[ a month. it's not long, not really. before, it would have passed by in a blink, each hour day week filled with work and patients and teaching and staving off the gnawing emptiness that had begun to fill him. lawrence gordon is, was, is a doctor. a husband. a father.
a victim.
a traitor.
he had tried to go back. tried to convince everyone he needed to find that bathroom, to find adam. but no one would allow it. and he, despite the fact that he was capable of something as monstrous as permanently maiming his own body, could not fight the tide of voices telling him no. even once he was physically able, he did not go.
instead, he waited. hoped. hated himself for hoping. lost himself to the memories. shouted adam's name in the middle of the night. it was too much. that, more than anything else, was why alison left him. why she took diana and went to stay with her parents. why she left lawrence alone to rot in the hell he'd made for himself.
he deserved it, he knew.
but then - out of nowhere, a voice: adam. a ghost. alive, somehow. whatever hope lawrence had of moving on, piecing his life back together, shattered the instant he got that message. perspective. asshole. skeleton. word after word after word. each one sounded like a heartbeat, faint and stuttering but alive. alive.
and now here they are. adam sits, looking extremely out of place, on lawrence's too-plush couch, as lawrence makes coffee for them. the apartment is silent save for the sound of the spoon stirring milk and sugar into the dark liquid. he wants to shout. he wants to cry. he wants to throw himself at adam's feet and beg for his forgiveness.
instead, he clears his throat. hears himself speak, voice raspy from disuse: ]
( the room he had been trapped in had become like a second spirit to adamโ there was lucidity at first, after the screaming and pleading to be let out. those were the easy days; he'd form a little routine to keep himself sane, to try and find something to do and care for himself in the small amount of space the chain allowed him to move in. soon it became too much, too tiresome to even try and that's when the madness rolled it. it made it easy for him to fight even harder when amanda came into the room, came rolling in with an ideation she'd just kill him to ease him from the suffering.
the hardest part was adapting to the outside world and while initially he hadn't wanted to rely on lawrence for help, he had nothing and no one on the outside. he needed him now as much as he did in those moments where he begged him not to leave him.
he was on his couch now, cleaned up, appearing to be okay, but given he was lying on it with bags under his eyes and a crummy demeanor...wellโ
clearly he wasn't too well. )
Yeah I'm starved but...you tell me Doctor. Aren't I suppose to take it easy? You know what happened to victims of war and stuff right? Stuffing their faces and dying from it. You got any broth?
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a victim.
a traitor.
he had tried to go back. tried to convince everyone he needed to find that bathroom, to find adam. but no one would allow it. and he, despite the fact that he was capable of something as monstrous as permanently maiming his own body, could not fight the tide of voices telling him no. even once he was physically able, he did not go.
instead, he waited. hoped. hated himself for hoping. lost himself to the memories. shouted adam's name in the middle of the night. it was too much. that, more than anything else, was why alison left him. why she took diana and went to stay with her parents. why she left lawrence alone to rot in the hell he'd made for himself.
he deserved it, he knew.
but then - out of nowhere, a voice: adam. a ghost. alive, somehow. whatever hope lawrence had of moving on, piecing his life back together, shattered the instant he got that message. perspective. asshole. skeleton. word after word after word. each one sounded like a heartbeat, faint and stuttering but alive. alive.
and now here they are. adam sits, looking extremely out of place, on lawrence's too-plush couch, as lawrence makes coffee for them. the apartment is silent save for the sound of the spoon stirring milk and sugar into the dark liquid. he wants to shout. he wants to cry. he wants to throw himself at adam's feet and beg for his forgiveness.
instead, he clears his throat. hears himself speak, voice raspy from disuse: ]
Are you hungry?
ty for your patience, apologies for the delay!
the hardest part was adapting to the outside world and while initially he hadn't wanted to rely on lawrence for help, he had nothing and no one on the outside. he needed him now as much as he did in those moments where he begged him not to leave him.
he was on his couch now, cleaned up, appearing to be okay, but given he was lying on it with bags under his eyes and a crummy demeanor...wellโ
clearly he wasn't too well. )
Yeah I'm starved but...you tell me Doctor. Aren't I suppose to take it easy? You know what happened to victims of war and stuff right? Stuffing their faces and dying from it. You got any broth?