Encore (Prodigy: 3)

Second-Hand Smoke

"I'm sorry, Zane," Jessica said.

Zane didn't look up.

He sat outside the bedroom Locke was in. The smell of the hospital made him feel sick again. So clean it smelt awful.

The bench he sat on was so hard, so uncomfortable, how could anyone wait for hours on these things? How could anyone expect anything of anyone else while they were sat on these benches?

"Zane," Jessica said.

She set a gentle hand on his shoulder and he shrugged her away, dipping his head, his shoulders curling in. His forearms pressed into his thighs, his hands clasped together, slowly tightening until his dark skin started to pale.

"Zane, please, I really am sorry."

"Sorry," Zane whispered, his teeth slowly grinding together, grinding down until his jaw throbbed. "You're sorry."

"We honestly thought he was dead. The doctors lost him but he... Joe had no right to send you that message. I'm so sorry I didn't know, I would have called you right away to reassure you."

"Just stop," Zane said, straightening up, still not looking at her, looking towards the windows, cold moonlight turning his skin a faded blue, a dull grey.

Jessica – sweet Jessica, the girl who meant the world to him, who'd never hurt him – looked towards his reflection with eyes so guilt ridden she could have broken in front of him. Collapsed right there and then. Could have never recovered from the sense of betrayal Zane was feeling at that moment.

He knew he couldn't blame her. It wasn't her fault.

But god...

"Why did he do it?" he asked instead, pushing aside the emotions in Jess's eyes.

"Joe?"

"Locke."

"We don't know," Jess replied quickly, "He seemed fine yesterday and then this morning... the doctors say it's a miracle he's still alive. They think he should have died back in the hotel and yet..." She shook her head. "Yet he's still alive... he's alright."

"He's alright, huh?" Zane muttered as he stood up, straightening to his full height, shadows falling across his face as he looked down at her. "Then why isn't he waking up?"

Jess looked away, stepping aside and Zane walked past, ducking into Locke's quiet, quiet hospital room and dropping onto the equally uncomfortable chair by his bed.

Locke lay there like some sort of stricken angel, that same cold moonlight illuminating his eerily white skin and the horrible bags under his eyes. His hair, usually in that ever-present messy French-plait lay loose around his head, the pale blue a sad colour that washed him out, so in contrast to the colours he used to dye his hair – the hot pinks, sex reds and electric blues were long gone.

"You stupid little fucker," Zane whispered, looking at Locke's bandaged wrists before closing his eyes. "What if you can't play again?"

Locke's gentle breathing was his only reply and Zane dropped his head down on the edge of the mattress, by Locke's hand. Keeping his eyes closed, he took in a deep breath, Locke's old unique smell of sandalwood and chemicals that came from instruments filling his nose, pushing the ugly clean hospital smell away.

He obviously fell asleep because he woke to someone's hand on his shoulder and his name.

"Zane, you should sleep in a proper bed."

His eyes blinked open and he looked up to Locke.

Locke was still asleep.

Zane looked around.