A/N Okay, this oneshot is something I just had to write. The idea crept into my mind and wouldn't let go. I hope you like it! I still don't have an awful lot of time and this fic was written inbetween my job, taking care of my husband (who's doing much better, fortunately) and housekeeping, so forgive any shocking mistakes - this chapter was written on a caffeine high.

Tornado

Today is a Saturday. I don't know how long I've been lying here already. I have no choice but to wait for someone to drop that it's "so terrible", "how long now? Three weeks, yeah? Wow." Something like that.
My kids tell 'Uncle Steve' everything they did at school this week. And the neighbor gave them some soup, which they can eat tonight. Or maybe now, maybe they have a microwave on the ward?
I already know the answer, but it's locked up in me.

I hear Charlie's excited voice as he talks about something weird his teacher said. Steve tells him that he should be quiet, for the sick people. Charlie! It must be about time for his medication. Did they even bring it? And would they remember?
The quiet voice of Steve gently points out to Charlie that he should take his pills. Grace went to ask whether there is a microwave. Not for visitors. I feel like I'm indispensable needed and incredibly unnecessary at the same time.

Since that devastating day I am the lonely core of a dizzying storm. The pieces of wreckage of what once was my life, are circling around me like a tornado.
No one can reach one another truly anymore, because of the force of the wind that's chasing them. They come closer together, collide and then drive back the other way. And in all of that, I'm the unreachable center.
I hear and feel them talking and occasionally fighting around my bed, taste their grief - sometimes literally, when their tears fall on my lips - but I'm not there, not really.
I watch helplessly how it gradually breaks them up. If I could lift my eyelids, at least. The only thing I really see are the spots dancing on my eyelids.

I am reminded of the question that Grace came home with, a few weeks before that fateful day. "Does a falling tree make a noise when there is no one around to hear it?" I had laughed at that and said that there were plenty of more meaningful things to let my thoughts go over, and as a result my daughter had demonstratively shut her mouth for the rest of the meal.
Then she bawled at me that I could at least think about something that was important to her – she had to write an assignment for school about it after all – and that lately my only concern was her brothers illness. That same little brother had called her an annoying teenager after her angry stream of words, and I had left it that way.

Now I wonder why I couldn't muster to give my little girl attention, and her question is the center of my pain. What are my thoughts worth, my feelings, the things that I know and believe... what are they worth when they're not perceived by anyone? No one sees the love I feel for my children and my friends, no one can hear my advice. In what way is my existence still relevant?

I feel a warm tear on my cheek. It slowly tickles into my ear. "He's crying!" Charlie exclaims. Two, three chairs shift quickly. "Danny, Danny," the warm breath of Steve blows in my face. "Can you hear me, Danno?" Yes, yes! I can hear you, I can sense you! But I just lie there, while my tears continue to flow and mingle with his.
I never felt closer to him than at this moment. But the moment passes without me being able to tell him. I think I feel Steve's hand wiping away my last tears and I am so moved by his gentleness that a new stream starts.
The nurse is called and later a doctor. They hum assenting noises. "Hmmm, hmmm." The doctor coughs and asks Steve to walk with him into the hallway. Doesn't he realize that I might want to hear what he's got to say? Or maybe he walks away out of mercy. Maybe he's going to say that I will be a vegetable from now on.

My children stay behind. It's silent, a heavy silence. I feel the cautious hope of my children, but on the other hand I feel their fear. Suddenly, Charlie begins to cry, and I hear Grace getting up and walking towards him. "Hush, it's okay," she says soothingly, but I hear a sob in her voice.
Steve returns. He tries to explain to my children what the doctor told him. It's probably not a 'real' coma as was thought until now, It's highly likely I can feel and hear them.

I feel like a drowning man who, after desperately trying to get attention for a very long time, is finally being noticed. Steve clears his throat. He sounds oddly formal. "Danno, the doctor says you might be able to hear us."
A silence follows. A silence in which I should have responded. The disappointment washes over me like a wave. My children take turns saying how much they love me, but they seem to feel a bit uncomfortable with the others there.

When Steve leaves to bring Charlie home, Grace stays with me and sits quietly next to my bed. I can feel that she's close, her hands briefly touched mine just now.
I can imagine that she has no idea how to deal with this further lifeless body, while she knows that I can hear and feel her.
To my surprise, she takes my hand and puts her head on the bed next to our intertwined hands. Lately she'd been growing up, and she'd been a little distant. Especially after her fallout.
I try to imagine as realistically as possible that I give my daughter a loving smile and squeeze her hand.

"Dad ..." I hear a soft squeaky sound coming from her throat. "I need you!" Drops fall on my hand. She lifts her head and her voice is not muted by the duvet anymore. "Please, Danno!"
She sees my tears once again, and I can hear a dam break. A wave of questions, doubts and fears flows into the room. About school, her friends, her boyfriend. How she needs him, she couldn't be without his love, advice and support.

A silence falls. I listen to the despair that reverberates in it, and suddenly realize how little I've always done that, really listen, and how big of a mistake that has been. I always had an answer ready.
Those answers did not always help. I remembered the last conversation we'd had. We hadn't understood each other and we'd just stopped talking - all because I hadn't listened.
Maybe that's the answer to the question that struck me today. Maybe I have misunderstood it my whole life. Always knowing the answer is not what makes you a good father. Of course, I often also just listened, but I'd had my answer ready too often.

Perhaps, my listening is far more important than my opinion. And despite everything I have to hand in, the fear of what is to come, the terrifying idea that I might never be able to make the slightest movement, this thought gives me comfort.
Grace squeezes my hand and says softly, "Pfff ... sorry, Danno. Thank you." My main job I can now perform as never before. We are silent together for a long time.

The end