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Tim has never been so hungry in his life before.
He’s well familiar with a growling stomach. With a mildly uncomfortable pulling sensation that usually reminds him that it’s time to finally eat something.
But this … This is a whole different level.
Cramps have been shaking him for a while, and now a hollow ache pulses in his stomach. He feels lightheaded too. Makes it hard to think.
Tim doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, sitting on a cold stone floor, his hands tied behind his back with zip ties that cut into his flesh. He long lost every feeling of time. Can’t tell the difference between day and night. Not anymore. They blindfolded him with a dirty rag before they left. Tim’s world is a void in which he can only hear his shallow breaths, his blood rushing in his ears and the echo of his heartbeat.
He feels like his abductors have been gone forever. What are they doing? Are they trying to figure out if the information he gave them is right? It’s not. He lied to them, of course. Convincing enough to make them stop punching him. Convincing enough to give him some time. Whatever that is worth. He can only sit and wait, letting the pain rush through him like persistent rhythmic waves.
The waiting for nothing is agonising. So agonising, Tim almost wishes the beating and the stupid grunts of his abductors back. At least it would distract him from the emptiness in his stomach, his dry throat and his swollen - probably broken - nose which makes it harder and harder for him to breathe.
But maybe they just left him here to starve. Because no one knows where he is. No one is coming for him.
He did imagine his death in many different scenarios. This wasn’t one of them. Because Tim never liked the thought of being helpless when it happens. But now he is. He’s helpless and weak and he really fucking hates this.
He also is alone. It shouldn’t, but that fact seems to make the pain even worse. He has words he wanted to say but couldn’t. Now they are going to die with him.
Time passes. Nothing happens. The pain continues to nag at him. Tim can tell that his mind seeks a way to escape the monotony of it all. In the end, it’s the dizziness and lightheadedness that makes him slowly pass out.
And when he sinks into blissful nothingness, he feels nothing but relief.
He’s floating. Balancing the fine line between deep unconsciousness and awareness. At first, Tim recoils because he thinks his abductors are back and ready to try to beat the words out of his starving body. I don’t want to go back. I don’t have anything more to give …
But the hand shaking his shoulder is small and … careful? A panicked voice pushes through the fog in his brain.
“Tim? Tim!”
Lucy? That can’t be … He has to be hallucinating. Tim keeps his eyes closed. Can't deal with the level of disappointment that would greet him if he opens them to darkness again.
“Wake up, Tim!”
Tim frowns and notices with sudden wonder that the blindfold is gone. The hope that hits him is unexpectedly strong. When he forces his eyes to open, the light is blinding. But he still blinks into it, trying to find her face. Wanting to see - and feel - if she’s real …
Lucy is on her knees beside him, cradling his head in her hands and looking down at him teary-eyed. “You’re going to be okay,” she tells him. Sounds like she is trying to convince them both.
Warm. Solid. She seems to be real.
Tim is too surprised to say anything. He didn’t think he would wake up again. Especially not to this.
“It’s alright,” Lucy tells him. “Don’t move. We got you.”
Tim wouldn’t be able to move even if he wanted to. He has never felt so weak. Suddenly, Lucy’s hands leave him and someone else touches him. Rough hands. Determined hands. His mind is too slow to process but he can still feel his body flinching and trying to get away from the pain, the -
“It’s okay, Tim.” Lucy is back. Her cool hand reaches for his, squeezing softly. “They are paramedics. They are here to help.”
Oh. That makes sense. Tim tries to relax. Words are exchanged above him.
Dehydration. Malnutrition. Concussion. Bruising. Broken nose. Possible internal bleeding. Hospital.
Ugh. Tim hates hospitals.
There’s a faint prick in his arm and he’s being lifted, the world swaying, making it seem like he’s a boat trapped on a stormy ocean. It’s nauseating. But the hand holding his is not letting go. So he focuses on that until he can’t keep himself from passing out again.
Tim slips in and out of consciousness for the first few days.
Vaguely, he’s aware they’re getting liquids and nutrition back into his body, while his physical injuries are healing.
He wakes up one day - or night? - to Lucy sitting in a plastic chair next to his bed, her body arched like a cat’s, chin resting on her knees that are pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them tightly. Her hair is open and surrounds her in unruly strands.
“Hey,” she whispers tiredly when she notices him looking at her.
“Hey,” Tim breathes, licking his dry lips. “Did you catch them?” He asks hoarsely.
Lucy has a certain furious gleam in her eyes when she shakes her head. “Not yet. But we are on it.”
“Good.” Go get them. Tim closes his eyes again. He’s not worried at all.
Hospitals are boring. Hospital food is too.
Tim frowns at the steaming soup on the tray in front of him.
“Remember. They said you should start with something light,” Lucy says mildly amused. “Because otherwise you will either feel nauseous or get a tummy ache.”
Tim sighs. He doesn't feel the need for more aching. But eating soup is tedious. It’s going to take forever and he’s probably going to spill some of it. He looks from the soup to Lucy who has a strange tight-lipped expression on her face and a thoughtful distance in her eyes.
“What?” Tim asks.
Lucy shakes her head, her eyes softening. “Nothing. I’m just … I’m glad we found you in time.”
Tim swallows. “Yeah. Me too. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t alone,” Lucy says.
Tim nods. They never are. But he didn’t only mean his rescue. He means the way Lucy didn’t let go of his hand when the paramedics touched him and lifted him. When he was helpless and vulnerable in a whole other way. Too many words. Not enough time to express them in a way he knows how to.
“I have to go to work now. Eat your soup,” Lucy tells him in an exaggeratedly stern voice.
„Are you my mum?” Tim asks, raising a brow, but he still reaches for the spoon.
Lucy chuckles. She throws her hair back and leaves with a wave.
When Tim catches sight of her now empty chair, the spoon freezes on its way to his mouth. It’s not completely empty. A smile pulls at Tim's lips.
Lucy left him a recorder with earphones.
And while Tim looks at it, he actually feels pretty good about being alive.