Chapter Text
The blasted paper cup was scalding hot, so much so that it burned Carl’s hand, causing him pain. But that was a welcome type of pain, one that grounded him, that was localized enough for the current dose of pain killers to not have the time to anesthetize. The pain was there to remind him of his failures, of the ways he was supposed to help and protect and save, of the ways he failed miserably in those departments. He knew then and especially knew now that he would place his life at the altar of pain and suffering and injury if it meant sparing her even a smallest bruise. Carl was not one to wallow, but he was a martyr type after all. For now there was no relief from the thoughts that swirled in his head, day and night. Especially at night. Carl was discharged over a week ago, with him being in hospital for three weeks following the incident. Jasper and Hardy helped him settle at home, though he’d only spend there his sleepless nights, when nurses would categorically throw him out of Clara’s room. Rest of the time Carl spend in the uncomfortable plastic chair made to scare the overstaying visitors away. His back was still badly bruised and burnt, needing frequent dressing changes, although doctors said the scars should heal and fade nicely overtime. Not that he cared about it particularly, those would be just another set scars in the graveyard of injuries he sustained while failing to protect her. A constant reminder. Day by day. Yes, the bruises and burns and concussion will heal, they will fade and go away, stop being physical. The way he felt inside was a different matter completely.
It should’ve been me. This is all my fault. The guilt was gut-twisting, rancid, stale and over-consuming. It was both hot and cold, it was sadness and anger and fear and desperation, all mixed in a nauseating swirl of emotions. He felt heavy, burdened and atop of it he felt way too old for all of this shit.
Clara was taken off the ventilator few days earlier when doctors deemed her spontaneous breathing efforts to be enough. When Carl came into her room that day, tired and heavy after another nightmare filled night, he immediately stopped in his tracks. The beeping of machinery continued, her heart beating a steady rhythm he memorized like a hymn. But the soft whooshing of ventilator was gone, replaced by such stillness Carl thought for a second she wasn’t breathing at all. He could see the sharpness of her jaw, now unobscured with the tubes gone, tiny glue residue still lingering on her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly, color muted but still rosy, not the blue… the blue unmoving, unbreathing lips. Carl was fixated on her face, the quiet breath of life blooming in front of him. A tremor, starting in his hands, quickly spread throughout his whole body, compelling him to move, to approach her. Closer he could hear her breaths, so quiet yet so loud in his heart. A confirmation she was going to recover, to live. He wanted to touch her, to caress her cheek and yet he didn’t, fearing disturbing her peace. Carl slowly exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding, willed his heart and arms to stop trembling. The relief hit him like a wave and would’ve brought him to his knees if not for the trusty chair that has been his support in the last weeks. The back of his hand stopped just inches from her cheek, feeling the slight warmth it radiated. He stopped himself, just like he stopped himself from saying everything out loud – how fucking scared he was for her, how utterly miserable it was without their banter, how he missed her smile and laugh and the fake pout she did when he was giving her a hard time. How he loved her from that first evening she opened up to him, how she was his saving grace and pulled him from the edge way too many times. How she fit like a missing puzzle in their little family, both at work with Hardy, Rose and Akram and at home with Jasper and Martin. Instead he took a silent vigil at her side, hoping and praying to anyone who’d listen to let her wake up, God please let her wake up.
What was I even thinking? She’s here because of me, she’s not waking up because of me.
The relief of Clara being taken off the ventilator was quickly replaced by the most unwanted visitor: guilt and self-loathing, and by day four Carl was back to blaming himself. The quiet miracle no longer felt like a miracle – it felt like a reminder. His gaze moved from her peaceful face to his own hands, clasped loosely on his lap. I should’ve seen it… I should’ve paid attention…I should’ve… He should’ve done so many things differently, so many things. The accusations were sharp on his mind, like shards of glass cutting him over and over again. Hardy would probably laugh at him, but in his mind this felt even worse than the Leith Park, because the pain wasn’t his this time anymore, wasn’t physical. He remembers that restlessness, that desperate helplessness he felt the first few days in the hospital. Catching his reflection in the glass he almost laughed.
“You look like hell…and for what? Just for being here while she fought for her life?” he said to himself with a bitter laugh, the relief tainted with venom. He feels like a random bystander, lost and unable to help in a dire situation, which only fuels the gnawing guilt. Nurses come and go, sending him tightlipped smiles and sympathetic nods. Rose and Akram visit as often as the work allows them, practically carrying the department on their shoulders now. Akram also brings his pastries, although Carl barely picks at them. Rose sometimes fills him in on the cases they were thinking of picking up now, but he doesn’t really listen, he doesn’t really care. Jasper visits for a little while after school, which is a miracle in of itself that he still attends. He always brings her fresh flowers, which makes Carl both proud of his stepson and all the more guilty seeing Jasper struggle with consequences of his own inadequacies. Even Moira visited once or twice, her hardened face showing a softer side in that hospital room. Hardy stays the longest, usually keeping a quiet vigil with Carl, being there for both of them. Helps that he has physio three times a week at the same hospital, so he’s here anyway. Hardy is someone who holds Carl together, so the broken pieces just don’t scatter all around. But Hardy isn’t here all the time and the times when it’s only him and her are the times he allows himself to show weakness, to show the gut wrenching sorrow. He allows the guilt to swallow him whole and her hand in his, so incredibly small and fragile, feels like the only lifeline he has.
A week after being taken off the ventilator the constant beeping of the heart monitor slightly picked up and stopped Carl from spiraling further. The rhythm, so ingrained in his memory, shifts minutely and of course he notices. He notices a tiny flutter of her eyelashes, small tremble and twitching of her hand in his, a deeper exhale unlike the previous. This is the moment. This is what he was waiting for for all those weeks, what he prayed for and yet the panic hits him like a brick, suffocating any thought he might have. He watched her eyes slowly flutter open, squint against the dim light of the room – unfocused and hazy at first, then gradually beginning to clear. Her eyes found his and after a few moments the confusion gave way to recognition, to a tiny smile that tugged at the corner of her lip. For a brief moment Carl’s grief and panic disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief that nearly brought him to his knees. She’s here. She’s awake. She’s alive. But the moment was truly brief and Carl spiraled back to the martyrdom in record time. The way she was looking at him, with such love and adoration felt entirely undeserved and like a gut punch, twisting and gnawing at him. How can she still have so much faith in him, when she’s in a hospital, when she’s in so much pain. He failed massively, in every department he could, and he does not deserve absolution. Carl dropped her hand like it was scalding hot, whispered a half-hearted I’m sorry and in few big strides left the room, his heart breaking anew when he heard her whisper his name after him.
He stumbled out but made it only a few steps into the corridor when a strong hand brought him to a halt. Hardy.
“Whoa, Carl! What the hell??” his former partner asked, face laced with confusion and worry. “She woke up,” Carl said, his voice barely a whisper in the face of such news. He didn’t move, gaze fixed onto the floor, shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Eh? That’s bloody fantastic, the best news I heard in weeks! What are you doing here, then?” Hardy asked, relief evident on his gruff face.
“James I…I can’t,” he replied, still not meeting his friend’s eyes. “I don’t deserve to be here. Not after everything…not after I failed her like that. She’s looking at me and all I can see is my failure.” He finally opened up, dared to speak the words that have weighed him down for so many weeks out loud.
Hardy’s face hardened into a stoic resolve, still holding his hand firmly on Carl’s shoulder. “Listen to me, you daft man. It doesn't matter what you think you deserve, you can wallow in self pity later. What matters is what she needs. She clawed up from the depths of hell and the first thing she did was look for you. You got a second chance here, so don’t let your demons fail her now by running away.” He gently but firmly pushed his friend in the direction of Clara’s door.
Carl hesitated, finally meeting Hardy’s gaze and finding nothing but empathy, understanding and internal strength he himself lacked in that moment. His words pressed on him, resonated with him in a deep, primordial way. That fierce feeling of protectiveness, that feeling that she needs him at this moment made all other urges disappear into thin air. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of himself. It doesn’t matter what anyone think of himself. She needs him to be there so he’ll be there, God damn it. With a newfound resolve he pushed forward, going back through the doors he left in such a hurry just moments earlier.
Clara lay still, so still he’d mistake her for sleeping if not for her beautiful eyes that followed his every move. Second time that day he was taken aback by what he saw in those eyes, an adoration and love and such lightness, which was in stark contrast to the yellow-brown bruises and cuts that still marred her face. He searched those eyes for any sign of hurt, betrayal, fear of him. Yet there were none, just an endless pit of hope, pulling him in.
“You came…” her breathless whisper broke the silence. Carl’s breath hitched, hearing her sweet voice grace his ears once more. It was weak, hoarse and barely audible, but it was hers. It brought him a fresh wave of relief, of every moment spent in silent prayer, of every hope and dream finally within his grasp. Carl walked up to her, sat in his trusty chair and took her trembling hand in his. It was a fragile thing, cool and oh so small, but so solid and alive, with her thumb gently rubbing his own.
“You called…” Carl responded, his own voice husky and heavy with emotion. The lump in his throat made it hard to swallow, made it hard to speak. Then again he didn’t have adequate words to say to her anyway. What words could describe the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to swallow him whole. Feeling like the worse was behind him the dam of his composure broke and a single tear rolled down his cheek, mirroring one of hers. She called. He came. He will never leave her again, no matter how hard it would get.
“Carl, I…” Clara started, but didn’t manage to form a single sentence before a coughing fit triggered the alarms. Elevated heart rate, oxygen levels down. Carl didn’t know how to help her, to ease the burden but he didn’t have to wonder long. The moment the alarms started blaring two nurses rushed in, breaking the stillness of the room, Hardy following closely behind, worry evident on his face. The head nurse that usually took care of Clara spoke to her gently, trying to soothe her and assess the issue. An oxygen mask was quickly placed on her face, followed by instructions of slow, deep breathing and a stethoscope quickly assessing the problem.
“Easy, deep breaths Ms Melbourne, we’ve got you. Just focus on the breathing, nice and slow. That’s right, you’re doing very good.” Nurse called Blainey said to Clara, but Clara’s eyes weren’t focused on the nurse at all. Even with nurses scurrying around, even with the oxygen mask, Clara’s deep, focused eyes were unobscured and looking only at Carl. She held his gaze, not breaking the eye contact even for a moment and Carl knew in that moment he was her safe space and lifeline, her comfort and help. With a feeling of total helplessness he came up as close as he could, knelt in front of her and made sure she was focused solely on him, before mouthing “you’re safe, I’m here”. Just like Hardy said, she needed him and he’d rather take another bullet than let her down once more. Carl tried to stay stoic through it all, face a stone cold mask but his eyes betrayed the truth behind it. I thought she was safe. I was wrong. She’s still hurting, still in pain. I can’t do anything to help. But the least he could do at that time was to push through his own trauma and issues and just be there for her. Carl wasn’t listening to doctors or nurses, he wasn’t listening to Hardy or the machines. He was hypnotized by her eyes and broke free of her spell only when everything quieted around them. When Carl came back to reality there was nobody around, not even Hardy, but someone graciously sat him on a chair. Clara was breathing normally again, the oxygen mask switched for a cannula, trying to fight sleep. He saw it in her eyes, already half closed, felt it in a slight tremor in her hand. She tried to hold on, probably fearing waking up next time to an empty room again.
“It’s all right, you don’t have to fight it. You need rest so rest.” Carl said, noticing her brow furrowing, a silent question that lingered between them.
“I’m not going anywhere and I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise. You can rest now.” he continued, voice trembling with emotions, willing her to believe him, at least this time.
A small, trusting smile appeared on her face as last bits of resistance left her, finally letting herself fall asleep, feeling safe and taken care of. Before the unconsciousness claimed her she heard him whisper I love you and she hoped that Carl understood the tiniest hand squeeze muster as her I love you too.