Terrified Victor

Sarah realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn't really hearing her at all. Whatever state Victor was in, it was beyond the reach of mere words.

A gust of wind swept over them, and Sarah shivered, suddenly aware of her own sodden state. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. But as she looked at Victor, still lost in his own world of terror, she knew that her modesty was the least of their concerns right now.

Without hesitation, Sarah moved closer and wrapped her arms around Victor's shaking form. She pulled him close, ignoring the way her soaked dress rode up as she moved. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was Victor.

"Shh, it's okay," she murmured, her lips close to his ear. "I'm here. You're safe. I've got you."

She repeated these words over and over, a soothing mantra as she held him. At first, Victor remained tense in her embrace, his body rigid with fear. But gradually, almost imperceptibly, some of the tension began to leave his muscles. His trembling, while not ceasing entirely, lessened somewhat. His breathing, which had been rapid and shallow, began to slow, though it remained far from normal.

Sarah continued to hold him, gently rocking back and forth. She ran her hands up and down his back, trying to impart some warmth into his chilled body. As she did so, she couldn't help but marvel at the turn of events. Just hours ago, Victor had been the epitome of suave sophistication, negotiating the purchase of a vintage car with effortless charm. Now, he clung to her like a child seeking comfort after a nightmare, whimpering softly against her shoulder.

As the initial panic of the situation began to subside, Sarah's mind raced, trying to make sense of Victor's extreme reaction. This was more than just the shock of a near-drowning experience. The depth of terror in Victor's eyes, the way he had completely dissociated from reality - it hinted at something deeper, some past trauma that the day's events had violently dragged to the surface.

Sarah dared to pull back slightly, keeping her hands on Victor's shoulders. His eyes, still wide with fear, roamed over her face without any sign of recognition. There was no hint of the usual intelligence and charm that animated Victor's features. Instead, his expression remained blank and terrified, as if he were looking through her rather than at her.

"Victor?" she called softly, hoping to see some spark of awareness in his eyes. "Victor, can you hear me?"

Victor's only response was to tremble more violently, a low keening sound escaping his throat. His hands, which had been clutching his knees, now moved to cover his ears, as if trying to block out some terrible noise that only he could hear.

"No, no, no," he muttered, rocking back and forth more rapidly. "Please, not again. I can't... I can't..."

Sarah felt a lump form in her throat. She had never felt so helpless in her life. Here was Victor Mallory, a man she had come to respect and admire (and perhaps feel something more for, though she wasn't ready to examine those feelings too closely), reduced to a quivering, incoherent mess. And she had no idea how to help him.

A chill wind swept over them, and Sarah shivered violently, suddenly acutely aware of their precarious situation. They were both soaked to the bone, the evening air growing colder by the minute. Victor was clearly in no state to move on his own, and they were on the wrong side of the Thames, far from help.

Sarah glanced around desperately, hoping to spot someone who could assist them. But the stretch of riverbank where they had washed up was deserted, the only sounds were the lapping of the river and the distant hum of traffic. They were alone.

Making a decision, Sarah began to rub her hands together vigorously, trying to generate some warmth. When her palms felt hot, she gently placed them on Victor's face, cupping his cheeks.

Victor's eyes widened at the contact, a flicker of... something passing across his face. For a moment, Sarah dared to hope that the warmth had broken through his fugue state. But then his gaze slid away again, focusing on some middle distance beyond her shoulder.

"It's so cold," he whispered, his voice small and lost. "Why is it so cold?"

"I know, Victor," Sarah said soothingly, even as her heart sank. "We need to get you warm and dry. Do you think you can stand for me?"

But Victor showed no sign of having heard her. He continued to shiver, his teeth chattering audibly now. Sarah realized with growing alarm that she needed to act fast. Victor might be suffering from shock hypothermia, or both.

With a determination she didn't know she possessed, Sarah manoeuvred herself to Victor's side and slipped an arm around his waist.

"I'm going to help you up now, Victor," she said clearly, not sure if her words were penetrating but needing to say them anyway. "We need to move."

As she struggled to her feet, pulling Victor with her, she was acutely aware of how exposed they both were. Her dress, already clingy when dry, now left absolutely nothing to the imagination in its sodden state. Victor's normally impeccable suit was in disarray, his shirt transparent and clinging to his well-defined chest.

Under normal circumstances, such a state of undress would have been mortifying. But as Victor swayed against her, still mumbling incoherently, Sarah found she couldn't bring herself to care about propriety. Getting Victor to safety was all that mattered.

They made their way slowly up the riverbank, Victor leaning heavily on Sarah. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, stumbling forward more out of instinct than any conscious decision to walk. Every few steps, he would falter, and Sarah would have to tighten her grip to keep him upright.

As they reached the street, Sarah's eyes scanned desperately for any sign of a cab. 

Just when she was beginning to despair, Sarah spotted a black cab turning onto their street. She waved frantically, almost sobbing with relief when the driver noticed them and pulled over.

As they approached the vehicle, Sarah became acutely aware of the driver's shocked expression. His eyes widened as he took in their bedraggled appearance, lingering perhaps a bit too long on the way Sarah's dress clung to her curves. She felt a flash of indignation but pushed it aside. Victor needed her to be strong right now.

"Please," she said, her voice firm despite her chattering teeth. "We need to get to the other side of the river. Near the boat rental at Westminster Pier."

The driver hesitated, his gaze flicking between Sarah's determined face and Victor's vacant expression. "Is he alright, miss?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "Should I pull out litters ?"

Sarah shook her head quickly. "No, no need. He just needs to get warm and dry. Please, can you help us?"

Something in her tone must have convinced him, for the driver nodded and unlocked the doors. "Right then, in you get. Mind the upholstery, if you can."

With the driver's help, Sarah managed to manoeuvre Victor into the back seat. As soon as she slid in beside him, Victor pressed close to her side, seeking warmth. His shivers had subsided somewhat, but he still trembled intermittently, his eyes unfocused and distant

.

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Sarah finally allowed herself to relax slightly. They were out of immediate danger, at least. But as she glanced down at Victor, who had rested his head on her shoulder, she knew they weren't out of the woods yet.

Victor's eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow. He no longer seemed to be actively panicking, but neither was he fully present. Occasionally, he would mutter something under his breath, too low for Sarah to make out the words. His hand clutched at the fabric of her dress, as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.

Sarah felt a surge of protectiveness wash over her. She had seen a side of Victor Mallory that she suspected few, if any, had ever witnessed. The polished facade had not just cracked, but shattered completely, revealing a vulnerability that tugged at her heart.

As the taxi wove through London's evening traffic, Sarah found herself wondering about the man beside her. Who was Victor Mallory, really? What had happened in his past to cause such a profound reaction to a near-drowning? There were depths to him that Sarah had never suspected, layers of complexity beneath his charming exterior.

The taxi turned onto the bridge, carrying them back towards the familiar streets of Westminster. Sarah knew that once they reached their destination, a new set of challenges would present themselves. How would she get Victor home in this state? Should she take him to a hospital, despite his earlier panic? What would people say if they saw the great Victor Mallory in such a condition?