Work Text:
Wednesday November 30, 2011
“She’s late,” Ambrose said. He turned a half-accusing look upon the kitchen clock, as though it was to blame.
Adam sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stave off the headache he could feel forming. Ambrose had come home quiet and withdrawn the night before, barely saying more than two words to Adam before disappearing into his bedroom, and he’d apparently remained in the same mood today.
“Gwen isn’t late,” Adam pointed out mildly. He continued to set the table, folding the napkins carefully. “It’s only 6:58.”
“But she’s usually early. And she calls if she’s going to be late,” Ambrose said. He nodded to himself, like he’d won the argument with his clever logic.
The dinner was going to be extremely unpleasant if Ambrose continued to sulk, Adam thought. It was time to nip his attitude in the bud before Gwen could arrive and be infected by it. “Ambrose, if you are this ill-tempered during dinner, I will raise your rent,” Adam said.
For a second Ambrose just stared at him, and then a reluctant smile ghosted across his features. He even relaxed a little, his hunched shoulders lowering slightly. “I don’t remember that being in the rental agreement,” Ambrose said.
“You missed the ‘if you are rude, I increase your rent’ clause? You really should read your contract more closely,” Adam said with a pitying shake of his head. Then he softened his tone. Ambrose was almost always optimistic. In the time that Adam had known the young man, he’d rarely had a moment of despondency, that particularly bad month after his father had died not withstanding. There had to be something seriously wrong for Ambrose to be this miserable. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you want to talk about it--”
The doorbell rang. Ambrose brightened, as though Gwen’s arrival solved all of his problems, even as Adam wished Gwen hadn’t been her usual prompt self. Ambrose raced to the front door, flinging it open.
“Sorry I’m late,” Gwen said, sounding harried. When she stepped into the dining room, Adam could see that she too looked out of sorts, a strained smile on her face and smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. Still, her smile reached her eyes when she spotted Adam setting the last of the silverware on the table. “Adam, whatever’s on the stove smells wonderful.”
“Beef stroganoff,” Adam said. “Just have a seat and I’ll bring it out to you. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
Gwen hesitated, the earlier strain reappearing on her face. “It was…interesting,” she said carefully. “Elliot didn’t show up for Thanksgiving. I’ve emailed him three times and he still hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“Well, Elliot drops off the grid all the time, doesn’t he?” Ambrose pointed out. He nudged her with one of his elbows, hard enough that she winced and shot him a warning look. “He’ll email you with some interesting and possibly even true story in a couple days.”
“I hope so,” Gwen murmured, and sat down.
The meal was quieter than usual, with both Gwen and Ambrose being unusually pensive. Adam tried to fill up the silence with a few tales from his medical practice. Usually Gwen would respond with a few residency horror stories, or Ambrose would tell them about something awful that happened at his office. This time they both just smiled and nodded in the right places, barely paying attention and methodically eating.
About halfway through the meal, however, Gwen seemed to shake herself free from her thoughts. She shot a concerned look at Ambrose. “Is something wrong?” she asked, reaching over to pat his hand. “You seem quiet.”
Ambrose sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s David,” he said. “Shea’s grandparents are taking him to Europe for Christmas.”
“Oh no,” Gwen said with a quick, sympathetic gasp. “David must be upset.”
Ambrose made a sound that might have been a laugh, if it hadn’t been so grim. “Yeah.” He was quiet for a moment, and then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say to him. I can’t imagine what it’s like, not being able to see your own kid on Christmas. ‘I’m sorry’ just doesn’t cut it.”
“Invite him to your mother’s, then,” Adam said. “She’d love to see a little more of David.”
Ambrose blinked at him, as though that idea had never occurred to him. Then again, this was Ambrose, so perhaps he hadn’t thought of it, had instead just brooded over David’s predicament.
Ambrose started to smile, and then his face fell again. “I’d feel like I was profiting off David’s misery. I mean, it’d be great to see David--” Two spots of color appeared in his cheeks, because everyone in the room had heard Ambrose bemoan their long-distance relationship multiple times, but he continued on. “--but I’d be using Shea being in France to my own advantage.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Gwen said fondly. “You have two choices. Either you don’t invite David and you two can be miserable for the holidays, or you can invite him and at least David will have one person he cares about with him on Christmas.”
Ambrose frowned, but didn’t argue, looking thoughtful.
“For what it’s worth, I think Gwen’s right,” Adam said. He added, a little dryly, “And I doubt David would see your invitation as a selfish offer. He knows you better than that.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him,” Ambrose said, looking decidedly more cheerful. He turned his attention on Gwen. “Now what’s wrong with you? And don’t say Elliot-- he’s disappeared for an entire two weeks before and you didn’t look this frazzled.”
Gwen bit her lip and gazed down at her plate. “I’m just a little tired,” she said. “Going from relaxing during Thanksgiving break to going back into the full swing of my residency is taking some adjustment, that’s all.”
It was Ambrose’s turn to pat her, squeezing her shoulder and grinning sympathetically. “You know, you can cancel on us if you need an evening to catch up on some sleep,” he told her. “Adam and I won’t take offense.”
“Not at all,” Adam agreed. “I remember my residency all too well.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gwen said with a slight smile, and lifted her glass of water to her lips.
After dinner, though, Ambrose having been volunteered by Adam to do the dishes, Gwen caught Adam’s sleeve and said quietly, “Could I speak to you in private?”
Adam looked at her, taking in the strained look and her paled knuckles. “Of course,” he said, and drew her into the living room, out of Ambrose’s hearing range.
“I think I’m…I think my residency is getting to me,” Gwen said in the same soft voice. She began to pace, her voice low and urgent. “I’ve been having these dreams-- and a--” She stopped and turned to face Adam, meeting his eyes. “I think I had a hallucination on Sunday,” she said, voice matter-of-fact. Her features were set, her gaze unflinching. Only her trembling hands, clasped in front of her, betrayed her anxiety.
“Gwen,” Adam said quietly. He gestured for her to sit down on the couch. When she did, he sat next to her and took her hand in his. He was silent for a moment, pondering how he should handle this. He’d always been impressed with Gwen’s drive. She’d gotten through her undergrad studies in three years and seemed intent on moving forward until she was an internist, but he knew that Tom was constantly worrying for her and that residency was wearying. Adam frowned. “Does Tom know?”
“No,” Gwen said quickly. “No, I--” She took a shaky breath. “You’re the first one I’ve told. I thought-- you might know how to handle this without worrying my dad.”
Adam squeezed her hand. “Well, let’s start at the beginning,” he said, smiling gently at her. “When did these symptoms start?”
“Sunday,” Gwen said, and told him everything-- about the voice, and then the hallucination, and finally the dreams that had come every night since, memory-like dreams that fragmented and half-dissolved as soon as she woke up.
Adam was silent for a moment after she finished. In the kitchen, he could hear Ambrose singing tunelessly, some melody so off-key that Adam couldn’t even guess at the song’s name. He kept Gwen’s hand in his. “Well,” he said. “I think we should take this slowly and investigate. For one thing, I know the past few months have been particularly strenuous for you-- you were tired long before Thanksgiving break. Let’s get you on some sleeping aids, see if actually getting a couple weeks of proper rest helps. And I think I’ll schedule a visit this week to Tom’s, check out the attic for myself, see if there’s any mold or something that might cause hallucinations. We’d been talking about a future visit, so he won’t think it’s suspicious.”
Gwen smiled and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder. “Just-- don’t tell Ambrose or Tom?”
“I won’t,” he promised, “though I think you can trust Ambrose with this.”
Gwen laughed, a little watery sound. “Probably,” she agreed. “But I think I’ll wait until he’s talked to David and made Christmas arrangements. He already has a lot on his plate.”
Adam shook his head and smiled. “Sometimes you’re too considerate for your own good, you know,” he said, and she laughed again.
“Well,” she said, rising and swiping quickly at her eyes. “I think I’ll go try and get some sleep.”
“Come by my office tomorrow and I’ll write you a script,” Adam said.
Gwen nodded. The strain was still there, but most of the tension had faded from her body. “Ambrose!” she called, switching on her cheerfulness like switching on a light. “Quit butchering that song and come walk me to the door!”