An update!...music that inspired this chapter can be found here: watch?v=oI1I8ChxBiw
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Chapter 2
He's sinking to his knees next to her, framing his hands around her face. Her skin is cold, so much so that he pulls his hands away abruptly from the sting.
"Cassie...breathe for me, honey," he pleads. He's looking for his medical bag and it's there, beside him. He's searching inside of it, only he doesn't know what for.
His mind is blank.
The panic settles inside him, clawing at his throat.
He tries to clear his head, his thoughts but the panic is clawing its way up his throat. His hands are shaking uncontrollably and he abandons his medical bag trying to do CPR.
Her chest is rock hard and no amount of force allows him to start compressions. His throat tightens, and he chokes to breathe.
Blood seeps between his fingers, coating his hands.
He can't breathe.
Sam bolts upright, gasping for breath. His clothing and sheets stick to him and he can feel the bile at the back of his throat. He forces air into his lungs and his limbs to move, practically falling out of his bed on the way to the bathroom. He manages to make it to the toilet before everything inside him makes a violent exit.
When there's nothing left to wretch, Sam rests his head on his forearm, willing himself to breathe.
He tries any of the strategies Adam has him practicing, focusing on the tiled floor beneath him, the sound of his clock ticking on his nightstand.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
When his breathing finally steadies, he flushes the toilet, sitting back against his shower stall. Closing his eyes, he takes a few more deep breaths. The sweat has chilled and his body begins to tremble.
The clock ticking on his nightstand.
The tile beneath him.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
...
As Nick makes his way downstairs, he frowns slightly at the sight of his fathers door still closed. Glancing at his phone, he notes the time; he's usually up before him. Bounding down the stairs, he turns the corner to find his mom routing through the fridge.
"Morning, honey," she greets brightly. "How'd you sleep?"
"Morning," he greets back. "Fine...you?"
She abandons the fridge moving towards the cupboards. "The bed in the guest room is a bit hard, but other than that, just fine! It's so quiet here... You don't have food!"
Nick reaches for the cupboard by her head for the cereal and a bowl. He won't tell her that they hadn't really been to the grocery store since everything that happened at the Museum event. "Sure we do." He makes a point of pouring himself a big bowl of sugared cereal. "Want some?"
"Oh Nicky, that stuff is nothing but pure sugar," she admonishes.
"I know. That's why is so good," he jokes.
Linda glances at her watch. "What time do you have to be at school? I can drop you off, pick something up on the way?"
Nick shakes his head. "This is fine, Mom, really..."
She ignores him, scrolling through her phone. "Nonsense; breakfast is the most important meal of the day...your father being a doctor and all...where is he, by the way? Since when does he sleep in this late?"
As if on cue, his father turns the corner into the kitchen. He rests his jacket over the chair next to him and he only gets a quick glimpse of his profile before he's grabbing a glass, going to the fridge.
"Dad, you ok?"
His father pours himself a glass of water from the dispenser in the fridge, and if it wasn't for the fact that his glass was setting securely on the little shelf, Nick was sure it would have slipped from his fathers hand.
He watches as he downs the glass of water, conveniently keeping his other hand his pocket.
"...just feeling a bit off this morning," he answers briefly.
"Probably from all the sugar and carbs you two eat," Linda throws in. "Honestly, Sam; there's not a vegetable or anything healthy in this house."
Nick ignores his mother, focusing on his dad. "Maybe you should stay home."
Sam gives him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. Do you want a ride to school?"
"I'll take him," Linda offers. "We can grab something healthy on the way."
His father looks to him for his ok, and he nods. "Yeah, sure."
Linda smiles. "Perfect."
It's a shuffle around the kitchen and Nick follows his parents out of the house. As his mom makes her way to her car, Nick follows his father. "Dad...are you sure you're alright?" Now that he's closer, he can tell that he hasn't shaved, his skin a little paler than normal.
"I'll be fine. Promise."
...
Cassie watches the frown cross her daughters face, her fingers moving quickly across the keys of her phone. "Everything ok?"
Grace chews her lip. "I don't think so."
Raising her mug to her lips, she takes a sip, intuiting what her daughter isn't saying. "It's Sam."
Grace's worried gaze connects with hers. "Nick...he's really worried about his Dad. Like, really worried."
Worry, and a bit of deja-vu, settles inside of her. "Did he say why?"
Grace worries her lip some more. "I promised I wouldn't tell."
"Secrets huh?" Abigail questions, breezing into the kitchen, heading to the cupboards for a mug. "What a way to start the day."
She shares a look with her cousin, who gives her a look right back.
"Nick may have made you promise, but if he didn't want anyone to know, he wouldn't have told you," Abigail points out. "So spill it-"
"-Abigail," she admonishes.
The red head helps herself to the tea set out, leaning her hip against the counter. "Fine, I'll spill: Sam's a mess."
Grace moves to chewing her nail. "Like...a hot mess."
She looks between her daughter and cousin. "What do you mean?"
Abigail sips her tea. "You'll have to ask him. We've already said too much."
Gathering her books, Grace flings her bag over her shoulder. "I shouldn't have said anything...I gotta go."
She accepts her kiss, returning it to her daughters cheek, wishing her a good day. As Grace leaves the kitchen, Abigail lingers.
"You obviously don't remember all the ways Sam was there for you...well, all of us, really," Abigail corrects. "...now would be a good time to check in with him...bring him some tea or something."
...
The bell chimes above the Bell Book and Candle, and warmth, a sense of comfort, washes over her.
Tara looks up from a display she's working on, smiling. "Cassie! I wasn't expecting you today."
She makes her way through the shop, greeting the customers who greet her back warmly. "I hadn't planned on coming in...but something drew me here."
Tara nods. "Let me know if I can help you with anything," she laughs a little at herself. "Reflex."
Cassie waves her off, heading over to the herbs. She's not sure what exactly she's looking for, and as she peruses her selection, she finds herself filling tiny satchels with chamomile, valerian and rooibos. She finds a reusable tea infuser nestled conveniently among some other kitchen utensils, and she knows she's gathered all that she needs. Tara is busy with a customer, so she doesn't interrupt to announce her exit.
She lets the bell chime her departure.
...
The walk to his office is short, and she's surprised to see the closed sign hanging in the window. She gives the door a push anyway, letting herself in.
Eve looks up, surprise on her face. "I thought I locked that?" She shrugs, turning the lock for her. "There."
The receptionist gives her a warm smile. "The office technically isn't open today, but I'm sure Dr. Radford won't mind...I actually think he could use a visit," she adds absentmindedly. "How are you doing?"
"Feeling more like myself every day."
"That's great, Cassie!...He's back in his office, if you want to head on down."
"I will, thanks." Circling the counter, she heads to the back of the clinic to his office. The door is ajar and she knocks lightly, waiting for a response.
"Yeah?"
Poking her head in, she finds Sam busy with files in front of him. "Is this a bad time?" He swivels in his chair to face her. "Cassie. Is everything alright?"
His anxiety hits her like a ton of bricks, and she inhales deeply in an attempt to centre herself again. "Everything's fine," she reassures, stepping into his office. "I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd bring this by for you." She holds up the small bag with the tea and infuser. "Tea."
He exhales, and a tired smile crosses his face. "Thank you."
She moves to the counter where he has an electric kettle and other coffee related things set up. Plugging it in, she goes with the chamomile, filling the tiny infuser. "I don't think I've ever seen your office not open," she comments.
"A rarity, I know. I needed some time to just catch up on paper work."
The kettle bubbles and boils, and she pours the hot water into the mug, steeping the infuser. She hands him the mug. "Let it steep for a minute."
Sam holds the mug between his hands awkwardly. "This doesn't look like it tastes like coffee."
She smiles, sitting on the couch he has situated in the corner. "This one doesn't, unfortunately."
He bobs the infuser in the mug a few times before he raises it to his lips, taking a sip. He frowns. "What is this?"
"Chamomile tea."
"It tastes terrible."
She laughs, and so does he and it's so clear to her in that moment how weary he is. "It's an acquired taste."
He nods, taking another sip. "Just like coffee I suppose."
"It will help calm the tremors."
His grip tightens around the mug.
"I also brought you some rooibos, to help with the nausea, and valerian to help you sleep."
"How did you..." He lets his question trail off, adverting her gaze. "Don't bother answering that."
All that's between them is a single coffee table and yet she feels a million miles from him in that moment. The friendship she remembers is strained, the last 4 weeks an obstacle they've yet to figure out. "I don't want to pry-"
He shakes his head, clearing his throat. "You're not," he cuts off gently.
She moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table between them. Taking the mug from his hands, she sets in next to her.
His hands tremble in front of her.
He closes his hands into fists in an attempt to gain some control, only it doesn't work. "...I can't assess patients."
"Sam."
"I can't operate...I can barely hold a pencil let alone a scalpel."
His five o'clock shadow suddenly makes sense and her heart breaks for him. "Your doctor?"
Clasping his hands together, he exhales. "...acute PTSD...some days are more manageable than others...today..." He lets his voice trail off.
"Isn't a good day," she finishes for him. "How can I help?"
"Adam, my doctor...he's always encouraging me to find my support system..."
The hesitancy in his voice causes her throat to tighten. "Sam, of course. Without question." He won't meet her gaze and she frames her hands around his, steadying him.
His forehead drops to their joined hands and without thinking, she presses her lips to the crown of his head.
Tbc
*reviews welcome!