What Good May Come: Chapter 5, Routine
Title: What Good May Come: Chapter 5, Routine
Authors: cdiar & flyingrat42
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Adrian Veidt, Dan Dreiberg (Sam Hollis), Jonathan Sinclair, other OC's
Word count: +6500
Summary: It's 1993 and Adrian has contracted a fatal illness.
Note: So, the chapter 5 that existed before is now part of chapter 4. This is an entirely new chapter. It's pretty long and mostly filler, but important filler. Next chapter will make up for it.
Prequel: Boundaries
Chapter 1: Nightmares Await
Chapter 2: Overcast
Chapter 3: Reunion
Chapter 4: Vicissitude
Chapter 5: Routine
Playlist
Adrian meets Sinclair on way to his study, giving him a mechanical smile and nodding at the mention that it's lunchtime and that he needs to eat something. He ends up sitting at his desk, staring down at a handful of the reports he reads through daily (approved mental exercise) while he manages a few bites of food, tasting like ash in his mouth (he owes Andi an apology, he reminds himself).
Then it's to exercise and the now-familiar routine with his physical therapist, his thoughts a million miles away as he stretches out on the bench. After that, it will be time for one of Sinclair's prescribed rest periods, time to lay out atop the thick coverlet of his bed, thinking of nothing while the faint sounds of nature drift in through the window.
In the meantime, Sam makes a call to Sandra and let her know that he made it safely and, yes, he is planning to stay this time. He doesn't tell her anything specific, just that he's sticking to this and that he'll be home in a few days. He talks with Mason for a few minutes, telling his little boy how much he misses him and to take care of his mommy.
After he hangs up the phone, he makes his way downstairs for a drink, finding the doctor (which was next on his list of things to do) in the kitchen, helping himself from a tray of sandwiches on the table. "Hello, Sam. Oh, I apologize, but I forgot to explain the eating arrangements to you. Shall I have Andi make you up a tray?"
Sam moves up beside the doctor to inspect the array, soup bubbling merrily away on the stove and the sandwiches beside. "Oh, that's okay. I'm not terribly hungry at the moment anyway."
He does helps himself to the coffee, however, and steps aside as Andi appears from the back pantry so as to be out of the way, taking a sip as he glances out the window. "So, what’s the plan? For the next few days, I mean."
Sinclair explains Adrian's schedule, the daily round of treatment and exercise and rest that he has agreed to and that the doctor considers essential for recovery from a traumatic illness such as this. The medication that Adrian takes concerns him, but Sam is not about to tell the doctor how to do his job.
"Basically, rest and controlled exertion is what works best. Patience, on the patient's part most of all, and support." He gives Sam a sympathetic look. "If you have any suggestions, I'm certainly open to changing things around a bit." Sam has none at the moment but promises to let Jonathan know if anything comes to mind.
The doctor goes on to briefly list the staff working at the house, their roles and schedules, Sam nodding, only half listening. "It's quite a little community we've developed," Sinclair says dryly.
“Yeah, it is. So, uhm," he starts, awkwardly. "What do you suggest I do while Adrian is," he gestures vaguely, "doing other things?"
Jon's eyebrows go up. "Ah. Anything you like, really. Make use of any of the facilities we have here. You've seen the study/library and there's a weight room as well. If there's anything you'd like, we can arrange for it. You should feel free to spend as much or as little time with him as you think is appropriate. Your presence here, if I may say, is more important than any routine we've developed."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right.” Sam swallows thickly as he tops off his coffee, peering over at Andi (who merely nods in the background, listening with one ear as she gives the soup a stir), feeling a bit uncomfortable discussing Adrian with familiarity when someone he hardly knows is standing nearby. He clears his throat, figuring he‘ll just have to get used to it. “Where is he now?"
"Right now, he's with Maria, the physical therapist-- she's excellent-- and, usually, after that he takes a rest upstairs for about an hour. I'll check in shortly and see how he's doing."
Sam nods, almost smiling. "All right, well, I wont interrupt that. Physical therapy is pretty important.” He stirs a little bit more sugar into his coffee and helps himself to the cream. “I've broken so many bones in my day. If I hadn't had therapy, I'd be as stiff as a nut."
The doctor chuckles. "I can only imagine.“ And then he stands and picks up his plate, with a thank you to Andi. “If you’ll excuse me?”
"Please let me know how he is,” Sam calls after him, as the good doctor ducks out of the kitchen on an errand of his own.
“I certainly will.”
A handful of seconds later, Sinclair knocks quietly on his patient's bedroom door and slips inside. Adrian is stretched out on his back, ankles crossed and hands resting on his stomach, strains of quiet music filling the room from the compact system built into the wall. "How are you feeling?"
"Surviving," is the response that comes back in a tired whisper, tinged with the ghost of his employer's usual humor.
The doctor rests his hand atop Adrian's, skin dry and faintly cool. "Do you need anything?”
"Some tea, please. Some of Andi's chamomile. Nothing else."
“Mr. Hollis was asking about your routine, earlier."
He turns his head towards Sinclair, opening his eyes. "Ah? He can come in, if he feels the need." Of all the people to witness his nightmares, after all, he is the safest.
Making his way back downstairs, Sinclair steps into the kitchen in time to find Sam and Andi carried off in discussion, the young cook asking Sam about his food preferences. "I may be a veggie but tell me anything you like. If it's something I won't cook then Rob," the backup chef, "will."
Sam gives her a genuine smile. "I'm not picky. My wife cooks for me most of the time and she makes things that can hardly be called edible. But I eat them anyway." He winks at her.
"Ooh, true love!"
Andi chuckles and catches the doctor’s eye in the doorway. Sam follows her gaze and nods to him. "Andi, Mr. Veidt would like some chamomile tea." She nods and turns away, and Sinclair steps closer to Sam, pitching his voice lower. "He's resting right now but I don't think he would object to company." He mentions Adrian's literal words, to be clear.
Sam nods, "Oh, uh. Okay. I can take the tea to him if you'd like."
And he does deliver it to him, carefully carrying it upstairs and knocking on Adrian's door to announcing his presence. "Adrian? Can I come in?"
There's a pause, then, "Come in," in Adrian's tired voice.
The room is very much like Sam's, only larger-- furnished richly, but very sedately. A vase of flowers, peonies mostly, stands atop the small desk in the corner, sending their fragrance out into the room. The main focus is the large, four-poster bed, like Sam's, where Adrian lifts his head from the pillows as he enters. "You brought my tea. Thank you."
Sam brings it over to him and sets it down on the small table next to Adrian's bed. He looks down on Adrian from where he stands. "Do you want me to leave you be?" he asks gently. Lord, is he trying, here.
"Whatever you would like, Dan." he pushes himself upright, fills his tea mug and takes it in both hands, curling his fingers around it for warmth as he blows the rolling steam across the top. A part of him wants to say yes, to ask Sam to leave him alone, but there's something oddly restful about his presence in the room, however incongruous it feels. He gives a small, tight smile. "I apologize for not being better company."
Sam stands there awkwardly for a moment, then drags a chair over from the window and moves the book that's been placed on top of it, setting it on his lap as he sits down. "I apologize for upsetting you earlier," he says quietly.
"Don't apologize." Adrian shakes his head, taking a long drink of his tea. "It wasn't you."
"I called Sandra. She sends her regards." She doesn’t, of course, but that doesn't matter. Adrian nods at the obvious, but kind, lie.
"And I had a chat with Andi. She's lovely, isn't she?" He's striving to create any sort of conversation here. As far as small talk goes, once he gets going, Sam usually can hold up his end for hours, though he’s never known Adrian to be one for empty conversation.
"She is and very talented." Adrian smiles at the young woman's name. It's a pity she's stuck here.
"So I gather," Sam concedes. "She just spent the last ten minutes or so telling me about the dishes she usually makes around here. I'm impressed. I haven't had any of her cooking yet but I can tell you this: she makes a mean cup of coffee."
Adrian lets his body relax, feeling the herbal tea do its job, and nods. "She truly loves her work. I hope everyone else is putting her skills to good use." A sigh. "I certainly haven't been."
"No appetite still?" Sam asks, looking down at the book in his lap.
"No appetite." Adrian turns and places the now-empty mug on the tray with a click, then breathes deep and lies back down, stretching out atop the bedspread.
His eyes crack open and he looks at Sam. "I usually try to rest for an hour or so at this point," he says quietly. "You don't need to keep me company." He winces, internally, at how passive-aggressive it sounds but right now all he feels is exhaustion.
Sam nods, feeling conflicted. "I'll leave.” He sets the book down and stands, taking the tray and heading for the door. "Why don't you come find me when you're done. I'll be in the library most likely."
"All right," Adrian murmurs. "Thank you, Dan."
He closes his eyes, stretching back out, and hears the click of the door latching as Sam makes his exit. The room suddenly seems more empty than usual, the faintest ghost of Sam's-- Dan’s-- presence lingering along with the drifting fragrance from the flowers. Adrian lets his mind drift, searching for nothingness. Maybe he'll find it, this time.
There is no such peace for Sam as he brings the tea to the kitchen, an unnamable torrent of feelings roiling inside of him. It seems that Adrian's attitude is no different whether Sam is kind with him or free with his lingering anger. Well, at least Adrian didn't have another fit this time. That's something, he supposes.
He accepts the snack that Andi has prepared for him with a smile and a thank you and takes it with him to the library, sitting down at one of the desks to read, anything to take his mind from all of this.
Adrian lies there in peace for he knows not how long, before slipping further under the surface of sleep. There it waits for him, the same old dream, the endless sea and the treading water and the lurking presence below.
He shakes and finally his eyes fly open with a strangled sob, and he clutches the pillow to his chest, buries his face in it as he turns on his side, letting it soak up the now-familiar tears. After some time he tosses it aside and rises, heading for the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, studying his reflection in passing. He's fading, more and more every day. He finally clicks out the light and pads into the library, realizing that he has nothing better to do.
Sam hears the door opening and turns to see Adrian step inside. "Hey." He closes the book he was attempting to read and swivels around in his chair. "Did you rest well or... Get any sleep?” He checks his watch; it has been about three hours since he left Adrian alone in his room.
Adrian shrugs, the lines around his mouth more pronounced. "As much as I ever do." He comes around to one of the other desks and leans back against it, fingers tapping in undirected agitation. He doesn't appear particularly rested to Sam but he doesn't say anything.
He stands and pulls a chair over for Adrian and motions to it. "Sit." The corner of Adrian’s mouth twitches at the command but he does as he's bid, dropping into the chair. The ground on which their tenuous relationship stands has shifted yet again and Adrian can't yet tell how but he's not sure that it matters, in the long run.
He peers at the book that Sam is reading. "Finding things to occupy your time, I see. Good."
Sam nods, looking over the book’s cover. "Yeah, a bit. You've read it I assume.”
He nods. "Yes, some time ago. Quite derivative, I thought, even if the author does make a few good points." A faint smile.
Sam nods, looking down again. "Aren't they all, these days? There's no such thing as an original idea." He thinks his own statement over for a moment, then glances over at his weary companion, an edge of concern lingering in his eyes. "Except maybe yours, that is. Have you ever considered writing a book. I mean, besides the Veidt Method?"
Adrian has to chuckle at that, even if it rings a little hollow. "I'm inclined to say that after this, the Veidt Method should never be published again." He gestures at himself.
Sam's mouth quivers into something like a smile. "You must have known you were gonna get old someday, Adrian,“ he says with a hint of playfulness and gestures to Adrian's hair. "Not to poke fun at your vanity but you're going a little gray." Not that he has any room to talk, his own hair thin and silver at the temples.
Adrian nods, again with that faint smile. "I know." He's been graying for some time, in fact. It's a private annoyance, one which he used to cover with expert touch-ups. Now, though, it's plain to see and has only accelerated through the accumulated weight of strain on his system.
"Have you considered writing about any of this, though? Even if you don't plan to publish it? I sometimes find it helps to write things down... What's going on in my head and all of that."
"I fear that anything I really write down about ‘what‘s going on in my head‘, even with the intention to destroy it immediately, would be too much of a risk." Adrian looks away.
Sam’s expression flattens, as does his tone, and he regards the other man closely. "Maybe talking about it would help," he says, thinking about Sinclair’s earlier suggestion. "Honestly, I think that's probably the only thing that has gotten Sandra and I past it," if he could honestly claim that. "Talking about it. I'm sure you've got a great number of things up there,” he averts his eyes, adding quietly, “and with no one to talk to about them. I'm not going anywhere for a few days so..." He opens his hands and lets his words trail off, his offer implied.
Adrian stills. He's expected this, on the one hand, Sinclair's blatant attempt to get him to unburden himself. He knows at least that there's no malice involved on the good doctor's part, no desire to steal his secrets and share them with the world, only to excise the sickness that is tormenting his patient. But Jonathan has no idea how deep the cancer goes.
And Sam's help is, in the end, too much to expect, as Adrian well knows; for all his offers of help, his noble intentions, the weight of Adrian's burden is too much for everything it has already cost he and his family. This will only drive him away again faster.
Adrian shakes his head in mute regret, pushing down the bubble of stupid, pointless hope that's rising within him despite his best efforts. "No," he whispers. "That's a kind offer, but... It's not necessary, Dan. You don't have to do that."
Sam expected Adrian to say no and can’t find it within himself to feel disappointed. And yet, "If you want me to help you then you're going to have to let me, you know. Otherwise you're just wasting my time." His tone is sharp, matter of fact, his patience going. “Both our time.”
Adrian looks away, out the window. "Your time is your own, Dan," he says, with heavy finality. "I won't take that away from you."
Sam wont let that be the end of it though. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Adrian. I'm no idiot. I learned my lesson eight years ago and," he lowers his voice considerably, eyes hard, "Rorschach's journal was published and it achieved absolutely nothing, didn't it? Not to mention that I'm still a wanted man and have no business telling anyone your secrets."
Adrian turns back to meet Sam's gaze as he continues and his eyes narrow in surprise. "I'm not afraid of you telling anyone," he murmurs, just as low, his face softening. "I know you won't. I simply don't see how talking about it can possibly do any good."
Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out, trying to reign in his frustration, shaking his head. "That's just it, isn't it? If you wont believe that anything can help you, then nothing will."
Adrian closes his eyes. What Sam is saying is absolutely true and he knows it but he has tried, for so hard and so long, to find a way through this. He is tired and hope is dangerous and unaffordable. Still, he nods and blinks over at Sam. "You're right." Quietly and without inflection.
Sam opens his mouth, expecting another argument but it doesn't come. "Right. Uh, so... If and when you wanna talk, I'm here for you, okay?" It's weird to say it and it almost feels false, but damn it, he is doing this. He is going to follow through.
Adrian looks at him, hears the hesitancy and the uncertainty in Sam’s voice but his heart gives a lurch. He told the truth: he trusts him with the information that could end the world all over again. Still, there's a chance that this is a ploy of some kind, the opportunity to offer help and then pull it away at the last second. If that's the case, well, then it's Adrian's responsibility for having opened Sam up to that darkness. But if it's genuine, if he really does want to help... Adrian looks at him and can't bear to know which is the case. He nods, throat tight. "Thank you." It comes out as another whisper.
Sam nods, "You're welcome." He smiles softly, something like hope there.
He then moves in his chair to put the book he's holding on the desk. "So, what would you like to do with the rest of your day?"
Truth be told, Adrian feels like doing nothing more than retreating into himself, to think over everything that's happened and analyze how Sam’s presence fits into the situation. As always, he feels weary and frayed around the edges. But Sam is being kind, or trying to, and he has no reason to sit around and wait. "I'm open to ideas. Shall we continue our game of chess?" It's something to do, at least.
Sam considers this and shrugs, going to his room to fetch the board once again, returning and setting them up in the study this time. Adrian plays, mind only partly on the game (although he does start handicapping himself by the third match, out of courtesy to his partner, easily beating him each time). He responds to Sam's conversational attempts as best he can manage, the both of them slowly becoming more comfortable with one another as the hours pass.
Adrian still feels uncomfortable in his own skin, at this strange truce, face-to-face with his old friend, and he itches with the urge to get up and escape-- to where, he has no idea. But the hours pass faster than he realizes and soon it’s time for Adrian to try and eat.
The cooking as excellent as is boasted and Sam is obviously enjoying himself. But he's eyeing Adrian, who manages, under that watchful gaze, only a few more bites of pasta than he otherwise would. They finish and Andi brings in plates of apple crumble, along with coffee for Dan and more tea for Adrian, flipping the switch for the gas fireplace at Adrian's request as she leaves.
The room warms as Adrian settles back in the armchair and stares into the flames, still thinking over Dan's earlier offer. "I'm sorry for not being a more congenial host," he murmurs, for lack of anything else to say.
Sam is savoring his apple crumble (which fills him with a sort of childish glee-- neither he nor Sandra can bake, and having homemade dessert is much more than he can ask for), when Adrian speaks and he looks up at him, fork halfway to his mouth.
"Don't be ridiculous," he says, gladly having another bite. "I didn't expect you to be." He reaches for his coffee to wash the delicious sweetness down. "I'd be surprised if you were your usual self after what you've been through."
Adrian, watching Sam's simple enjoyment with a tinge of some unnamable emotion (it might be envy but he's far too empty to be bitter), smiles wryly and wraps his hands around his teacup. "Still, you deserve better." He stares back into the fire, letting the chaotic pattern of the flickering flames calm and distract him from the specter of the looming night.
Sam sighs and gives Adrian that look of his, the one that tells him to cut the bullshit. "You're right. I do. But I'm making do with you. Now cut out this self-pity baloney. I deserve better than that too." He takes another bite of his crumble, quite delicately, then sips his coffee, regarding Adrian as he does. Adrian Veidt used to be the most insufferably confident bastard that Sam had ever met. He almost misses that attitude of his now.
Adrian eyes him back, giving Sam the blandest look he can muster. A few possible responses cross his mind-- ‘It's not self-pity,’ for one, and, ‘if it offends you, you're free to leave.‘ But they all fall flat and he takes another sip of his tea, cataloguing the subtle flavors. How strange, to find himself with nothing to say.
Sam sits there in silence, still watching his old colleague, surprised when he doesn't take a shot back and wondering... Just wondering what's being hidden behind that carefully blank expression. He can only imagine and it makes his stomach turn. "What's going on up there, Adrian?" he taps his own temple. "Talk to me, man. Please?"
Adrian's face softens despite himself at Sam’s earnest, naive, touching desire to help, as futile as it is. "That's kind of you," he says, meeting Dan's eyes again, "but I've felt this coming for so long that I don't think there's anything to be done about it now."
Round and round they go. Sam gives a defeated sigh and finished his apple crumble, then stands. "Are you done eating? I'll take our plates to the kitchen." He holds his hand out expectantly.
Adrian looks up, in surprise, at the gesture and the outstretched hand. He opens his mouth to tell Sam not to worry, that the plates will be cleaned up, but... Something makes him stop and he closes it again. "I'll help you," he says simply as he levers himself upright and picks up his plate and mug.
Sam can't help himself, his lips twitching into a smile. He waits patiently for Adrian to stand as well, reaching out on impulse to grasp Adrian's elbow and steady him but he remembers himself and moves away towards the door instead, slowly leading them both to the kitchen.
Adrian's steps are steady enough as he follows Sam back to the kitchen. Andi is there, cleaning up, and she looks up as their houseguest enters, her eyes widen in surprise as she sees who follows him.
"Good evening," Adrian murmurs. "We're just bringing these back. It was delicious, Andi." He gives her a small, calm smile, which silences her even as she opens her mouth to protest.
Sam smiles to himself as they enter, moving to put his dishes in the sink, watching the cook as she's faced with her employer. He doesn't imagine that Adrian shows his face much in the service quarters of his estate. He dwells on it for a moment before he remembers his manners. "Oh, yes! Yeah, it was really good. Especially the apple crumble. I can't remember the last time I've had it that good!"
Andi wrinkles her nose in delight and laughs at Sam. "You're a flatterer, Mr. Hollis. I'll give you the recipe, if you'd like to take it back with you."
Sam chuckles playfully and waves his hand dismissively. "No, no. I'll butcher forever the memory of such a good recipe. You're best not to."
Adrian leans back against the counter, feeling a little adrift in the room, as if he's the one who doesn't belong. That's not untrue, after all. "Yes, Andi, thank you," he says, during a pause. "You do an excellent job, taking care of me-- of all of us-- and I've been remiss in saying it."
Her face softens and she looks at him in surprise. "Oh, Mr. V, don't thank me. We all just hope you feel better." Adrian blinks back at her, and nods, unsure of what to say.
Sam moves back slightly as Adrian speaks, letting him have a moment to be actualized into a positive conversation, watching him in the face of others' concern. He steps behind him, smiling at Andi as he crosses back to the door and motioning for Adrian to follow. "C'mon. Let's make sure we don't let them down, all right?"
That snaps Adrian out of his trance and he responds in a well-practiced, calm, faintly regretful-yet-amused voice, "Well, we can certainly try. Thank you again, Andi. And I hope you have a good night." He makes the best exit he can manage, any embarrassment at being so blatantly managed by Sam overshadowed by regret that he'll have to let so many hopeful people down.
Out in the hall, he turns to Sam. "I should probably start getting ready for my evening exercises. If I wear myself out, I'm more likely to sleep." He says it in a resigned, emotionless tone.
Sam fixes him with surprised look. "Hmmn? Oh, right, of course."
Then Adrian extends a hand, surprising himself, both of them, actually. "Thank you for keeping me company, Dan." He means it, he realizes-- Sam's presence, for all that it points out how far he's fallen, has been a kindness.
Sam hesitates for a moment, a tired expression flitting across his features and then he puts his hand in Adrian's, giving it a firm shake. "You're-you're welcome. I'll see you in the morning."
That fleeting look of exhaustion and disappointment remains with Adrian as he turns away. He can't shake the image throughout his evening routine, the punishing workout leaving him aching in every limb, the hot bath only helping the physical symptoms.
Sam retires to his room as well, sitting down at the desk in the corner and propping his feet up as he thinks over the events of the day. He's glad that he had enough forethought to bring some work along with him and settles in to work on that for a while, reviewing files, numbers, sheets and sheets of reports needing his skillful eye. It isn't any easier to take his mind off of things now that he is finally here, now that he knows, but he tries.
As Adrian climbs back into bed, regulating his breathing, there's a small rap on the door: Sinclair, come to check on his patient. Adrian lets the doctor check his vitals, the familiar routine, but reaches out to rest a hand on his wrist when Jonathan holds out a familiar bottle. "A half-dose tonight, I think," Adrian murmurs and Jon peers at his face closely before finally nodding and passing him a single pill, which he swallows down. He stretches out and closes his eyes, and feels Sinclair pat his hand as he stands. "Call if you need anything," is the familiar request, and Adrian nods, hearing footsteps recede and the door close shortly thereafter.
Adrian lies in bed, musing over the events of the day, and the image continues to return to him: Sam's face, first animated and smiling, as when talking to Andi and even occassionally while teasing Adrian, then tired and worn and disappointed. Adrian still doesn't know what to think about him being here, how to cope with this new intrusion into the familiar, sad rhythm of his life. So he tries not to think and soon feels himself drifting beneath the peaceful surface of sleep...
...Which doesn't remain tranquil for long. It's the same at first, a lowering sky and flickers of cloud above him. There is an endless ocean around him where he treads water that becomes colder and colder, then the feel of movement, slithering touches that caress his legs almost lovingly, as much as he searches for any means of escape. He opens his mouth to call out for help, and that's when the attack comes and he's yanked downward, mouth and nose and lungs filling with water as he struggles for breath. His eyes fly open, and there's nothing but light, blue light, filling every corner of the universe. And faces, waiting, implacable and terrible. He knows that it's only a dream, that his body is safe in his bed, but that's not enough as those faces loom up before him. And the first one, melting and flowing away in the cruel, unforgiving light, is Dan's. He screams out, sitting bolt upright in bed, shaking, heart hammering a million beats a minute, the echo of the cry still ringing in his ears.
Sam is jolted awake, the way that a parent always is, when he hears someone down the hall cry out in their sleep. It takes him a moment to realize where he is and he hesitates, listening carefully for a long moment, before pushing himself up from his bed, shrugging on his dressing gown and going to see what's the matter.
At first, there are no signs of life the dark, empty hallway but when he sees the form of Doctor Sinclair go into Adrian's room, he gets a better idea of what's going on. He follows to the door and knocks on it gently. "Adrian? Jonathan?"
Adrian is too busy fighting for breath to do more than register the door swinging open as Sinclair enters in a rush, bending down over him and feeling for his pulse. The next few moments are a blur, a far-too-familiar one, as he struggles once again to drag himself back into a semblance of control. At one point the doctor pauses and lifts his head and then moves away, only to return a moment later. And there's another presence in the room. Adrian looks up and there, by the door, is that same face he saw fading away in his dreams and his breath freezes in his throat despite himself.
Sam stops in his tracks when their eyes meet, his face growing white. To see this man, knowing everything that he does about him, to see him falling apart in genuine panic, is breathtaking in the most literal sense. He moves around to the other side of the bed, out of the doctor's way, reaching without thought to take Adrian's shaking hand into his own and holding it tightly. "Shh-shh-shh. It's okay, man. You're safe. You're safe." He kneels down beside the bed, unsure of what else he can do, letting that protective instinct kick in and take over.
Adrian feels his throat tighten again at those soft, kind, innocuous words, making it that much harder to breathe. Every time this happens and the dreams take him, it's harder and harder for him to fight his way back from the edge, that precipice of terror over which he knows he'll one day fall, forever-- and while he knows that is his fate, it's the consequences that chill him. Still, under two sets of watchful eyes and hands, the shivers slowly subside, leaving him feeling wrung out and empty.
Sinclair asks Adrian, quietly, what he needs and when he finally raises his eyes to the doctor's, he offers another pill wordlessly. Adrian nods and it's followed by the water glass with which to wash it down, the doctor helping him steady it. Sam's jaw clenches as he watches all of this, silently resolving to see this through enough to get Adrian off medication, at least.
As Adrian hands back the glass, he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the unbearable kindness he knows is there on Sam's face. All he can do is squeeze that hand, in wordless acknowledgment. He squeezes Adrian's hand in return, watching his face until he sees it relax completely and then glancing over at Sinclair.
"These pills. What do they do to him?" he asks with a quiet edge of disapproval.
Sinclair eyes him, detecting that distrust and responding with a sigh. "It's an anxiolytic," he responds briefly, voice low. "And a mild sedative, only for when this happens." He meets Sam's gaze across Adrian's still form. "Perhaps now isn't the best time to go into detail but I'll fill you in tomorrow."
He merely sighs and nods, peering sadly over Adrian's calm features. The idea that he has such a bad time sleeping that he needs a sedative, although a part of Sam finds justice in this instance, it is yet a little bit heartbreaking.
"Normally I would sit with him for a while, but if you would prefer..." The doctor raises an eyebrow, words dying away.
Sam nods, not once taking his eyes away from Adrian's pinched features. "I'll stay with him and call you if we need anything."
Sinclair nods and checks Adrian's pulse one last time. "There's a call button on the table here." Then, solemnly, he lets himself out and closes the door behind him.
A few moments of silence pass through the quiet room before Adrian's voice floats up from the bed at a low murmur, although his eyes stay closed. "The dreams started eight years ago. I don't have the strength to resist them anymore."
Sam moves to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on Adrian with a creased brow. He closes his eyes, wanting to be bitter and self-righteous; Adrian deserves this, after all. But as he opens them again, he sees a fellow human being laying in suffering and he is reminded of his own torment. "I had nightmares for years after as well. I imagine yours are worse," he tells him in a dull tone. "What do you dream about?"
There's a pause, before Adrian responds. "Sometimes I'm floating in an endless, cold ocean. Others..." He feels a faint shudder run down his spine and opens his eyes, needing to see something other than those images. "I see faces, thousands of them, all melting away in the light." He turns on his side, settling to face Sam.
Sam puts his hand on Adrian's shoulder, a small comforting gesture, his other hand still clasped tightly in Adrian's. "Well," he murmurs, not sure what else to say. He stays silent for a while longer, hoping the other man will talk more.
Adrian closes his eyes again, not trusting himself to speak, but exhaustion, drugs, and the hand on his shoulder (beyond all expectation) loosen his tongue. "I knew it would all catch up to me eventually," he whispers. "I thought I would have longer, that I would be able to do more. Ah, well."
"Well, it would have been stupid to think that this wouldn't affect you. The things you did, Adrian..." He catches himself and lets his words fall away, reminding himself of his purpose here: to heal, not to blame. "But you're not done yet. You've still got some fight left in you. It may not feel like it now, but I know you do."
The righteous ring in that voice before it dies away... Of course he's expected it all along, the lecture, and the rest of Sam's platitudes are hollow in comparison. He lets them all go, lets the silence of the room answer for him.
"I can't see the way forward anymore," he says, finally, after a stifling moment of silence.
"Yes, well, with the drugs Sinclair has you taking, I'm not surprised. Sedatives every night and God knows what else." Now Sam allows himself to sound bitter. "I don't imagne I would be able to keep track of what day it was, much less run a corporation."
Adrian's lip curls into a humorless smile and he turns his face into the pillow. Such a naive, simplistic picture of the truth, and it saddens him, but why would he have honestly expected anything else?
"What he has me taking is far less than what some of the other doctors wanted. Do you really want to see me in the throes of a bad one, Dan? I'd oblige you, but... There's the little thought of what I might let slip, unwittingly." He sighs, and rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. "And even you'll agree that we can't risk that.“ And Adrian is right, of course. Just as he has always been. "In any case... Don't worry. It shouldn't be your concern much longer."
Sam lifts his gaze at those last words, head tilting in confusion. “What do you mean?"
Adrian opens his eyes again and they settle onto Sam's, with that same air of calm. "It's simple, really. As I said, I can't take the chance of anything slipping out. And given my current condition," he quirks a strange smile, "I'm more of a risk than a benefit to anyone and I can't see that changing. I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions."
Sam stares at Adrian for a long moment, before exhaling sharply and shaking his head. "No. I--" He flusters, trying not to think about what Adrian is implying... And that smile. "Look, just get some rest, okay?" He pats Adrian on the shoulder, dizzy with the thoughts that are running through his mind. "Rest and we'll talk in the morning, all right?"
Adrian heaves a sigh as his eyes droop shut again. "I'll do my best." His voice is faint and resigned, and he finds himself having to resist the urge to lean into that touch, ridiculously. Adrian feels himself sinking deeper into that drugged haze and it's not long before he's no longer aware of the room, of the strange presence at his bedside, of the pain or anything at all.
Sam stays with Adrian for a while longer, until he hears Adrian's breathing calm and he is practically drifting off himself. He lets himself out of the room and heads back to his own, crawling back into bed and falling asleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow, too tired and confused to think too much about what Adrian meant by what he said.
Authors: cdiar & flyingrat42
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Adrian Veidt, Dan Dreiberg (Sam Hollis), Jonathan Sinclair, other OC's
Word count: +6500
Summary: It's 1993 and Adrian has contracted a fatal illness.
Note: So, the chapter 5 that existed before is now part of chapter 4. This is an entirely new chapter. It's pretty long and mostly filler, but important filler. Next chapter will make up for it.
Prequel: Boundaries
Chapter 1: Nightmares Await
Chapter 2: Overcast
Chapter 3: Reunion
Chapter 4: Vicissitude
Chapter 5: Routine
Playlist
Adrian meets Sinclair on way to his study, giving him a mechanical smile and nodding at the mention that it's lunchtime and that he needs to eat something. He ends up sitting at his desk, staring down at a handful of the reports he reads through daily (approved mental exercise) while he manages a few bites of food, tasting like ash in his mouth (he owes Andi an apology, he reminds himself).
Then it's to exercise and the now-familiar routine with his physical therapist, his thoughts a million miles away as he stretches out on the bench. After that, it will be time for one of Sinclair's prescribed rest periods, time to lay out atop the thick coverlet of his bed, thinking of nothing while the faint sounds of nature drift in through the window.
In the meantime, Sam makes a call to Sandra and let her know that he made it safely and, yes, he is planning to stay this time. He doesn't tell her anything specific, just that he's sticking to this and that he'll be home in a few days. He talks with Mason for a few minutes, telling his little boy how much he misses him and to take care of his mommy.
After he hangs up the phone, he makes his way downstairs for a drink, finding the doctor (which was next on his list of things to do) in the kitchen, helping himself from a tray of sandwiches on the table. "Hello, Sam. Oh, I apologize, but I forgot to explain the eating arrangements to you. Shall I have Andi make you up a tray?"
Sam moves up beside the doctor to inspect the array, soup bubbling merrily away on the stove and the sandwiches beside. "Oh, that's okay. I'm not terribly hungry at the moment anyway."
He does helps himself to the coffee, however, and steps aside as Andi appears from the back pantry so as to be out of the way, taking a sip as he glances out the window. "So, what’s the plan? For the next few days, I mean."
Sinclair explains Adrian's schedule, the daily round of treatment and exercise and rest that he has agreed to and that the doctor considers essential for recovery from a traumatic illness such as this. The medication that Adrian takes concerns him, but Sam is not about to tell the doctor how to do his job.
"Basically, rest and controlled exertion is what works best. Patience, on the patient's part most of all, and support." He gives Sam a sympathetic look. "If you have any suggestions, I'm certainly open to changing things around a bit." Sam has none at the moment but promises to let Jonathan know if anything comes to mind.
The doctor goes on to briefly list the staff working at the house, their roles and schedules, Sam nodding, only half listening. "It's quite a little community we've developed," Sinclair says dryly.
“Yeah, it is. So, uhm," he starts, awkwardly. "What do you suggest I do while Adrian is," he gestures vaguely, "doing other things?"
Jon's eyebrows go up. "Ah. Anything you like, really. Make use of any of the facilities we have here. You've seen the study/library and there's a weight room as well. If there's anything you'd like, we can arrange for it. You should feel free to spend as much or as little time with him as you think is appropriate. Your presence here, if I may say, is more important than any routine we've developed."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right.” Sam swallows thickly as he tops off his coffee, peering over at Andi (who merely nods in the background, listening with one ear as she gives the soup a stir), feeling a bit uncomfortable discussing Adrian with familiarity when someone he hardly knows is standing nearby. He clears his throat, figuring he‘ll just have to get used to it. “Where is he now?"
"Right now, he's with Maria, the physical therapist-- she's excellent-- and, usually, after that he takes a rest upstairs for about an hour. I'll check in shortly and see how he's doing."
Sam nods, almost smiling. "All right, well, I wont interrupt that. Physical therapy is pretty important.” He stirs a little bit more sugar into his coffee and helps himself to the cream. “I've broken so many bones in my day. If I hadn't had therapy, I'd be as stiff as a nut."
The doctor chuckles. "I can only imagine.“ And then he stands and picks up his plate, with a thank you to Andi. “If you’ll excuse me?”
"Please let me know how he is,” Sam calls after him, as the good doctor ducks out of the kitchen on an errand of his own.
“I certainly will.”
A handful of seconds later, Sinclair knocks quietly on his patient's bedroom door and slips inside. Adrian is stretched out on his back, ankles crossed and hands resting on his stomach, strains of quiet music filling the room from the compact system built into the wall. "How are you feeling?"
"Surviving," is the response that comes back in a tired whisper, tinged with the ghost of his employer's usual humor.
The doctor rests his hand atop Adrian's, skin dry and faintly cool. "Do you need anything?”
"Some tea, please. Some of Andi's chamomile. Nothing else."
“Mr. Hollis was asking about your routine, earlier."
He turns his head towards Sinclair, opening his eyes. "Ah? He can come in, if he feels the need." Of all the people to witness his nightmares, after all, he is the safest.
Making his way back downstairs, Sinclair steps into the kitchen in time to find Sam and Andi carried off in discussion, the young cook asking Sam about his food preferences. "I may be a veggie but tell me anything you like. If it's something I won't cook then Rob," the backup chef, "will."
Sam gives her a genuine smile. "I'm not picky. My wife cooks for me most of the time and she makes things that can hardly be called edible. But I eat them anyway." He winks at her.
"Ooh, true love!"
Andi chuckles and catches the doctor’s eye in the doorway. Sam follows her gaze and nods to him. "Andi, Mr. Veidt would like some chamomile tea." She nods and turns away, and Sinclair steps closer to Sam, pitching his voice lower. "He's resting right now but I don't think he would object to company." He mentions Adrian's literal words, to be clear.
Sam nods, "Oh, uh. Okay. I can take the tea to him if you'd like."
And he does deliver it to him, carefully carrying it upstairs and knocking on Adrian's door to announcing his presence. "Adrian? Can I come in?"
There's a pause, then, "Come in," in Adrian's tired voice.
The room is very much like Sam's, only larger-- furnished richly, but very sedately. A vase of flowers, peonies mostly, stands atop the small desk in the corner, sending their fragrance out into the room. The main focus is the large, four-poster bed, like Sam's, where Adrian lifts his head from the pillows as he enters. "You brought my tea. Thank you."
Sam brings it over to him and sets it down on the small table next to Adrian's bed. He looks down on Adrian from where he stands. "Do you want me to leave you be?" he asks gently. Lord, is he trying, here.
"Whatever you would like, Dan." he pushes himself upright, fills his tea mug and takes it in both hands, curling his fingers around it for warmth as he blows the rolling steam across the top. A part of him wants to say yes, to ask Sam to leave him alone, but there's something oddly restful about his presence in the room, however incongruous it feels. He gives a small, tight smile. "I apologize for not being better company."
Sam stands there awkwardly for a moment, then drags a chair over from the window and moves the book that's been placed on top of it, setting it on his lap as he sits down. "I apologize for upsetting you earlier," he says quietly.
"Don't apologize." Adrian shakes his head, taking a long drink of his tea. "It wasn't you."
"I called Sandra. She sends her regards." She doesn’t, of course, but that doesn't matter. Adrian nods at the obvious, but kind, lie.
"And I had a chat with Andi. She's lovely, isn't she?" He's striving to create any sort of conversation here. As far as small talk goes, once he gets going, Sam usually can hold up his end for hours, though he’s never known Adrian to be one for empty conversation.
"She is and very talented." Adrian smiles at the young woman's name. It's a pity she's stuck here.
"So I gather," Sam concedes. "She just spent the last ten minutes or so telling me about the dishes she usually makes around here. I'm impressed. I haven't had any of her cooking yet but I can tell you this: she makes a mean cup of coffee."
Adrian lets his body relax, feeling the herbal tea do its job, and nods. "She truly loves her work. I hope everyone else is putting her skills to good use." A sigh. "I certainly haven't been."
"No appetite still?" Sam asks, looking down at the book in his lap.
"No appetite." Adrian turns and places the now-empty mug on the tray with a click, then breathes deep and lies back down, stretching out atop the bedspread.
His eyes crack open and he looks at Sam. "I usually try to rest for an hour or so at this point," he says quietly. "You don't need to keep me company." He winces, internally, at how passive-aggressive it sounds but right now all he feels is exhaustion.
Sam nods, feeling conflicted. "I'll leave.” He sets the book down and stands, taking the tray and heading for the door. "Why don't you come find me when you're done. I'll be in the library most likely."
"All right," Adrian murmurs. "Thank you, Dan."
He closes his eyes, stretching back out, and hears the click of the door latching as Sam makes his exit. The room suddenly seems more empty than usual, the faintest ghost of Sam's-- Dan’s-- presence lingering along with the drifting fragrance from the flowers. Adrian lets his mind drift, searching for nothingness. Maybe he'll find it, this time.
There is no such peace for Sam as he brings the tea to the kitchen, an unnamable torrent of feelings roiling inside of him. It seems that Adrian's attitude is no different whether Sam is kind with him or free with his lingering anger. Well, at least Adrian didn't have another fit this time. That's something, he supposes.
He accepts the snack that Andi has prepared for him with a smile and a thank you and takes it with him to the library, sitting down at one of the desks to read, anything to take his mind from all of this.
Adrian lies there in peace for he knows not how long, before slipping further under the surface of sleep. There it waits for him, the same old dream, the endless sea and the treading water and the lurking presence below.
He shakes and finally his eyes fly open with a strangled sob, and he clutches the pillow to his chest, buries his face in it as he turns on his side, letting it soak up the now-familiar tears. After some time he tosses it aside and rises, heading for the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, studying his reflection in passing. He's fading, more and more every day. He finally clicks out the light and pads into the library, realizing that he has nothing better to do.
Sam hears the door opening and turns to see Adrian step inside. "Hey." He closes the book he was attempting to read and swivels around in his chair. "Did you rest well or... Get any sleep?” He checks his watch; it has been about three hours since he left Adrian alone in his room.
Adrian shrugs, the lines around his mouth more pronounced. "As much as I ever do." He comes around to one of the other desks and leans back against it, fingers tapping in undirected agitation. He doesn't appear particularly rested to Sam but he doesn't say anything.
He stands and pulls a chair over for Adrian and motions to it. "Sit." The corner of Adrian’s mouth twitches at the command but he does as he's bid, dropping into the chair. The ground on which their tenuous relationship stands has shifted yet again and Adrian can't yet tell how but he's not sure that it matters, in the long run.
He peers at the book that Sam is reading. "Finding things to occupy your time, I see. Good."
Sam nods, looking over the book’s cover. "Yeah, a bit. You've read it I assume.”
He nods. "Yes, some time ago. Quite derivative, I thought, even if the author does make a few good points." A faint smile.
Sam nods, looking down again. "Aren't they all, these days? There's no such thing as an original idea." He thinks his own statement over for a moment, then glances over at his weary companion, an edge of concern lingering in his eyes. "Except maybe yours, that is. Have you ever considered writing a book. I mean, besides the Veidt Method?"
Adrian has to chuckle at that, even if it rings a little hollow. "I'm inclined to say that after this, the Veidt Method should never be published again." He gestures at himself.
Sam's mouth quivers into something like a smile. "You must have known you were gonna get old someday, Adrian,“ he says with a hint of playfulness and gestures to Adrian's hair. "Not to poke fun at your vanity but you're going a little gray." Not that he has any room to talk, his own hair thin and silver at the temples.
Adrian nods, again with that faint smile. "I know." He's been graying for some time, in fact. It's a private annoyance, one which he used to cover with expert touch-ups. Now, though, it's plain to see and has only accelerated through the accumulated weight of strain on his system.
"Have you considered writing about any of this, though? Even if you don't plan to publish it? I sometimes find it helps to write things down... What's going on in my head and all of that."
"I fear that anything I really write down about ‘what‘s going on in my head‘, even with the intention to destroy it immediately, would be too much of a risk." Adrian looks away.
Sam’s expression flattens, as does his tone, and he regards the other man closely. "Maybe talking about it would help," he says, thinking about Sinclair’s earlier suggestion. "Honestly, I think that's probably the only thing that has gotten Sandra and I past it," if he could honestly claim that. "Talking about it. I'm sure you've got a great number of things up there,” he averts his eyes, adding quietly, “and with no one to talk to about them. I'm not going anywhere for a few days so..." He opens his hands and lets his words trail off, his offer implied.
Adrian stills. He's expected this, on the one hand, Sinclair's blatant attempt to get him to unburden himself. He knows at least that there's no malice involved on the good doctor's part, no desire to steal his secrets and share them with the world, only to excise the sickness that is tormenting his patient. But Jonathan has no idea how deep the cancer goes.
And Sam's help is, in the end, too much to expect, as Adrian well knows; for all his offers of help, his noble intentions, the weight of Adrian's burden is too much for everything it has already cost he and his family. This will only drive him away again faster.
Adrian shakes his head in mute regret, pushing down the bubble of stupid, pointless hope that's rising within him despite his best efforts. "No," he whispers. "That's a kind offer, but... It's not necessary, Dan. You don't have to do that."
Sam expected Adrian to say no and can’t find it within himself to feel disappointed. And yet, "If you want me to help you then you're going to have to let me, you know. Otherwise you're just wasting my time." His tone is sharp, matter of fact, his patience going. “Both our time.”
Adrian looks away, out the window. "Your time is your own, Dan," he says, with heavy finality. "I won't take that away from you."
Sam wont let that be the end of it though. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Adrian. I'm no idiot. I learned my lesson eight years ago and," he lowers his voice considerably, eyes hard, "Rorschach's journal was published and it achieved absolutely nothing, didn't it? Not to mention that I'm still a wanted man and have no business telling anyone your secrets."
Adrian turns back to meet Sam's gaze as he continues and his eyes narrow in surprise. "I'm not afraid of you telling anyone," he murmurs, just as low, his face softening. "I know you won't. I simply don't see how talking about it can possibly do any good."
Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out, trying to reign in his frustration, shaking his head. "That's just it, isn't it? If you wont believe that anything can help you, then nothing will."
Adrian closes his eyes. What Sam is saying is absolutely true and he knows it but he has tried, for so hard and so long, to find a way through this. He is tired and hope is dangerous and unaffordable. Still, he nods and blinks over at Sam. "You're right." Quietly and without inflection.
Sam opens his mouth, expecting another argument but it doesn't come. "Right. Uh, so... If and when you wanna talk, I'm here for you, okay?" It's weird to say it and it almost feels false, but damn it, he is doing this. He is going to follow through.
Adrian looks at him, hears the hesitancy and the uncertainty in Sam’s voice but his heart gives a lurch. He told the truth: he trusts him with the information that could end the world all over again. Still, there's a chance that this is a ploy of some kind, the opportunity to offer help and then pull it away at the last second. If that's the case, well, then it's Adrian's responsibility for having opened Sam up to that darkness. But if it's genuine, if he really does want to help... Adrian looks at him and can't bear to know which is the case. He nods, throat tight. "Thank you." It comes out as another whisper.
Sam nods, "You're welcome." He smiles softly, something like hope there.
He then moves in his chair to put the book he's holding on the desk. "So, what would you like to do with the rest of your day?"
Truth be told, Adrian feels like doing nothing more than retreating into himself, to think over everything that's happened and analyze how Sam’s presence fits into the situation. As always, he feels weary and frayed around the edges. But Sam is being kind, or trying to, and he has no reason to sit around and wait. "I'm open to ideas. Shall we continue our game of chess?" It's something to do, at least.
Sam considers this and shrugs, going to his room to fetch the board once again, returning and setting them up in the study this time. Adrian plays, mind only partly on the game (although he does start handicapping himself by the third match, out of courtesy to his partner, easily beating him each time). He responds to Sam's conversational attempts as best he can manage, the both of them slowly becoming more comfortable with one another as the hours pass.
Adrian still feels uncomfortable in his own skin, at this strange truce, face-to-face with his old friend, and he itches with the urge to get up and escape-- to where, he has no idea. But the hours pass faster than he realizes and soon it’s time for Adrian to try and eat.
The cooking as excellent as is boasted and Sam is obviously enjoying himself. But he's eyeing Adrian, who manages, under that watchful gaze, only a few more bites of pasta than he otherwise would. They finish and Andi brings in plates of apple crumble, along with coffee for Dan and more tea for Adrian, flipping the switch for the gas fireplace at Adrian's request as she leaves.
The room warms as Adrian settles back in the armchair and stares into the flames, still thinking over Dan's earlier offer. "I'm sorry for not being a more congenial host," he murmurs, for lack of anything else to say.
Sam is savoring his apple crumble (which fills him with a sort of childish glee-- neither he nor Sandra can bake, and having homemade dessert is much more than he can ask for), when Adrian speaks and he looks up at him, fork halfway to his mouth.
"Don't be ridiculous," he says, gladly having another bite. "I didn't expect you to be." He reaches for his coffee to wash the delicious sweetness down. "I'd be surprised if you were your usual self after what you've been through."
Adrian, watching Sam's simple enjoyment with a tinge of some unnamable emotion (it might be envy but he's far too empty to be bitter), smiles wryly and wraps his hands around his teacup. "Still, you deserve better." He stares back into the fire, letting the chaotic pattern of the flickering flames calm and distract him from the specter of the looming night.
Sam sighs and gives Adrian that look of his, the one that tells him to cut the bullshit. "You're right. I do. But I'm making do with you. Now cut out this self-pity baloney. I deserve better than that too." He takes another bite of his crumble, quite delicately, then sips his coffee, regarding Adrian as he does. Adrian Veidt used to be the most insufferably confident bastard that Sam had ever met. He almost misses that attitude of his now.
Adrian eyes him back, giving Sam the blandest look he can muster. A few possible responses cross his mind-- ‘It's not self-pity,’ for one, and, ‘if it offends you, you're free to leave.‘ But they all fall flat and he takes another sip of his tea, cataloguing the subtle flavors. How strange, to find himself with nothing to say.
Sam sits there in silence, still watching his old colleague, surprised when he doesn't take a shot back and wondering... Just wondering what's being hidden behind that carefully blank expression. He can only imagine and it makes his stomach turn. "What's going on up there, Adrian?" he taps his own temple. "Talk to me, man. Please?"
Adrian's face softens despite himself at Sam’s earnest, naive, touching desire to help, as futile as it is. "That's kind of you," he says, meeting Dan's eyes again, "but I've felt this coming for so long that I don't think there's anything to be done about it now."
Round and round they go. Sam gives a defeated sigh and finished his apple crumble, then stands. "Are you done eating? I'll take our plates to the kitchen." He holds his hand out expectantly.
Adrian looks up, in surprise, at the gesture and the outstretched hand. He opens his mouth to tell Sam not to worry, that the plates will be cleaned up, but... Something makes him stop and he closes it again. "I'll help you," he says simply as he levers himself upright and picks up his plate and mug.
Sam can't help himself, his lips twitching into a smile. He waits patiently for Adrian to stand as well, reaching out on impulse to grasp Adrian's elbow and steady him but he remembers himself and moves away towards the door instead, slowly leading them both to the kitchen.
Adrian's steps are steady enough as he follows Sam back to the kitchen. Andi is there, cleaning up, and she looks up as their houseguest enters, her eyes widen in surprise as she sees who follows him.
"Good evening," Adrian murmurs. "We're just bringing these back. It was delicious, Andi." He gives her a small, calm smile, which silences her even as she opens her mouth to protest.
Sam smiles to himself as they enter, moving to put his dishes in the sink, watching the cook as she's faced with her employer. He doesn't imagine that Adrian shows his face much in the service quarters of his estate. He dwells on it for a moment before he remembers his manners. "Oh, yes! Yeah, it was really good. Especially the apple crumble. I can't remember the last time I've had it that good!"
Andi wrinkles her nose in delight and laughs at Sam. "You're a flatterer, Mr. Hollis. I'll give you the recipe, if you'd like to take it back with you."
Sam chuckles playfully and waves his hand dismissively. "No, no. I'll butcher forever the memory of such a good recipe. You're best not to."
Adrian leans back against the counter, feeling a little adrift in the room, as if he's the one who doesn't belong. That's not untrue, after all. "Yes, Andi, thank you," he says, during a pause. "You do an excellent job, taking care of me-- of all of us-- and I've been remiss in saying it."
Her face softens and she looks at him in surprise. "Oh, Mr. V, don't thank me. We all just hope you feel better." Adrian blinks back at her, and nods, unsure of what to say.
Sam moves back slightly as Adrian speaks, letting him have a moment to be actualized into a positive conversation, watching him in the face of others' concern. He steps behind him, smiling at Andi as he crosses back to the door and motioning for Adrian to follow. "C'mon. Let's make sure we don't let them down, all right?"
That snaps Adrian out of his trance and he responds in a well-practiced, calm, faintly regretful-yet-amused voice, "Well, we can certainly try. Thank you again, Andi. And I hope you have a good night." He makes the best exit he can manage, any embarrassment at being so blatantly managed by Sam overshadowed by regret that he'll have to let so many hopeful people down.
Out in the hall, he turns to Sam. "I should probably start getting ready for my evening exercises. If I wear myself out, I'm more likely to sleep." He says it in a resigned, emotionless tone.
Sam fixes him with surprised look. "Hmmn? Oh, right, of course."
Then Adrian extends a hand, surprising himself, both of them, actually. "Thank you for keeping me company, Dan." He means it, he realizes-- Sam's presence, for all that it points out how far he's fallen, has been a kindness.
Sam hesitates for a moment, a tired expression flitting across his features and then he puts his hand in Adrian's, giving it a firm shake. "You're-you're welcome. I'll see you in the morning."
That fleeting look of exhaustion and disappointment remains with Adrian as he turns away. He can't shake the image throughout his evening routine, the punishing workout leaving him aching in every limb, the hot bath only helping the physical symptoms.
Sam retires to his room as well, sitting down at the desk in the corner and propping his feet up as he thinks over the events of the day. He's glad that he had enough forethought to bring some work along with him and settles in to work on that for a while, reviewing files, numbers, sheets and sheets of reports needing his skillful eye. It isn't any easier to take his mind off of things now that he is finally here, now that he knows, but he tries.
As Adrian climbs back into bed, regulating his breathing, there's a small rap on the door: Sinclair, come to check on his patient. Adrian lets the doctor check his vitals, the familiar routine, but reaches out to rest a hand on his wrist when Jonathan holds out a familiar bottle. "A half-dose tonight, I think," Adrian murmurs and Jon peers at his face closely before finally nodding and passing him a single pill, which he swallows down. He stretches out and closes his eyes, and feels Sinclair pat his hand as he stands. "Call if you need anything," is the familiar request, and Adrian nods, hearing footsteps recede and the door close shortly thereafter.
Adrian lies in bed, musing over the events of the day, and the image continues to return to him: Sam's face, first animated and smiling, as when talking to Andi and even occassionally while teasing Adrian, then tired and worn and disappointed. Adrian still doesn't know what to think about him being here, how to cope with this new intrusion into the familiar, sad rhythm of his life. So he tries not to think and soon feels himself drifting beneath the peaceful surface of sleep...
...Which doesn't remain tranquil for long. It's the same at first, a lowering sky and flickers of cloud above him. There is an endless ocean around him where he treads water that becomes colder and colder, then the feel of movement, slithering touches that caress his legs almost lovingly, as much as he searches for any means of escape. He opens his mouth to call out for help, and that's when the attack comes and he's yanked downward, mouth and nose and lungs filling with water as he struggles for breath. His eyes fly open, and there's nothing but light, blue light, filling every corner of the universe. And faces, waiting, implacable and terrible. He knows that it's only a dream, that his body is safe in his bed, but that's not enough as those faces loom up before him. And the first one, melting and flowing away in the cruel, unforgiving light, is Dan's. He screams out, sitting bolt upright in bed, shaking, heart hammering a million beats a minute, the echo of the cry still ringing in his ears.
Sam is jolted awake, the way that a parent always is, when he hears someone down the hall cry out in their sleep. It takes him a moment to realize where he is and he hesitates, listening carefully for a long moment, before pushing himself up from his bed, shrugging on his dressing gown and going to see what's the matter.
At first, there are no signs of life the dark, empty hallway but when he sees the form of Doctor Sinclair go into Adrian's room, he gets a better idea of what's going on. He follows to the door and knocks on it gently. "Adrian? Jonathan?"
Adrian is too busy fighting for breath to do more than register the door swinging open as Sinclair enters in a rush, bending down over him and feeling for his pulse. The next few moments are a blur, a far-too-familiar one, as he struggles once again to drag himself back into a semblance of control. At one point the doctor pauses and lifts his head and then moves away, only to return a moment later. And there's another presence in the room. Adrian looks up and there, by the door, is that same face he saw fading away in his dreams and his breath freezes in his throat despite himself.
Sam stops in his tracks when their eyes meet, his face growing white. To see this man, knowing everything that he does about him, to see him falling apart in genuine panic, is breathtaking in the most literal sense. He moves around to the other side of the bed, out of the doctor's way, reaching without thought to take Adrian's shaking hand into his own and holding it tightly. "Shh-shh-shh. It's okay, man. You're safe. You're safe." He kneels down beside the bed, unsure of what else he can do, letting that protective instinct kick in and take over.
Adrian feels his throat tighten again at those soft, kind, innocuous words, making it that much harder to breathe. Every time this happens and the dreams take him, it's harder and harder for him to fight his way back from the edge, that precipice of terror over which he knows he'll one day fall, forever-- and while he knows that is his fate, it's the consequences that chill him. Still, under two sets of watchful eyes and hands, the shivers slowly subside, leaving him feeling wrung out and empty.
Sinclair asks Adrian, quietly, what he needs and when he finally raises his eyes to the doctor's, he offers another pill wordlessly. Adrian nods and it's followed by the water glass with which to wash it down, the doctor helping him steady it. Sam's jaw clenches as he watches all of this, silently resolving to see this through enough to get Adrian off medication, at least.
As Adrian hands back the glass, he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the unbearable kindness he knows is there on Sam's face. All he can do is squeeze that hand, in wordless acknowledgment. He squeezes Adrian's hand in return, watching his face until he sees it relax completely and then glancing over at Sinclair.
"These pills. What do they do to him?" he asks with a quiet edge of disapproval.
Sinclair eyes him, detecting that distrust and responding with a sigh. "It's an anxiolytic," he responds briefly, voice low. "And a mild sedative, only for when this happens." He meets Sam's gaze across Adrian's still form. "Perhaps now isn't the best time to go into detail but I'll fill you in tomorrow."
He merely sighs and nods, peering sadly over Adrian's calm features. The idea that he has such a bad time sleeping that he needs a sedative, although a part of Sam finds justice in this instance, it is yet a little bit heartbreaking.
"Normally I would sit with him for a while, but if you would prefer..." The doctor raises an eyebrow, words dying away.
Sam nods, not once taking his eyes away from Adrian's pinched features. "I'll stay with him and call you if we need anything."
Sinclair nods and checks Adrian's pulse one last time. "There's a call button on the table here." Then, solemnly, he lets himself out and closes the door behind him.
A few moments of silence pass through the quiet room before Adrian's voice floats up from the bed at a low murmur, although his eyes stay closed. "The dreams started eight years ago. I don't have the strength to resist them anymore."
Sam moves to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on Adrian with a creased brow. He closes his eyes, wanting to be bitter and self-righteous; Adrian deserves this, after all. But as he opens them again, he sees a fellow human being laying in suffering and he is reminded of his own torment. "I had nightmares for years after as well. I imagine yours are worse," he tells him in a dull tone. "What do you dream about?"
There's a pause, before Adrian responds. "Sometimes I'm floating in an endless, cold ocean. Others..." He feels a faint shudder run down his spine and opens his eyes, needing to see something other than those images. "I see faces, thousands of them, all melting away in the light." He turns on his side, settling to face Sam.
Sam puts his hand on Adrian's shoulder, a small comforting gesture, his other hand still clasped tightly in Adrian's. "Well," he murmurs, not sure what else to say. He stays silent for a while longer, hoping the other man will talk more.
Adrian closes his eyes again, not trusting himself to speak, but exhaustion, drugs, and the hand on his shoulder (beyond all expectation) loosen his tongue. "I knew it would all catch up to me eventually," he whispers. "I thought I would have longer, that I would be able to do more. Ah, well."
"Well, it would have been stupid to think that this wouldn't affect you. The things you did, Adrian..." He catches himself and lets his words fall away, reminding himself of his purpose here: to heal, not to blame. "But you're not done yet. You've still got some fight left in you. It may not feel like it now, but I know you do."
The righteous ring in that voice before it dies away... Of course he's expected it all along, the lecture, and the rest of Sam's platitudes are hollow in comparison. He lets them all go, lets the silence of the room answer for him.
"I can't see the way forward anymore," he says, finally, after a stifling moment of silence.
"Yes, well, with the drugs Sinclair has you taking, I'm not surprised. Sedatives every night and God knows what else." Now Sam allows himself to sound bitter. "I don't imagne I would be able to keep track of what day it was, much less run a corporation."
Adrian's lip curls into a humorless smile and he turns his face into the pillow. Such a naive, simplistic picture of the truth, and it saddens him, but why would he have honestly expected anything else?
"What he has me taking is far less than what some of the other doctors wanted. Do you really want to see me in the throes of a bad one, Dan? I'd oblige you, but... There's the little thought of what I might let slip, unwittingly." He sighs, and rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. "And even you'll agree that we can't risk that.“ And Adrian is right, of course. Just as he has always been. "In any case... Don't worry. It shouldn't be your concern much longer."
Sam lifts his gaze at those last words, head tilting in confusion. “What do you mean?"
Adrian opens his eyes again and they settle onto Sam's, with that same air of calm. "It's simple, really. As I said, I can't take the chance of anything slipping out. And given my current condition," he quirks a strange smile, "I'm more of a risk than a benefit to anyone and I can't see that changing. I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions."
Sam stares at Adrian for a long moment, before exhaling sharply and shaking his head. "No. I--" He flusters, trying not to think about what Adrian is implying... And that smile. "Look, just get some rest, okay?" He pats Adrian on the shoulder, dizzy with the thoughts that are running through his mind. "Rest and we'll talk in the morning, all right?"
Adrian heaves a sigh as his eyes droop shut again. "I'll do my best." His voice is faint and resigned, and he finds himself having to resist the urge to lean into that touch, ridiculously. Adrian feels himself sinking deeper into that drugged haze and it's not long before he's no longer aware of the room, of the strange presence at his bedside, of the pain or anything at all.
Sam stays with Adrian for a while longer, until he hears Adrian's breathing calm and he is practically drifting off himself. He lets himself out of the room and heads back to his own, crawling back into bed and falling asleep nearly as soon as his head hits the pillow, too tired and confused to think too much about what Adrian meant by what he said.