Blue ain't your colour (It is mine)

7

Chance turned out to be right about the sleep, it did help. For once, Adam got to skip the early shift, so he was well rested when he entered the mess for a lazy breakfast at eight thirty. Austin was sharing the late morning shift with him. When he entered the mess his greeting still sounded withdrawn and preoccupied. He looked like he hadn't had much rest in the previous night. Adam passed him the strawberry jam and some bread. "You ok?"

Austin seemed startled for a moment. Then he relaxed a bit and said "Yeah, fine." with false cheer in his voice. He returned his gaze to the table, where he was methodically dissecting a slice of bread. Adam gave him a worried frown, but Austin naturally didn't notice. This was shaping up to be another strange day.
Throughout their shift Austin's mind didn't seem to be on the job at all. He was clumsier than usual, nearly dropping plates and mixing up orders. Adam didn't mind, it gave him an excuse to stay close to the younger one and help him out, but it concerned him. It reached a peak when they were both entering the kitchen, arms stacked with used dishes. Adam was quick to put his dishes where they belonged. But when he turned around, he saw Austin slipping on a patch of wet floor.
The next few seconds passed in a blur. Instinctively, he pushed all the coldness within himself into a tiny box in his mind and slammed the lid shut as he took a swift step over to his friend's side, one arm extended to catch the dishes, the other grabbing Austin's wrist and stabilizing him. No need to accidentally freeze the kitchen. Somewhere off to the side, he heard the familiar warning call "Hot behind!" but it was swept out of his mind the instant his skin came into contact with the other's hand. Immediately, a sensation of cold hit him. It wasn't the clear, welcoming sort he was so intimately acquainted with; it was bleak and empty and shook him to the core. He flinched violently and stumbled back, letting the tableware clatter into a sink as he tried to regain his balance. Somewhere, somebody was shouting "Look out!" and then he crashed into something. The next thing he knew was his vision turning black as a burning sensation of extreme heat shot through his right hand up his entire arm. His legs gave out and he felt himself fall.

"Shit, Adam? Do you hear me?"
...
"Move him to the side!"
...
"Somebody go get Chance!"
...
"We need another order 67, fire!"
...
"Someone clean up over here!"
...

"Adam? Come on, Rupp, look at me!"

Slowly, the chaos of shouting voices began to separate into single sentences again. Adam blinked, trying to get the world back into focus. He was propped up against a kitchen cabinet off to the side, away from the line. Chance was kneeling next to him, hands on his shoulders and looking at him intently. "Back with us?"
"Mhm... think so?"
"Good. Stay with me. Are you in pain?"
Adam nodded briefly, closing his eyes again and letting his head fall back with an exhale.
"Fuck. Burns..."
"I gathered that," his boss deadpanned, but the undercurrent of concern in his voice betrayed him. "Anything else apart from that?"
It actually took him a few minutes to get past the overpowering pain in his right arm and take stock of the rest of his body.
"Foot hurts. Might've sprained my ankle?" he stated, mildly surprised. The other man sighed. "You don't do things by halves, do you?"
Adam didn't know what to answer. So he stayed silent and focused on breathing deeply while Chance got up and went away. He returned with Tim.
"Adam? You look like shit." The usually smooth bass voice sounded alarmed. Adam opened his eyes and managed a weak smile. "Hey, Timmy."
"Get him to my office," Chance commanded shortly. "Take Austin with you. I'll cover the rest of the shift."
Tim nodded and grabbed Adam's left hand, pulling him up with ease. The room took a while to stop swaying, but the taller man easily supported him. He wrapped his arm around Adam's back and took most of his weight as they made their way through the back door and crossed the corridor to the office. Austin trailed them nervously, guilt written all across his face as he was obviously beating himself up over what had happened.

Once they reached the office, Adam gratefully sank down into the comfortable armchair and closed his eyes. Tim cleared picture frames and files from a small side table and carried it over for Adam to put his foot on. He even found a cushion, Adam noted with detached surprise. He felt weirdly spaced out. If his colleagues talked to him, he didn't listen. Distantly, he was aware that somebody from the medical personnel entered the room and asked the others what had happened. Somebody took his shoe off and put ice on his ankle. The only thing that really got through to him, though, was when his right uniform sleeve was carefully being peeled up. It exposed a long streak of angry, burnt red from his palm up halfway to his elbow. And fuck, that hurt. It felt like a fire was still burning under his skin; the sensation disturbing and wrong and oh so painful. The sound of his harsh breathing filled his head and he retreated to the tiny corner within himself where he had crammed all the ice and comforting coldness. There, he stayed.