Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit none.
A/N: We're back to full updates! (And the Evil Cold is almost vanquished. Also exciting.)
Total Word Count: 13,521
Despite the distraction of Declan and his evil plots, Will found that Abby had crept back into his thoughts and made her presence known from time to time. Monique would make a joke that she would have laughed at or he would wonder about her take on the latest protocol or Abnormal and there she would be, in his head, real as life.
It was getting to be annoying.
The day before he intended to head back Underground and he couldn't concentrate to save his life. Granted, they had put everything essential in place and now it was just vetting future projects, still Will frowned at the page that he'd read at least three times. He needed to work, it was better than thinking about... things.
Abby.
Yeah, that thing.
Annoyed, he leaned back in his London Chair, tossing his pen to roll across the collection of papers and books littering his desk. This was getting him nowhere. Okay, Dr. Zimmerman, patient shows signs of irritability, poor concentration, restlessness, and insomnia, verdict? The patient really needs to stop avoiding whatever he doesn't want to think about.
Abruptly, Will stood and crossed to the door, snagging his jacket on the way. If he couldn't work, then he could walk. At least, he'd be doing something. Shooting a quick text to Declan that he was heading out, he passed through the front gates and blindly picked a direction.
Alright, he grimly addressed himself as he hit a steady walking pace down the street, you want to think? Have at it.
Strangely, Will's mind went blank after that, as though by giving it permission to roam he'd thrown it out of gear. For several blocks his mind was filled with no more than the slight whistle of the wind, fleeting details of passersby, and the smells of the city.
So, he needed to get over Abby, he tried out in the fragile emptiness of his thoughts. Easier thought than done, he loved her. Had loved her. Hell, still loved her. What had she said after the parasite attacked her? That their relationship was disaster proofed, that nothing would force them apart.
Except, apparently, each other.
He'd trusted that statement, trusted her, and now here he was alone on the London streets. He felt hurt. More than that, he felt betrayed.
He knew that wasn't fair, they hadn't been seeing much of one another and had grown apart. It was natural for her to feel the distance and grow closer to someone who was actually around. It was logically. But it still hurt.
Maybe he was cursed, Will considered morosely, pausing on a corner to wait on a passing car. Maybe, he continued across the street, maybe it's better that she left now before something worse happened to her. After all, he was the one used to people leaving.
Shut up, he grimaced, sternly redirecting his thoughts. This is not about whining, this is about moving on. What do I need to do for that to happen? How can I speed it up?
On that thought, Will coughed out a laugh, then hurriedly glanced around to make sure that no one was nearby. Just what he needed, to be labeled that Crazy Guy on the street laughing to himself. It was funny, though. How many times had he sat across from patients who wanted to be better right away and demanded that he fix them now? Like all he had to do was whip out the Super Glue. Real life wasn't so easy.
Okay, he'd give himself the same lecture as his patients always got: You can't rush healing. You've got to allow yourself to mourn and accept and reach some closure, then you'll begin to heal. And it won't be fast. It's a process. But it's better to do it slowly and get it right, then to force yourself through something too fast and not heal at all.
Buried hurts had a way of coming back to haunt a person.
Well, he'd stopped trying to run away from this conversation, so that was a positive Step One. Step Two? Mourning. That was the one that made him a little leery. It wasn't as though he had time to fall apart, juggling three Sanctuaries. Still, Declan had seemed pretty open to talking about it before Will shut him down. And he could let himself remember Abby when she crossed his mind, instead of trying to barricade her behind a vaulted door in the back of his head.
And when he got back Underground maybe he could deal with that box of her things that he'd shoved to the back of his wardrobe. At some point.
Will slowed to a stop and stared hard at the gutter sunning alongside the curb. Well, this was a start. Though, he glanced around at the unfamiliar shops marching down an unknown street, he no longer knew where he was anymore. Looking around to spot something remotely familiar, he realized that he'd halted in front of a bakery with, he sniffed, coffee for sale. And some incredibly delicious looking pastries in the window.
It was a sign, Will decided resolutely. A sign that he really needed to buy some coffee. And a pastry. Or two.
"Hey, Declan?" Will rapped on the door frame, smiling nervously as the man in question looked up. "I'm headed back Down tomorrow and, uh, if you had some time, I was thinking. Uh, want some tea?"
Declan blinked, before staring at the tray in Will's hands incredulously. "Did you say tea?"
"Yeah, it's some of that cinnamon apple stuff. I thought I'd take some Down to Magnus, too. Once she stops accusing me of being a pod person, I think she'll like it."
Nodding, Declan motioned Will into his office, "Probably. Though I'll have to field a call about what I did to you while you were here."
Snickering, Will set the tray on the low table to the side of the office, taking a seat as Declan pushed back from the desk to join him.
For a few moments, small conversation filled the air. Cups being poured and inquiries regarding sugar, cream, and where the amazing pastries had come from kept the momentum going until they ran out of conventions and settled back into a comfortable, but charged silence.
"Sorry for jumping in here, but I get the feeling that you aren't just here for the tea," Declan broke the quiet casually.
"No," Will laughed. "I guess not. I just don't know quite what to say. Or how to say it? If that makes sense."
"Right," Declan looked at him, considering. "Take a sip of tea, a deep breath, and then just spill it."
Dubiously, Will hesitated a moment before shrugging and following the suggestions. Gulp of tea, deep breath, "Am I supposed to be alone?"
He blinked at the words falling out of his mouth. That hadn't been what he meant to ask at all. Had it?
"I didn't mean," he ran a hand through his hair. "I was going to ask how you got over break ups. But that seems a little anticlimactic now."
"So, which one do you want me to answer?" Declan asked calmly.
"Uh, both? Maybe. I think they might be tied together. Or the same question. I don't know."
"I'm not all that wise, Will," Declan warned. "I take it this is about Abby?"
"Yes," Will agreed, before reconsidering. "And no. I mean, obviously that's why I'm asking, but I think it's a little bigger than that. Or maybe I'm just blowing this out of proportion."
"Then it's about Clara, too," Declan said, quietly.
"Yeah," Will blinked hard. "And Meg. Uh, she was before Clara," he added by way of explanation. "I guess it's just this pattern I see repeating. Maybe Magnus is right, maybe a balanced life just isn't on the cards. Which is what I wanted to ask you, I think," he realized. "Do you feel like you're, I don't know, missing out on something?"
"I chose to be here, Will. If I was unhappy, I'd leave. That being said," Declan paused a moment in thought. "Would I turn down a good relationship if I found myself in one? No. I'd take a chance on it working out. But with us," he motioned to take in not only the two of them, but the whole of the Sanctuary, "there's always going to be, well, a hell of a lot going on. It'd take a strong relationship to weather the roadblocks this all can pose. Sounds like you're trying to decide if it's worth it. Which isn't something I can tell you."
"Can't you have both?" Will asked, a little desperately. "I don't want to leave, but I want a normal life, too. Love, kids, someone to come home to at the end of a long day of evading SCIU."
"It's possible," Declan looked troubled, "but definitely not easy. You may have to choose, Will. Not right away," he hurried to say. "Not like there's a deadline or something. But you should think about the possibility. Then decide what you want to do. You can wait, or leave, or decide it's worth it to you, or some other option."
"There's no guarantee I'd find a healthy relationship if I left," Will said soberly. "I tried that before. And I was miserable. I don't want to leave, I know that much."
"Then I guess you have half your answer," Declan toasted him with a mug.
Will raised his own in response, then frowned into it's depths for a moment. "Guess I do," he repeated quietly, before taking a drink.
Later that evening, after they'd navigated away from choppy waters onto a more cheerful conversational reef, Will left Declan finishing out a last batch of paperwork and headed for his London Room. Shutting the door behind himself, Will moved absentmindedly through the steps of his nightly routine. Rubbing lingering water droplets off of his face, he caught his eyes in the mirror and held them as he leaned against the sink.
You're staying, he thought to his reflection. "You're staying," Will tried out loud, to see how it felt. Weird, actually, to be talking to himself. He caught his eyes darting around to make sure that no one could hear him. Rolling his eyes, he looked back at the mirror. Had him staying ever really been in doubt? He'd been lost before the Sanctuary and where would he even go?
Frowning he considered his skill set. Well, he might make a kick-ass private eye. Grinning, he spent several long moments picturing himself in a fedora and trench coat, roaming the streets of a dark city to puzzle out it's secrets. Dismissing the picture with another grin and a shake of his head, he tried to focus.
Even if he could find another job - the image of a fedora kept floating through his mind - it wouldn't be the same. He loved his job. Will considered that thought with fond surprise. Probably, he should have realized this before now, but he'd never allowed himself to give it much thought. Still, he got to work with cool creatures, he had friends who didn't think he was a nut job, his boss had actually known the real Sherlock Holmes and, moreover, seemed inclined to put up with his freakouts, theories, and dark sense of humor. Despite the occasional hiccup, like dying or taking on world powers, he loved his job.
Feeling more settled with this realization, Will exited the bathroom, flicked off the lights, and crawled under his mountain of blankets. Of course, this didn't solve his whole life-balance dilemma, but this felt like a step. A positive one. It was like a quest! Groaning at his own nerdiness, Will reflected that he was getting some rest none too soon.
Maybe it was more like a case, he thought sleepily, burying his face into a pillow. One dropped on his desk by a blue-eyed dame with dark hair and legs that wouldn't end. He drifted off to dreams of wearing a fedora and prowling Old City for clues, losing his way on back streets only to turn up exactly where he needed to be after all.