Chapter Text
They were filming their new special, The Perfect Road Trip 2', and Jeremy was driving the pair of them in what, in Richard's opinion, was the most exciting car of the series: the McLaren P1. The weather was glorious, and even though Richard was desperate to have a go at driving the car, it was still a wonderful morning.
At this moment they had overtaken the camera car and were driving a little way ahead. So when an oversized and overladen van came hurtling around the corner on the wrong side of the road, it came as a shock. Jeremy was a very good driver and reacted quickly, swirling towards the wrong side of the road to avoid the oncoming vehicle.
Later, after an expert reviewed the footage and data from the accident, Jeremy would be advised that even a professional racing driver would not have been able to react quickly enough to avoid the accident. An ME would confirm that the van driver had a significant amount of alcohol in his system. An Italian police officer would send a clear, concise email in perfect English clearing Jeremy of any fault in the accident or any culpability in the subsequent death of the van driver. In the moment of impact though, as Jeremy realised that his reactions had not been enough, he felt guilt, horror, and an overwhelming sense of dread. The car was traveling at over 70 miles an hour. The chances of them escaping unscathed was almost non-existent.
The airbag had gone off in Jeremy's face and he could feel blood dripping down his temple. His body ached like a marathon runner’s as he carefully lifted his head enough to gaze through the shattered windscreen at the totalled bonnet of the car.
Jeremy could see how much his hands were shaking so he gripped the steering wheel tightly enough to endanger his circulation and looked over towards the passenger seat.
Richard was slumped in his seat, his chin resting on his chest There were no visible injuries but Jeremy could see some of the small cameras and lights that were usually fixed to the windscreen had come loose and some were lying in Richard's lap.
"Hammond" Jeremy called, trying to rouse him first with his voice. "Richard!" He was alarmed by his own hoarseness and Richard's stillness. He was terrified that some of the equipment that had come loose had impacted with Richard’s head. There was no response. He reached over to try and prod Richard awake. Then the camera crew were swarming at his window and Richard’s, they were speaking to him but he didn’t comprehend the question.
“Richard.” He said again as he watched their medic open the passenger side door, check Richard’s pulse and breathing, and then cut through the seatbelt and yank the man out of the car without waiting for a c-collar like the one Jeremy was now being fitted with. It wasn’t a good sign.
Andy ran from where he had been at Jeremy’s window, around the car to where Richard was out of sight, presumably laid out on the floor. Sound snippets came in and out, and on his side were a couple of crew members with first aid training, both medics were now attending to Richard.
“Can you move your fingers and toes?” One of them asked Jeremy. Jeremy checked and he could, so they helped him out of the car, and to sit a safe distance from the vehicle, just in case it decided to combust. “The ambulance is on its way.” The young cameraman assured him.
“What’s going on with Hammond, I can’t see.” Jeremy asked, sore and in pain but still determined to find out what had happened to his friend. “Did they check his head? Some of the camera equipment detached from the windscreen, it could have made contact.”
The cameraman was avoiding eye contact now, focusing instead on cleaning the cut on Jeremy’s temple.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is wrong with Hammond!” Jeremy finally bellowed. At this Andy reappeared.
“Jeremy, you need to calm down. The ambulance should be here any minute.” Andy said, firmly.
“Wilman, why isn’t anyone telling me anything? Richard wasn’t moving, did he hit his head.” Jeremy demanded, his tone quieter but no less desperate. A deep unsettling coldness flooded through his system when he saw the expression on Andy’s face. An expression he had once seen, many years earlier, in a hospital in Leeds at 4am as Andy revealed that Richard had sunk deeper into his coma and the doctors weren’t sure he would survive the night.
“When we reached the car Richard’s heart had stopped and he wasn’t breathing. Our medics immediately started CPR, and used the AED. They’ve managed to get a pulse back and he’s breathing again, but he’s still unconscious. They’re using the AED as a pacemaker while we wait for the ambulances to arrive.”
There was suddenly no more to say. Jeremy felt the tears well up behind his eyes, and stubbornly kept them at bay. He was hurt, yes, but he wasn’t incapable and now he needed to step up and do what needed to be done. He groped around in his pocket and was able to extract a still working and mostly intact telephone.
“I need to call Mindy, let her know…”
“You need to call Francie, and tell her how you are. I will call Mindy once we know what the paramedics think. I can hear the sirens now.” Andy was immovable on this point. “You can’t see yourself but you’re shaking like a leaf and when we got to you there was blood running down your face. You’re bruised and you probably have at least a mild concussion. You’re going to the hospital too, and I will keep you updated on Richard. I promise.”
Then the ambulances hurtled into view and Andy was up and talking to the Italian paramedics. They loaded Richard into the first ambulance after the briefest examination and were blue lighting him away with Andy in the back just as the second ambulance came into view.
Jeremy’s phone felt heavy in his hand. Francie needed to know he was alright, or rather, would be alright, but the crash had happened so incredibly quickly. He didn’t even know what had happened to the other driver. His hands, the only part of his skin he could see, had gone a funny grey colour under the light sunburn and he was still shaking. If he spoke to Francie now he would fall apart. He probably needed to break down, but he couldn’t afford to yet.
He looked at the time, as the Italian paramedics shone a light in his eyes and asked him questions. He gave quick, terse answers and worked out that James would be filming on location today and it was nowhere near lunchtime in the UK. James was as pedantic about keeping his phone off when he was filming Ashe was in every other area of his life. Jeremy instructed a nearby researcher to get him the number of the producer in charge of Cars of the People and at least one back-up number as quickly as possible.
Now he was standing up, albeit with a slight wobble, and was being helped into the back of an ambulance. The phone calls could wait. He did text Francie though.
“I’m okay but I’ve been in a bit of a spill. The car’s totalled. Richard’s hurt badly, I’ll call you later xxxx”
Francie would see through the text in a second, but she would also recognise it as a request for time before he rang her. He just hoped he’d reassured her enough that she would give it to him.
20 minutes later at the hospital, he had been given a small, private room due to his celebrity status, and left alone. He was hurt, yes, but there was nothing life threatening and he was low priority for now. Frustratingly, he hadn’t had an update about Richard. Andy knew how worried he was. No news was as likely to be bad news as good news at this stage.
The researcher from earlier appeared in the doorway, with what looked like Jeremy’s overnight bag. It probably contained pyjamas and his washbag, along with his laptop and phone charger and other essentials.
“Do you have an update on Hammond.” Jeremy asked, immediately.
“No, but I have some of your things and the phone numbers that you requested.” The researcher responded, quick, polite and respectful which probably meant he was trying to avoid a tirade for not having the information Jeremy wanted. Jeremy was too tired and in too much pain to start shouting, so instead he took the piece of paper and started dialling the numbers. Soon enough his efforts bore fruit when James May rang his phone.
“Jeremy, what’s going on? Suddenly mid-take one of the producers said I had to call you immediately?” James’ tone was guarded, as if he half expected this to be a prank. Jeremy so wished it had been.
“We had a crash. I was driving, I crashed the McLaren. I’m a bit banged up but okay. Hammond’s heart stopped but last I heard they had got a pulse back. I’m at the hospital now, I’m still waiting for an update.”
“Jesus… Where are you?” James asked, sounding horrified.
“In a hospital just outside Sienna.”
“And you, are you really okay?” James asked.
“I probably have a mild concussion, but no real confusion or memory loss. I’m bruised and sore all over, but I’m made of iron, you know that, I’ll be absolutely fine.”
“I need to talk to some people here, but I’ll be on a flight soon. Look after yourself, Jeremy.”
“Okay,” Jeremy suddenly felt insecure again. “I’ll see you soon.”
“And Jeremy.”
“Yes”
“Whatever the situation is with Hammond, you need to remember that it isn’t your fault. He’ll tell you that himself soon enough.” James had his schoolteacher tone on again. He wasn’t one for showing his emotions, but he had an uncanny ability to understand everyone else’s.
“See you when you get here, then.” Jeremy said, and the conversation ended.
Jeremy’s phone dinged and there was a text newly arrived from Francie. He made his painful way to the door of the room and closed it before lying down again on the bed. There was undoubtedly more he needed to do but none crossed his mind now, so he dialled his wife’s number, and let himself melt into her comforting voice.