Chapter Text
Olive seemed off that day.
It was a Wednesday, and Adam hadn't slept well the night before. He'd seen her outside on campus a little before 4pm, carrying tons of folders, walking next to Anh. It would've been easier if he hadn't seen her at all, because now he couldn't stop thinking about how he could've offered to carry them. Or just taken everything from her and carried it wherever she needed. He wanted any sort of excuse to get close to her.
It haunted him — he thought about it while brushing his teeth after a miserable quinoa salad. Later, when he opened his laptop at the kitchen island and tried to get some work done, but he couldn't get her out of his head. He should text her, ask if she was okay. But he didn't, and he tossed around all night instead. Deep down, it was probably better not to know — the answer could have broken his heart into little pieces.
But Wednesdays were his favorite day, because he had a reason to see her, to be around her for however long she'd let him. He'd listen to her jokes, try to crack a few of his own, watch her choke down that gross spiced pumpkin sludge, and afterward his whole day would feel lighter.
But Olive wasn't herself: pale, with that visible tremor when she pointed at the menu, the way she sat, breathing a little too heavy when she forced a smile at Adam from across the counter. She was already there when he arrived, and even though she seemed genuinely happy to see him, she wasn't herself. And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
"Olive, are you sure you're okay?" he blurted out the second he set their drinks down.
"Oh, yeah. I'm fine, just tired. This seminar's going to be the death of me. I still can't believe they picked me." She rubbed her temples. "I want to crawl into a hole and die."
"You're going to kill it, smartass. Have you finished the slides?" Adam took a sip of his black coffee. No sugar, of course.
"No. I think I'm close though. I don't know, I still need to run some analyses and I can't exactly clone myself, unfortunately."
"Don't forget to send them over. I can take a look." He offered, again, and she gave him a small, grateful smile. "And how about protein transfer?"
Olive dodged the question and threw out one or two of her own instead. Adam wanted to hear her talk, but at some point they just settled into a comfortable silence, and he didn't want to break it to ask if her drink tasted off, since she'd left it half-finished.
A few students walked by, not even bothering to be subtle, snapping photos and whispering. She seemed aware of it, but tried hard to ignore them. The fifteen minutes flew by faster than he expected, and it caught him off guard when she grabbed her phone — the one with the glittery aminoacid case — and got up.
"See you next Wednesday for the fake-dating! I've gotta go!" she whispered, already halfway out the door.
And he just sat there, glancing between the door and Olive's half-empty cup. Adam gave a sad little smile, finished his coffee, his head too full of thoughts to keep track of.
But he managed. He got through the rest of his day fine — a meeting with his lab assistant, prepping a lecture, writing a bit of a paper, clearing out his inbox and getting grumpy at how many stupid emails he got per hour. A little after 7 p.m., at his office, he started working on his conference slides, and Olive crept back into his thoughts, harder this time.
Maybe she was still on campus. Was she feeling any better? He wouldn't be able to relax without knowing. She'd never admit it, but he tried anyway.
[Adam] Hey, Olive. Are you doing well?
He set his phone down, waiting for a reply. He checked it every so often, but nothing came. He finished the slides, moved on to the patent paperwork, and when he looked up again, it was already past 9 p.m.
Did not hear anything back from her.
He stretched, rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, dragged his hands down his face. Fine — he could go for a walk, clear his mind. Maybe he'd run into her buying candy bars or refilling her water bottle somewhere. Adam shoved his phone in his pocket and headed out, sure the walk would do him good.
He crossed through the glass doors into the common area, where a few students were heading out with their backpacks over one shoulder. Still checking his phone, he found himself walking toward Aysegul's lab — just out of curiosity, he told himself.
He caught the strip of light under the door. When he got closer, he scanned the room through the glass panel for Olive's shape, and his blood went cold the second he found her — sitting on the floor, her head resting against a metal cabinet.
He swiped his badge twice, threw the door open, and rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of her. Olive's eyes were closed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her face twisted in discomfort.
"Olive? Olive!"
It took her a second to react — heavy eyelids, confused — and she broke into a rough coughing fit before she could get a word out. It took her even longer to look at him, and when she finally did, her voice came out hoarse, her eyes watery.
"Adam? What are you doing here?"
"What happened? Why are you on the floor?"
"Oh,I finished the experiment and sat down to rest."
"On the lab floor? Are you for real? What are you feeling right now?"
"I'm fine. It's late, you should go home and get some rest." Her cracked, pale lips curved into a faint smile. She coughed again, let her head fall back against the cabinet, and closed her eyes.
Adam gently laid his palm against her forehead, then her neck, and his heart felt heavier when he felt how hot she was. Burning up.
"How long have you been here?" he murmured, his fingertips brushing her cheek.
"Adam, I'm fine. I don't want—"
"Olive." A single tear hit the back of his knuckles. She shuddered, then bit down on her lower lip like she was holding herself together. "How long?"
"I don't know. A few hours, maybe." Her voice broke. "But I'm okay now, it was just exhaustion and…"
Adam let out a heavy breath. She was so hot. His heart shattered imagining her there, alone, with no strength left, sitting on that cold floor.
"Let's go to the hospital, okay?" His tone was gentle, and he moved a little closer.
"No." She flinched away from his touch. "My insurance… no. I can't afford it."
"Don't worry about that, sweetheart. Let's go."
"No, Adam. I'm not going to—" she tried to focus, like she was fighting to stay conscious. "—to the hospital. I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. Malcolm's not home, is he?" She shook her head. "Let's go."
"I'm about to. I just need to put my mice away. You can head out first. It's late, Adam."
"We're going."
He slid his hands down to her forearms; she took a moment to react, opening her eyes again and giving him a weak, apologetic smile before turning to feel her way up off the floor on her own. Adam got up too, ready to catch her the second he noticed how hard she was leaning on the cabinet. Once standing, Olive was practically glued to the counter for support.
He watched her take a deep breath, walk in small, careful steps to the other side of the room, pull on a pair of gloves, and move two little mice from a clear cage into a smaller one, along with food, water, and a label on top. She was peeling off the gloves when she turned to him.
"See? I'm fine. You can go."
Adam crossed his arms. God. So stubborn. He was unsure on how to convince to let him take care of her without scaring her off. There was no chance he would leave her alone in that state.
"Olive, you— Olive?"
It happened fast: her eyes rolled back, she took a step forward and swayed, and by reflex, Adam caught her. Olive was pressed against his chest. Startled, he placed his hands on her waist, pulling her back just far enough to see her face.
"Sorry, just got a little weak. I'm okay," she mumbled.
Adam wasn't someone who scared easily. In fact, he'd felt real fear only a handful of times in his life — it wasn't a familiar feeling. But in that moment, his whole world felt like it was caving in, and he'd never felt so helpless. Olive didn't say anything else, just let a few tears slip down her face.
"You're going to be okay, Olive."
Adam swept one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and lifted her without any effort, his fingers firmly pressed against her white lab coat. She didn't put up any resistance — just let her head drop against his arms, her brow furrowed in discomfort. And somehow, the fact that she wasn't fighting him worried him even more.
He grabbed her small backpack and her phone, leaving his own things behind, and hurried out of the lab. The hallways were already empty, his footsteps echoing louder than usual as he practically ran to the parking lot. One of the security guards was at his post when he passed through the exit gate, but didn't ask a single question.
Luckily, the Prius was close by — he fumbled the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the car, and carefully set Olive in the passenger seat. She slumped against the leather, breathing heavily. He made sure to buckle her seatbelt properly before rushing around to the driver's side and starting the car.
His place wasn't far from campus — a tree-lined route, narrow streets, and intersections that made him roll his eyes every single day. The same ones Olive biked through, and picturing her out there every day, helmet on, no bike lane in sight, used up a solid few minutes of his day worrying and a fair amount of rage. The streets were still wet from the fall rain when he pulled up in front of his house, checking on her once more.
She seemed to be asleep, though her breathing was still a little heavy, her arms wrapped around herself against the leather, shivering. Fuck. He should take her to the hospital — she shouldn't have to worry about that, not with him there. He let out a low growl before unbuckling his own seatbelt and doing what needed to be done.
Adam carried her inside and set her on the couch, her skin still burning against his. Carefully, he pulled off the white lab coat with Olive stitched on it, slipped off her shoes, laid her down, and grabbed the black throw blanket from the armchair, covering her up to the waist. Then he plugged her phone in to charge.
He turned on the lamp before heading to the kitchen, pulling his own phone from his pocket and calling the only person who could help him.
"Who died?" Holden shouted from the other end, muffled, loud electronic music blasting in the background.
"What?"
"There's only one reason you'd ever call me. Adam, you little shit! You really need to work on nurturing our years-long friendship and—"
"She's got a fever."
"What? Who, Olive?" His tone turned serious instantly.
"Yeah. I found her on the lab floor. She's coughing a lot, and now she's burning up. I haven't taken her temperature yet and—"
"I'll be there in twenty. Don't give her anything, and don't cover her up either. She's going to feel cold, but that's the best thing for her right now."
"Right. Thanks." He tossed the lab coat into the washing machine.
Holden hung up, and Adam put his phone away. He started the wash cycle, grabbed a glass of water, and went back to the living room to find her exactly as he'd left. He set the glass on the coffee table and, with real reluctance, pulled the blanket off, holding it in his hands as he sat down in the armchair next to her.
She looked awful. Adam's chest tightened watching her curl in on herself again, cold, the film of sweat still shining on her forehead. He wanted to take it all from her, trade places with her if he could. Without meaning to, he thought of Olive much younger, all alone in the world. Getting sick and having to figure it out herself, on her first day of college, at her high school graduation. How brave she was. How strong. How independent.
But nobody took care of her. She was so resilient. So stubborn. She looked after her friends and put her own needs dead last, and he hated that. More than anything, he wanted Olive to trust him, to let herself be taken care of. To have called him instead of staying in that fucking lab, to let him drive her to campus every day, to ask him for anything. Anything at all. If he could get, it was hers.
Seventeen minutes later, Holden was at Adam's door with a first-aid kit, a skintight white shirt with exactly two buttons undone, showing off a chest dusted in glitter and a hickey on his neck.
"Where is she?" Holden brushed past him, one hand on his hip, already walking in. "What happened?"
In a low voice, Adam walked him through everything that had happened up to this point, and Holden listened closely. He didn't respond, though — just went straight to the couch and knelt by Olive's head. Adam stood next to him, alert.
"Hey, Olive. You okay? It's me." Holden gave her a small smile. It took her a few seconds to open her eyes, and when she did, they went wide. Disoriented, she tried to sit up fast, but her arms gave out and she fell back. "Whoa, easy there." He reached to help.
He wasn't fast enough — Adam beat him to it, steadying her by the shoulders.
"Dr. Rodrigues… what am I… wait. Where am I?" she asked, looking back and forth between them.
"Yeah, you're at Adam's place. He called me, obviously, because I'm way cooler than this little shit. Tell me, Olive, how are you feeling?"
"I'm so sorry for the trouble, I'm already feeling fine. I think I'm just going to head out, okay? Thank you, Adam. And sorry for crashing your… party, I'm guessing? Dr. Rodrigues, I really didn't mean to bother you."
"Call me Holden. And you're not going anywhere, hon. Let's figure this out."
Holden fired off a string of specific questions, and with every answer Olive gave, Adam felt his chest sink further: she hadn't eaten properly in days, nothing since yesterday but a sleeve of cookies. Dehydrated. Her temperature read 103.6°F, and Holden was fairly certain she'd passed out more than once at some point that day.
He wasn't a doctor, sure. But he was one of the best pharmacologists in the field. Olive was safe. There, with the two of them, Olive was safe. She took a scolding or two from Holden, tried to explain it away with her research, the conference, how busy she'd been. That it was nothing. That everything was fine.
"Olive, honey, with a fever like this, you don't really get to go around saying you're fine. I'm going to give you some meds, and if this fever doesn't break by tomorrow, you're going to the hospital."
"But my insurance—"
"We'll deal with that later. Can't exactly deal with it if you're dead, right? Adam's here, he's your nurse for the night. That's an order, girl." He winked, digging through his bag for a few blister packs.
Holden walked her through what she'd be taking, why, and when, and of course, Adam was memorizing every word. She coughed hard, and when he glanced down at his own hands, he realized they were resting on Olive's shoulders, rubbing gentle circles.
"I'm cold, can I…"
"No. Not until your temperature comes down. Take these first, Olive." He tapped the pills out onto her palm, stacking the rest of the blister packs on the coffee table, sorted by time.
Adam handed her the water, and she thanked them both with a small smile, choking down the pills with a grimace before lying back down. Holden didn't look happy. Neither did Adam. Still, Holden said a few encouraging words to Olive and gave a small wave goodbye.
"Walk me out, Adam?"
"But—"
"Adam. Walk me out, you little shit." Holden hissed, still smiling at Olive.
He took one last look at her before turning and heading for the door. On the threshold, Holden turned back to Adam, the smell of rain still thick in the air, along with an unpleasantly cold breeze.
"Man, I didn't want to say this in there, but it's serious. She's not okay. And she's not going to admit it, or show it. I gave her something to bring the fever down, for now at least. In an hour, wake her up and make some soup, congee, whatever, just not that horrible arugula salad you like. She needs to eat, because the next round of meds can't go in on an empty stomach, and she needs a lot of water too. This is probably some kind of respiratory problem, her breathing's way too heavy. I can't say for sure, but it doesn't look good. Adam, if she passes out again, gets confused, throws up, or if the fever doesn’t set — you get her to a hospital immediately, whatever time it is. She's going to complain, but we'll sort out the bill after."
With every word, Adam felt his stomach drop further. He knew it was serious — he just didn't want to believe it. He nodded, and Holden gave him a short smile.
"Take care of her. I'll text you in the middle of the night to check in. I'll call at 6 a.m. — if you don't pick up, I'm coming over."
"You're going to be asleep."
"Nah. I'm pulling an all-nighter. Only have afternoon class, and the night just started, Malc— anyway, I'm trying to hook up with someone and you're not helping me. Please call if anything happens, or if you have questions."
"Thank you, Holden."
"Love you too, man. And take off that badge."
Adam loved him too, he knew that. He'd do anything for Holden. His friend of so many years, who'd dropped everything he was doing over a single phone call. He was so grateful he barely knew how to put it into words. And he hadn't even noticed the badge.
With a weight lifting off his shoulders, he shut the door and pulled the badge from his pocket, turning his attention back to Olive, curled up on the couch with her eyes closed, the black blanket wrapped around her whole body. His chest ached a little as he approached, murmuring her name.
"Hm?" she mumbled.
"You can't keep that blanket, remember?" He took hold of the fabric.
"But I'm so cold."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
Reluctantly, he pulled the blanket away, feeling like the worst person alive as she complained a little, turning her back to him and hugging her knees. Adam folded it up and set it at the top of the stairs, out of her reach.
He waited for Olive to fall asleep, which didn't take long — Holden had warned him the medication would knock her out. Afterward, he went upstairs to check on his room and change the sheets. He could've put her in the guest room, but his bed was more comfortable. On autopilot, he put away some clothes and papers, stripping and remaking the bed entirely.
But that heaviness in his chest just kept growing, and finally, the weight of the whole day landed on his shoulders. He should've noticed sooner, should've asked, should've texted her the night before to check if she'd had dinner, if she was safe at home. Should've pushed harder at the coffee shop, bought her something, brought her lunch. Filled up her water bottle. If he hadn't shown up today, something far worse could've happened, and just the thought of it made him furious. Sad. Anxious. Scared.
Fuck, that was genuinely terrifying. The unresolved anger pooling in the pit of his stomach made him pinch the top of his nose, trying to calm down. This wasn't time for that. Olive needed him.
He grabbed an extra pillow, checked if the humidifier had water, set aside a t-shirt and towels, filled a water bottle, and left it all on the desk before heading back downstairs. Then he chopped up some vegetables and started a pot of chicken soup, letting it simmer. He turned on the dryer, tossing Olive's lab coat in with his own clothes. That, despite everything, made him smile for a second. It was just past midnight, time to do what Holden had told him.
Adam ladled some soup into a dark blue bowl, grabbed a glass of water and a spoon, set it all on a tray, and headed for the living room.
"Hey, Olive." He set the tray on the coffee table, kneeling by the couch and touching her gently.
But she wasn't asleep. Her shoulders were shaking, her breathing uneven, a few quiet sobs escaping. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand before sitting up to face him, her eyes rimmed red.
"Hey, Adam. Sorry for the trouble. I'm already feeling fine. I need to finish my conference slides. I don't have much time left."
"I brought soup, you need to eat. Doctor's orders — well, Holden's orders. How are you feeling?"
"Thank you. You didn't have to. What time is it?" She glanced around, and Adam grew more anxious seeing her like that. Her eyes were still glassy.
"Here." He picked up the bowl, holding it with a towel so it wouldn't burn her hands. "Just try a little."
He handed her the spoon and the bowl, and watched her stare at both, glancing between them and him. By then, his palms were already sweating, his heart pounding. She took the first spoonful — the smell of spices was comforting, and Adam realized he hadn't eaten either.
He watched her squeeze her eyes shut, nod, and set the spoon back in the bowl. Her fingers gripped the light-colored towel, and he watched a single tear slide down her cheek, his thumb instinctively catching it before it could fall further.
"I'm here with you, Olive." Adam murmured it more to himself than to her.
He watched the exact moment her shoulders dropped, letting the flood of tears finally break loose. Shit. Adam didn't know what to do, but he rested a hand on her knee anyway. Olive ate her soup through tears, painful coughs, and quiet murmurs.
"You… didn't have to take care of me. Thank you, Adam. I know how to take care of myself."
"I know you do. There's nothing to thank me for."
"The soup's really good. It reminds me of my mom's." She smiled, humorless. "You're the third person who's ever done this for me. Anh's is really good too."
"I bet it is. Vietnamese food is incredible."
"Yeah, it is." She took another spoonful. "Thank you, Adam. You must be exhausted, I'll finish this and head home and—"
"Olive."
She didn't say anything else. She kept eating slowly, and Adam used the moment to take her temperature — thankfully, it was coming down, but not enough to put him at ease. 100.4°F glowed on the display. He texted Holden with the update and pulled out another pill, setting it next to the full glass of water, within her reach.
When she finished, he took the bowl from her hands and set it on the table, turning his full attention back to her. Her eyes were still watery, though exhaustion was written all over. She seemed to notice she wasn't wearing the lab coat, and he got ahead of it.
"It's in the dryer. Should we head up?"
"Up?"
"Upstairs. You're not sleeping on the couch."
"But I'm not sleeping here. I'll go home, Malcolm's going to get back from the party and worry."
"You can text him. He's not going to mind, right? You're spending the night at your boyfriend's place. Nothing weird about that."
She bit her lip, thought it over for a second, and whatever she'd been about to say, she gave up. She took her meds, drank the whole glass of water, and sighed. Giving in, she pushed herself up off the couch with effort, and Adam stood too, unplugging her phone and handing it to her so they could head up. She thanked him for it, her cheeks flushing.
Olive seemed to have a lot on her mind. He walked behind her up the stairs, worried she might fall, watching how slow and careful her movements were. They crossed the hallway, and at the end of it, Olive was already shaking her head as he opened the bedroom door.
"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed. I can't do that."
"My room's more comfortable. I'll take the one next door." He flipped on the light. "I set out a shirt, if you want to shower — there are towels here. Bathroom's through that door." He pointed.
"Adam. This is your room. I can't do this. I've already been enough of a burden."
"You're never a burden to me, Olive. Please."
He guided her toward the bed, still feeling a slight tremor in her. Olive looked impossibly small against the size of it; she sat down and looked up at him before saying:
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just try to get some sleep."
She nodded, tears welling up again. He turned on the humidifier, grabbed a change of clothes, and watched her lie down, her hair fanning across the pillow, arms wrapped around her legs, back turned to him.
Adam went to the other bathroom and took a quick shower, giving Olive her space, even though he was still worried sick. He pulled on gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and headed back to his room with the thermometer, opening the door carefully. She was in the same position, but awake now.
He sat down on the floor beside the bed, crossing his legs, feeling the adrenaline finally start to fade, his body exhausted. He ran a hand through his hair, still shaken by the way the day had unfolded.
"Two years after my mom died, I got a bad intestinal infection and had to stay in the hospital for about two weeks," Olive murmured, her voice hoarse and hesitant. "I was already emancipated, living on my own. I shared a room with a boy my age, and God, it was awful. I hate hospitals. Every single day, his parents were there. They'd take turns, bring him gifts, talk to the doctors, do everything they could so he wouldn't feel sad. I was so angry at him. So jealous. Nobody came to see me, because I didn't have anyone. They'd look at me with pity, and I swear one day I heard one of his relatives ask if I didn't have a mom. Or a dad. I hate being sick."
The mental image of Olive, so young, alone in a hospital bed, trying to make sense of a reality she could barely process, left a lump in his throat. He couldn't see her face, but he could make out the shape of her hands, clenched against the pillow like she was holding on for dear life.
"I'm so sorry, Olive."
There wasn't much he could say — nothing felt like enough. Or maybe nothing needed to be said at all. He felt a light touch against his shirt, Olive's fingers curling around the collar, a hesitation before she kept going.
"It's okay. You don't have to feel sorry for me. What I'm trying to say is… I didn't want to be a burden to you guys. I can handle this. You couldn't get any rest, and Holden missed his party because of me. I feel awful."
"Olive." Adam brought his hand up to her collar, covering hers with his palm. "I don't feel sorry for you. And I promise you, nothing's going to ruin Holden's party."
"Yeah. I think he and Malcolm are kind of alike. They're probably at the same place." She let out a weak laugh.
"Probably."
She didn't move. Neither did he. Slowly, he felt her hand go soft under his, watched her chest rise and fall. In two hours, he would need to check her temperature again, get more water into her. Fold the lab coat. Text his lab assistant, clear his schedule for tomorrow. In the morning, make sure coffee was ready the second she woke up. Drive her home after picking up her bike from campus. Stop by the pharmacy for more meds. Update Holden.
But Olive was in his bed, asleep, for a reason that didn't make him happy — but she was there. Exhausted, he rested his head against the mattress, close to her.
He had a long list of things to do. But right now, she needed him.
And he'd be there, for as long as Olive let him.