Chapter Text
Morse was right, the house was a maze of back stair and hidden passages, and Morse was grateful that his over productive mind could remember most. He had to work fast, quietly slipping from the group that were at a standstill in fear of losing another child.
Morse was not going to let that happen. Especially not after Bunty had asked him to save her, not after she put her trust in him to keep her safe. He wasn’t going to add her name to the list of people he couldn’t save.
He quickly pictured Blacks options. It was unlikely he’d stay on the same floor with so many officers on his trail and he’d know the ground floor was probably covered too, so his only real option was up.
Morse sprinted up the back stairs in record time, miraculously without losing his footing going three steps a pace, using the banister to pull him faster.
He slipped through the cobwebs and broken wall panel and, as expected, Morse was right. He found Black at the top floor tightly holding Bunty to his chest with one arm and the other pointing a knife at Morse.
“Stand off” Black snarled, edging backwards. “You know I’ll do it.”
Morse wasn’t really concerned about the knife shakily pointed in his direction, more the large hole in the floor Morse had the misfortune of falling through the other day. The floorboards were too decrepit to take the weight of him and Bunty. He had to act fast before the two of them fell through.
“Bunty look at me, he’s not going to hurt you” He said, eyes flickering between her and the hole. He knew he couldn’t get closer, he needed Bunty to help.
“You sure about that?” He moved the knife close to her chest.
There. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch. “Beware of the Jabberwock. What comes next?” And god, he prayed she knew what he meant. She was petrified, but it was the only thing he could think of without Black striking out.
But she was bright, and fast thinking, quickly understanding Morse’s meaning and biting down on Blacks arm.
“Agh!” Black shouted, taken aback by the unexpected pain causing him to release Bunty from his grasp.
Morse quickly lunged in, pushing Bunty back before taking hold of Black by both arms, the two wrestling to overpower the other.
Morse regretted having not slept for almost 48 hours, feeling sluggish in his movements. Black easily pushed him back and threw out his knife which caught Morse across the cheek.
He hissed at the sharp sting but quickly regained his thoughts and hit Blacks wrist hard, causing the knife to fall carelessly against the floor.
The man took no time grabbing Morse who pushed into him in return.
It happened fast but Morse saw every moment like a stop show animation.
Blacks tight hold on him, the unevenness to his steps as he put his focus on fighting Morse. The fatal step back onto the rotten flooring.
The weight of the two men overwhelmed the damaged floor, collapsing beneath them.
They both plummeted down, falling onto the debris whilst more followed, scattering around them.
He was aware of his head hitting something hard, landing harshly on his front.
There was a muted scream from above him before he slipped from consciousness.
…
“Morse!” Thursday called out, in an attempt to let the lad know backup was coming whilst he no doubt made some valiant actions which Thursday would likely brand stupid.
It wasn’t until he heard a crash and a horrifically high-pitched scream from a petrified Bunty that he feared the worst.
Fred cursed, trying to climb up the damn stairs faster.
He reached the attic to find Bunty glued to the wall, wide eyes not leaving the, now bigger, hole in the floor.
Fred didn’t want to look. Putting two and two together of the absence of Morse and Black and the large amount of dust filling the air from the gap in the flooring. “You’re alright, Bunty. Come away from there.” He said with open hands, not wanting to risk getting closer.
Once she was safely by the staircase on solid ground, Thursday etched closer to the hole, careful of the precarious floorboards.
He couldn’t look. Couldn’t. It was too soon. Too soon after Coke Norris, too soon after London. The boy was too young for so many brushes with danger.
And now he lay, unmoving in a heap of limbs with Terrence Black, covered in the wreckage from the collapsed floor, face down. Dust completely covered their bodies like snowfall covering the ground on a cold winters day.
“Morse!” he heard himself shout desperately at his motionless DC. He cursed the darkness; he couldn’t make out if his chest were rising or falling.
He wasted no time sprinting back down the stairs, throwing the girl to Strange as he rounded to the corridor where the two men lay, Jakes and Church followed.
Thursday collapsed at Morse’s side, knee hitting some splintered wood, but he didn’t pay it any mind.
He was fearful to touch him, afraid to cause the lad more pain. Afraid if he touched him, he’d go somewhere Fred couldn’t follow.
He took a deep breath and reached out a shaking hand, pressing two fingers gently on Morse’s neck.
Relief flooded over him. A slow steady pulse, but for how long?
“Get an ambulance!” Thursday bellowed. Jakes ran off immediately.
“Morse? Can you hear me?” His voice was shaky but stern.
Thursday rose. He needed to get him off Black, who showed no signs of life. He leaned over to roll Morse onto his back using the lads shoulder.
“Not sure if you should be doing that, Thursday.” Church muttered.
He snapped his head back, glaring at the man. “What do you think I should do hm? Leave him like this? To hell with you.” Thursday spat. Damn his impertinence.
He gently rolled Morse onto his back. His face was dark and wet, caked in blood from a gash hidden by his matted curls. Fred cursed, unable to see how bad the cut was.
He looked over Morse the best he could, trying to see any other injuries. He couldn’t see any significant amounts of blood anywhere else, his suit obscured him from seeing fully, though. From the unnatural angle Morse’s right arm lay, it was definitely broken.
He saw Church check Black for a pulse but pulled away shaking his head. Good riddance.
There was another cut on the side of Morse’s face, but in Fred opinion seemed superficial which he was grateful for. The less life-threatening injuries the better. Part of Fred was still hopeful that it was just a slight blow to the head which knocked him out and the blood that covered him was just from a scratch.
Thursdays eyebrows were knitted together in concern for the lad, unable to tear his eyes away from the horror scene. “I’m here, Morse, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” He said weakly, hoping even in his unconscious state Morse could hear him and find some comfort in his words.
Jakes thundered down the corridor to them. “ETA five minutes... Is he?”
“He’s alive.” Thursday breathed out, cursing at his inability to see the extent of his injuries.
“Why isn’t there any bloody light up here?”
No one responded, trying to escape Thursdays wrath.
His eyes returned to his DC. “Hold on, Morse. Not long now.” He murmured, putting his fingers back to his throat in fear he’d slip away. It made him sick how slow his heart was beating even with the vague reassurance that he was still with them.
Time felt like it was going in slow motion, it was the longest five minutes of his entire life before he heard the wailing sirens and the heavy footsteps running up the numerous staircases.
Thank god they had common sense and came with torches, although being able to see the lad clearly made Thursdays stomach churn.
The light reflected off the thick blood that obscured his face, making him almost unrecognisable. The parts of his skin that were visible looked almost grey against the dust. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths.
“Step away please, Sir.” A woman said to him, quickly taking Thursdays place by Morse’s side.
Thursday stepped back to stand with Jakes who seemed stunned.
She carefully brushed Morse’s stained hair back. “Deep head wound. BP 80 over 40 and dropping.” One medic said whilst three others lifted Morse onto a stretcher.
“Possible internal injuries, work fast everyone.”
Thursday found himself chasing after them as they descended the stairs, careful not to jostle the unconscious detective.
“Do you want to come with us?” One paramedic asked Thursday as they reached the ambulance.
Thursday nodded, climbing in the back with two paramedics whilst the other two got in the front.
A face mask was quickly placed over Morse’s mouth and the other medic placed a white bandage over the head wound which quickly turned dark.
“Don’t worry sir, head wounds bleed a lot.” The female medic said, reading the concerned look in Thursdays eyes.
“Will he be alright?”
“I’m sorry, Sir we won’t be able to tell until he’s been fully assessed, right now we need to focus on the head wound.”
The male paramedic next to her leaned over her, shining a penlight into Morse’s dull eyes. “Pupils are dilated and unresponsive, likely from the head injury. From the looks of it, it might be a skull fracture.”
Thursday all of a sudden found it hard to breathe. Fractured skulls could be fatal. He’d come across enough soldiers during the war that hit their head and died from haemorrhaging. He couldn’t push the horrifying thought from his head. That couldn’t happen to Morse. It couldn’t.
It was 15 minutes before the ambulance stopped and the medics burst into action, moving Morse out of the ambulance and through the doors of the ER.
Thursday followed, not wanting to leave the boys side.
“Doctor!” the woman shouted, speeding ahead. “Male, early thirties, fell through a floor.”
Thursday cursed internally, only Morse could manage something like this. Twice.
“Get his clothes off, I need to assess the damage.”
The paramedics got to work cutting Morse’s suit off whilst the doctor looked at his head. “Looks like a linear fracture.” The tall doctor said, “Get him a bag of O neg and an IV of antibiotics.”
Morse was now stripped to his boxers, exposing his pale freckled skin which was littered in scratches and bruises. More alarming was the faint dark colour residing under the skin of his abdomen.
“Looks like a ruptured liver, get me a surgery room prepped, we need to stop the bleeding.”
The doctors snapped to work, careering Morse down endless corridors to an OR. Thursday found it hard to keep up, eyes fixed on the stretcher.
Then they disappeared through a set of double doors, leaving Thursday with one of the paramedics whilst he caught his breath.
“He’s in the best hands, Sir.” the woman says confidently.
Thursday nodded dully, leaning against the stark wall of the corridor.
“There’s a waiting room just this way, if you like.”
Thursday laughed. He’d been in the casualty waiting room enough times to find his way blindfolded. Dammit he was getting too old for this.
He was going to be having strong words with Morse about self-preservation once he woke up.