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It had been weeks and truthfully, Alison still didn’t know how to feel about Adam.
He seemed… nice, in a way. Certainly more honest than Lawrence, something she could appreciate immensely. Conversation had been had, in an exceptionally careful kind of way, about the capital I ‘Incident’. The lies, the infidelity… Were she not so thankful that Lawrence was alive – because bastard that he was, she still loved him, just not like she used to, probably never will again – she could have served divorce papers before the hospital would release him. Someday. Just not yet.
But when Larry came home, he brought Adam with him. Grungy, 20-something stalker Adam. Compared to her husband he was damn near pristine. Ten fingers, ten toes, like a healthy baby. And Lawrence was just as protective of him. She wrinkled her nose down at him while he was still hooked up to IVs and painkillers beyond belief.
“Me and your daughter,” she had hissed in a hushed tone, “were held hostage in our own home by an orderly you knew, and you still want to invite a complete stranger to live with us?” Alison only just held her tongue from asking if the blood loss had damaged his brain. Only just.
Lawrence, still encumbered by pain, still processing that he would never be the same man he was before, had snapped his eyes to hers. She nearly jumped; he was lucid, had been ever since he got out of surgery, but there was a haze to his eyes. From drugs or trauma, she didn’t know. But when he looked at her then, they weren’t just clear, they were blazing.
“You don’t know him,” he’d all but growled back at her. “You don’t know him but I do. He needs us, Ali.”
It unnerved her, honestly. When Zep held the phone to her ear she had heard Lawrence’s roars, could practically see his gnashing teeth and spittle. He was a sweet guy, detached, but sweet. Loved his family with his whole heart and then some, so it was more of a comfort than a source of fear to hear him threaten the man who was hurting his family so. But there, in the cold hospital room, to not be on the same side as Larry and to hear that side of him directed at her, not for her… She didn’t like to think about it. So she didn’t, and when Lawrence came home with the support of Adam, she held her tongue.
Adam at the very least has some sense to give her space. He kept his head down when they passed each other, kept all his smart little comments about their decor to himself, and left her alone. For that Alison was grateful.
Over time, though, Adam got a little more comfortable, a little more situated with what few things he could salvage from the apartment he had been evicted from, and Alison got rid of that twitch in her brow that kept trying to crop up. They adjusted as well as a new cat in a dog’s household: tentatively and with exceeding caution.
The guest bedroom became Adam’s at Lawrence's insistence. Alison had been surprised the kid didn’t make himself at home in there immediately, opting for the uncomfortable couch instead. They bickered about it, Larry and Adam, and Alison didn’t mean to eavesdrop. She had been in the kitchen making Diana a little plate of fruit and peanut butter when the words floated in to join her.
“I’m fine right here, Lawrence, seriously. I’ve worked with less, and I’m still kickin’!” A beat. “Too soon?”
Lawrence’s sigh bordered on a huff. “What if I told you you’d be doing us a favor then? Or maybe I should market it as a deal instead? You take the guest room and get your own space, and I don’t have to feel sympathy pains when I see you crunched on the couch.”
“Oh, well I’d just hate to put you through even more pain, Larry,” Adam had snarked back. Alison had waited for Lawrence to correct him – he hated when just anyone called him Larry. But Adam wasn’t ‘just anyone’ anymore, was he?
“Yes, I know, you’re a saint. Hand me my crutch.”
And that was that.
Diana would be integrating back into school soon. That was more important to Alison than Lawrence and Adam’s… peculiar trauma bond or whatever. When she was home that’s what she would focus on. She was already her mother but now they were tied together with that mutual hurt too. Did that make her a hypocrite?
If there was anything at all the adults of the home could all agree on, it was that Diana was taking everything much better than all three of them combined. “You guys got a hell of a kid,” Adam had told her, distantly awed, glancing at Alison once before turning his gaze back over to her daughter’s drawing. From the opposite side of the table it was upside down to him and he had his head tilted to try to make it out without looming over the girl. It was the first compliment Alison had heard from him that didn’t sound sarcastic, or backhanded, or like he was trying to kiss up.
She had cradled her coffee mug close and murmured back, “She really is. Thank you.” Adam gave her a wary smile then. She returned it. Diana finally turned her picture around to show Adam and stole all the attention instantly. He learned she was drawing a cat she had in a dream last night. Alison learned Adam liked cats over dogs.
That was another thing that scored Adam a point in her book. He got along startlingly well with Diana, who Alison had already anticipated pulling out of school for the rest of the year, or at least until the girl had a few more visits with her therapist under her belt. Where Alison had expected a traumatized little girl instead stood her baby who was just so happy to have someone to talk to about Pokemon. It was a little funny how it downright delighted Lawrence – no longer did he have to struggle to remember the names of all those little monsters.
In fact, Diana continued to amaze when she sought out not her mother nor her father, but Adam when she needed reassurance her bedroom was safe again. Alison woke at around midnight to use the bathroom, halting on her trek back to bed at the sounds of murmurs. The muscles in her calves had tensed, ready to bolt to the source, to her daughter’s room, only to relax a margin when the sweetest sound of Diana’s giggling joined in.
“You’re silly, Adam.”
Adam? Her brow furrowed. Diana knew she could wake Alison up if she needed her, and a quick glance to Larry’s study showed he was still awake too, merely taking refuge so he wouldn’t bother Alison with whatever he did when his brain was working too much for him to sleep. Adam was awake more often than he was asleep so was he just the most convenient choice?
Adam’s response was tinged with mock hurt. “Break my heart, why don’t you! I think I may faint…” The giggling started anew, undercut this time with Adam’s own small snickers. Alison peeked in then, her slippers muffling her steps and allowing her to go unnoticed.
Diana’s feet were wiggling under the covers, pinned gently by Adam’s collapsed body. The movement made him move unnaturally. It reminded her of the chestbursters a little. “You’re heavy!” the girl laughed.
“Silly and heavy?” Adam gasped. A hand came to rest on his forehead as though he were a dainty maiden. “Just take me out back like Old Yeller now.”
“What’s Old Yeller?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Good answer.
Alison had turned away then, content with what she saw. Then Diana spoke again. Her tone was painfully vulnerable, stopping her in her tracks. “Adam?”
A shuffle of fabric. The man sitting up again, maybe adjusting the blankets back around her if she had to guess. “What’s up, Di?”
“What if the bad man comes back?”
It was heartbreaking. That bastard still tormented them. It wasn’t enough to simply remove the door from Diana’s closet, to keep a little battery light under her bed, she needed to be comforted for the foreseeable future.
Alison tuned in to the most unusual sound of Adam’s voice steadying into something serious and adult. “Diana, look at me,” he requested, pausing presumably to wait until she did so. “That man can’t get you again.”
Diana’s words were whispered, shaky. “He got me and Mommy before.”
“But he won’t again. I promise. I made sure of it. He can’t get you, your mom, your dad, nobody.”
The silence stretched on for a moment, cold and heavy. Alison had never asked for any details. Larry told her Zep was dead and that was enough for her. Maybe she should have questioned him more.
“Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise. Try to get some sleep, kiddo.”
Alison had shuffled a little ways away from the doorway. Adam still manages to nearly walk into her. They don’t say anything but their eyes meet, and Alison sees, really sees, the hollow horror in the pinprick of his pupil. He moved past her to grab a drink in the kitchen. Against her better judgement, she followed him with a horrible question on her tongue.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Adam’s hand faltered, the glass inches from his lips, before the distance is closed and he drinks. She can see the sharp ridge of his shoulderblade when he leans against the counter. From this angle she can’t see his face. She isn’t sure she wants to.
At first he only nodded. Then, “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I had to.”
Alison wrapped her arms around herself, a facsimile of a hug. The chill that went down her spine had nothing to do with the temperature. “Did you? The police could’ve–”
“He was going to kill Lawrence.” His tone was flat. “He had a gun and Lawrence was down a foot. Should I have let him?” The arm he leaned on was trembling and Adam clasped his shoulder with the opposite hand. She wasn't sure but it very well could have been the one he was shot in.
“No, I–”
He barrelled over her. “He was part of the game, y’know. Found his tape. Had, like, poison in his blood or whatever. It was probably rigged, his game. I’d say blunt force trauma was the more merciful option.”
She didn’t want to hear anymore. With a sniff, Alison turned on her heel. A peek into her daughter’s room showed a little girl sleeping peacefully. At least someone found comfort tonight.
-
After what they all respectively went through, absolutely no one was surprised that a little girl wasn’t the only one to gain a horrible breed of nightmares.
Alison felt like she handled hers well enough. Wake in a sweat, try to remember the grounding exercises her new therapist taught her – five things you see? or was it five things you can feel and four you can see? – take a drink of tepid tableside water, and try to sleep again until her alarm wakes her for work. It was rough at first but she acclimated. She was as fine as she could be.
But there were some nights where she would wake not from her own terror but Lawrence’s. Those were worse sometimes. He wouldn’t thrash, wouldn’t scream, but he would tremble, pitiful whimpers and sobs heaving his chest. It was a sad sight. A distinguished oncologist, proud father, the man she had been with for nearly two decades, reduced to a ball of pure distress.
Once he struck out when she woke him too quickly. An uncoordinated kick that bounced off the bone of her shin fairly harmlessly yet left him shrieking; he had kicked with his right leg. Rather, what was left of it.
“Jesus, Larry!” she remembered hissing, wincing in sympathy and far beyond the point of caring he even had such an intense reaction. Her empathy for him waned most days but the reignition of neuropathy of an amputated limb was far beyond any petty karma.
The tips of her fingers had barely grazed his shoulder where he curled in on himself, still too agonized to be embarrassed, when a shadow blocked out the hallway lamplight. Alison startled in spite of already knowing who it was. The speed alone was simply amazing. The wonders of adrenaline.
Adam’s eyes were wild, to the point that Alison wasn’t even sure he saw her before they zeroed in on Lawrence, shrunk into fetal position and still trying to steady his breathing. The hard hitch of Adam’s shoulders lessened by a slim margin at the realization of no external threats making a return to finish them all off. No, it was all internal this time. Alison sighed softly. “Night terror,” was her quiet explanation.
The breath that left Adam’s thin frame was shaky, a hand coming up to rub half of his face and sliding into his hair. He only glanced at her once more, seeming to consider if what he wanted to do was a good or bad idea before he evidently decided he didn’t care. Circling the bed to Lawrence’s side, he touched the older man’s side with his knuckles, just enough for him to feel the sharp little bones of his hands. “Lawrence.”
He had to blink hard and fast to clear the stars and lingering shadows of the dream from his sight. With his back to her, Alison wasn’t even sure he remembered she was there, especially when Lawrence’s usually clipped voice came out sounding so broken, whispering Adam’s name. Then, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I tried to–”
“I know, Doc,” Adam muttered back, helping Lawrence to sit up, foot on the floor. His hand trailed up then to tangle his fingers in the sweaty tangle of blond locks at his nape. The gesture was so… intimate, yet Alison couldn’t look away as the two bumped their foreheads together. It was like a car accident but worse. She could actually turn from those.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Lawrence.” The hand not at his neck moved to pet Lawrence’s arm, firm yet gentle. “You came back. We’re okay.”
They stayed like that for she didn’t know how long. For forever, maybe.
Then, Adam straightened back up. “C’mon. Boys’ night.” Lawrence didn’t fight when Adam slipped under his arm, uncaring of the cooled sweat sticking them together, his hand fisting into the faded band shirt with such an intensity that Alison thought to herself, he isn’t just worried about falling, is he?
Neither of them looked at her as they lumbered carefully out the bedroom and down the hall to Adam’s room. Her eyes didn’t leave them once.
The bed never felt so big as it did then. It was the best night’s sleep Alison had in a very long time.
-
A years long marriage to a doctor means knowing when to fight them on their stubbornness. There are times where Larry knows best, sure, but clever as he was, he could also be exceptionally stupid. Alison had been on the hunt for Tylenol to soothe a tension headache – Lawrence had yet to be formally cleared to go back to work, and while they weren’t living paycheck to paycheck, she opted to burden the weight of being the breadwinner of the house herself. She had been back to work for a while now, but that day had been a long one. And a long day of being a lawyer, well. It sucked.
She had been fiddling with the cap, her gaze gliding lazily over the rest of the medicine cabinet as she did so, only to do a double take at one in particular. She spun it around to read the label. “Oh for God’s sake,” she sighed, snatching it up. The Tylenol went down quick; the little discovery only made her temples throb more.
While not officially cleared, Lawrence still worked in his office more often than not. Answering emails, writing this or that, hidden away yet reachable. The man in his office yet in loungewear still threw her off a little.
(The fight wasn’t in her for this. As much as he tried to hide it for Diana’s sake, it was more than obvious how much Lawrence loathed his newfound infirmity. He was being selfish but so was Alison. It was hard to witness so she let him hide.)
“Larry,” she called before she could even lay eyes on him. “You haven’t– … Am I interrupting something?”
The man in question looked up from his crossword with a curious hum. The chair was pushed away from the desk where the laptop sat, open yet asleep, turned outward to face the door. On the floor sat Adam. Between Lawrence’s legs. Leaning on his good leg, cheek on Lawrence’s knee, eyes shut and ears deafened by his walkman. Lawrence’s other leg, the one still adjusting to the prosthetic that had been removed at some point and lay in Adam’s lap, was propped up on the younger man’s shoulder. The remaining fabric of the sweatpants had been pinned up, emphasizing then to Alison once again how much Lawrence had lost – physically.
Lawrence blinked at her not unlike an owl. “No? Why, did you need something?”
She stared at the scene of contentment for a little longer before shaking her head to recollect her thoughts. The pressure in her skull throbbed warningly. “Yeah, right. Yes, I need an answer for this.” The rattling of the bottle she presented roused Adam whose brows rose at the sight of Alison in Confrontation Mode and whose eyes narrowed at the prescription.
“Are those–”
She cut Lawrence off, exasperation rolling off her in waves. “Yes, Larry, they’re your painkillers. For your leg, remember?” If she wasn’t so tired she would have let herself feel a little smug for the way Adam leaned back to frown at him too, upside down.
The headphones were off. “The fuck, Larry? You get the good shit and you don’t even use it?”
Splotches of colour rose on Lawrence’s cheeks. “I do! Just because I don’t take them daily doesn’t mean I don’t take them at all.”
For a second Adam looked like he wanted to bite Lawrence right on his stump. “Don’t be a bullshitter!” he spat back. “I had to help your sorry ass up the stairs yesterday because you looked like you were about to pass out!”
By then Lawrence had sat back, grumbling and pinching the bridge of his nose. He could fend off Alison or Adam individually, but together? He was a loser no matter how hard he tried. “I just don’t want to grow dependent, alright?”
Alison took a breath only for Adam to beat her to the punch. “Dude! You cut your fuckin’ foot off! And last I heard that shit hurts! I thought doctors were supposed to be smart!” She huffed through her nose. Barely a laugh, really. “See, even your wife agrees.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Alison noted primly. Not that she disagreed either.
Finally Lawrence threw his hands up. “Fine, I’ll succumb to the peer pressure if it makes you happy.”
“It will,” Adam barked back. He lifted his head to face forward again and held a beckoning hand out to her. “Give ‘em to me, I’ll make sure he takes it. Shove it up his ass if I have to.”
Lawrence choked at that one. “Adam!”
A glance to Lawrence, then to Adam. She handed it over to Adam. She even gave him a tired, bemused smile as she did. “I’m holding you to that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my own headache to attend to.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. G, we’ll be good.”
Lawrence had returned to his crossword by then, doing his best to ignore the forces opposing him. Alison didn’t miss how at some point Lawrence’s ears had grown pink.