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On the island he hadn’t had much time to think on before. It probably took him longer than he should to learn that lesson, but eventually he had. So for a long time he hadn’t thought about the past. Being home was different though. The past surrounded him.
He was still on guard every minute, but he wasn’t supposed to be. It was probably one of those things that was building a ledge between him and everyone he knew. And there was more time, he wasn’t always on the move.
He found himself thinking about the past more than he liked. The Island and before. Not enough time on the now. It lead to moments when he was lost in his thoughts and when he clawed his way back out people would glance at him like they knew something was wrong. Nobody called him on it.
It never happened when he was focusing on something, only when he had time to let his mind wander on it. He was starting to get the hang of it.
He’d gotten sick on the island, there were months when it felt like he’d stayed sick, especially in the beginning. But that last year, if he had been, it hadn’t been bad enough for him to notice.
So this snuck up on him, he wasn’t expecting it and he was actively not letting himself think on things. And no one called him on it so it was inconsequential.
Until he found himself tilting to the side and only Dig reaching out and grabbing him being what kept him up. “Woah,” he caught Dig saying while he steadied him and in an instant Oliver realized just how badly he was feeling.
He was sure Dig said something else, but he wasn’t paying attention to it, he was stuck on trying to figure out how long this had been building and what he’d been thinking by ignoring it. You ‘couldn’t’ ignore these kinds of things.
He was in the car next to Dig before he knew it, couldn’t stop himself from pushing into the car door when it felt like he was too close. “Just close your eyes, we’ll have you home soon.” And that was Dig, trying to be helpful but all Oliver wanted to say was that he was fine and he could handle this, and he didn’t need to go home. He shouldn’t go home.
He didn’t say any of that, just closed his eyes and let the car soothe him into something not quite sleep.
When he opened them again, Dig was helping him out of the car and they were through the front door between one blink and the next. Moira was there then, one arm around his waist and helping him up the stairs as well.
“I’m fine,” he finally managed, pulling away at his door but neither of them paid him any attention. Instead he was lead to his bed.
He blinked and his mother’s hand was on his forehead and she was frowning, and the next blink someone was working on his shirt. “Stop,” and this time he must have managed it because the hands stopped and he had enough space around him. “I’m fine,” he repeated and this time it must have come out right.
“Honey, your burning up.” And that was his mother, sounding worried and patient, and like she knew he was lying and wanted him to know it. “You need to lay down.”
“I can’t,” he tried because there was so much to do. Even if what he had to do wasn’t clear anymore. “Gotta keep moving,” he finally latched on, the only thing that made sense in his head.
It was probably the wrong thing to say, judging by the sound his mother made or the way her hand went through his hair. “No, your home and your safe, you need to lay down.”
And he nodded because he was tired and that’s all he wanted to do was lay down, and he wanted to believe her, that he was home and that he was safe. “I’m cold,” he said because he was but he couldn’t bring himself to actually lay down.
Then Dig was back, working on his shirt again and he let him. Let him unbutton it and pull it off, and then pull off his shoes and socks. But still didn’t lay down, just sat there with his eyes shut and trying to gain the strength to get back up.
His mother’s hands were back, pushing him back gently until he was laying down, and he opened his eyes in time to watch her finish pulling the comforter over him. She leaned back over him, smiling softly and running her hand through his hair again. She was saying something, but he wasn’t paying attention.
He woke up and it was dark, he jerked up immediately having no idea of how long he slept. It wasn’t the right move to make though, he found himself tripping over his feet and hitting the floor hard. He was stuck somewhere between his sheets and a dense forest with people chasing him. And when a gentle hand was on his shoulder, he jerked away into a roll until he hit his bed.
He blinked and one moment it was his Walter and his mother, and another it was a mercenary and Fires and he couldn’t get away. “No,” he begged but they didn’t leave, didn’t move. “Not again, no more.” And the image blinked away and Walter was back, staring at him with wide eyes.
His mother was right next to Walter, staring and pale.
He blinked a couple of more times just to make sure that they’d stay, “sorry I woke you.” He ended up saying because no one was moving or saying anything, just his harsh breathing.
His mother moved then, like he’d given her the okay, put a hand on his forehead and one on his shoulder. The same one that he’d been shot in, he jerked from the remembered pain. “Your fever is worse,” she said softly, moving her hand.
“I’m fine,” he tried, even attempted a smile but he knew it fell flat.
He might have fallen asleep like that, curled up against his bed with his feet tangled in the blankets and his mother close but not touching, because the next thing he knew there was a thermometer in his mouth. It was probably ancient, who knew where it had been. But he figured they’d probably cleaned it and made sure it worked so he didn’t fight it. Just sat there staring blankly at Walter while his mother forced herself not to touch him.
He liked that, most of the time he could force himself to stand all the touching, but right now he had no barriers. There hadn’t been a lot of touching on the island.
“I think we should go to the hospitable,” his mother’s voice broke him from his thoughts and he realized the thermometer was gone and there was Walter nodding.
“I don’t,” he started but stopped because he also didn’t want to go back to bed, he needed to move. Keep on moving, couldn’t waste time, there was too much to do. It would make his mother feel better as well. So he stopped himself and nodded, but didn’t make a move to get up until Walter had a hand on his arm and was helping him up.
“Right then, lets get you a little more presentable.” Walter was saying and he was nodding, a glance at his mother and she was on the phone. Probably calling them in. Advantages of being rich, no pesky lines at the ER.
Putting on a shirt made him realize his whole body ached, and standing sent his head pounding, and the world was swaying, back and forth like the night on the yacht.
“Its getting closer,” he found himself mumbling, remembering Sarah’s words about the storm, and he shook his head, pulling away from Walter’s gentle hands to fall on the bed. He swallowed and focused on his shirt, his hands shaking as he did up the buttons.
He ended up with an extra button at the bottom but it was close enough for now, they were watching him, probably getting worried the longer he sat there. “Ready,” he smiled, and Walter was back, hands on him. This time when he jerked away he fell into the bed post, but he nodded his head and gritted his teeth when Walter motioned to help him again.
He knew better than to ignore his body, and this was his punishment.
Dig was there with a frown and a car, opening the door so they could help him in and then they were driving. It was too hot next to his mother, and he laid his head on the cool glass with a groan. “Its no surprise this is hitting him harder, he’s been away for five years.” Walter was saying, and they were in the city, the lights too bright but Oliver kept his eyes open.
“Flu?” he asked, because the conversation was about him and he never remembered flus being this bad.
“Probably,” Walter nodded with a sigh, and there was his mother her hand on his arm and he let her. It made her feel better, and he welcomed it in a way even if his body didn’t.
“Should have realized I was sick,” he mumbled, closing his eyes because it hurt.
He drifted off again, must have because the next thing he knew they were outside of the brightly lit emergency entrance. “Lam said he’d meet us here,” his mother explained when he blinked at her in confusion.
He kept his eyes closed as they lead him into the ER, squeezing them shut against the noise and the lights. Walter was at his side while his mother talked to the nurse in Admittance, arm around his waist and keeping him steady as they stood there waiting for the next move.
Oliver took the moment to glance around him, to see how many people he was cutting off and any dangers, and to find escape paths just in case. He needed to lay down, he wasn’t going to last on his feet much longer. Needed a spot to hide until he could defend himself.
They got him a wheelchair to bring him to a private exam room, Walter was probably thankful. He wasn’t light and he was sure he was covered in sweat. He needed five minutes, to gather his strength and then he could hold his own a little longer.
He waited until he was alone, the nurse bringing the wheelchair with him and his mother and Walter presumably finding the doctor. Then he put himself on the floor and squeezed himself into the corner between the bed and the wall. It was as good as a spot he could find in the brightly lit room.
He didn’t wake up when his mother and Walter came back in, didn’t twitch when she said his name sadly. When the doctor came in though, his eyes jerked open and he squeezed himself in tighter. “Oliver, honey it’s okay.” But he shook his head, he wasn’t ready yet. “It is, he’s here to make you feel better.”
He didn’t move until a couple of nurses came in, one larger than the rest. Then he got himself ready, he wasn’t in a good positi9on. It had been a bad idea, but now he was here and they were coming. He wasn’t going to let himself get taken again.
The bed moved and he jumped up, knocking the nurse down and using the wall for momentum to throw himself at his biggest attacker. He had him down with one punch, ignored the ache in his hand as he ran for the door.
Should have expected the needle, but he didn’t. He could feel it working quickly, he’d be down before long, he knew it. They were closing in on him, and the only place he could go was a wall at his back. All he could do was try and fight them as long as he could.
Dig was there then, running through the doorway and keeping everyone back. “Help,” he managed, desperate and confused because Dig wasn’t on the island and neither was his mother, yet here they were. Home didn’t have this, being chased and cornered and needing out. The island didn’t have white walls either.
Dig was there though, keeping everyone away and he was saying something but the blood was pounding through his head and he couldn’t hear him over that rush.
He woke up in a panic, trying to get out of the bed but unable to. Latched down in a way that didn’t help his panic any, “mom?” He asked in confusion when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and saw her standing over him.
She smiled, but she was worried and thinking on it made his head hurt worse. “What happened,” because the world was making more sense. He must have done something to be in restraints but he couldn’t remember it.
“Your fever spiked,” she explained. “You knocked out an orderly,” and she was sad with the worry and the relief.
“I don’t remember that,” he admitted, looking around but they were alone in the room. “Sorry.”
She shook her head, brushing it off. “The doctor said your fever broke an hour ago, you’ll be able to go home soon. Just a couple of hours of observation.”
They were quiet for a while, the doctor had come and claimed him sane enough to be untied but not well enough to leave quiet yet, and he dozed on and off, not able to sleep fully in this unfamiliar area where people came and went without any care of his say.
“Oliver,” his mother started in his latest state of awareness. “Maybe we should look into someone for you to see.”
He frowned, knew where this was heading but ignored it. “My social life is fine, mother.”
“Someone for you to talk to,” she explained like he wasn’t being purposefully dense.
“Mom,” he started knowing his exasperation was bleeding through and maybe it sounded a little like a whine but he didn’t want to have this conversation. He’d managed to avoid it up to now and he was happy with that, he was happy with how it was right now.
“No, listen to me Oliver. Last night,” and she had to stop to take a breathe and gather her thoughts. He could see the words aligning themselves in her head. “The island changed you Oliver, and that’s fine, but you were terrified last night… and I think you’re doing a lot of pretending.”
“Mom, I’m fine, really.” And he pushed himself up for this, ignoring the aches in his body. “I don’t remember last night, but… I was, I think I was confused where I was at. Whatever happened, it’s not normal. I don’t have an urge to attack orderlies.”
“It’s not healthy to have all of that lay under the surface,” she shook her head. “What I saw,” but she stopped and smiled. “We can talk about it later, right now you need to rest.”
He nodded, laying down and stared at the ceiling. Trying to figure out what had happened because he couldn’t argue that he was all right unless he knew what had worried her. “It was different there, mom. I had to be different… that’s not going to go away overnight.”
“I know, just think on it honey.”