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Grace hasn't set an alarm ever since he stopped working at the school to research the astrophage. He's kind of a morning person, anyway, and the scientists he works with don't really care about what time he woke up. He stays late most days, too.
So what is that annoying beeping?
The memories flood in suddenly. The explosion, the meeting, multiple people chasing him. Being tackled to the ground, held down as the world faded.
Fight or flight kicks in immediately, but he finds he cannot move, just managing a sharp inhale behind the oxygen mask that he feels is strapped to his face.
"Calm down," a voice says somewhere to the right of him as the heartbeat monitor he must be attached to speeds up.
Carl.
Grace tries to struggle, but all he manages is a weak twitch of his arms.
He has to get up he has to get out he has to get away-
"We just need to run a few tests," a new, unfamiliar voice speaks. "Before we can induce the coma."
"Please."
It's a soft, shaky voice, but it's his. They're letting him wake up; the drugs must be wearing off.
He can fight this.
His eyes flutter open, scanning the room frantically. The scientist - doctor, probably - that had been there to sedate him, stands beside the bed. Two other medical-looking people are behind him, speaking quietly to each other as they mess with something on a tray that he can't see from his half-lying position.
A guard stands next to the door, and through the windows, he can see multiple guards stationed outside the room as well.
He gulps.
Carl stood to the right of him, a hand on the railing of the bed. Not touching him, but an attempt at a comforting gesture nonetheless.
"Carl," he breathes. "Carl, please. I can't-"
"My orders are clear. I'm sorry, Dr Grace."
'Dr Grace'. Not 'Ryland', or even just 'Grace'.
There's a strap around his chest, restraining him, but he feels it become tighter and tighter as he fights to suck in gulps of air. He can't even wipe the tears that stream down his cheeks away, either; his wrists are tightly bound to the bed.
"Hey, hey…" Carl crouches next to him. "Try to remain calm. Just let them run their tests, and you won't even remember any of this." He says it like it's supposed to be comforting.
When Grace doesn't respond, he grabs a cup from the nightstand and holds it in front of him, turning the straw so he can drink from it once one of the nurses pulls the oxygen mask off his head.
Grace hopes he will choke and die right then and there. But he doesn't. Of course he doesn't, so he just turns his head away after a sip or two, barely enough to soothe his painful throat, raw from screaming.
The doctor takes his jaw in his hand, turning his head so he can shine an uncomfortably bright light into his eyes. Grace squirms a little, which isn't much more than tensing his muscles. He's still weak, and obviously, restrained. The man sighs and puts the light away, instead instructing Grace to follow his finger.
Grace closes his eyes instead.
He hears the doctor sigh again, then a movement beside him.
"Grace, look at me," Carl says calmly. Grace flinches at the feeling of a hand on his bare arm, forcing his eyes open to look at Carl as the doctor steps away for a moment. "Stratt's word is law, you know this. This is gonna happen anyway, whether you like it or not. Hell, even I don't like this, but I know I can't do anything about it."
His breathing's picking up again, so is his heartbeat.
"Either you comply, or this will be much less comfortable for you."
Grace can't tell if he's saying this for his sake or his own.
He forces himself to breathe, allowing Carl to move the oxygen mask back onto his face when the doctor motions for him to do so.
"There we go." Carl smiles gently.
The doctor, once again, asks Grace to follow his finger, and he does begrudgingly. The man is staring at him intensely, and he has to force himself not to squirm under his gaze.
"Are you in any pain?" One of the nurses asks. "Anything recent popped up that's not in your medical history?"
"You have my-" A cough. His throat feels raw. "You have my medical history?"
She looks uncomfortable, but nods. "Is there anything else we need to know?"
He looks at Carl, eyes pleading with him to tell him that this is all some elaborate stupid not-funny prank. Carl shook his head.
"No, that's… It should all be in there."
"Alright, quick pinch, Dr Grace," the doctor says, and that's when he starts struggling again. "No, please-" he gasps, trying to pull his arm out of the man's grasp as he grabs a syringe from the tray.
The machines behind him beep faster and louder as he trashes in the restraints. "Please, I- I need to- I can't-" He's speaking nonsense and he knows it, but he cannot formulate a coherent thought, let alone a good argument to let him stay.
He feels like he's going to explode, the epicenter of the pain being the site where the doctor stabs the needle into his arm, all his thoughts zoning in on the pricking pain and the fear that grips him and threatens to swallow him whole even before the sedative does it's job.
"Please… No…"
Carl rubs his shoulder as the hospital bed tilts so he's lying down.
His eyes feel heavy, but he shakes his head frantically, forcing them to stay open.
"Carl-"
"You're gonna do great."
"Please."