[ He wanted them to leave him alone.
Look at them, quick to help out, make sure he’s feeling alright and comfortable. What about Mary? They couldn’t save her. James had grown weary of doctors. Nurses. He argued with them when Mary was in this position.
The smell, and the sight of the hospital made him want to retch. Filled with bitter memories. When Cybil arrived, James made no attempt to look up from his hands. He’d focused on them, seeing every vein, every twitch. The IV affixed to the top of his left hand, administering fluids. ]
“… Found me.”
[ His voice is small and quiet. He remembers the lake. The drowning. The sorrow that lead to the event. He wishes that she hadn’t been there to save him. He didn’t deserve to be saved. ]
“… Yeah. I remember.”
[ The tone of his voice, the overwhelmingly distant sadness, was something she’d heard time and time again, but never quite got used to. She got a lot of flak at the department about how deeply she became invested in cases, especially when they involved someone that didn’t seem like they could help themselves. If she could help in some way – if she could provide a sense of relief, or solve their problem entirely – she’d consider her time well-spent. ]
“Sir… I know you’re still very disoriented, but I’m gonna have to ask you to try and remember what you were doing before the accident.
– You’re not in trouble; I promise.
I’m just trying to figure out what might’ve caused it.”