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Entry tags:
Fic: Cracks in the In-Between Places (17/21)
Title: Cracks in the In-Between Places
Author:
swissmarg
Beta readers:
ruth0007, billiethepoet
Rating: PG-13
Relationship: John/Sherlock
Word count: ca. 93,500 when complete, this chapter 5,496 words
Summary: AU set in the universe ofnox_candida's Getting Better. John and Sherlock work together to flush out Mary's killers, and Tristram has to come to terms with what his father's new friend means for him. No series 3 spoilers (or series 1 or 2, for that matter).
**Chapter Note: This chapter contains potentially traumatic scenes involving violent injury to a minor. Medi-picking by
ladyprydian and thissalsify.**
See chapter one for the complete header with warnings, acknowledgments, disclaimers, and notes.
Chapter 17 on AO3
Chapter Seventeen
Tristram is confused and embarrassed. How did he get here, lying on top of Doctor Watson's legs, wearing nothing more than his pants? He moves to get up, and that's when he registers the pain in his back and arm. It feels like someone's sticking dozens of knives into his skin. He tries to get his arms underneath him to push himself up, but his right arm collapses under him, the sudden pain in his hand unbearable. He gasps and cries out.
The legs slither out from under him, dumping him onto the floor on his stomach, and the next thing he knows, there's a warm, heavy weight on top of him. It's pressing the knives further into his skin and holding him down so hard he can hardly breathe. It's also breathing hard and shouting something about taking cover. It's Doctor Watson.
"Tristram!" Father shouts.
"Father!" Tristram screams back, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. It's dark, and he can't see anything, and everything hurts so much.
"I've got him, I've got him!" Doctor Watson shouts at the same time. "Stay down!"
Then there are feet on the stairs. Going down. They belong to his father and they're moving fast. An icy chill takes up residence in Tristram's stomach. Father can't leave him like this!
"Sherlock, where are you going?" Doctor Watson bellows, right in Tristram's ear, but Father's already out the door. "Fuck!" Doctor Watson swears with feeling, slamming his hand on the floor next to Tristram's head. Tristram's crying in earnest now. He tries not to, but everything hurts so much, and Father simply left!
"Tris? Can you hear me?" Doctor Watson asks. His voice is low and gentle again, but still urgent. Tristram makes a sound through his sobs that could signify agreement. "All right, good. That's good," Doctor Watson says. "I'm just going to lift up. I don't want you to try to move yet."
He lifts himself off Tristram a bit, sending a fresh wave of pain through his back. It feels like it's on fire. Tristram screams.
"Where does it hurt?" Doctor Watson asks.
"My back," Tristram manages to gasp. There's his hand, too, of course, but his back is all he can think about right now.
He feels Doctor Watson touching his shoulders and upper back. Tristram can tell he's trying to be careful, but it makes it hurt more. He can't help hissing and jerking away.
Doctor Watson moves his fingers away. "Sorry, okay, how about your legs? Do they hurt?"
Tristram tries to concentrate, tries to do what Doctor Watson wants. No, his legs don't hurt particularly. Not like his back anyway. "I don't think so," he sniffles.
"That's very good," Doctor Watson praises him. "Can you move them?"
Tristram finds he can move, despite the pain. He nods and shifts his legs a bit.
"That's excellent, Tris," Doctor Watson says. "You're doing great. We need to get into the hall where I can see you but we have to stay down, okay? So if you can move I need you to try and scoot yourself forward, as far as the door. I'll cover you. Can you do that?"
Tristram lifts his head to look toward the door. It's not far, he knows that. Normally it would only take a few steps to get there. But now, naked and cold, with his back and his hand hurting more than he thought anything could hurt, and his father gone off to who knows where, he's not actually sure he can do it. Still, he props himself up on his left elbow, crooks his right arm so that his injured hand is up out of the way against his neck, and pushes himself forward with his legs, which don't seem to have been hurt. Dirt and debris dig into his knees and elbow, but he somehow manages to drag himself forward. Doctor Watson hovers over him on all fours like a huge umbrella. Tristram is shivering now. It must be from the cold air coming in through the broken window. Tristram's back protests every time he moves, but the pain in his hand has lessened to a dull throbbing, as long as he doesn't let it touch anything.
"You're doing great, Tris," Doctor Watson says. "Just a couple more metres." Tristram can hear he's trying to sound upbeat, but he doesn't manage it very well. For some reason, it brings to mind the story Doctor Watson told him earlier about Gents, and how Doctor Watson said he could never be unfeeling like that, how it always hurt him too when other people got hurt.
Tristram doesn't want Doctor Watson to be upset because Tristram's hurt. He locks his teeth together and forces himself to move forward, half crawling like a frog, first his left leg, then his left elbow, then his right leg. He doesn't let himself look at anything other than the corner of the door. He only needs to make it that far, Doctor Watson said. He has no idea what's supposed to happen at that point, but he trusts Doctor Watson. Just as far as the door.
Finally, finally, they are there. He collapses in the doorway. The floor is cold on his bare chest, but he is overwhelmingly relieved that it's over. He's stopped crying at some point, but his breath is still all hiccoughy and unsteady. Doctor Watson hastily crawls over him onto the landing of the stairs, grips Tristram under the arms and pulls him the rest of the way out of the living room. Tristram can't help protesting as the rough motion jostles his back and his arm, but Doctor Watson lets go of him right away and lets him lie where he is now. Tristram feels Doctor Watson moving behind him, then the door to the flat closes and Doctor Watson turns on the light in the stairway. Tristram flinches and closes his eyes at the sudden light.
Doctor Watson sucks in an involuntary breath and makes a helpless little sound in the back of his throat. When he speaks again, though, his voice is steady. "All right, Tris? Are you still with me?"
Tristram grunts a little as he feels Doctor Watson's fingers against the side of his neck. He's so cold now. His teeth are chattering and he can't help the tremors that are starting to shake his body.
"That's great. I need you to tell me anywhere it hurts, other than your back." Doctor Watson is kneeling beside him. Tristram hears clothes rustling. He turns his head and chances opening his eyes. Doctor Watson is taking off his jacket, followed by the jumper underneath it. There is blood all over. All over Tristram. Dripping down his arm. There isn't any blood on Doctor Watson that Tristram can see, so it must be Tristram's blood. It seems a waste. Father could do so many nice experiments with it.
"My arm," Tristram croaks. He can't move it; well, he probably could, but he doesn't want to. It will hurt too much.
"This one?" Doctor Watson says, nodding at the arm nearest him, which is the right one. Tristram makes an affirmative sound in his throat because nodding will hurt. "Yeah, I see it. It's your hand, actually, and I'll take care of it in just a sec, but I really need to have a look at your front."
Doctor Watson rolls up his shirtsleeves and takes a pair of gloves out of his case, which somehow has made it out into the hall with them. He must have picked it up as they moved through the flat. As he's putting the gloves on, Doctor Watson says, "I'm just going to roll you over like a big log, all right? Make sure there's nothing there, then we'll put you right back down. You need to hold your arm really stiff against your side like this." He demonstrates, stretching his own arm down along his side.
Tristram locks his elbow and tries to press his arm in, while Doctor Watson grasps him by his shoulder and hip and tilts him up so his left arm is squished underneath him. Doctor Watson sweeps his eyes up and down Tristram's body. "Looks good," he confirms. "Just some superficial scrapes." He braces Tristram by the hip and uses his other hand to brush something off Tristram's chest, then quickly slides his jumper underneath Tristram and lets him back down. The warmth of the jumper is a huge relief. But now there's blood smeared all over Doctor Watson's glove.
He must look alarmed, because Doctor Watson says, "Don't worry, it looks like more than it is. I'm going to check your head, too. Hold still." Doctor Watson runs his fingers carefully through Tristram's hair. There are several spots that feel like pins sticking into his scalp when Doctor Watson passes over them, but Tristram does his best not to make a sound.
"Okay, you got some glass in there too, but it doesn't look too bad," Doctor Watson says.
Glass! Not knives, but glass, from the window. That's what's stuck in his back.
Doctor Watson turns and takes a couple of packets out of his case and rips them open. "I'm going to have to stop the bleeding in your hand. It might make it hurt more at first, but it's important. Do you think you can hold still?"
Tristram makes a 'yes' sound and braces himself. He still can't help flinching when Doctor Watson slides his hand under Tristram's and gently lifts it so he can press some absorbent material onto it. He then wraps a long strip of some more material around it until it feels packed up and tight.
"You're doing excellent, Tris," Doctor Watson says. "I'm going to try and cover you up a bit here. You look pretty chilly." He carefully drapes his jacket over Tristram's legs. It stops the cold draft there, but he's still really cold. He'd rather have something over his back. Still, it makes Tristram feel better, somehow, like when Father put his coat over Tristram so he could sleep on the couch. He's not shaking as much now as he was before, either. He wonders again where his father's gone.
Doctor Watson has his phone out now. He dials, then wedges it between his ear and his shoulder as he opens more packets of white material from his case. He gives Tristram a brief, reassuring smile as he waits for whoever he's just called to answer. "You're going to be fine, Tris," he says. "I'm just going to start padding some of this glass on your back so it doesn't get bumped around anymore. I'm going to be careful, but you need to hold very still, all right?"
Before Tristram can answer, Doctor Watson's manner changes abruptly to brisk and commanding as his call connects. "Yes, hello, this is Doctor John Watson and I'm at 221 Baker Street, November Whiskey One Five Romeo Tango, with an eight-year-old male, no known allergies, gunshot wound through and through to the right hand, multiple lacerations to back, head, and arms from glass shards, still embedded, working on stabilisation, bleeding minimal. Patient is alert and oriented times three, heart rate elevated one-twenty; respirations elevated, twenty-five and shallow, no abnormal chest excursions; skin cool and slightly clammy; colour and peripheral perfusion good; pressure dressing in place to GSW with normal CMS fingertips and moderate slow seepage. We also have suspected poisoning—same patient—by unknown agent according to parent report about an hour ago, spontaneous vomiting followed by my administration of activated charcoal, 50 milligrams PO, approximately twenty minutes ago. Patient responded well to medication."
Doctor Watson continues to exchange information with the person on the other end, but Tristram doesn't pay much attention after he hears the words 'gunshot wound'. He was shot? Is that what's wrong with his hand? All of a sudden, he wants to see it. Did the bullet go right through? Does he have a hole in his hand that he could look through? He's curious what that might look like, although the fact that it's his hand gives him an unpleasant tingly feeling in his stomach. Can they fix that? What if part of his hand got shot right off and he can't use it anymore?
As Doctor Watson continues to put more bandages on his back, he hears a door open downstairs. It's Mrs Hudson's, though, not the outside door. Did his father actually go to track down the gunman? If so, Tristram would rather that Doctor Watson go help his father than stay here. Especially because Mrs Hudson is here now. Tristram can hear her, as from a distance, fussing and fluttering, but he doesn't quite register what she's saying. He expects he's closed his eyes again. It's too much effort to open them.
He hears her footsteps descending the stairs again, only to return a short while later, followed by a light weight settling over him. Then someone's lifting his head and when they let go, his cheek is resting on something soft that smells like her flat: lavender and lemon. It's not a pillow; it's too thin for that. Maybe one of the little embroidered throws from her couch.
It's almost pleasant now, with no one prodding at his hand or back anymore. Why isn't he in bed? Something hurts. He thinks it's supposed to be his hand, but he can't feel it, so that must be all right. He shifts a bit and that makes him remember: it's his back. He whimpers and tries to shrug off whatever they put over him, because it's making it worse, but that sends more fire through him, so he holds still again.
"Tris? Come on, Tris, just a little longer. You can do it." That's Doctor Watson. Wasn't he supposed to go with Father? Tristram tries to tell him he should go find Father.
He's not sure if he gets all the words out, but he must have said at least some of them, because Doctor Watson says, "Your dad will be back soon. Very soon."
That's good. Father will fix whatever is hurting his back. In fact, just then he hears voices and footsteps downstairs. He makes the effort to open his eyes again, but it's not his father's familiar figure coming up the stairs. Instead, it's a man and a woman wearing big yellow coats with reflective strips over their dark green uniforms. They are carrying a big long board between them, and it develops that they want to put Tristram onto that board and take him away.
This is bad, and the badness stirs him out of the half-consciousness he'd slipped into. If there's one thing Tristram knows he's not supposed to do, it's go with someone he doesn't know. He's not even supposed to go with most of the people he does know. Like Emily's Aunt Claire. Although no one had told him that before. But now he knows. He wasn't supposed to leave Grandmother's house without his father or Doctor Watson, and he forgot and did it, and Father was angry. And rightfully so.
"Where's Father?" Tristram asks Doctor Watson, but he's talking to the green uniform man and doesn't hear him.
Tristram looks around for Mrs Hudson, but he can't find her. The green uniform woman is crouching down next to Tristram's head and peeking under Mrs Hudson's afghan (that was what she put on top of him, he sees now).
She smiles at Tristram. "Hey there," she says. "What's your name?"
"Tristram," he says, making an effort to focus. She looks nice, with a soft, round face and dimples in her cheeks. He doesn't want to believe that she would do him any harm, but then he'd never thought that about Emily's Aunt Claire, either.
"Hi Tristram, I'm Nisha, and this is Tino." She jerks her thumb toward the man who came with her. He's alternately talking to Doctor Watson and communicating something into a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder. He's older than Nisha, and his eyebrows are thick and low, and he doesn't look quite as friendly as her. "Looks like you had quite some accident there," she says. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," he says. "I have to wait for my father."
She looks a little surprised. She turns to Doctor Watson. "Are you not the father?" she asks him.
Doctor Watson looks apologetic. "No, I'm his … I'm a family friend. I happened to be here when it happened. His father just stepped out for a minute. He's probably down with the police. I'm sure he'll be right back, or else he can meet us at the hospital."
"All right, well we clearly need to take him in and get this sorted, but one of his parents is going to have to come in as soon as possible so we can get consent to treat and to take care of the paperwork. I mean, unless you have legal...”
“I'll get him there," Doctor Watson assures her. He sounds more certain than Tristram is. If Father is in the middle of chasing down a lead, he's not likely to want to make a detour to the hospital just to sign some papers.
"All right, Tristram," she says, smiling at him again. "We're going to put you on this stretcher here and go for a ride in the ambulance. We'll turn the lights on and everything." She's trying to make it sound like a fun outing, and normally he'd be fully on board with riding in an ambulance with the lights flashing, but he apparently hasn't made himself clear.
"I can't leave the house without my father," he repeats.
"Sweetie, you're going to have to," she says, still kindly, but firmly. "Your dad will meet you at the hospital. We have to get you fixed up, and we can't wait for him."
Tristram feels the onset of a helpless panic. He doesn't know how to explain about all the bad things that might happen if he goes with her. He looks desperately at Doctor Watson, hoping at least he will understand.
"Doctor Watson..." Tristram pleads, "Father told us not to go with anyone." How do they really know that the man and the woman are from the hospital? His father's put on uniforms as disguises many times. In fact, Tristram wouldn't be at all surprised if he had the same green uniform in his closet. Maybe they are going to take him to another warehouse. Father said the people who killed Emily's mother wouldn't try to kidnap him again, but Father isn't here, and these strangers are.
Doctor Watson's face, which had been showing signs of strain and frustration, suddenly crumples into understanding. "Oh God, Tris." To the woman, he says, "Could you excuse us a sec? I think I understand the problem."
She nods and stands up. Doctor Watson sits on the floor next to Tristram and leans in close so he can whisper to him. "I know what you're thinking, and it's great that you're following your dad's instructions so well. He's going to be really proud of you. But I called them. Okay?" he says, giving Tristram an earnest look. "They're really paramedics, and there's really an ambulance outside waiting to take you to the hospital. It's not a trap. Do you trust me?"
Tristram does. He trusts Doctor Watson. That's not the problem. It's these other people's intentions he doesn't trust. But if Doctor Watson is telling him it's okay, and he trusts Doctor Watson, then the commutative principle tells him that he should go with them. Not that he really has a choice. It's not as if he could kick or fight or get away. So he nods. Just a bit, but it pulls on something in his back, so he stops again.
"That's excellent," Doctor Watson says. His voice is full of relief and praise. "You're doing brilliantly, Tris. And you are going to be fine. I promise. All right?"
"Okay," Tristram murmurs. Hearing that he's going to be fine does make him feel better. He doesn't usually mind blood, but seeing it all over and knowing it's his is a bit different.
Doctor Watson sits back and tells the paramedics it's all right now. Nisha comes back, and Doctor Watson holds Tristram's head steady while she tips him up just like Doctor Watson did before, while Tino slides a big board underneath him. Then they lower him onto the board and start strapping him in. Tristram doesn't like that because it presses on some of the cuts on his back, but she explains it's so he doesn't fall off while they're going down the stairs, and there's really no way around it. They also tuck another blanket over Mrs Hudson's afghan and Doctor Watson's jacket, so he's well bundled up. The board, with him on it, gets carried downstairs, where there is a stretcher waiting in the hall.
Mrs Hudson is standing at the foot of the stairs, one hand on her chest and a woebegone look on her face. She reaches out to touch Tristram's cheek as the paramedics slow down to negotiate the front door. "You see to it you get better fast, young man," she tells him. "I'll be by to see you as soon as they have you settled in. You just tell your father or Doctor Watson what you need and I'll bring it. Oh, and Doctor Watson, do make sure to bring back that afghan," she adds, patting his arm. "It's my lucky one from the raffle."
When they get outside, Tristram discovers that not only is there an ambulance there, its lights flashing, but two police cars as well. And best of all, he sees his father standing by one of the police cars, arguing with an officer. "Father!" he calls to him.
Father looks around until he spots Tristram. He says one more thing to the police officer, then comes over to the ambulance. He arrives just as Tristram's stretcher is being loaded in.
"I got shot," Tristram announces with some pride. Father's been shot before - although that was a rather bad time, not one that Tristram remembers with any fondness. But still, now they have something in common.
"How is he?" Father says. His eyes remain focused on Tristram as Tino slots the stretcher into place and secures it. Father's gaze is so intent it seems that he's trying to see through the blanket covering him, but the question is clearly for Doctor Watson.
"The bullet went through his hand. I didn't get much of a look, honestly, I was just trying to control the bleeding, but I think surgery is likely. The other problem is the fact that he has a back full of glass. His mobility's good, as far as I could see, but they'll know more when they can get a good look at him at the hospital. And don't forget to tell them about the poisoning. They'll need to do a full workup anyway, especially if he needs surgery on his hand."
Father shifts his focus to Doctor Watson. "You can tell them all that," he says, as if this were something they had agreed on previously and it had slipped Doctor Watson's mind. "I have to stay here and make sure the police don't destroy even more evidence than they already have. I presume I can thank you for calling them," he adds bitterly.
"I didn't specifically, but I did have to mention the fact that your son was shot to the dispatcher. Also, a gun goes off, there's a high probability one of the neighbours will call the police. God, are you even listening to yourself? Tristram was hit by a bullet and could have-" Doctor Watson breaks off and glances inside the ambulance, where Nisha has attached a metal clip to Tristram's finger and pulled back the blankets enough to get a blood pressure cuff around his uninjured arm.
Then Doctor Watson stares hard at Father and finishes in a harsh whisper, "It could have been much worse. Do you even get that?"
"Of course I 'get that'," Father retorts.
"You need to go with him," Doctor Watson says, as if Father has failed to understand the most obvious thing in the world.
"There is nothing I can do for him. There is, however, something I can do here. Do you 'get that'?" Father retorts snidely.
"So, what, you're going to send him off alone?"
"You can go with him."
"I would have, if we couldn't find you, but you're here now. I have to get back to my own family. Have you considered that I might be worried sick about Emily right now?"
Father takes out his phone and dials a number. When the call connects, he says, "Clara, I wonder if you'd be so good as to assure John that his daughter is fine." Without waiting for an answer, he holds the phone out to Doctor Watson.
Doctor Watson takes it, and while he speaks briefly to his sister-in-law, Nisha leans out the open door of the ambulance.
"Are you the father?" she asks Father.
"Yes, but I'm not coming with you." He's already looking back across the street.
"What about his mum?"
Father frowns irritably, leaning back and craning his neck to see what the police are doing. "Tristram doesn't have a mother."
"Someone has to come in," she explains patiently. "We're going to need your consent for treatment, and we won't know what that is until the surgeon's had a look. I'd like to start him on some pain relief now."
Father snaps his head back to glare at her. "Oh, for God's sake. Pain relief, yes, but go easy on the morphine. Family history. I'll nofity Tristram's uncle. He has joint guardianship." Father holds his hand out to Doctor Watson impatiently, signalling for his phone.
This is completely new and revelatory information to Tristram. He knows what a guardianship means, of course: it means that Uncle Mycroft, legally speaking, has the same authority as his father over Tristram. That he can sign things on Tristram's behalf, and that - should something happen to render Father incapable of caring for Tristram - there would be no wearisome procedures to ensure that Tristram could go live with Uncle Mycroft. What surprises him is that his father ever agreed to such a thing. Never mind that it's entirely practical and logical; the whole arrangement has Uncle Mycroft written all over it, and Father never agrees to any of Uncle Mycroft's ideas, or at least not without loud, vigorous, and/or sulky protests. Tristram isn't put off by the idea, in principle; he likes and trusts Uncle Mycroft, and can't think of a time when Uncle Mycroft has ever taken advantage of this newly-discovered authority.
It occurs to Tristram now that Uncle Mycroft has in fact signed permission slips and absence notes for school before, and arranged for his passport when it had to be renewed when Tristram turned five. Well, Uncle Mycroft's assistant at the time took him for the photos, but Tristram remembers the assistant giving Uncle Mycroft the photos to approve along with the form to sign, because it resulted in a haircut right there in Uncle Mycroft's house by his personal barber, and an ensuing row with Father over it later. Tristram never thought twice about it - after all, Uncle Mycroft was always signing things, and anyway Tristram was probably too young then to realise what it meant - but he understands now that Uncle Mycroft has been acting as a proxy parent for probably his entire life. Which is fine and doesn't affect Tristram either way, except possibly to make things easier when he doesn't have to chase his father down for a signature. But he is just a little bit hurt that no one ever thought to tell him. Maybe Father and Uncle Mycroft both thought he knew.
Doctor Watson, who had stepped away from the ambulance while he was talking on the phone, returns now that he's finished and gives Father his phone back.
"Ta," he says shortly. "Em's upset, but she's fine."
Father grabs the phone and immediately starts sending a text, no doubt to Uncle Mycroft. "Mycroft will take care of anything that needs to be signed at the hospital," he tells Doctor Watson.
"So no one's coming with us?" Nisha asks.
"No," Father says. Tristram squeezes his eyes shut in case they do something stupid like start tearing up. He's not a baby. He doesn't need his father to go with him. He knows Father is right: there's absolutely nothing he could do at the hospital. He'd just get in the way and insult the doctors and there would be a big fuss, and Tristram desperately wants him to come. Which is stupid, and not going to happen. He knows that.
He can't quite see Doctor Watson's face from where he's lying on his stomach in the ambulance, but he can see his hands. They clench, then straighten out slowly, as if it's taking a concerted effort to relax them.
"No, I'm coming," he says. "If that's all right? I'm not family-"
"If it's okay with dad," Nisha agrees; hopefully, Tristram thinks. Tristram, guiltily, hopes too. Doctor Watson said that Emily was upset. He should really go home to be with her. Tristram knows that Emily gets anxious when she's separated from her father. But having Doctor Watson go with him would make him feel safer. And he's a doctor; he can probably really help. At least those are the reasons he allows himself to acknowledge.
"Yes, fine," Father says quickly. Tristram can hear that he's already done with the conversation.
"I'll text you and let you know what they say," Doctor Watson tells him. Then he leans in closer to Father - Tristram sees Doctor Watson's hand briefly brush over Father's - and says something that Tristram can't hear.
"One moment," Father says to Nisha, and steps up into the ambulance. For one heady moment, Tristram thinks Father's changed his mind and is going to come with them, but he crouches down in the space next to where Tristram's strapped in, wraps one hand around the side of Tristram's head and fixes him with his sharp eyes. "I'm going to find whoever did this," he says. No, he vows. "And I am going to make them pay." Tristram has no doubt that his father will not only find whoever is responsible, but do something terrible to them. "And you're going to recover, and then we will all go and eat ourselves absolutely sick on Angelo's lasagne." Tristram assumes that last part's a joke, but his father's face is deadly serious. Maybe it's part of the vow too.
Tristram tries to smile, but his lips wobble traitorously. "Okay," he agrees, not trusting his voice to more than a whisper.
"Good." Father nods and goes back out, and then he's gone, off to fulfill his end of the vow. Tristram supposes he'll have to fulfill his end too, and do his best to get better.
Doctor Watson hops up into the ambulance. Nisha tells him to sit on the bench across from Tristram, while she sits on a little fold-out seat near his head. Tino is already in the driver's cab.
"All right, Tristram," Nisha says, turning her head so it's aligned with his. "I'm going to give you a little poke in your arm so we can get some medicine into you. Do you think you can hold really still, or should we let your dad's friend hold your hand?" She smiles while she says it, but it's clear he doesn't really have a choice. He's going to get poked either way. It's not that he minds needles. But usually when he wants some blood, he does the poking himself, or else Father does. He's not sure he trusts her not to make it hurt. Also, he remembers how it felt to shake Doctor Watson's hand. It was nice and warm and safe. He'd like to have that feeling again. But he doesn't want to look like a baby who needs coddling.
Doctor Watson, though, saves him from having to make a decision by leaning forward and grasping Tristram's fingers. "I've got you, Tris," he says firmly. Tristram is so grateful it makes his throat feel tight.
"His dad with the police then?" Nisha asks, as she slides the needle – surprisingly inobtrusively – into the back of Tristram's arm.
"Yeah," Doctor Watson says. He purses his lips when he says it, though. Tristram recognises the gesture from playing 'Not Likely' as one of the things Emily did when she was bluffing. Tristram smiles to himself. "He does care, you know," Doctor Watson says quietly, to Tristram.
"I know," Tristram mumbles. He does. He cares about lots of things, like besting people who think they're too clever to be caught, and proving his theories, and somewhere in there, Tristram. He knows.
&&&&&&
Author:
Beta readers:
ruth0007, billiethepoetRating: PG-13
Relationship: John/Sherlock
Word count: ca. 93,500 when complete, this chapter 5,496 words
Summary: AU set in the universe of
nox_candida's Getting Better. John and Sherlock work together to flush out Mary's killers, and Tristram has to come to terms with what his father's new friend means for him. No series 3 spoilers (or series 1 or 2, for that matter).**Chapter Note: This chapter contains potentially traumatic scenes involving violent injury to a minor. Medi-picking by
ladyprydian and thissalsify.**See chapter one for the complete header with warnings, acknowledgments, disclaimers, and notes.
Chapter 17 on AO3
Chapter Seventeen
Tristram is confused and embarrassed. How did he get here, lying on top of Doctor Watson's legs, wearing nothing more than his pants? He moves to get up, and that's when he registers the pain in his back and arm. It feels like someone's sticking dozens of knives into his skin. He tries to get his arms underneath him to push himself up, but his right arm collapses under him, the sudden pain in his hand unbearable. He gasps and cries out.
The legs slither out from under him, dumping him onto the floor on his stomach, and the next thing he knows, there's a warm, heavy weight on top of him. It's pressing the knives further into his skin and holding him down so hard he can hardly breathe. It's also breathing hard and shouting something about taking cover. It's Doctor Watson.
"Tristram!" Father shouts.
"Father!" Tristram screams back, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. It's dark, and he can't see anything, and everything hurts so much.
"I've got him, I've got him!" Doctor Watson shouts at the same time. "Stay down!"
Then there are feet on the stairs. Going down. They belong to his father and they're moving fast. An icy chill takes up residence in Tristram's stomach. Father can't leave him like this!
"Sherlock, where are you going?" Doctor Watson bellows, right in Tristram's ear, but Father's already out the door. "Fuck!" Doctor Watson swears with feeling, slamming his hand on the floor next to Tristram's head. Tristram's crying in earnest now. He tries not to, but everything hurts so much, and Father simply left!
"Tris? Can you hear me?" Doctor Watson asks. His voice is low and gentle again, but still urgent. Tristram makes a sound through his sobs that could signify agreement. "All right, good. That's good," Doctor Watson says. "I'm just going to lift up. I don't want you to try to move yet."
He lifts himself off Tristram a bit, sending a fresh wave of pain through his back. It feels like it's on fire. Tristram screams.
"Where does it hurt?" Doctor Watson asks.
"My back," Tristram manages to gasp. There's his hand, too, of course, but his back is all he can think about right now.
He feels Doctor Watson touching his shoulders and upper back. Tristram can tell he's trying to be careful, but it makes it hurt more. He can't help hissing and jerking away.
Doctor Watson moves his fingers away. "Sorry, okay, how about your legs? Do they hurt?"
Tristram tries to concentrate, tries to do what Doctor Watson wants. No, his legs don't hurt particularly. Not like his back anyway. "I don't think so," he sniffles.
"That's very good," Doctor Watson praises him. "Can you move them?"
Tristram finds he can move, despite the pain. He nods and shifts his legs a bit.
"That's excellent, Tris," Doctor Watson says. "You're doing great. We need to get into the hall where I can see you but we have to stay down, okay? So if you can move I need you to try and scoot yourself forward, as far as the door. I'll cover you. Can you do that?"
Tristram lifts his head to look toward the door. It's not far, he knows that. Normally it would only take a few steps to get there. But now, naked and cold, with his back and his hand hurting more than he thought anything could hurt, and his father gone off to who knows where, he's not actually sure he can do it. Still, he props himself up on his left elbow, crooks his right arm so that his injured hand is up out of the way against his neck, and pushes himself forward with his legs, which don't seem to have been hurt. Dirt and debris dig into his knees and elbow, but he somehow manages to drag himself forward. Doctor Watson hovers over him on all fours like a huge umbrella. Tristram is shivering now. It must be from the cold air coming in through the broken window. Tristram's back protests every time he moves, but the pain in his hand has lessened to a dull throbbing, as long as he doesn't let it touch anything.
"You're doing great, Tris," Doctor Watson says. "Just a couple more metres." Tristram can hear he's trying to sound upbeat, but he doesn't manage it very well. For some reason, it brings to mind the story Doctor Watson told him earlier about Gents, and how Doctor Watson said he could never be unfeeling like that, how it always hurt him too when other people got hurt.
Tristram doesn't want Doctor Watson to be upset because Tristram's hurt. He locks his teeth together and forces himself to move forward, half crawling like a frog, first his left leg, then his left elbow, then his right leg. He doesn't let himself look at anything other than the corner of the door. He only needs to make it that far, Doctor Watson said. He has no idea what's supposed to happen at that point, but he trusts Doctor Watson. Just as far as the door.
Finally, finally, they are there. He collapses in the doorway. The floor is cold on his bare chest, but he is overwhelmingly relieved that it's over. He's stopped crying at some point, but his breath is still all hiccoughy and unsteady. Doctor Watson hastily crawls over him onto the landing of the stairs, grips Tristram under the arms and pulls him the rest of the way out of the living room. Tristram can't help protesting as the rough motion jostles his back and his arm, but Doctor Watson lets go of him right away and lets him lie where he is now. Tristram feels Doctor Watson moving behind him, then the door to the flat closes and Doctor Watson turns on the light in the stairway. Tristram flinches and closes his eyes at the sudden light.
Doctor Watson sucks in an involuntary breath and makes a helpless little sound in the back of his throat. When he speaks again, though, his voice is steady. "All right, Tris? Are you still with me?"
Tristram grunts a little as he feels Doctor Watson's fingers against the side of his neck. He's so cold now. His teeth are chattering and he can't help the tremors that are starting to shake his body.
"That's great. I need you to tell me anywhere it hurts, other than your back." Doctor Watson is kneeling beside him. Tristram hears clothes rustling. He turns his head and chances opening his eyes. Doctor Watson is taking off his jacket, followed by the jumper underneath it. There is blood all over. All over Tristram. Dripping down his arm. There isn't any blood on Doctor Watson that Tristram can see, so it must be Tristram's blood. It seems a waste. Father could do so many nice experiments with it.
"My arm," Tristram croaks. He can't move it; well, he probably could, but he doesn't want to. It will hurt too much.
"This one?" Doctor Watson says, nodding at the arm nearest him, which is the right one. Tristram makes an affirmative sound in his throat because nodding will hurt. "Yeah, I see it. It's your hand, actually, and I'll take care of it in just a sec, but I really need to have a look at your front."
Doctor Watson rolls up his shirtsleeves and takes a pair of gloves out of his case, which somehow has made it out into the hall with them. He must have picked it up as they moved through the flat. As he's putting the gloves on, Doctor Watson says, "I'm just going to roll you over like a big log, all right? Make sure there's nothing there, then we'll put you right back down. You need to hold your arm really stiff against your side like this." He demonstrates, stretching his own arm down along his side.
Tristram locks his elbow and tries to press his arm in, while Doctor Watson grasps him by his shoulder and hip and tilts him up so his left arm is squished underneath him. Doctor Watson sweeps his eyes up and down Tristram's body. "Looks good," he confirms. "Just some superficial scrapes." He braces Tristram by the hip and uses his other hand to brush something off Tristram's chest, then quickly slides his jumper underneath Tristram and lets him back down. The warmth of the jumper is a huge relief. But now there's blood smeared all over Doctor Watson's glove.
He must look alarmed, because Doctor Watson says, "Don't worry, it looks like more than it is. I'm going to check your head, too. Hold still." Doctor Watson runs his fingers carefully through Tristram's hair. There are several spots that feel like pins sticking into his scalp when Doctor Watson passes over them, but Tristram does his best not to make a sound.
"Okay, you got some glass in there too, but it doesn't look too bad," Doctor Watson says.
Glass! Not knives, but glass, from the window. That's what's stuck in his back.
Doctor Watson turns and takes a couple of packets out of his case and rips them open. "I'm going to have to stop the bleeding in your hand. It might make it hurt more at first, but it's important. Do you think you can hold still?"
Tristram makes a 'yes' sound and braces himself. He still can't help flinching when Doctor Watson slides his hand under Tristram's and gently lifts it so he can press some absorbent material onto it. He then wraps a long strip of some more material around it until it feels packed up and tight.
"You're doing excellent, Tris," Doctor Watson says. "I'm going to try and cover you up a bit here. You look pretty chilly." He carefully drapes his jacket over Tristram's legs. It stops the cold draft there, but he's still really cold. He'd rather have something over his back. Still, it makes Tristram feel better, somehow, like when Father put his coat over Tristram so he could sleep on the couch. He's not shaking as much now as he was before, either. He wonders again where his father's gone.
Doctor Watson has his phone out now. He dials, then wedges it between his ear and his shoulder as he opens more packets of white material from his case. He gives Tristram a brief, reassuring smile as he waits for whoever he's just called to answer. "You're going to be fine, Tris," he says. "I'm just going to start padding some of this glass on your back so it doesn't get bumped around anymore. I'm going to be careful, but you need to hold very still, all right?"
Before Tristram can answer, Doctor Watson's manner changes abruptly to brisk and commanding as his call connects. "Yes, hello, this is Doctor John Watson and I'm at 221 Baker Street, November Whiskey One Five Romeo Tango, with an eight-year-old male, no known allergies, gunshot wound through and through to the right hand, multiple lacerations to back, head, and arms from glass shards, still embedded, working on stabilisation, bleeding minimal. Patient is alert and oriented times three, heart rate elevated one-twenty; respirations elevated, twenty-five and shallow, no abnormal chest excursions; skin cool and slightly clammy; colour and peripheral perfusion good; pressure dressing in place to GSW with normal CMS fingertips and moderate slow seepage. We also have suspected poisoning—same patient—by unknown agent according to parent report about an hour ago, spontaneous vomiting followed by my administration of activated charcoal, 50 milligrams PO, approximately twenty minutes ago. Patient responded well to medication."
Doctor Watson continues to exchange information with the person on the other end, but Tristram doesn't pay much attention after he hears the words 'gunshot wound'. He was shot? Is that what's wrong with his hand? All of a sudden, he wants to see it. Did the bullet go right through? Does he have a hole in his hand that he could look through? He's curious what that might look like, although the fact that it's his hand gives him an unpleasant tingly feeling in his stomach. Can they fix that? What if part of his hand got shot right off and he can't use it anymore?
As Doctor Watson continues to put more bandages on his back, he hears a door open downstairs. It's Mrs Hudson's, though, not the outside door. Did his father actually go to track down the gunman? If so, Tristram would rather that Doctor Watson go help his father than stay here. Especially because Mrs Hudson is here now. Tristram can hear her, as from a distance, fussing and fluttering, but he doesn't quite register what she's saying. He expects he's closed his eyes again. It's too much effort to open them.
He hears her footsteps descending the stairs again, only to return a short while later, followed by a light weight settling over him. Then someone's lifting his head and when they let go, his cheek is resting on something soft that smells like her flat: lavender and lemon. It's not a pillow; it's too thin for that. Maybe one of the little embroidered throws from her couch.
It's almost pleasant now, with no one prodding at his hand or back anymore. Why isn't he in bed? Something hurts. He thinks it's supposed to be his hand, but he can't feel it, so that must be all right. He shifts a bit and that makes him remember: it's his back. He whimpers and tries to shrug off whatever they put over him, because it's making it worse, but that sends more fire through him, so he holds still again.
"Tris? Come on, Tris, just a little longer. You can do it." That's Doctor Watson. Wasn't he supposed to go with Father? Tristram tries to tell him he should go find Father.
He's not sure if he gets all the words out, but he must have said at least some of them, because Doctor Watson says, "Your dad will be back soon. Very soon."
That's good. Father will fix whatever is hurting his back. In fact, just then he hears voices and footsteps downstairs. He makes the effort to open his eyes again, but it's not his father's familiar figure coming up the stairs. Instead, it's a man and a woman wearing big yellow coats with reflective strips over their dark green uniforms. They are carrying a big long board between them, and it develops that they want to put Tristram onto that board and take him away.
This is bad, and the badness stirs him out of the half-consciousness he'd slipped into. If there's one thing Tristram knows he's not supposed to do, it's go with someone he doesn't know. He's not even supposed to go with most of the people he does know. Like Emily's Aunt Claire. Although no one had told him that before. But now he knows. He wasn't supposed to leave Grandmother's house without his father or Doctor Watson, and he forgot and did it, and Father was angry. And rightfully so.
"Where's Father?" Tristram asks Doctor Watson, but he's talking to the green uniform man and doesn't hear him.
Tristram looks around for Mrs Hudson, but he can't find her. The green uniform woman is crouching down next to Tristram's head and peeking under Mrs Hudson's afghan (that was what she put on top of him, he sees now).
She smiles at Tristram. "Hey there," she says. "What's your name?"
"Tristram," he says, making an effort to focus. She looks nice, with a soft, round face and dimples in her cheeks. He doesn't want to believe that she would do him any harm, but then he'd never thought that about Emily's Aunt Claire, either.
"Hi Tristram, I'm Nisha, and this is Tino." She jerks her thumb toward the man who came with her. He's alternately talking to Doctor Watson and communicating something into a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder. He's older than Nisha, and his eyebrows are thick and low, and he doesn't look quite as friendly as her. "Looks like you had quite some accident there," she says. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," he says. "I have to wait for my father."
She looks a little surprised. She turns to Doctor Watson. "Are you not the father?" she asks him.
Doctor Watson looks apologetic. "No, I'm his … I'm a family friend. I happened to be here when it happened. His father just stepped out for a minute. He's probably down with the police. I'm sure he'll be right back, or else he can meet us at the hospital."
"All right, well we clearly need to take him in and get this sorted, but one of his parents is going to have to come in as soon as possible so we can get consent to treat and to take care of the paperwork. I mean, unless you have legal...”
“I'll get him there," Doctor Watson assures her. He sounds more certain than Tristram is. If Father is in the middle of chasing down a lead, he's not likely to want to make a detour to the hospital just to sign some papers.
"All right, Tristram," she says, smiling at him again. "We're going to put you on this stretcher here and go for a ride in the ambulance. We'll turn the lights on and everything." She's trying to make it sound like a fun outing, and normally he'd be fully on board with riding in an ambulance with the lights flashing, but he apparently hasn't made himself clear.
"I can't leave the house without my father," he repeats.
"Sweetie, you're going to have to," she says, still kindly, but firmly. "Your dad will meet you at the hospital. We have to get you fixed up, and we can't wait for him."
Tristram feels the onset of a helpless panic. He doesn't know how to explain about all the bad things that might happen if he goes with her. He looks desperately at Doctor Watson, hoping at least he will understand.
"Doctor Watson..." Tristram pleads, "Father told us not to go with anyone." How do they really know that the man and the woman are from the hospital? His father's put on uniforms as disguises many times. In fact, Tristram wouldn't be at all surprised if he had the same green uniform in his closet. Maybe they are going to take him to another warehouse. Father said the people who killed Emily's mother wouldn't try to kidnap him again, but Father isn't here, and these strangers are.
Doctor Watson's face, which had been showing signs of strain and frustration, suddenly crumples into understanding. "Oh God, Tris." To the woman, he says, "Could you excuse us a sec? I think I understand the problem."
She nods and stands up. Doctor Watson sits on the floor next to Tristram and leans in close so he can whisper to him. "I know what you're thinking, and it's great that you're following your dad's instructions so well. He's going to be really proud of you. But I called them. Okay?" he says, giving Tristram an earnest look. "They're really paramedics, and there's really an ambulance outside waiting to take you to the hospital. It's not a trap. Do you trust me?"
Tristram does. He trusts Doctor Watson. That's not the problem. It's these other people's intentions he doesn't trust. But if Doctor Watson is telling him it's okay, and he trusts Doctor Watson, then the commutative principle tells him that he should go with them. Not that he really has a choice. It's not as if he could kick or fight or get away. So he nods. Just a bit, but it pulls on something in his back, so he stops again.
"That's excellent," Doctor Watson says. His voice is full of relief and praise. "You're doing brilliantly, Tris. And you are going to be fine. I promise. All right?"
"Okay," Tristram murmurs. Hearing that he's going to be fine does make him feel better. He doesn't usually mind blood, but seeing it all over and knowing it's his is a bit different.
Doctor Watson sits back and tells the paramedics it's all right now. Nisha comes back, and Doctor Watson holds Tristram's head steady while she tips him up just like Doctor Watson did before, while Tino slides a big board underneath him. Then they lower him onto the board and start strapping him in. Tristram doesn't like that because it presses on some of the cuts on his back, but she explains it's so he doesn't fall off while they're going down the stairs, and there's really no way around it. They also tuck another blanket over Mrs Hudson's afghan and Doctor Watson's jacket, so he's well bundled up. The board, with him on it, gets carried downstairs, where there is a stretcher waiting in the hall.
Mrs Hudson is standing at the foot of the stairs, one hand on her chest and a woebegone look on her face. She reaches out to touch Tristram's cheek as the paramedics slow down to negotiate the front door. "You see to it you get better fast, young man," she tells him. "I'll be by to see you as soon as they have you settled in. You just tell your father or Doctor Watson what you need and I'll bring it. Oh, and Doctor Watson, do make sure to bring back that afghan," she adds, patting his arm. "It's my lucky one from the raffle."
When they get outside, Tristram discovers that not only is there an ambulance there, its lights flashing, but two police cars as well. And best of all, he sees his father standing by one of the police cars, arguing with an officer. "Father!" he calls to him.
Father looks around until he spots Tristram. He says one more thing to the police officer, then comes over to the ambulance. He arrives just as Tristram's stretcher is being loaded in.
"I got shot," Tristram announces with some pride. Father's been shot before - although that was a rather bad time, not one that Tristram remembers with any fondness. But still, now they have something in common.
"How is he?" Father says. His eyes remain focused on Tristram as Tino slots the stretcher into place and secures it. Father's gaze is so intent it seems that he's trying to see through the blanket covering him, but the question is clearly for Doctor Watson.
"The bullet went through his hand. I didn't get much of a look, honestly, I was just trying to control the bleeding, but I think surgery is likely. The other problem is the fact that he has a back full of glass. His mobility's good, as far as I could see, but they'll know more when they can get a good look at him at the hospital. And don't forget to tell them about the poisoning. They'll need to do a full workup anyway, especially if he needs surgery on his hand."
Father shifts his focus to Doctor Watson. "You can tell them all that," he says, as if this were something they had agreed on previously and it had slipped Doctor Watson's mind. "I have to stay here and make sure the police don't destroy even more evidence than they already have. I presume I can thank you for calling them," he adds bitterly.
"I didn't specifically, but I did have to mention the fact that your son was shot to the dispatcher. Also, a gun goes off, there's a high probability one of the neighbours will call the police. God, are you even listening to yourself? Tristram was hit by a bullet and could have-" Doctor Watson breaks off and glances inside the ambulance, where Nisha has attached a metal clip to Tristram's finger and pulled back the blankets enough to get a blood pressure cuff around his uninjured arm.
Then Doctor Watson stares hard at Father and finishes in a harsh whisper, "It could have been much worse. Do you even get that?"
"Of course I 'get that'," Father retorts.
"You need to go with him," Doctor Watson says, as if Father has failed to understand the most obvious thing in the world.
"There is nothing I can do for him. There is, however, something I can do here. Do you 'get that'?" Father retorts snidely.
"So, what, you're going to send him off alone?"
"You can go with him."
"I would have, if we couldn't find you, but you're here now. I have to get back to my own family. Have you considered that I might be worried sick about Emily right now?"
Father takes out his phone and dials a number. When the call connects, he says, "Clara, I wonder if you'd be so good as to assure John that his daughter is fine." Without waiting for an answer, he holds the phone out to Doctor Watson.
Doctor Watson takes it, and while he speaks briefly to his sister-in-law, Nisha leans out the open door of the ambulance.
"Are you the father?" she asks Father.
"Yes, but I'm not coming with you." He's already looking back across the street.
"What about his mum?"
Father frowns irritably, leaning back and craning his neck to see what the police are doing. "Tristram doesn't have a mother."
"Someone has to come in," she explains patiently. "We're going to need your consent for treatment, and we won't know what that is until the surgeon's had a look. I'd like to start him on some pain relief now."
Father snaps his head back to glare at her. "Oh, for God's sake. Pain relief, yes, but go easy on the morphine. Family history. I'll nofity Tristram's uncle. He has joint guardianship." Father holds his hand out to Doctor Watson impatiently, signalling for his phone.
This is completely new and revelatory information to Tristram. He knows what a guardianship means, of course: it means that Uncle Mycroft, legally speaking, has the same authority as his father over Tristram. That he can sign things on Tristram's behalf, and that - should something happen to render Father incapable of caring for Tristram - there would be no wearisome procedures to ensure that Tristram could go live with Uncle Mycroft. What surprises him is that his father ever agreed to such a thing. Never mind that it's entirely practical and logical; the whole arrangement has Uncle Mycroft written all over it, and Father never agrees to any of Uncle Mycroft's ideas, or at least not without loud, vigorous, and/or sulky protests. Tristram isn't put off by the idea, in principle; he likes and trusts Uncle Mycroft, and can't think of a time when Uncle Mycroft has ever taken advantage of this newly-discovered authority.
It occurs to Tristram now that Uncle Mycroft has in fact signed permission slips and absence notes for school before, and arranged for his passport when it had to be renewed when Tristram turned five. Well, Uncle Mycroft's assistant at the time took him for the photos, but Tristram remembers the assistant giving Uncle Mycroft the photos to approve along with the form to sign, because it resulted in a haircut right there in Uncle Mycroft's house by his personal barber, and an ensuing row with Father over it later. Tristram never thought twice about it - after all, Uncle Mycroft was always signing things, and anyway Tristram was probably too young then to realise what it meant - but he understands now that Uncle Mycroft has been acting as a proxy parent for probably his entire life. Which is fine and doesn't affect Tristram either way, except possibly to make things easier when he doesn't have to chase his father down for a signature. But he is just a little bit hurt that no one ever thought to tell him. Maybe Father and Uncle Mycroft both thought he knew.
Doctor Watson, who had stepped away from the ambulance while he was talking on the phone, returns now that he's finished and gives Father his phone back.
"Ta," he says shortly. "Em's upset, but she's fine."
Father grabs the phone and immediately starts sending a text, no doubt to Uncle Mycroft. "Mycroft will take care of anything that needs to be signed at the hospital," he tells Doctor Watson.
"So no one's coming with us?" Nisha asks.
"No," Father says. Tristram squeezes his eyes shut in case they do something stupid like start tearing up. He's not a baby. He doesn't need his father to go with him. He knows Father is right: there's absolutely nothing he could do at the hospital. He'd just get in the way and insult the doctors and there would be a big fuss, and Tristram desperately wants him to come. Which is stupid, and not going to happen. He knows that.
He can't quite see Doctor Watson's face from where he's lying on his stomach in the ambulance, but he can see his hands. They clench, then straighten out slowly, as if it's taking a concerted effort to relax them.
"No, I'm coming," he says. "If that's all right? I'm not family-"
"If it's okay with dad," Nisha agrees; hopefully, Tristram thinks. Tristram, guiltily, hopes too. Doctor Watson said that Emily was upset. He should really go home to be with her. Tristram knows that Emily gets anxious when she's separated from her father. But having Doctor Watson go with him would make him feel safer. And he's a doctor; he can probably really help. At least those are the reasons he allows himself to acknowledge.
"Yes, fine," Father says quickly. Tristram can hear that he's already done with the conversation.
"I'll text you and let you know what they say," Doctor Watson tells him. Then he leans in closer to Father - Tristram sees Doctor Watson's hand briefly brush over Father's - and says something that Tristram can't hear.
"One moment," Father says to Nisha, and steps up into the ambulance. For one heady moment, Tristram thinks Father's changed his mind and is going to come with them, but he crouches down in the space next to where Tristram's strapped in, wraps one hand around the side of Tristram's head and fixes him with his sharp eyes. "I'm going to find whoever did this," he says. No, he vows. "And I am going to make them pay." Tristram has no doubt that his father will not only find whoever is responsible, but do something terrible to them. "And you're going to recover, and then we will all go and eat ourselves absolutely sick on Angelo's lasagne." Tristram assumes that last part's a joke, but his father's face is deadly serious. Maybe it's part of the vow too.
Tristram tries to smile, but his lips wobble traitorously. "Okay," he agrees, not trusting his voice to more than a whisper.
"Good." Father nods and goes back out, and then he's gone, off to fulfill his end of the vow. Tristram supposes he'll have to fulfill his end too, and do his best to get better.
Doctor Watson hops up into the ambulance. Nisha tells him to sit on the bench across from Tristram, while she sits on a little fold-out seat near his head. Tino is already in the driver's cab.
"All right, Tristram," Nisha says, turning her head so it's aligned with his. "I'm going to give you a little poke in your arm so we can get some medicine into you. Do you think you can hold really still, or should we let your dad's friend hold your hand?" She smiles while she says it, but it's clear he doesn't really have a choice. He's going to get poked either way. It's not that he minds needles. But usually when he wants some blood, he does the poking himself, or else Father does. He's not sure he trusts her not to make it hurt. Also, he remembers how it felt to shake Doctor Watson's hand. It was nice and warm and safe. He'd like to have that feeling again. But he doesn't want to look like a baby who needs coddling.
Doctor Watson, though, saves him from having to make a decision by leaning forward and grasping Tristram's fingers. "I've got you, Tris," he says firmly. Tristram is so grateful it makes his throat feel tight.
"His dad with the police then?" Nisha asks, as she slides the needle – surprisingly inobtrusively – into the back of Tristram's arm.
"Yeah," Doctor Watson says. He purses his lips when he says it, though. Tristram recognises the gesture from playing 'Not Likely' as one of the things Emily did when she was bluffing. Tristram smiles to himself. "He does care, you know," Doctor Watson says quietly, to Tristram.
"I know," Tristram mumbles. He does. He cares about lots of things, like besting people who think they're too clever to be caught, and proving his theories, and somewhere in there, Tristram. He knows.
&&&&&&