her lips in a grim line and brought the tea up to her mouth to blow on it. She still did not drink.
"Good." Harry turned to Ros who had neither sat nor reached for her cup.
"I shouldn't have left them," she said softly. Left him, echoed in her mind.
"What's done is done," Harry said firmly. "And you got here in the nick of time, in the end."
She nodded. Harry sighed. "We're finished here," he said. "The outbreak is under control. We can all go home."
"I'm not going anywhere until I see Adam," she said.
Harry nodded. Jo drank her tea.
"Excuse me."
Ros turned to the doorway to see a woman standing there in rumpled blue scrubs much like her own, doing her best to pull a mane of black hair into a knot behind her head. "They finally let us take off the suits," the woman said apologetically. "It's me, Gemma, the one who jabbed you."
"Right."
Gemma got her hair under control and beamed at Ros. "I've found your friend. The team is still working on him, but I think you'll be able to see him soon."
Soon meant now. Ros turned her back on her tea and the others and pushed Gemma back through the door. Gemma led her to the trauma room door. The room had a glass wall and a big glass window in the door, in which the curtains were only partly drawn. There was no room to squeeze inside, with the several doctors and nurses clustered around the bed, so Ros contented herself with leaning against the wall and looking in through the glass.
As the nurses and doctors moved about, she caught a glimpse of Adam's dark blonde head, and her stomach tightened. She felt a hand on her arm, and jumped, only to see that Gemma was still there, looking at her apologetically.
"He'll be okay," Gemma said confidently. Ros was not so sure. She turned back to the window. A nurse moved and she got a glimpse of Adam's face. He didn't look conscious and she could see a tube coming out of his mouth. She felt a sharp pain in the palms of her hands and realized that she had curled them into fists, her fingernails piercing her flesh. She forced her hands to relax and open, then forced herself to turn back to Gemma and give her a tightly grateful smile.
Just breathe.
Finally, the medical personnel, rubber people no longer but dressed in rumpled scrubs like Gemma, began to file out of the room. Gemma grasped Ros by the arm again, and led her to a gray haired man who was removing a surgical mask and hat. He ran and hand through his hair which had been made untidy by the hat. He nodded solemnly at Ros. "And you are?"
"His friend," Ros answered, reaching into her pocket prepared to pull out her ID. But the doctor just nodded wearily.
"You're the ones who brought the vaccine," he said.
Ros nodded.
The doctor sighed. "The vaccine stops the virus," he explained, as if giving a lecture to a small child, "but it does not reverse any damage already done. Your friend was already very sick by the time he got his dose."
"I know," Ros swallowed. "But will he be alright?"
"The infection as you probably know settles in the lungs. He's too weak right now to breathe on his own. We have him on a ventilator until his lungs heal enough, and we have him on heavy doses of antibiotics and steroids to decrease inflammation and combat secondary infections. We're also giving him pain medication and sedatives," the doctor paused. "He's not woken up as yet."
He had not answered her question and by now Ros knew he wouldn't. "I'd like to see him," she said quietly, making that a statement and not a question. The doctor stepped aside and Gemma led her into the room.
The overwhelming sound in the room was the purring and hissing of the ventilator as it pushed air into Adam's lungs. Ros felt a rising sense of hysteria at the loud whooshing. How could anyone stand it? She took a deep breath, forced the feeling down and turned to look directly at Adam.
He was sitting almost upright in the bed, head lolling back slightly, eyes closed. He was shirtless, and had round stuck on patches from cardiac leads placed about his chest, and an IV inserted into his left upper arm. A dark blue strap around the back of his head held the tube in place that connected to the machine that was pumping him full of oxygen. The machine, just beyond his head, was small for its noise and power, with twinkling red and green lights. A nurse sat on a stool, watching the machine and making notes on a small computer tablet.
"I'll take over for awhile," Gemma said softly. The other nurse nodded, and slid off the stool, handing her the tablet. As the other nurse left, Ros watched Gemma go through the motions of checking the machine, and the several bags of fluids that were attached to the intravenous tubing coming from Adam's upper arm. She didn't sit, but instead wheeled the stool to the other side of the bed, offering it to Ros.
Ros perched on the stool and reached over the railing to take Adam's hand. It was ice cold, and clammy. "He's cold," Ros said, unnecessarily, as Gemma was already fixing the sheet and blanket that were crumpled at the foot of the bed, straightening them to pull up and over him. Ros kept his hand outside the blanket and held it between both of her own, rubbing to warm it.
She watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically for a few moments, and then reached up to touch his cheek. Nearly three days worth of blonde stubble, and it barely showed. "Your hair could do with a bit of a wash," she told him, smoothing it back from his forehead.
As if on cue, Adam stirred. His eyelids flickered and then opened enough to reveal cloudy gray slits. His hand spasmed in hers, and he started to cough, his whole upper body jerking. The machine began to alarm with a high pitched klaxon sound.
"Adam!" Panicking, Ros grasped his shoulder, trying to hold him still. His eyes weren't focusing, and his already pale face was starting to turn a dusky color about the lips. "Gemma, what's happening?"
"He's fighting the machine." Gemma leaned over the rail touching Adam's other shoulder with one hand, hitting a button on the ventilator with the other. The alarm blessedly silenced, but the room continued to echo with Adam's raspy coughs. Dark fluid was beginning to come into the tube in his mouth.
"Is that blood?" Ros asked, horrified.
"He's still bleeding a bit but it should stop soon," Gemma assured her. "I'm going to need to suction him. Would you hold his hands for me, please? Both of them," she amended, looking down at the hand Ros was already holding.
Ros let go of his shoulder, and took his other hand. "Adam, it's okay." She tried to remove the panic from her voice and make it sound soothing, but it didn't seem to be working. His eyes slid back and forth across her face, still unfocused.
Gemma disconnected the tube in his mouth from the longer cord connecting it to the machine. She snaked a long thin tube down the hole, and then slowly pulled it back, while clamping her thumb down over a hole in its side. There was a loud sucking noise, and fluid, mucous, and clotted blood came out from Adam's throat and into the tube. Ros felt bile rise up in her own throat and swallowed it down.
Adam's eyes widened, and he struggled, trying to pull his hands from Ros. She squeezed his fingers tightly, surprised at the strength he was suddenly showing. "Hold still, love," she said. "Please."
Gemma reattached the machine, and the alarming did not resume, though Adam was still coughing, and struggling against Ros.
"If he's fighting against the machine," Ros said. "Doesn't that mean he doesn't need it?"
"The respiratory therapist just tested him before we got here," Gemma told her. "The oxygen level in his blood was too low. They'll try again in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I need to keep cleaning out his lungs, while we've got the tube to do so. The doctor wants it done every fifteen minutes."
Ros winced in sympathy, looking down at Adam's pale face. His struggling was lessening, and his eyes had slid closed, but they were still scrunched up at the edges.
"I'm giving him something for the pain." Gemma twisted a syringe into one of the ports on Adam's IV tubing, and slowly pushed the contents into the fluid already being pumped into his veins.
Adam's muscles slowly relaxed. He stopped struggling, and his fingers curled loosely around Ros's hand. His eyelids fluttered again, and for a moment the grey eyes opened.
"Adam." Ros leaned over close to his face. His eyes focused on hers and held. "You're going to be okay," she told him. She squeezed his hand, and felt his fingers press back in response. Then his eyes slid closed again, and his fingers let go of hers. She placed his hand back on the bed, keeping hers over it.
She realized she'd been holding her breath, and she let it out in a long slow stream, as the ventilator resumed its rhythmic hissing. An overwhelming tiredness descended over her. She was unable to remember when she had last slept - had it been two, three days ago? Or just hours? Time had all run together. She looked up at Adam - sleeping peacefully now, but she was still reluctant to leave him.
She lowered the upper portion of the bed's side rail, and keeping her hold on Adam's hand, leaned forward and rested her forehead on the pillow next to Adam. The rhythmic hissing of the ventilator, earlier jarring, was now soothing, and lulled her to sleep.
She woke with a start to a hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked up. "Adam." He was sleeping peacefully, as before.
"Shh, Ros, easy." Harry's voice. She lifted her head and turned to face him, groggy and bleary eyed from sleep.
"Adam's all right," Harry said gently. "He's in good hands. You need to go home, and rest."
She shook her head. Squinting across to the other side of the bed, eyes still fuzzy, she saw that Gemma had been replaced by the nurse who had been there when they first came in. "I'm not leaving him. Not again."
Harry sighed. "If you go home, I will stay here," he said. "Until you get back, all right? But I want you gone at least four hours, and in different clothes when you come back." His voice trailed off as she raised her eyebrows and plucked at her blue scrub top.
"Any clothes would probably be an improvement," she said dryly.
"Precisely."
"What about you?" her tone softened. "Shouldn't you be going home yourself?"
"I've been. Home, ate, showered, slept, called you and got your voicemail, came back to find you still here."
Guiltily, Ros reached into the pocket of her scrub pants and pulled out her phone, which she'd left on silent mode. Three missed calls from Harry. One from Jo.
"Go home," Harry said. "Adam won't be left alone, I promise."
Ros reluctantly agreed. Giving Adam's hand one last squeeze, she slipped out of the room, leaving Harry to take her seat.
At home, Ros closed the door behind her and stood wearily in the entranceway for a moment. She tossed her keys in the bowl on the table and entered the bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled. How many days had it been since she'd woken up in that bed with Adam curled beside her. Crossing the room to the far side, she picked up the pillow and held it to her nose, searching for Adam's scent.
Cursing herself for her sentimentality, she threw the pillow back onto the bed, and walked into the bathroom. She pulled the scrub shirt over her head, and tossed it onto the floor in one motion, stepping out of the trousers as she switched on the shower. She stood under the hot water until it ran cold, letting it pummel the muscles in her back and neck.
Shivering as the water ran cold and raised goose flesh all over her body, she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself. She wrapped a second around her hair, and not bothering to put clothes on, tumbled onto the bed and immediately into a deep sleep.
She dreamed of Adam. In the car, telling her he needed her. In the other car, unconscious with blood oozing from his mouth. In the hospital bed, struggling to breathe, eyes locking on hers accusingly. Moaning, she woke curled up in a tangled mess of damp towels.
Rolling off the bed, she jerked on jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. "Different enough for you, Harry?" she muttered. She eyed the coffee maker in her kitchen, with its dirty chipped pot and no filters to be found, and decided instead to stop for the caffeine required to clear her head on the way back to the hospital.
Entering the glassed in trauma room in the isolation ward, holding the large cup carefully so as not to spill any coffee out of the sipper lid, she stopped short. The trauma room was empty, the bed stripped. An aide was there with a pile of fresh sheets, and looked up inquiringly.
"Where is the man who was in this bed?" Ros demanded.
The woman frowned.
"Adam Carter," Ros said, hating the way her voice was rising in hysteria. "Where is he?"
The woman shrugged. "Upstairs maybe. This is casualty."
"Yes, I know that." Ros stopped, rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. "Thank you." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
She hoped to find Gemma, but soon realized that the girl would be long gone home. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Harry.
"You're supposed to be sleeping." Harry's voice sounded tired.
"I did," she said shortly. "For as long as I could. Where's Adam?"
"They moved him. Upstairs. Room 201. They need to keep that room clear for casualty, and he was stable enough..."
"Thank you." Ros switched off the call and headed for the stairs. She rounded the corner of room 201 and started in surprise. It wasn't Harry sitting in the bedside chair, but Jo.
Jo looked up and grinned cheekily at the coffee cup. "You bring one for me?"
"Where's Harry?" Ros frowned at her cell phone.
"He had to get back to work. I'm the relief. He's doing okay, by the way," Jo nodded toward the bed.
Ros took her first look at Adam, and started in surprise once again. The machine was gone. In its place was an oxygen mask strapped to his face. He was still sitting almost upright, dressed in a pajama top this time, and asleep.
"He's been asleep since I got here," Jo continued her report. "Which is probably just as well," she added under her breath. "But Harry said they took the tube out shortly before they brought him up here. He was breathing well enough on his own. So I guess that means he's better."
Ros set the coffee down on the bedside table, next to a pitcher of melting ice. She leaned over the bed. She touched his cheek gently. He stirred slightly, but didn't open his eyes.
"So I'll be off then, shall I?" Jo didn't wait for an answer; when Ros turned around she was gone.
Ros sank into the newly vacated chair, took a long draw of her coffee, and surveyed the room. A monitor on the shelf across from the bed blinked a steady 94%. Fluid dripped from IV bags, but there was no more whooshing of a ventilator. Instead just a small hissing from the oxygen on the wall.
A wave of sleepiness came over her and she groaned. "Great. You can't sleep in your own bed, only in an uncomfortable hospital chair?" she groused at herself.
Giving up, she set the coffee cup back down and closed her eyes.
She woke with a start some time later, and thought for a moment that she was dreaming again. Rubbing her eyes she saw that Adam was stirring in the bed. She leaned forward and grasped his hands just as he pulled the oxygen mask from his face.
"Adam, stop. You need that." She pulled the strap back over his head, and tried to place the mask back over his mouth and nose.
"Can't breathe." His voice was hoarse - faint and scratchy. He reached up for the mask again, and again she grabbed his hands. He tried weakly to tug them away, as his grey eyes locked on hers, bloodshot and with heavy grey circles around them. "Ros."
"Easy. Just hold still." An alarm started, and Ros saw that the monitor was flashing an 80 at them. Keeping one hand on Adam's she slapped the nurse call button with the other. "Easy. Just breathe."
Adam's eyes stayed locked on hers, and to his credit he tried, his breath coming out in a groan. A trickle of sweat ran down his face. A nurse ran into the room, and Ros stepped out of the way. The nurse put one hand on Adam's shoulder, murmuring soothingly, and placed her stethoscope on Adam's chest. After a moment of listening she said softly "Your lungs are clear, you're breathing just fine. You just need to relax, stop fighting." She stepped back and gave Ros an encouraging look. Not needing to be told, Ros pushed the side rail down on the bed and sat down next to Adam on the hard plastic mattress.
She took his hands again. "Breathe, Adam. Just breathe, you can do it. Nice and easy." The alarm stopped and she glanced at the monitor to see that the number had gone above 90.
"Pulse is still a little high," the nurse said. She'd moved to the other side of the bed, and had her fingers pressed gently to Adam's neck.
"Chest hurts," Adam whispered, talking to Ros and not the nurse.
"I'll get some pain medication," the nurse told them both. She left the room.
Adam leaned forward, resting his forehead against Ros's shoulder. She rested her chin lightly against the top of his head. Someone had washed his hair and it smelled like antiseptic hospital soap. She ran her hands up and down his back, and rubbed at the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders. Slowly she felt him start to relax against her. His breath, heavy through the sides of the oxygen mask, was warm through her sweatshirt.
The nurse came back in, holding a syringe. Adam lifted his head slightly. "no," he whispered hoarsely.
The nurse paused, frowning,
"What's in it?' Ros asked.
"Morphine," the nurse said. "It's to relieve his pain and help ease his shortness of breath."
Ros took Adam's chin and gently lifted his head the rest of the way. She studied his pale face, noting the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. "Let her give you the medicine, love."
He shook his head slowly, removing it from her grasp. "I don't want to sleep again," he said. "Please."
Ros looked at the nurse. "Half?"
The nurse looked at Adam. He sighed, and gave a reluctant nod. The nurse pushed the syringe into his IV tubing and emptied exactly half. She left the room again, and Adam sank back into the pillows.
"So what shall we do now?" Ros asked, watching the lines about his eyes soften. True to the nurse's word, his breathing was easing as well. "Watch some football on the telly?"
Adam grimaced, and gave a barking cough. "Don't make me laugh," he whispered.
"Sorry. Is the pain better?" she asked.
"Yeah." He swallowed. "How long have I been here?"
Ros frowned. "I'm not sure, actually," she admitted. "Harry sent me home..."
"Harry was here before," Adam murmured. "He told me Jo was okay. I don't think that was a dream."
"It wasn't. She's fine. She was here with you when I got back."
Adam's eyes widened slightly. "Then she's not angry with me?"
"Oh I wouldn't say that," Ros grinned tightly. "But you know us. Never let a little anger get in the way of a bedside vigil. Sorry," she added as he coughed again.
"Sure," he coughed. "Sure you are."
She reached over to the table and poured some of the melted ice into the cup next to the pitcher. She held the cup to his mouth, allowing him to move aside the oxygen mask long enough to drink. He tried to take the cup from her, but only succeeded in spilling water down the front of his pajama shirt.
"Shit," he gasped, "that's cold."
"Hold still," she scolded him, taking the cup back and holding it steady long enough for him to drink.
Setting the cup down, she mopped at the front of his shirt with a corner of the sheet and looked up to see him smiling at her.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
"Right," she muttered.
"So are you going to put the football on or what?"
"Or what," she retorted. "Adam," her voice softened. "I'm sorry."
"Sshh." Adam shifted his position slightly in the bed, moving closer to the far side. "You saved my life, saved all our lives, you have nothing to be sorry for." He tugged at her arm, pulling her toward him. She moved over next to him against the pillows, and rested her head very lightly against his shoulder, careful not to press too hard.
"Stay here with me," he whispered. "Just a little while." He shifted again, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. His breath through the mask was warm and moist against her hair.
"Just a little while," she agreed, giving way to the drowsiness once again.
~^~^~
Two days later, Adam was ready to go home. Restless and stircrazy, he rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed, wearing the set of clean clothes that Ros had brought him, as he waited for the nurse to bring him his discharge instruction. The bed creaked, the wheels sliding ever so slightly with each movement.
Ros, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, rolled her eyes. "Will you just sit still, Adam, please."
"I want to get out of here already," he muttered.
"And stop whining," she instructed.
He scowled at her. "Well why don't you make yourself useful then and go see what's holding them up?"
"Or I'll just stand here and watch you suffer," she shot back. To be honest, Ros was enjoying herself. The fact that Adam was whining and grumbling meant that he was feeling better. The helpless, clingy Adam who had scared her so badly was gone.
Before their squabble could go further, the nurse arrived, carrying a sheaf of papers and packets of medications. Adam's face paled. "Do I need all that?" he asked.
"If you don't want to end up back in that bed, yes," she told him, setting everything down on the bed table in front of him with a little more force than necessary.
Ros grinned to herself. Apparently the nurse had preferred the very ill Adam to the feeling better and cranky Adam. By all accounts he'd been a bit of a handful yesterday.
"Your discharge instructions," the nurse said, pointing to the sheaf of papers. "Mind you follow them. Here are your medications." She set the packs down before him again one at a time. "Antibiotics - mind you finish them all, or the infection will come back. These are the steroid taper, you can't stop those medicines cold, it needs to be gradual. The paper will tell you how many to take each day until they are gone. These are for pain and cough, you can take them or not, as you will. Any questions?"
"Yes," Adam said mildly. "May I go now?"
"You may." The nurse smiled in spite of herself. "I'll just fetch a wheelchair."
"I don't need that. Please." Adam put on his most charming smile. "Ros will be with me."
The nurse glanced at Ros, who peeled herself off the wall and nodded. "We'll be fine."
"Alright then," she left the room, and Ros moved over to the bed just in time to grab Adam's arm as he stood, and wobbled.
"Easy," Ros said.
"I'm okay," he told her, but his hand slipped over her arm as well, fingers gripping her for support.
"Let's just take it slow, okay? You won't be running after spies for a few more days." She scooped up his packets of papers and medicines with her free hands.
After a couple of steps, Adam grew more steady, and he let go of her arm. Ros kept her hand on his, sliding her fingers through the crook in his elbow companionably. By the time they reached the front entrance to the hospital, he was holding on to her again. His breath was harsher and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his face.
Ros guided him down the steps, across the pavement and into her illegally parked car. The benefits of being a Spook. Inside the car, Adam leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "I hate this," he muttered. "Being so damned weak."
Ros started the car and then turned to look at him. "Adam," she said. "Three days ago you were dying of the plague, bleeding out into your lungs. The fact that you just walked out of the hospital on your own two legs I would say is a pretty good sign."
"Point taken," Adam mumbled, not opening his eyes. He didn't say another word for the duration of the trip - which for London traffic was not too bad, over the bridge to Southwark and another illegal parking job on the corner of the block where Adam had his flat. She helped him out of the car, and into the building, steering him toward the lift.
"I never take the lift," he protested.
She did not respond to that, just steered him on in.
Once inside the flat, Adam headed toward the couch, but Ros grasped his arm again and guided him toward the bedroom instead. "I just got out of bed," he grumbled, but there was a distinct lack of protest as she gave him a gentle push back on to the bed. She set his papers and pills down on the bedside table next to the remote control for the way too big television, and studied him.
He looked much better than he had whilst coughing up blood in the car, and whilst hooked up to the respirator, but he was still quite pale, and trembling with the exertion of coming home.
She pursed her lips together. "Right," she said. "I'll get you a glass of water." She headed out to the kitchen, had a look in the cupboards on the off chance that Adam actually had groceries, but found them pretty much as empty as her own. A slightly moldy loaf of bread, and some dried pasta in the one cupboard spoke of good intentions, and there was an excellent bottle of red wine in the cabinet, but the only truly useful item at the moment was the large bottle of Evian in the fridge.
Pulling a clean glass from the orderly lineup in the cabinet over the sink, she filled it a little more than halfway with the water, and carried it back to the bedroom. Adam was in the same position she had left him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiled tiredly at her, and took the glass from her.
"Any meds you're due for now?" she rummaged through the pile on the table, until she felt Adam's fingers wrap around her wrist. She turned to look back at him.
"Ros." He set the glass down on the table and tugged at her hand indicating he wanted her to sit with him. "I just got home. Leave it. Please."
She sat down on the bed next to him, running her hand over the white comforter. White walls, white sheets, white pillows, "You could do with a bit of colour in here," she observed.
Adam started to laugh, deep in his throat. "Didn't seem to bother you the last time you were here," he murmured. The laugh turned to coughing, and he leaned against her, resting his head against her shoulder, smothering the cough against her jacket. She stroked his hair gently till the coughing passed. He mumbled something intelligible against her shoulder.
"Pardon?" She moved her hand back as he lifted his head and smiled at her sheepishly.
"I'm hungry."
She raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they feed you breakfast this morning?"
He made a face. "Hospital food."
"Right. Whereas the moldy bread and pasta you have here in the kitchen is so much more appealing."
"You could fix me something," he suggested. It was her turn to laugh.
"Yeah, right."
"Take away it is then." He gave her his most winning smile.
Ros sighed. "You're going to owe me big time."
Reaching over he took her face in both his hands, and drew it down to give her a tender kiss to the side of the mouth. As his lips pressed against her cheek, he whispered, "I already do."
~the end~
Breathe series, part 1
Fandom: Spooks
Pairing: Adam/Ros
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: through 6.2
Summary: Tag to episode 6.2. No way Adam recovered that fast ;)
A/N: thanks to
philippacrawfor for the beta :)"Breathe."
Ros turned smoothly in time to see the Russian fall. She scooped up the case of vaccine and just as smoothly turned back, walking as quickly as she could toward Adam.
"Just breathe."
He was breathing, and only just. Slumped against the open car door, one foot in, one foot out. His head rested precariously against the window, nodding as if he was going to pitch forward any second. His eyelashes fluttered, and blood bubbled on his lips as his breath escaped in a strangled and gurgling wheeze.
Ros set the case down and dropped to her knees, catching him as he fell forward from the car. She lowered him to the damp London pavement, and cradled his head in her lap. "Just keep breathing," she whispered, stroking his cheek. He obliged with another bloody wheeze. Ros leaned closer, still whispering. "I guess you did need me after all."
A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up, startled at first to see two people in hazmat suits bending over her. "We've got him," said the nearest, the mask muffling her voice and making her sound like an extra in a Doctor Who episode. Arms wrapped in latex and rubber lifted Adam from her lap, placing him gently on the stretcher between them.
"Wait." Ros pushed herself to her feet, grabbing for the metal case on the pavement beside her. "You need this. It's the vaccine. He needs it right away. Please," she realized she was babbling, and could hear her voice rising with each word.
"I'll take that," a new voice behind her. She whirled to see Harry standing there, among more people in Hazmat suits. Harry took the case from her hand, handed it to the others, and nodded at the two shapeless people who had paused with Adam's stretcher. They pushed him toward the entrance, and as Ros made to follow Harry grasped her arm. "Let them take care of him, Ros," he said. "You need to get yourself sorted."
Following his gaze to her shirt, she realized she was covered in Adam's blood. A new fear seized her. "But he needs the medicine now, Harry," she said, hating the cracking sound of her voice. "He's so far gone..."
"I know," Harry's voice softened. "He'll be okay, he's strong."
She nodded, turning her face away so Harry couldn't see the tears she felt forming in her eyes. "Jo?" she asked.
"Safe. Zaf?"
She shook her head. Harry sighed. "Come inside. The vaccine will be administered to the sickest first, but then they'll need to get round to us. You might as well get cleaned up while we wait."
She allowed Harry to lead her, followed by more people in vapor tight plastic and gas masks who had been allowing her the semblance of freedom, but in reality hadn't been about to let her walk away, not when she was obviously contaminated. They stepped into the barely controlled chaos of the quarantine room.
Still healthy but exposed people were pacing about, some calm but most on the edge of if not in full-blown hysteria. Sicker people on stretchers moaned, and further away were the glass partitioned isolation rooms where she saw the stretcher bearing Adam disappear. She let her mind zone and let the noise of the room flow over her and reduce itself to a mere buzzing background noise.
"Just breathe," she told herself, breathing in the smells of sickness and sterility, unwashed bodies, blood, antiseptic, soap.
Leaving Harry and the others behind she followed another of the masked people, or perhaps it was the same one, who could tell? She was handed a clean pair of scrubs and a linty white towel that had not seen the like of fabric softener for a very long time. Not that she minded, as she scrubbed her face in the tiny sterile bathroom, and pulled the stiff blue fabric over her head, discarding her bloody shirt in the trash. She stared at her pale face in the mirror, and scrubbed at it one more time for good measure. Exiting the bathroom, she moved about between the people and stretchers, looking to see where they had taken Adam.
"Ros," she turned to see Jo coming toward her, rubbing her arm. Jo looked a bit worse for wear, with a tear above her upper lip that was still oozing blood and a fresh bruise beginning to form on her cheek. Behind her was one of what Ros had started mentally calling the Rubber People. "Your turn," Jo said with a grin.
Wordlessly, the Rubber Person came up to Ros, pulled up her sleeve, and without further ceremony jabbed her in the arm with the syringe she was carrying. She deposited the needle in the sharps container a few feet away on the wall and whipped out a pen in its place.
Ros rubbed her arm as Jo had just done, and provided her name for the clipboard the Rubber Person was carrying.
"Good." The Rubber Person's voice was decidedly feminine. "The sooner we get all of you jabbed, the sooner I get out of this thing."
Jo wrinkled her nose in sympathy. "Hot, yeah?"
"And how," the Rubber Person agreed. "Not that I'm complaining, mind, considering what I've been seeing with the full blown symptomatic patients."
"Speaking of them," Ros interrupted. "Do you know what they've done with our friend? Adam Carter."
The Rubber Person consulted her clipboard. "He's in one of the trauma rooms. I can find out for you," she offered.
Ros nodded. "Thanks."
"We're free to go," Jo said, as the Rubber Woman walked away. She made no move to go herself.
"I'm going nowhere until I see Adam," Ros said.
Jo nodded. "Right. Harry's this way."
The quarantined area was thinning out fast, Ros noticed. Presumably the ambulatory patients who had been jabbed were leaving in droves, with only the really ill remaining. They walked through the open space, dodging a couple more needle welding rubber people, into the cantina where Harry was holding court over a pot of tea.
"Nothing stronger here I'm afraid," he said, pushing a mug toward each of them. "That will have to wait till later. Jo," he continued, as she sat gingerly on the plastic chair, hooking her feet about the rungs. "If Adam had gone back for you, it wouldn't have been just him who would have died. You saw all the people out there."
"I know." Jo took her mug in her hands, holding it still and not drinking.
"Including yourself, as you were also exposed."
"I know." Jo set her lips in a grim line and brought the tea up to her mouth to blow on it. She still did not drink.
"Good." Harry turned to Ros who had neither sat nor reached for her cup.
"I shouldn't have left them," she said softly. Left him, echoed in her mind.
"What's done is done," Harry said firmly. "And you got here in the nick of time, in the end."
She nodded. Harry sighed. "We're finished here," he said. "The outbreak is under control. We can all go home."
"I'm not going anywhere until I see Adam," she said.
Harry nodded. Jo drank her tea.
"Excuse me."
Ros turned to the doorway to see a woman standing there in rumpled blue scrubs much like her own, doing her best to pull a mane of black hair into a knot behind her head. "They finally let us take off the suits," the woman said apologetically. "It's me, Gemma, the one who jabbed you."
"Right."
Gemma got her hair under control and beamed at Ros. "I've found your friend. The team is still working on him, but I think you'll be able to see him soon."
Soon meant now. Ros turned her back on her tea and the others and pushed Gemma back through the door. Gemma led her to the trauma room door. The room had a glass wall and a big glass window in the door, in which the curtains were only partly drawn. There was no room to squeeze inside, with the several doctors and nurses clustered around the bed, so Ros contented herself with leaning against the wall and looking in through the glass.
As the nurses and doctors moved about, she caught a glimpse of Adam's dark blonde head, and her stomach tightened. She felt a hand on her arm, and jumped, only to see that Gemma was still there, looking at her apologetically.
"He'll be okay," Gemma said confidently. Ros was not so sure. She turned back to the window. A nurse moved and she got a glimpse of Adam's face. He didn't look conscious and she could see a tube coming out of his mouth. She felt a sharp pain in the palms of her hands and realized that she had curled them into fists, her fingernails piercing her flesh. She forced her hands to relax and open, then forced herself to turn back to Gemma and give her a tightly grateful smile.
Just breathe.
Finally, the medical personnel, rubber people no longer but dressed in rumpled scrubs like Gemma, began to file out of the room. Gemma grasped Ros by the arm again, and led her to a gray haired man who was removing a surgical mask and hat. He ran and hand through his hair which had been made untidy by the hat. He nodded solemnly at Ros. "And you are?"
"His friend," Ros answered, reaching into her pocket prepared to pull out her ID. But the doctor just nodded wearily.
"You're the ones who brought the vaccine," he said.
Ros nodded.
The doctor sighed. "The vaccine stops the virus," he explained, as if giving a lecture to a small child, "but it does not reverse any damage already done. Your friend was already very sick by the time he got his dose."
"I know," Ros swallowed. "But will he be alright?"
"The infection as you probably know settles in the lungs. He's too weak right now to breathe on his own. We have him on a ventilator until his lungs heal enough, and we have him on heavy doses of antibiotics and steroids to decrease inflammation and combat secondary infections. We're also giving him pain medication and sedatives," the doctor paused. "He's not woken up as yet."
He had not answered her question and by now Ros knew he wouldn't. "I'd like to see him," she said quietly, making that a statement and not a question. The doctor stepped aside and Gemma led her into the room.
The overwhelming sound in the room was the purring and hissing of the ventilator as it pushed air into Adam's lungs. Ros felt a rising sense of hysteria at the loud whooshing. How could anyone stand it? She took a deep breath, forced the feeling down and turned to look directly at Adam.
He was sitting almost upright in the bed, head lolling back slightly, eyes closed. He was shirtless, and had round stuck on patches from cardiac leads placed about his chest, and an IV inserted into his left upper arm. A dark blue strap around the back of his head held the tube in place that connected to the machine that was pumping him full of oxygen. The machine, just beyond his head, was small for its noise and power, with twinkling red and green lights. A nurse sat on a stool, watching the machine and making notes on a small computer tablet.
"I'll take over for awhile," Gemma said softly. The other nurse nodded, and slid off the stool, handing her the tablet. As the other nurse left, Ros watched Gemma go through the motions of checking the machine, and the several bags of fluids that were attached to the intravenous tubing coming from Adam's upper arm. She didn't sit, but instead wheeled the stool to the other side of the bed, offering it to Ros.
Ros perched on the stool and reached over the railing to take Adam's hand. It was ice cold, and clammy. "He's cold," Ros said, unnecessarily, as Gemma was already fixing the sheet and blanket that were crumpled at the foot of the bed, straightening them to pull up and over him. Ros kept his hand outside the blanket and held it between both of her own, rubbing to warm it.
She watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically for a few moments, and then reached up to touch his cheek. Nearly three days worth of blonde stubble, and it barely showed. "Your hair could do with a bit of a wash," she told him, smoothing it back from his forehead.
As if on cue, Adam stirred. His eyelids flickered and then opened enough to reveal cloudy gray slits. His hand spasmed in hers, and he started to cough, his whole upper body jerking. The machine began to alarm with a high pitched klaxon sound.
"Adam!" Panicking, Ros grasped his shoulder, trying to hold him still. His eyes weren't focusing, and his already pale face was starting to turn a dusky color about the lips. "Gemma, what's happening?"
"He's fighting the machine." Gemma leaned over the rail touching Adam's other shoulder with one hand, hitting a button on the ventilator with the other. The alarm blessedly silenced, but the room continued to echo with Adam's raspy coughs. Dark fluid was beginning to come into the tube in his mouth.
"Is that blood?" Ros asked, horrified.
"He's still bleeding a bit but it should stop soon," Gemma assured her. "I'm going to need to suction him. Would you hold his hands for me, please? Both of them," she amended, looking down at the hand Ros was already holding.
Ros let go of his shoulder, and took his other hand. "Adam, it's okay." She tried to remove the panic from her voice and make it sound soothing, but it didn't seem to be working. His eyes slid back and forth across her face, still unfocused.
Gemma disconnected the tube in his mouth from the longer cord connecting it to the machine. She snaked a long thin tube down the hole, and then slowly pulled it back, while clamping her thumb down over a hole in its side. There was a loud sucking noise, and fluid, mucous, and clotted blood came out from Adam's throat and into the tube. Ros felt bile rise up in her own throat and swallowed it down.
Adam's eyes widened, and he struggled, trying to pull his hands from Ros. She squeezed his fingers tightly, surprised at the strength he was suddenly showing. "Hold still, love," she said. "Please."
Gemma reattached the machine, and the alarming did not resume, though Adam was still coughing, and struggling against Ros.
"If he's fighting against the machine," Ros said. "Doesn't that mean he doesn't need it?"
"The respiratory therapist just tested him before we got here," Gemma told her. "The oxygen level in his blood was too low. They'll try again in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I need to keep cleaning out his lungs, while we've got the tube to do so. The doctor wants it done every fifteen minutes."
Ros winced in sympathy, looking down at Adam's pale face. His struggling was lessening, and his eyes had slid closed, but they were still scrunched up at the edges.
"I'm giving him something for the pain." Gemma twisted a syringe into one of the ports on Adam's IV tubing, and slowly pushed the contents into the fluid already being pumped into his veins.
Adam's muscles slowly relaxed. He stopped struggling, and his fingers curled loosely around Ros's hand. His eyelids fluttered again, and for a moment the grey eyes opened.
"Adam." Ros leaned over close to his face. His eyes focused on hers and held. "You're going to be okay," she told him. She squeezed his hand, and felt his fingers press back in response. Then his eyes slid closed again, and his fingers let go of hers. She placed his hand back on the bed, keeping hers over it.
She realized she'd been holding her breath, and she let it out in a long slow stream, as the ventilator resumed its rhythmic hissing. An overwhelming tiredness descended over her. She was unable to remember when she had last slept - had it been two, three days ago? Or just hours? Time had all run together. She looked up at Adam - sleeping peacefully now, but she was still reluctant to leave him.
She lowered the upper portion of the bed's side rail, and keeping her hold on Adam's hand, leaned forward and rested her forehead on the pillow next to Adam. The rhythmic hissing of the ventilator, earlier jarring, was now soothing, and lulled her to sleep.
She woke with a start to a hand on her shoulder. Her head jerked up. "Adam." He was sleeping peacefully, as before.
"Shh, Ros, easy." Harry's voice. She lifted her head and turned to face him, groggy and bleary eyed from sleep.
"Adam's all right," Harry said gently. "He's in good hands. You need to go home, and rest."
She shook her head. Squinting across to the other side of the bed, eyes still fuzzy, she saw that Gemma had been replaced by the nurse who had been there when they first came in. "I'm not leaving him. Not again."
Harry sighed. "If you go home, I will stay here," he said. "Until you get back, all right? But I want you gone at least four hours, and in different clothes when you come back." His voice trailed off as she raised her eyebrows and plucked at her blue scrub top.
"Any clothes would probably be an improvement," she said dryly.
"Precisely."
"What about you?" her tone softened. "Shouldn't you be going home yourself?"
"I've been. Home, ate, showered, slept, called you and got your voicemail, came back to find you still here."
Guiltily, Ros reached into the pocket of her scrub pants and pulled out her phone, which she'd left on silent mode. Three missed calls from Harry. One from Jo.
"Go home," Harry said. "Adam won't be left alone, I promise."
Ros reluctantly agreed. Giving Adam's hand one last squeeze, she slipped out of the room, leaving Harry to take her seat.
At home, Ros closed the door behind her and stood wearily in the entranceway for a moment. She tossed her keys in the bowl on the table and entered the bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled. How many days had it been since she'd woken up in that bed with Adam curled beside her. Crossing the room to the far side, she picked up the pillow and held it to her nose, searching for Adam's scent.
Cursing herself for her sentimentality, she threw the pillow back onto the bed, and walked into the bathroom. She pulled the scrub shirt over her head, and tossed it onto the floor in one motion, stepping out of the trousers as she switched on the shower. She stood under the hot water until it ran cold, letting it pummel the muscles in her back and neck.
Shivering as the water ran cold and raised goose flesh all over her body, she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself. She wrapped a second around her hair, and not bothering to put clothes on, tumbled onto the bed and immediately into a deep sleep.
She dreamed of Adam. In the car, telling her he needed her. In the other car, unconscious with blood oozing from his mouth. In the hospital bed, struggling to breathe, eyes locking on hers accusingly. Moaning, she woke curled up in a tangled mess of damp towels.
Rolling off the bed, she jerked on jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. "Different enough for you, Harry?" she muttered. She eyed the coffee maker in her kitchen, with its dirty chipped pot and no filters to be found, and decided instead to stop for the caffeine required to clear her head on the way back to the hospital.
Entering the glassed in trauma room in the isolation ward, holding the large cup carefully so as not to spill any coffee out of the sipper lid, she stopped short. The trauma room was empty, the bed stripped. An aide was there with a pile of fresh sheets, and looked up inquiringly.
"Where is the man who was in this bed?" Ros demanded.
The woman frowned.
"Adam Carter," Ros said, hating the way her voice was rising in hysteria. "Where is he?"
The woman shrugged. "Upstairs maybe. This is casualty."
"Yes, I know that." Ros stopped, rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. "Thank you." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
She hoped to find Gemma, but soon realized that the girl would be long gone home. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Harry.
"You're supposed to be sleeping." Harry's voice sounded tired.
"I did," she said shortly. "For as long as I could. Where's Adam?"
"They moved him. Upstairs. Room 201. They need to keep that room clear for casualty, and he was stable enough..."
"Thank you." Ros switched off the call and headed for the stairs. She rounded the corner of room 201 and started in surprise. It wasn't Harry sitting in the bedside chair, but Jo.
Jo looked up and grinned cheekily at the coffee cup. "You bring one for me?"
"Where's Harry?" Ros frowned at her cell phone.
"He had to get back to work. I'm the relief. He's doing okay, by the way," Jo nodded toward the bed.
Ros took her first look at Adam, and started in surprise once again. The machine was gone. In its place was an oxygen mask strapped to his face. He was still sitting almost upright, dressed in a pajama top this time, and asleep.
"He's been asleep since I got here," Jo continued her report. "Which is probably just as well," she added under her breath. "But Harry said they took the tube out shortly before they brought him up here. He was breathing well enough on his own. So I guess that means he's better."
Ros set the coffee down on the bedside table, next to a pitcher of melting ice. She leaned over the bed. She touched his cheek gently. He stirred slightly, but didn't open his eyes.
"So I'll be off then, shall I?" Jo didn't wait for an answer; when Ros turned around she was gone.
Ros sank into the newly vacated chair, took a long draw of her coffee, and surveyed the room. A monitor on the shelf across from the bed blinked a steady 94%. Fluid dripped from IV bags, but there was no more whooshing of a ventilator. Instead just a small hissing from the oxygen on the wall.
A wave of sleepiness came over her and she groaned. "Great. You can't sleep in your own bed, only in an uncomfortable hospital chair?" she groused at herself.
Giving up, she set the coffee cup back down and closed her eyes.
She woke with a start some time later, and thought for a moment that she was dreaming again. Rubbing her eyes she saw that Adam was stirring in the bed. She leaned forward and grasped his hands just as he pulled the oxygen mask from his face.
"Adam, stop. You need that." She pulled the strap back over his head, and tried to place the mask back over his mouth and nose.
"Can't breathe." His voice was hoarse - faint and scratchy. He reached up for the mask again, and again she grabbed his hands. He tried weakly to tug them away, as his grey eyes locked on hers, bloodshot and with heavy grey circles around them. "Ros."
"Easy. Just hold still." An alarm started, and Ros saw that the monitor was flashing an 80 at them. Keeping one hand on Adam's she slapped the nurse call button with the other. "Easy. Just breathe."
Adam's eyes stayed locked on hers, and to his credit he tried, his breath coming out in a groan. A trickle of sweat ran down his face. A nurse ran into the room, and Ros stepped out of the way. The nurse put one hand on Adam's shoulder, murmuring soothingly, and placed her stethoscope on Adam's chest. After a moment of listening she said softly "Your lungs are clear, you're breathing just fine. You just need to relax, stop fighting." She stepped back and gave Ros an encouraging look. Not needing to be told, Ros pushed the side rail down on the bed and sat down next to Adam on the hard plastic mattress.
She took his hands again. "Breathe, Adam. Just breathe, you can do it. Nice and easy." The alarm stopped and she glanced at the monitor to see that the number had gone above 90.
"Pulse is still a little high," the nurse said. She'd moved to the other side of the bed, and had her fingers pressed gently to Adam's neck.
"Chest hurts," Adam whispered, talking to Ros and not the nurse.
"I'll get some pain medication," the nurse told them both. She left the room.
Adam leaned forward, resting his forehead against Ros's shoulder. She rested her chin lightly against the top of his head. Someone had washed his hair and it smelled like antiseptic hospital soap. She ran her hands up and down his back, and rubbed at the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders. Slowly she felt him start to relax against her. His breath, heavy through the sides of the oxygen mask, was warm through her sweatshirt.
The nurse came back in, holding a syringe. Adam lifted his head slightly. "no," he whispered hoarsely.
The nurse paused, frowning,
"What's in it?' Ros asked.
"Morphine," the nurse said. "It's to relieve his pain and help ease his shortness of breath."
Ros took Adam's chin and gently lifted his head the rest of the way. She studied his pale face, noting the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. "Let her give you the medicine, love."
He shook his head slowly, removing it from her grasp. "I don't want to sleep again," he said. "Please."
Ros looked at the nurse. "Half?"
The nurse looked at Adam. He sighed, and gave a reluctant nod. The nurse pushed the syringe into his IV tubing and emptied exactly half. She left the room again, and Adam sank back into the pillows.
"So what shall we do now?" Ros asked, watching the lines about his eyes soften. True to the nurse's word, his breathing was easing as well. "Watch some football on the telly?"
Adam grimaced, and gave a barking cough. "Don't make me laugh," he whispered.
"Sorry. Is the pain better?" she asked.
"Yeah." He swallowed. "How long have I been here?"
Ros frowned. "I'm not sure, actually," she admitted. "Harry sent me home..."
"Harry was here before," Adam murmured. "He told me Jo was okay. I don't think that was a dream."
"It wasn't. She's fine. She was here with you when I got back."
Adam's eyes widened slightly. "Then she's not angry with me?"
"Oh I wouldn't say that," Ros grinned tightly. "But you know us. Never let a little anger get in the way of a bedside vigil. Sorry," she added as he coughed again.
"Sure," he coughed. "Sure you are."
She reached over to the table and poured some of the melted ice into the cup next to the pitcher. She held the cup to his mouth, allowing him to move aside the oxygen mask long enough to drink. He tried to take the cup from her, but only succeeded in spilling water down the front of his pajama shirt.
"Shit," he gasped, "that's cold."
"Hold still," she scolded him, taking the cup back and holding it steady long enough for him to drink.
Setting the cup down, she mopped at the front of his shirt with a corner of the sheet and looked up to see him smiling at her.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
"Right," she muttered.
"So are you going to put the football on or what?"
"Or what," she retorted. "Adam," her voice softened. "I'm sorry."
"Sshh." Adam shifted his position slightly in the bed, moving closer to the far side. "You saved my life, saved all our lives, you have nothing to be sorry for." He tugged at her arm, pulling her toward him. She moved over next to him against the pillows, and rested her head very lightly against his shoulder, careful not to press too hard.
"Stay here with me," he whispered. "Just a little while." He shifted again, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. His breath through the mask was warm and moist against her hair.
"Just a little while," she agreed, giving way to the drowsiness once again.
~^~^~
Two days later, Adam was ready to go home. Restless and stircrazy, he rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed, wearing the set of clean clothes that Ros had brought him, as he waited for the nurse to bring him his discharge instruction. The bed creaked, the wheels sliding ever so slightly with each movement.
Ros, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, rolled her eyes. "Will you just sit still, Adam, please."
"I want to get out of here already," he muttered.
"And stop whining," she instructed.
He scowled at her. "Well why don't you make yourself useful then and go see what's holding them up?"
"Or I'll just stand here and watch you suffer," she shot back. To be honest, Ros was enjoying herself. The fact that Adam was whining and grumbling meant that he was feeling better. The helpless, clingy Adam who had scared her so badly was gone.
Before their squabble could go further, the nurse arrived, carrying a sheaf of papers and packets of medications. Adam's face paled. "Do I need all that?" he asked.
"If you don't want to end up back in that bed, yes," she told him, setting everything down on the bed table in front of him with a little more force than necessary.
Ros grinned to herself. Apparently the nurse had preferred the very ill Adam to the feeling better and cranky Adam. By all accounts he'd been a bit of a handful yesterday.
"Your discharge instructions," the nurse said, pointing to the sheaf of papers. "Mind you follow them. Here are your medications." She set the packs down before him again one at a time. "Antibiotics - mind you finish them all, or the infection will come back. These are the steroid taper, you can't stop those medicines cold, it needs to be gradual. The paper will tell you how many to take each day until they are gone. These are for pain and cough, you can take them or not, as you will. Any questions?"
"Yes," Adam said mildly. "May I go now?"
"You may." The nurse smiled in spite of herself. "I'll just fetch a wheelchair."
"I don't need that. Please." Adam put on his most charming smile. "Ros will be with me."
The nurse glanced at Ros, who peeled herself off the wall and nodded. "We'll be fine."
"Alright then," she left the room, and Ros moved over to the bed just in time to grab Adam's arm as he stood, and wobbled.
"Easy," Ros said.
"I'm okay," he told her, but his hand slipped over her arm as well, fingers gripping her for support.
"Let's just take it slow, okay? You won't be running after spies for a few more days." She scooped up his packets of papers and medicines with her free hands.
After a couple of steps, Adam grew more steady, and he let go of her arm. Ros kept her hand on his, sliding her fingers through the crook in his elbow companionably. By the time they reached the front entrance to the hospital, he was holding on to her again. His breath was harsher and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his face.
Ros guided him down the steps, across the pavement and into her illegally parked car. The benefits of being a Spook. Inside the car, Adam leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. "I hate this," he muttered. "Being so damned weak."
Ros started the car and then turned to look at him. "Adam," she said. "Three days ago you were dying of the plague, bleeding out into your lungs. The fact that you just walked out of the hospital on your own two legs I would say is a pretty good sign."
"Point taken," Adam mumbled, not opening his eyes. He didn't say another word for the duration of the trip - which for London traffic was not too bad, over the bridge to Southwark and another illegal parking job on the corner of the block where Adam had his flat. She helped him out of the car, and into the building, steering him toward the lift.
"I never take the lift," he protested.
She did not respond to that, just steered him on in.
Once inside the flat, Adam headed toward the couch, but Ros grasped his arm again and guided him toward the bedroom instead. "I just got out of bed," he grumbled, but there was a distinct lack of protest as she gave him a gentle push back on to the bed. She set his papers and pills down on the bedside table next to the remote control for the way too big television, and studied him.
He looked much better than he had whilst coughing up blood in the car, and whilst hooked up to the respirator, but he was still quite pale, and trembling with the exertion of coming home.
She pursed her lips together. "Right," she said. "I'll get you a glass of water." She headed out to the kitchen, had a look in the cupboards on the off chance that Adam actually had groceries, but found them pretty much as empty as her own. A slightly moldy loaf of bread, and some dried pasta in the one cupboard spoke of good intentions, and there was an excellent bottle of red wine in the cabinet, but the only truly useful item at the moment was the large bottle of Evian in the fridge.
Pulling a clean glass from the orderly lineup in the cabinet over the sink, she filled it a little more than halfway with the water, and carried it back to the bedroom. Adam was in the same position she had left him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiled tiredly at her, and took the glass from her.
"Any meds you're due for now?" she rummaged through the pile on the table, until she felt Adam's fingers wrap around her wrist. She turned to look back at him.
"Ros." He set the glass down on the table and tugged at her hand indicating he wanted her to sit with him. "I just got home. Leave it. Please."
She sat down on the bed next to him, running her hand over the white comforter. White walls, white sheets, white pillows, "You could do with a bit of colour in here," she observed.
Adam started to laugh, deep in his throat. "Didn't seem to bother you the last time you were here," he murmured. The laugh turned to coughing, and he leaned against her, resting his head against her shoulder, smothering the cough against her jacket. She stroked his hair gently till the coughing passed. He mumbled something intelligible against her shoulder.
"Pardon?" She moved her hand back as he lifted his head and smiled at her sheepishly.
"I'm hungry."
She raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they feed you breakfast this morning?"
He made a face. "Hospital food."
"Right. Whereas the moldy bread and pasta you have here in the kitchen is so much more appealing."
"You could fix me something," he suggested. It was her turn to laugh.
"Yeah, right."
"Take away it is then." He gave her his most winning smile.
Ros sighed. "You're going to owe me big time."
Reaching over he took her face in both his hands, and drew it down to give her a tender kiss to the side of the mouth. As his lips pressed against her cheek, he whispered, "I already do."
~the end~
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It's almost enough to make me want to check the series out. *grins*
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