Chapter Text
Chapter Eighteen
Six weeks later
Time for a cup of coffee, he thinks and pushes himself to his feet. The bunk room outside his quarters is quiet and he takes the chance to do a lap, stretching muscles gone stiff with sitting. There's an ice pack and bunk time in his future, hip and lower back a dull throb. He ducks back into his quarters and picks up the pack of ibuprofen there, popping two in his mouth and chasing them with a gulp of water.
Something goes down the wrong way, and suddenly he feels like he's choking, coughing violently. He can feel the desk under his hands but his mind is back on the house collapse.
So much pain it steals his breath away. There are things - hands - holding him down and he can't breathe. There's something in his mouth, his throat and he gags on it, jerking one hand to get it away. His throat is on fire, burning like a car wreck and…
He jumps, flinching as real warm hands land on his shoulders and shake him, slightly.
"Matt!" Brett calls again and from her tone it's not the first time she's called his name. "You with me? What happened?"
Her hand drifts down to his wrist, feeling the racing pulse there. His skin is warm, clammy and he's breathing hard.
He blinks and rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. Sorry." His mind is racing and it's hard to focus on her but he forces himself. Pushes the nightmare back into its box and makes himself smile. "I'm fine."
"Your pulse is telling me a different story," she scolds gently and feels that flinch again, realising suddenly that maybe she's jumped into troubled waters without really intending to. He's been quiet since getting back to work and she suddenly wonders if it's more than just paperwork getting him down.
He picks up the bottle of water. "Went down the wrong way," he says as if that explains everything.
She frowns and risks another question. "Do you remember much, about the accident?" Sylvie asks and watches his face darken. It's too soon, she shouldn't have asked and she wishes she could claw the words back.
He shrugs. "Bits and pieces. Sensations, mostly." His lip curls on the word sensations and she has to hold back a flinch.
He's not sure what he remembers. It's all flashes and pain and cold and he can't tell what really happened and what his mind dredged up to fill in the blanks.
He could read the incident report. It's all down in there in black and white, but every time he tries to open the folder, he can't bring himself to do it. Even the thought of reading it makes his hands clammy, makes nausea roll in his gut. It makes him feel like a failure, like he's weak, and that's not something that he's used to feeling.
She's not quite sure how to answer him, because there's a note in his voice that she's never heard before. He sounds lost, adrift, and everything inside of her wants to reach out to him only she's not sure if he'd welcome it.
The bells ring and they both listen. It's a call for Ambo and she ducks out of his quarters with a quiet smile that promises the conversation isn't over.
He watches her go, then turns back to his desk and the folder waiting there. Coffee first, he decides, knowing all he's doing is putting the moment off.
---
It isn't until much later, when she's helping Gabby to restock the rig until it hits her. She stares at the ET tube in her hand, and puts the pieces together slowly.
Oh Matt, she thinks, damn it, this is my fault.
The thought of him remembering the intubation makes her feel sick with guilt. It might have been to save his life but she owes him a conversation, if he wants it, only she has no idea how to bring it up.
The bells go off again before she has chance to seek him out but she promises herself that she's going to try when they get back.