Disclaimer: Not mine. Quote is from Gilmore Girls.
Spoilers: None. Set between season 2 and 3 ish.
A/N: Sometimes you just want to blow up. It is not good to take this feeling out on the register at work.
Craptastic.
That was the only word Lindsay could think of to describe her day, and she had been mentally uttering it since she woke up. There was no hot water, she ran out of coffee, there was nothing on the radio, she got caught in traffic, she burned herself on an open flame, she lost her notes for over an hour, she twisted her ankle coming down the stairs, she'd gotten into an argument with just about every one of her co-workers, and every witness and suspect she had interviewed seemed to have some membership into a club for sheer stupidity. Everything was irritating her and she had the deep desire to throw something or kick a wall or punch a face. She felt the frustration in her chest like nausea, and she knew it was just a matter of time before something much like an anxiety attack started.
She slid into the car and slammed the door behind her, loving the loud sound echoing off the walls of the parking garage. She wasn't a crier and she didn't want to cry now, but one look at herself in the rearview mirror sent her into near hysterical sobs. Her hands gripped the steering wheel and she rested her forehead against them, grateful for the late hour and the darkness of the garage. Most people didn't drive to work anyway, and her car was one of three on this level. The solitude allowed her a little more freedom with her emotions that she would normally be given to, but it also made the hollow space in her heart ache a little more.
Something had to change. Something had to give. And something was just not right with her. Chalk it up to PMS or stress or some other pat answer, but she knew there was something wrong with her. She could feel it. Years of dealing with emotional rollercoasters had made her very adept at stepping back and reading her own emotions. It was depression creeping in again, overcoming all the traps she had set for it. It stalked her quietly, being patient while waiting for just the right moment to pounce. It wasn't an animal that killed out of necessity, it was a demon that killed out of pleasure.
It wasn't long before she sucked in a deep breath and forced her tears back, knowing there was no way she could handle city traffic with emotions in her eyes. It took a lot of brain power to focus on the driving, and despite hurling a few angry curse words at ignorant drivers, she made it home in one piece. She usually loved the drive, loved the freedom of it, loved pretending she was behind the wheel of her mom's old car again. But tonight she just wanted to get out.
Jogging up the stairs, she unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped inside, the tears from before having been replaced with tendon snapping anger. She stood there in the middle of the room, nearly shaking with the desire to scream and rip the drywall down. Deep breaths weren't working and she began to pace back and forth, chewing on her bottom lip while clenching and unclenching her fists. All were little techniques she had taught herself over the years to cope, or at least take the edge off. It was actually working a little bit and she crossed the room to the stereo for some music. Sinead O'Connor came on and she managed a wry laugh. Because when life really gets you down, Sinead's really the one to teach you some perspective. She wasn't really in the mood for this kind of music, but couldn't deny the appropriateness of it coming on and the quote popping into her head. She left it.
Her cell phone chirped and she looked over at it, hating the disruption in her wearing away of the floor. She snapped it open and found a text message from Adam.
Are you okay, sister?
She sighed, torn between chucking the phone across the room and writing him back. She resumed the pacing for a moment then texted him back quickly.
Fine. Spying?
Parked near you, came the quick response. Didn't look like you wanted company then though. Want some now?
If you can handle my puffy eyes and the probability of me kicking the coffee table over, have at it.
I'll be there soon.
She half sighed, half smiled. Adam may have been a geek, incapable of wielding a gun or taking out a suspect, but he wasn't afraid of her more volatile emotions. She had to give him credit for that.
"Sinead O'Connor? Nothing Compares 2 U?" Adam asked, raising his eyebrow.
"So maybe it's a little cliché, but I really don't care at this point."
"Is All Cried Out next on the playlist?"
"No, I was thinking about the one song where the friend is kind of a jerk."
"Sorry."
She smiled and closed the door behind him, then peeked curiously at the two grocery bags he carried.
"What's that?"
"None of your business."
"Excuse me?"
"Comfort food, that's all you need to know."
"Hmm."
"You go put your feet up, watch some trash TV and in a little while all your miseries will be forgotten as you indulge your senses in the culinary perfection that is the product of intimate time between me and your kitchen."
"You're a dweeb," she deadpanned, heading for the couch. She flopped down against the cushions and used the remote to turn the stereo off and the TV on. Inane sitcoms on every channel made her question why she even had cable. But then she found the holy grail of reruns. The Brady Bunch, followed by two episodes of Roseanne. She settled back into the cushions, still feeling that darkness in her head, but now a little more able to step back from it. Her mind shut off as the familiar story line played out. Marcia wailing about her braces and how ugly she looked and how Allan Anthony wouldn't take her to the dance. The hijinks that ensued when the family had good intentions to get her another date. The dreaded sappiness of Allan taking Marcia to the dance in the end. She'd seen it so many times she almost had the dialogue memorized, but there was something so calming about being transported back into that world that it didn't really seem boring. She took a deep breath to further the relaxation, but a distinct smell alerted her that all was not right in Who-Ville.
"Adam, can I ask what you're doing in there?"
"Making dinner, what's it smell like?"
"It smells like we should have ordered in."
"Order in on a night like this? Are you crazy?"
"No. Are you?"
He chuckled and dried his hands on a dishtowel before coming out of the kitchen.
"You'd better be grateful lady. It's not everyday that I actually cook for someone beyond heating up some TV dinners."
"What are you making?"
"A mess."
"Well I knew that. I meant what are you making to eat?"
"Guess you'll just have to wait and see."
"I suppose the real question here is whether or not I will be needing to go to the emergency room tonight."
"I find your lack of faith disturbing."
"I have faith in you, it's your culinary skills that seem a little sketch."
"Thanks for the encouragement, Linds," he tossed over his shoulder as he swaggered back into the kitchen. It was then that she noticed he was wearing an apron. It wasn't hers. He had brought it himself.
She was worried about the state of her kitchen, seeing as how she had just cleaned it, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. She heard a loud clatter and a muffled shout.
"Adam?"
"It's okay. I'm okay."
"What did you do?"
"I tripped on a rolling pin…"
"I'm not even going to ask."
"Best if you don't."
"What's burning?" she asked after a little while.
"Just my eyebrows, nothing to worry about."
"Oh Adam."
"Hey, I'm doing this for you, ya know."
"Yeah, I know. And that's exactly what I'll tell the ER doc in about an hour."
"You're mean. No wonder you're still single."
"Watch yourself, Ross."
Their laughter met in the middle of the apartment and he emerged from the kitchen again.
"You sound better than you looked before."
"I feel a little better."
"Did I do that?"
"No, it was Sinead."
"You're such a tease, Lindsay Monroe."
She smiled at his sigh.
"Go finish dinner. I'm hungry."
"Yes ma'am."
An hour later he returned to the room, a towel draped over his arm and a plate in each hand.
"Did it really take you that long to make macaroni and cheese?" she asked.
"Hey, this isn't from a box! It's homemade. And I didn't just throw cheese and noodles in a pot. There's chives in here. And real cream. And I baked it."
"I'm impressed."
"You are?"
"Very impressed," she said, taking a bite of the food. "Oh, and very satisfied too."
"It's good?"
"Yes Emeril."
"Thanks."
He settled in next to her and they watched TV in silence for a few minutes.
"Is this that one episode where Becky made the speech?"
"Oh yeah."
"I love how Darlene's eyebrows go up right here."
"Oh Adam. No one else."
"No one else what?"
"No one else in the city, no one else in the world would be watching reruns of Roseanne with me while sitting on the couch, eating macaroni… and wearing an apron."
"Hush."
She smiled as they finished eating.
"You know Linds, Roseanne is how I picture you in fifteen years."
"Fat and cranky?"
"The wit my dear," he clarified, tapping her forehead. "The wit."
"Are you sayin' it's gonna take me fifteen years to reach that level of wit?"
"No, fifteen years to find a sucker guy to take all your crap."
"Well thank you."
"Nah Linds, I see you being that kind of mom. Of course softer and less crass and less loud, but able to relate to your kids, make everything better."
"Thanks Adam."
They looked at each other for a while and he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
"What's going on with you, sis?"
She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes for a moment.
"I don't really know. Sometimes I just… want to lose it. Like when you're a little kid and you have a meltdown and scream and kick your legs and just have that out of body experience. I don't know, Adam."
He took both of their plates and set them on the coffee table then put his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, her legs curling up underneath her.
"I don't know either, Linds."
She sighed and picked at the lint on his shirt for a few minutes.
"Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"When is it going to stop?"
"What?" he asked, his thumb running up and down her arm.
"Being happy and adjusted and all of the sudden just plummeting."
"How long has it been going on?"
"Since I was a kid. I don't know if it was depression or what, but I always had those fluctuations."
"Do you want to be analyzed?"
"No, not really."
"Do you need a vacation?"
"Probably."
"Homesick?"
"A little."
He pressed a kiss into her hair and she smiled. The words weren't much, they weren't answers, but she had needed to get some things out.
"Thanks for this, Adam."
"Anytime."
"Can I fall asleep on you?"
"Will you still love me in the morning?"
She snorted out a laugh against his shirt.
"You're priceless."
"So are you. Go to sleep, sis. Dream good."
She closed her eyes and made indelible the memory of being held and cared for, so if this thing reared its ugly head again, she would have one more good weapon in her arsenal.