It was like he was underwater, or something similar when the unconscious figure began to come back to their senses. At first he thought it must all be some sort of dream, but the more he tried to open his eyes, the heavier they became, his eyelids fluttering open only for a brief second to catch a glimpse of daylight, before he fell back under again. He heard broken conversations, fading in and out, all hushed, yet none of those voices spoke to him, or if they did, it must have been in those times when he had sunk deepest into unconsciousness.

At last, after what felt like forever, he summoned what strength he had and managed to open his eyes. Slowly, bit by bit, his eyes grew accustomed to the bright natural sunlight which filled the room, bouncing off the white walls and ceiling. He couldn't make sense of the room, as it was rather modest in size, but yet the only window was up high on the opposite wall, almost level with the ceiling. The bed he appeared to have been laid in was not quite long enough for him, and he could just make out his feet sticking out at the end of the blue blanket he'd been covered with. He tried to sit up a bit more, to get a better look around him but his body didn't respond. He frowned puzzled, looking down at the outlines of his arms and legs. Why wouldn't they move? He concentrated as hard as possible, trying to move his limbs, anything, but nothing would budge, except for his toes. At least he could get them to wriggle a bit.

Craning his next to the right, he let out a defeated sigh, as he realised that the bed had been pushed right up to the wall, with the door position on that wall at the bottom of the bed. Grunting with effort, he forced his head to turn the other way to see what else there was in the room which he couldn't see just from the corner of his eyes. A small beside table with a lamp and a glass of water was beside the bed, with a chair positioned next to that. Apart from those two things, there was nothing else in the room, just the white blank walls and the hard wooden floor.

What sort of place is this? Where am I? What is going on? Why can't I move?! All of these questions swarmed in his head as he tried to figure out what on earth had happened prior to this to put him in this predicament, but it was like a barrier had been put up inside his mind, forcing him to not remember. Just as he was about to give up and shout in frustration for answers, the door handle turned, and carrying two cups of steaming tea, entered a very familiar face.

"Hello Tom", Luke smiled warmly, his tired eyes brightening as he quietly shut the door behind him with his foot, walking in and sitting himself down on the chair, gently placing the tea down onto the table. "How are you feeling?", he asked quietly, looking concerned at his friend sympathetically. Tom sighed, relaxing himself a little, letting his head rest back on the pillows as he laid back down. "In all honesty, I'm out of it. I just don't know", Tom said weakly, his voice sounding hoarse, not being aware up until now how dry his throat was. Luke just nodded, watching him, almost watching the cogs in Tom's brain turning, trying to shift into gear.

"Where am I?", Tom asked sternly after several minutes of silent thinking, the smell of tea growing steadily colder beginning to aggravate him. "In your flat, silly. Why? Where else would we be?", Luke chuckled, picking his cup of tea up from the table, taking a sip. "A mental hospital", Tom murmured under his breath, Luke not hearing him, but regardless, continued. "You're in the study, or your 'acting room' to be more exact. I had a spare bed at mine, hence what you've been sleeping on for the past few hours." Taking another sip, Luke carried on, Tom lay there mute, listening.

"Because of your little 'mad' session, the doctors have advised us to keep you under closer observation in a controlled environment which poses no threats. Hence why you were confused about where you were. I had to take down all your research material for your characters." If Tom was able to drink his tea, he would have spat it out in horror, but Luke quickly saw his mortified reaction. "No, don't worry! It's okay. They are all safely grouped and boxed up. Plus, I photographed it all so when everything is done, I can hang them all back up exactly where you had them", Luke reassured him.

Tom let out a sigh of relief, thankful that all his years of research and craft hadn't been destroyed and that he wasn't locked up in some mental asylum. However, that still didn't answer all of his questions, so he pressed on. "What do you mean by closer observation?", he asked carefully, looking over at Luke with concern. Luke sat still, not wanting to meet Tom's eye, his feet twitching awkwardly. "Luke, what's going on? And why can't I move?", Tom demanded, trying to move in frustration, but only achieving turning his upper body slightly. "You honestly don't remember what happened ... do you?", Luke whispered sadly, finally meeting his gaze. Tom shook his head, feeling his stomach twist a little inside. What had he done that had been so serious to result in this outcome. All he could remember was being gripped with fear and dread, locked within the confines of his room. Had he finally sunk into complete madness?

Luke put down his tea and leaned over, and grabbed the corner of the blanket covering Tom, and pulled it off the bed. Speechless, Tom could only look down at himself, lying on the bed, feeling a tear prick at the corner of his eyes in shock. Lying only in his jogging pants, his chest around his abdomen was strapped up tight in a bandage, a large purple and black bruise creeping out from underneath it. Both of his wrists had also been wrapped up in bandages too, a little line of red blood seeping through the material on the inside of his arm. But what shocked him most about finally seeing himself, was not the injuries, or even the IV drip which was also coming out of his left arm, but the restraints around both his ankles, wrists and waist. He'd been strapped down to the bed, to be kept there, for his safety, or for everyone else's, or was it both?

"It's for your safety, as well as ours Tom", Luke sighed, feeling like he was watching Tom shut down, his eyes welling into tears. He watched as Tom looked down at his hand, his fingers twitching as he slowly regained feeling in them, twisting his wrist around to look at the forearm, his face contorted in shock and confusion. "Wha-How? I-I don't- I didn't ...", Tom stuttered, his voice trembling as he tried to understand what was going on. It only took him a few seconds longer to piece it all together, and like watching a film, he remembered every move, every action which occurred within his madness.

Blinded by fear, and some unknown motive, Tom remembered hiding in his room, feeling his world crashing down around him. Feeling that there was no way out. No escape from this hell. No escape for dying. From death. Knowing that he was going to die. Was the killer going to come for him? Or was he already here, hiding in plain sight under everyone's nose? What if he had other people working with him? What if one of them was in disguise and was waiting to get close? Who could he trust? Who could he turn to for help? No one. He was on his own. Alone, and afraid, Tom had let the dark voice in his mind persuade him to do the unthinkable. He had barricaded himself in his room, making sure no one would come to kill him, or hurt him, or get to him through his friends. He didn't even know if he could trust them anymore. What if they had been against him all along?

What followed could only be described as a man finally accepting there was no hope for him, no safety, nothing in the whole world which could save him. He pulled down one of the curtains, letting the hot light of day stream inside the bedroom, but Tom could no longer feel it's warmth as he was too far gone, his lip quivering as his hands slowly twisted the material, tighter and tighter between his fingers until it became like a thick cord. He tied a knot in one end of it, his heart feeling as heavy as the weight which he felt pressing down onto him as he stood on top of the chair, pulling the cord over the metal curtain rail, pulling more and more until there was slack left. His hands remained steady as they tied to final knot. He felt cold. Alone. He wanted to escape. He wanted this to end, and for him to be free. Hanging there in front of him, the implement of his own fashioning, was his escape, to his final destination. With both hands, he calmly took the loop hanging in front of him, and slipped it over his head. With closed eyes, and a final heavy deep breath, he stepped off the chair, kicking it from underneath him.

The sharp snap against his neck caused him to gasp, only he could take in no air. He panicked. He kicked and wrenched with all his might, his feet dangling only a few inches from the ground. He screamed in silent, airless gasps, his skin growing colder, his heart and lungs feeling like they were about to burst out of his chest. His hands grasped and pulled with all the might he could muster to break free, to breathe, his instinct to survive breaking his dark demons. Tom hung dying in his window, looking out at the city he once loved. It was only a minute later when he had lost his strength to fight, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his arms fell limp at his sides.

He never felt the impact of his body hitting the floor, or of the curtain rail breaking from the ceiling under his weight, collapsing down on top of him. Tom wasn't aware of anything, as he lay there. No one came for him. For a brief few moments, Tom finally found peace.

A whole hour elapsed before Tom gasped a mouthful of air, finally waking up. Although he had fallen unconscious because of the lack of oxygen the cord had stopped reaching his brain, it hadn't killed him, merely knocked him out. Shakily, coughing and spluttering, Tom pushed the curtain rail off him, pulling off the makeshift noose, slowly sitting up. He couldn't stop himself shaking as he almost lost his breath looking at his reflection in the window from where he sat. He looked like death, his skin ghastly white, a purple line around his throat, his cheeks almost blue under his sunken eyes. It wasn't enough to stop the voice inside his head, that shred of doubt.

You're still alive, but for how much longer?

All it took was for a knock on his barricaded bedroom door to kick-start his attempt again. They've come for me, Tom panicked, hurling the curtain rail towards the door. He grabbed everything he could, chairs, the small dressing unit, and piled them up higher against the door. The knocking and shouting persisted. "No! Go away! NO! NO!", Tom screamed, staggering backwards from the door as it began to buckle under the frantic hammering. He heard shouting on the other side, people shouting orders, the sound of more hammering. Oh god, they're all going to kill me, Tom cried to himself, freaking out. Turning quickly, his tripped over his own foot, and fell into the wall, his head smashing straight into the hanging mirror.

Slamming onto the tiled bathroom floor, covered in the broken shards of mirror, Tom glanced at his terrified reflection in the piece which landed next to his head. There is no way out of this, he realised as his heart slowed. They will be carrying me out of this room in a body bag, probably riled with bullet holes. "No", he murdered, his mind set. I won't give them the satisfaction. Determined, he grabbed the shard of mirror, and in one action, swiped it across his wrist. Tom yelled in pain, almost feeling himself want to pass out just looking at the blood which was dripping out of him. Struggling, screaming in frustration and determination, he did it again, and again, until the whole tiled floor was splattered red. "It's not enough", he gasped, pulling himself up, holding the shard tight, feeling it cut into the flesh of his hand.

The door creaked and splintered behind him. In a few seconds, they'll be in here, finishing me off, he thought, staring at his silhouette. He gulped, his head hurting and feeling faint from the blood loss, the sound of dripping blood being the only comfort he had against the banging on the door. Then he heard something which mad his heart turn cold, his name being screamed from outside the door. Luke, Tom realised in horror. Oh god no, they've got him. They're going to kill him too, once they've finished with me. It was then the door finally gave way, and he saw what he dreaded. The police officers piled into his room, Luke among them. The officer behind Luke pulled out his gun, and Tom saw it was positioned straight at the back of Luke's head!

If this was to be his last act of life, to try and save his friend, so be it, Tom decided. He raised his arm, holding the shard of mirror like the blade of a dagger in front of him, and advanced forward. His actions weren't as quick as those trained killers, as one of the officers fired their gun at him, and pulled the trigger. He heard a gunshot, and saw Luke fall down, not realising he'd been pushed. Tom screamed a cry of rage and emotion, trying to advance at them, but another gunshot fired, and this time, it found its mark. Tom screamed in agony as he felt it hit him, right in his stomach. Already weak and unstable, his legs gave way underneath him, and he collapsed onto the floor. Bleeding, weak, and past the point of fear, he gave into unconsciousness, knowing it was too late and he could do nothing more to prevent his sealed fate.

"I'm so sorry", Tom spluttered, crying as he finished recounting what had happened, feeling Luke's hand resting on his shoulder giving him comfort. "I just knew I was going to die, and I-I thought that if I b-beat them to it then ... O-oh god, what have I done", he cried, closing his eyes, falling back on the pillows, weeping uncontrollably. Tom's shoulders shook uncontrollably as his chest heaved up and down in heavy sobs. He tried to wipe his tears away, but forgot about the restraints, so jerked in frustration being unable to move. He was sure all of London could hear his cries, but it couldn't stop the pain he felt inside, the guilt.

"I'm so sorry Luke. I-I don't want to drag you into this mess that I'm in. I don't want you to get hurt", Tom croaked, blinking the tears out of his eyes, wanting desperately to push his friend out, to keep him safe from him and whatever was to come. "You know that's not going to happen Tom, ever. You're stuck with me, and besides, you need all the help you can get. Besides, be thankful the police only shot you with rubber bullets, otherwise I'd have to pretend to be you! And god knows that would go horribly", Luke chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Tom laughed a little, and gave a small smile, which was enough to make Luke well up a little, even if he was still furious inside about Tom's foolish act. "You couldn't let me out, could you?", he chuckled, trying to move his arms again, straining them a bit in the bed restraints. "I would rather not be like this".

Luke shook his head, but Tom already knew freedom was out of the question. He'd tried to kill himself; there was no way they were going to take any chances of him doing it again, no matter how stable his mind might appear to be. "Luke, please. You know I'm not going to do it again. I just wasn't thinking before, I wasn't myself. I just ...", Tom sighed, realising pleading or begging wasn't going to do anything to help him either. He couldn't lie; he didn't want to be like this, being treated like some insane maniac, but then he didn't want to be kept helpless like this, openly vulnerable. "Luke", he whispered, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm scared. I don't know what's going to happen, and I don't want to see you or anyone else getting hurt because of me. And I-". Tom stopped himself, hesitating, wondering if he should say his fear aloud. Sensing Tom was holding back something he really wanted to say, Luke leaned in close so Tom could whisper straight into his ear. "-I think there might be someone working on the inside.".

As much as the thought brought a coldness across Tom's heart, a similar cold shiver ran down Luke's spine just thinking about it. What if he was right? He didn't want to dare think about it, for fear that it might be true. "Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen. I promise", Luke whispered back, trying to reassure his friend, but mostly it was to reassure himself. Both men looked each other in the eyes, seeing the fears and doubts in each other. They'd been in tough scrapes in the past, but this was something else entirely. This was a game of life and death, and Luke wasn't sure what the outcome would be, but he hoped it would not come to that.

"Right, let's get you settled, shall we?", Luke said abruptly to end the silence, clapping his hands together with a smile to try and lighten the mood. Tom gave a faint smile, but Luke saw straight through it, and knew his friend was faking it. Luke helped position another pillow under Tom's neck, helping him to sit up a bit higher in bed, and pulled the blanket back over him to keep him warm. "I brought you tea hoping you'd be awake, but I realise it's a bit cold now", Luke joked, sighing as he saw the cup still sat where he'd left it on the bedside table. "It's okay. It'll do. Erm, how are we going to do this?", Tom questioned, realising it was going to be a bit tricky for him to drink his tea if he couldn't use his hands.

With Luke's instructions, Tom sat up straight, and with careful hands, Luke held the cup up to Tom's lips for him to drink from. Admittedly, Tom had never had to do anything like this in his life, but already he suspected that he would be being hand fed and watered for a long while until they could trust him. He couldn't hide the embarrassment which flushed in his cheeks as Luke cautiously continued tipping the cup for him to drink from until it was empty.

"Do you want another one? I can go make a fresh cuppa. Or coffee if you'd prefer", Luke asked seriously, seeing Tom's look of disappointment at realising he'd finished. "No, no. It's okay. I'm fine", he shook his head, lowering himself back onto the pillow. It was only then he felt a little twinge of pain as he tried to stretch his neck to get more comfortable, causing him to wince. "Ah, the morphine's wearing off", Luke commented, getting up with the empty cups, heading to the door. "Doctor", Luke called out, opening the door, shouting it down the hallway to some other person in the flat. "Yeah, but it's okay. I don't need it", Tom protested, shaking his head, grunting a bit, realising his automatic reaction of wanting to put his hand out to stop Luke failed, his hand jerking in the restrain under the blanket. Even that action caused him to hiss in pain as the strap pressed against his bandaged wrist, against the wound.

Tom heard the quick footsteps of the doctor approaching down the hall, and wanted to protest, but it was as if the flood gates had been opened without warning. His whole body began aching in pain, from his neck down to his wrists and stomach, screamed in agony from his injuries which he had, for a while, forgotten about. He scrunched his eyes shut tightly, hissing through gritted teeth, trying to not scream as every breath seemed to cause him agony. Luke whispered something to the presence which had entered the room, but Tom couldn't bring himself to look, being too distracted trying to control the pain.

"Mr Hiddleston, please just try to relax", the calm, female voice soothed him, feeling her small delicate hand rest on his arm as she now sat down next to him. His eyes snapped open to find her reassuring brown ones staring right back at him. Her gentle smile calmed him, framed perfectly in her rounded, lightly freckled face, her long ginger curls tied off loosely to one side. Even though the pain still persisted, he found himself smiling at her as he watched her intently as her nimble fingers worked quickly, swapping the nearly empty IV drip bag with a full one which had been hanging under the bed, out of his sight. "My name is Samantha, Mr Hiddleston. I'm going to be taking care of you, okay?", she said calmly as she finished connecting the drip line, giving him a gentle smile back.

One of her front teeth was a little crooked, but that didn't matter to Tom who smiled back, feeling content and safe in her gaze. Maybe it was the morphine entering back into his system, or just part of his madness, but to him, she looked like an angel, even if she was wearing denim. "I've just replaced your morphine so you might feel a little light headed or sleepy, but the pain should ease off shortly. In the meantime, you need to rest in order for your injuries to heal", Samantha informed him, tucking one of her stray curls behind her ear as she gave the full IV drip bag in her hand a little squeeze, focused in her work.

"Yes miss", Tom replied, almost like he'd just stepped into a dream. Was the light in the room making her glow, or was she really an angel? Tom didn't know, but he felt like he was in heaven right now as her hand gently held his arm, checking the needle for the drip, her brow frowned as she worked. Luke watched as Tom sank deeper into the pillows, smiling happily. As he smiled, he gently let his eyes close, and felt himself slip off on a fluffy cloud, knowing he was safe, being watched by his friend, and his own crimson-haired angel.

[Poor Tom. Let's hope that he doesn't kill himself again and let those demons win. He looks like he's on the right path now. Its up from here, right? ;)  ((and sorry if it offended anyone))

Let me know your thoughts. Comments very welcomed. Please do share :) Thank you x]