Need a Lift
A/n: This was written at night on a serious high of SOME kind, in the dark, so... I apologize for the crumminess of it all. It's the queen of crack!fics, and mostly does not make sense. Could sort of maybe a little bit be viewed as a Madden/Fine ship, although I like to think of it as Madden/Fine friendship. I love Feeling Electric. : )
Disclaimer: I own nothing. FE and its characters and plot belong to Tom Kitt and Brian Yorkey.
"Hey, Pharm." Madden rubbed his head. "Wisconsin single." He paused for a second. "Naw, make it a double."
Dr. Fine, almost always silent, reached under his magic counter and retrieved a bottle of beer, then opened a thing of pills, and put two down next to the beer. Madden grabbed both pills and swallowed them both in one swallow, then downed the beer.
Fine looked at Madden worriedly. Even if the psychologist had a really bad day, he'd take one pill, then drink some beer, then take the other.
"You alright, Al?" Fine asked.
"Yeah." Madden sighed, looking at the empty beer bottle in his hand. "God bless those placebos."
Fine grinned. "Power of the mind, Madden. You THINK you're gonna overdose, which gets the adrenaline boost!"
"Fuckin' genius," Madden muttered. "Whoever thought that up. Genius." He glanced up at Fine. "Can I have another?" he asked, but in that way where you know the answer is yes.
Fine bit his lip. He knew he shouldn't, that he should just give him tonic water and send him home, but he thought he had the perfect drink for the psychologist, and poor Madden looked like he needed it badly.
Sighing, the psychopharmacologist/bartender reached under the counter and pulled out an emerald green bottle.
Madden eyed it warily. "What's that?" he asked.
Fine grinned. "I call it the Mad Mild. Vodka, sugar, and a teeny bit of caramel syrup."
"Sounds nasty," Madden said.
"It's what I've got," Fine lied quietly. "It'll make you feel better."
"Aw, what the hell am I talking about, right? Give me a glass."
Fine poured Madden a glass, looked briefly at the mixture, then poured himself one. "Bottom's up," he said. They both downed their respective drinks in one gulp.
Madden coughed loudly before speaking. "Holy shit," he wheezed. "That is NASTY."
"I know…" Fine half-giggled, half-wheezed. "Want another?"
"Holy FUCK, yes!"
…
About five drinks later, Madden lay behind the counter, his head propped up on a shelf, with Dr. Fine in the same position.
"God… That is hysterical. And she went through how many meds?"
"Like 20. And she came up with the best words for describing the way she felt, you know, for the case histories? I mean, 'bluckiness'- that's a near-perfect word right there."
"Holy shit, yeah. And she'd call at the oddest of hours…" Madden trailed off and closed his eyes. Fine though for a minute that Madden had fallen asleep, and was about to move when Madden spoke.
"Hey Pharmy?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you have a name?"
"Yeah." Fine's wrinkles on his forehead deepened in concern. "Fine. Richard Fine."
"Oh." Madden licked his lips. "Do you care if I call you Pharmy?"
Fine was about to say yes, he did care, when it hit him. He didn't. "No."
"Oh. Good." Madden was quiet for another minute. "Pharmy?" he asked.
"Yeah, Madden?"
"Can I just sleep here? I don't want to move."
"Sure. You want me to get you a blanket?" Fine looked at his friend with concern.
"Nah. I'll just… lie here…" With much effort, Madden laid himself on the floor. Fine looked at his pathetic form for a moment, then got a blanket from the closet. Knowing Madden wouldn't do anything with it without help, Fine gently placed it on the psychologist, tucking it under Madden's chin like a loving mother.
"Mhm. Thanks." Madden paused. "'Night, Pharmy."
"'Night, Madden." Fine turned out the light and went to find a more suitable place to sleep…
A/n: Did you like it? Please review!