A is for Amita
By Jelsemium
Disclaimer: I own them not. I profit not. I love them much.
Dedication: To StatsGrandma, from whom I learned the statistics about Mathematicians and Migraines.
Author's Notes: Hey, kids, let's combine challenges! This is a combination of several challenges from The "Migraine" plus "Sounds of Silence" PLUS, at no additional charge, the Summer 2006 Alphabet Challenge!
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When Amita Ramanujan felt like she was wading through tar, she knew that meant a migraine was on the way. So she dosed up with Tylenol PM. Sometimes that headed off the major attack.
Not this time. The iron-clawed monster started on her during the night, giving her nightmares. And morning came with its own set of nightmares.
She overslept.
She couldn't get any hot water.
She didn't have time for breakfast, not that she wanted anything besides Tylenol.
Her car wouldn't start.
Her normally cooperative black hair looked like a rat had died on her head.
When she finally got to school, she couldn't find a parking place until she tailed some students leaving early and nabbed their parking space as they left.
The parking space was as far away from her classroom as it could get and still be on campus.
Her backpack felt like it weighed a ton and she felt like her skull was stuffed with kitty litter… used kitty litter.
When little glowworms began to crawl past her retinas, she knew the worst was yet to come.
On top of everything else, today was her first meeting with her thesis advisor. So in addition to a migraine, she had butterflies in her stomach the size of buzzards. Professor Charles Eppes was a legend on campus. It had taken tremendous effort and a minor miracle to get him as her advisor. She wanted his first impression of her to be favorable.
Well, second impression.
Amita had met Professor Eppes before. In fact, she'd taken classes from him. He was the one who had inspired her to do her thesis on Combinatorics. She just hoped that he wouldn't remember that she had said that he was disorganized and talked too fast.
She also prayed that this first meeting would be brief. If she could get home before the worst hit. If not, she wasn't sure how she was going to drive home.
Eppes' office door was open. That was her first break of the day. She was beginning to feel nauseated and she honestly believed that any jar to her head, such as vibrations that would run up her arm from her knuckles making contact with the door, would cause her to be sick.
She really did not want to throw up on her thesis advisor. Please, let the Tylenol stay in place.
The office was probably pleasant, but right now anything short of a darkroom was too bright.
"Ah, Amita Ramanujan, I presume?"
"Um, yeah."
Another time, she'd have been thrilled that Eppes had pronounced her name correctly on the first try. He'd pronounced it correctly when he'd called role for Combinatorics, she recalled.
"Are you all right?" Eppes had a pleasantly raspy voice, just the right tenor to not jar her oversensitive auditory nerves.
"No," she said. "I'm getting a migraine." She sighed and rubbed her forehead.
"Oh," Eppes sounded worried. He flicked off the office lights. "Do you need something? I have Tylenol in my desk."
"No, I've already taken some," Amita said. She closed her eyes. Even with the lights out, the sunlight was still painfully bright.
"Here, have a seat," Eppes said.
A warm hand on her elbow guided her across the room.
"Watch your step here," Eppes warned.
Amita looked down and stepped around the messy pile of boxes. What are you so happy about, she thought grumpily at the boxes with their stylized smiles.
Eppes had a comfy chair waiting for her. As she sat, she squinted up and looked at what she could see of his face between the glowworms. Dark, concerned eyes looked back at her from between strands of dark curly hair.
She closed her eyes and sighed. At least he hadn't seemed to remember the Combinatorics seminar.
"Hang on a sec," Eppes said.
There was a rattle of Venetian blinds and the room went blessedly dark. She heard Eppes quiet footsteps, then a drawer opened and closed.
"Do you want music?" Eppes asked.
Amita only opened her eyes a slit. Eppes was crouched by her side with a CD Player and headphones.
She started to shake her head, but caught herself in time. "No, thank you," she said.
"The headphones will help," Eppes said. "They're Bose Quiet Comfort headphones. A true gift to migraineures."
"You sound like a commercial," Amita said.She slipped the headphones over her ears.
Eppes gave her a shy smile, and Amita felt her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her migraine induced nausea. He squinted at the headphones, then flicked a switch.
The noise level dropped dramatically.
Her nausea decreased, as well.
"You've had migraines yourself," Amita deduced.
"Oh, yes," Eppes said. In spite of the earphones, she could hear him easily. "I read a study that says that math ability and migraines seem to be linked somehow. In fact, 61-67 of mathematicians suffer from migraines. I think the faculty here has a higher percentage."
Amita would have laughed if she hadn't been afraid that her head would explode. "Is it too late to change majors?" she wondered.
The smile reappeared. It was a good thing he wasn't handsome, or she'd be in trouble. "Much too late," he informed her with mock gravity. "You're one of us, now."
Amita managed a small smile. Then somebody stabbed her right temple with a soldering iron and she hissed and squeezed her brown eyes shut.
"I'll be right back," Eppes said hurriedly.
She heard his footsteps move out of the office. She didn't hear him return, so she jumped when he spoke next her ear.
"Here… sorry," he said.
"S'okay," she squinted at the can of Coca Cola in his hand. She debated telling him that caffeine wouldn't help at this stage of her migraine, although she knew that caffeine gave some people migraine relief.
"The refrigerator in the faculty lounge is on the fritz," Eppes said apologetically. "There's no ice and this is the coldest thing I could lay my hands on right now."
"Oh," Amita accepted the can and pressed it against her temple. "Thank you."
He set a bottle of Evian on the table next to her. "Here, in case you need hydrating. There's Tylenol in my desk, in case I didn't mention it. Help yourself if you need it."
"Thanks."
He moved suddenly and set a wastebasket next to her. "In case you… um… you know."
"Thanks," Amita wished that she could think of something more intelligent to say.
"No problem," Eppes paused. "I'll go get some ice."
"You don't need to go to any bother," Amita protested. She raised a hand in a stop gesture. "I'll be all right in an hour or so."
"You sure?" Eppes asked.
"Oh, yes," Amita confirmed, closing her eyes and mentally crossing her fingers.
"Tell you what, I'll get you that ice, then I'll let you rest. If you need a ride home…" he paused.
Amita cracked an eye open to see a grimace pass across his face. "I don't have a license," Eppes admitted. He muttered something about speed traps.
"That's okay, my car is here," Amita said. "I'd rather not leave it on campus overnight."
"I see," Charlie said. "If you aren't feeling better, then we'll work something out. I'm sure I can convince Professor Fleinhardt to help drive you home."
"I wouldn't want to inconvenience him," Amita said. Especially not if I still need to take classes from him, she added to herself.
Eppes shook his head. "Trust me, Larry will have nothing but sympathy for a fellow migraineure."
"Thank you," Amita said gratefully.
"Speaking of Fleinhardt, I'll be in the physics department, inconveniencing… um… consulting with him if you need me. His extension is in the faculty list next to the phone. My cell phone is on the list, too," Eppes turned around and frowned at the desk. "The phone's on the desk, I think."
He walked over to the desk. "Oh, actually, it's on the floor over here." He pulled out the top drawer. "Here, you can lock up if you decide to go home, or to the health center, before I get back." He pulled out a key with a bright green tag.
"Thank you, you don't need to…"
"I was going to give you the key anyway," Eppes said. "After all, you're now my personal slave… I mean, TA. You'll need to be able to get into my office." He flashed a wicked grin at her.
Amita almost forgot her migraine. Dammit, he was handsome. She was in deep, deep trouble now.
Eppes was still talking. "…leave me a note so I'll know where you've gone."
"Okay," Amita said. "Thank you, Professor Eppes."
"Call me Charlie."
"Thanks, Charlie," Amita said, closing her eyes again.
"Anytime."
The door shut so gently Amita wasn't sure that she'd heard it. But when she risked a squint around, she was alone in the office.
She sighed. Falling for a teacher was the oldest cliché in academia. But how could she help it? He was brilliant, kind and good looking, Plus he knew how to treat a migraine. What was not to love about a man like that?