TW; mentions of past abuse (physical), mentions of death, mentions of medical issues and machinery, alcoholism
No ones favourite place is the hospital - not with its ever present smell of detergent and lingering death. The repeated white hallways that look the same with every turn offer no comfort to those that walk it, searching for the right door to be comforted by what they found behind it, or destroyed completely. This is not how Tommy thought his day was going to pan out; his boots were not suppose to squeak against the vinyl flooring as he narrowly avoids collision with a bed on wheels charging to an unknown destination, one that either way wouldn't be used if that person was having a good day. There was the one exception, but Tommy wont think about the ward he'll never walk into, not today, not with her inside these walls.
The call had come at a jobsite. As one tool was put down and Tommy reached for the next, a songbird of death sang in the form of a default ringtone, lighting up the screen of it's unprepared victim. If one had been watching Tommy in the moment they would see the cheerful greeting as his last moment of peace, watch as it disolved like cotton candy exposed to a monsoon as the nurse on the other end all too eagerly informs him of his ex-wives appearance in town, of her health deteriation and her limited time. A fog settles in as the call beeps to alert it's over. He sat there trying to clear it, bewildered and in shock all at once. Had he just stepped into the Twilight Zone? An alternative universe where time had been rewitten? Nothing in that call had made sense, from the slip of Mrs Maddox to the fact that she didn't live here any more. Denial settled in, thinking someone was pulling his leg with a unfunny prank. Doubt paired with it as he typed into Google the number he'd recieved the call from, just to be sure. Dread returned with the right detail,erasing ideas of old friends with bad humour.
Work was left unfinished with a promise of fixing it tomorrow. Tommy's jeep is left parked awfully in the lot outside deaths hotel, he's unsure how he managed to get here with no memory of even buckling in or pausing at any red lights. Boots fall heavy until the destination comes into view, a room number the nurse had read out to him, one that every step closer to he slowed. Tommy didn't want to walk in there, yet he'd come all this way without a thought not to. If he turned around now he could escape. As he pauses, his feet ready to retreat, her voice slips into the hallway with him, wrapping itself around him. I'll be there when you wake up. Tommy's skin crawls under the worlds spoken to someone else, ones that once upon a time would have belonged to him. It occurs to him now that she might not be alone, that there was one other person who could return as a ghost to haunt him standing inside that room. With a held breath he waits, readying for his retreat once it's confirmed, but Liam's voice does not carry out as her's had. In fact her's continues, sickenly sweet with promises of a reunion despite what Tommy knows is limited time. Either she is on the phone or far more lost to this reality than the nurses had elaborated on the phone; Tommy's feet could not carry him away without knowing. What if she was truly alone? He'd never want that for her, not in these final days.
Squaring his shoulders, Tommy steps into the doorway readying to announce himself. Just as he thinks he knows what he's going to find, Tommy is once again left in a state of confusion at what awaits him. Alma is in fact in Merrock, in this hospital room, but there she sits in what seems like perfect health, phone to ear as she professes her love to Liam like he hadn't been living in Merrock's outskirts for years without her. Or was it someone else she loved now? Giving her heart away far easier than Tommy ever could again. Whilst his eyes could linger on her for hours, just to drink in the sight of her beauty, he can't stop himself from staring at the man in the bed. A new emotion slipped between confusion and pain, of clouds left behind by hurricane Alma. Glee. The bastard in the bed did not look well, in fact Tommy could see him racing to the end as his monitors record his hurried beats. If there was a higher power he's pretty sure they were giving him a gift, regardless of the pain that came along with it. He stares the old man down, eyes and jaw hard though if one looked hard enough they might see a little Tommy dancing in his eyes.
They'd spent a decade together and yet hearing his name in her voice again feels strange. No dream, or nightmare, could get it right. There was always something off about it, like it'd been recorded in the worst moments and he was refuses access to any better versions. "They-" he has to clear his throat, his mouth suddenly dry as he comes to the part where she is all too real, no longer an idea that haunts him. Anxiety had slipped in behind the glee, filling in the space around his pumping heart, dancing along with all the emotions that Tommy did not have skills to deal with. "The hospital called. They said-" he pauses, looking back to Alma's father. A stray hand waves in the man's direction "that it was you." So he'd come, even though he'd been single for a decade, and she'd been promising a quick return to whoever she loved just a moment before. "They said you were sick."
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