Author's Note: Welcome, new followers! I've been quite busy of late and I can't promise my posts will be more frequent but I do value your patience. Some more Samantha/Moriarty moments to be had in the coming chapters. Stay tuned! =)
Samantha was glad to have her laptop back in her possession. At least she had a means to fill her time, and as much as she hated writing out mission reports it was still a hell of a lot better than watching soaps all day. Mycroft had sent her a dossier on Saito and his operations but there was still no word on when she would be allowed to speak with him. Nonetheless, she took this time to do her homework and prepare herself for the meeting.
Hours of precious solitude had passed before she received an incoming video call. This she was not expecting. She hesitated a moment, her finger poised over the answer button, as she tried to imagine who on Earth could be calling her. It couldn't have been Mycroft, video calls weren't his style. She answered and was surprised to see Dr. Matheson's face appear on the screen.
"Oh," she blinked, "I wasn't expecting… Is everything alright?"
"Good morning, Samantha - or should I say 'good evening' considering the time zone?" Dr. Matheson droned.
"Um…are you supposed to be calling me? I'm kind of on a case right now."
"Orders from Mycroft," he said in a reassuring tone, "He wanted me to give you a quick assessment."
Samantha rolled her eyes.
"Quickly," she said. She glanced at the shut bedroom door and wondered if anyone could hear her. "But quietly. I'm not…in a very private place right now."
"How's the recovery going?" the doctor asked.
"You know about that, huh? It's going fine. I think. It's gone from excruciating pain to excruciating itching so there's that. Anything else?"
"How have you been since the attack?"
Samantha gave him a look.
"I'm traumatised," she said sarcastically, "I can't eat. I can't sleep. And when I do sleep I wake up in a nightmarish sweat."
"Still your usual self I see," the doctor replied scribbling down something in front of him.
"Please. If you thought a knife attack was something I couldn't handle do you think I'd even be here talking to you?"
"Point taken. How have you been sleeping by the way?"
"Oh much the same. Weird dreams though-"
Samantha stopped mid-sentence when she realised she had made a mistake.
"Tell me about these dreams," Dr. Matheson said automatically.
Samantha made an effort to suppress her disdain. She couldn't say that Moriarty played a starring role in her dreams at night. That would raise too many questions she didn't want to answer.
"I'm usually suffocating," she said, being deliberately vague, "It started the night I was attacked."
"Suffocating," he replied, his brows knitting together as he wrote, "Are you feeling overwhelmed at all?"
"Overwhelmed?" Samantha snorted, "No, of course not. If anything I'm underwhelmed. Sick leave is boring."
"What about in your personal life? Is there anything that's been weighing on your mind?"
Samantha reflected on this for a moment. Aside from her complicated feelings about Moriarty, she was also missing home and thinking about Betty. That poem, cheesy as it was, had impacted her in a way that she had never felt before. That someone had thought about her in that way - and was possibly still thinking about her - made Samantha believe that any kind of normal life was in some way attainable.
"I guess I'm still trying to figure out how to have a work-life balance," Samantha replied, "Before, there was no life, just work. Now that I seem to have both I don't know what to do. When I'm living I feel bad for not working, and when I'm working I feel bad for not living. Not something the agency prepares you for, I'll give you that."
"This is normal. You just need time to adjust," Matheson replied.
"Well…It's been months. How long do these things normally take?"
Dr. Matheson removed his glasses and steepled his fingers together, his elbows on his desk.
"You are talking about undoing a lifetime of conditioning, Samantha," he explained patiently, "Something like that can take years before you fully adjust."
Samantha faltered.
"Years?" she cried, then quieter so as not to attract unwanted attention, "You mean I'm going to have nightmares for years?"
"Well, it's a process. You may go from nightmares to something else, and then that something else to an entirely different thing. We'll monitor your progress as you go."
Samantha shook her head. Suddenly "normal" seemed to be something just beyond the horizon all over again.
"Well, I think I have enough to work with for the moment," Dr. Matheson said, "Unless there's anything else you'd like to discuss?"
Samantha paused. She considered telling him about Moriarty only for that his presence was driving her crazy, and crazy was Dr. Matheson's area of expertise. She almost told him too, the words flooding behind her teeth, waiting to burst out as soon as she opened her mouth.
"No, I don't think so," she said instead.
"Very well," he replied, "We'll reconvene in a month's time."
"Right. Well this has been...fun. Good evening -eh, morning - doctor."
With that the call disconnected.
Samantha returned to her work but found that she couldn't focus. She had an opportunity to air her grievances but she didn't take it. She needed to talk to someone but there weren't many people she could trust. She tapped the edge of her laptop anxiously.
"Screw it," she muttered as she dialed a new video call.
The connection seemed to hang for what seemed like an eternity before the screen lit up to display what appeared to be a ceiling.
"Hold on," came the voice on the other end. The video jerked and the microphone scratched until John Watson's face was framed neatly within her laptop screen. She smiled.
"Hi John."
"Samantha!" he said in plain surprise, "I almost didn't answer, your account seems to be set to private."
"Yes, I'm still working I'm afraid so it's a requirement. I'm stuck here for a while so I thought I'd say hi. Hi!"
"Hi! How's work?"
"I can't tell you," she chuckled.
"Ah. Her majesty's secret service," John tapped the side of his nose, "Gotcha."
They made idle chit-chat. Everything seemed business as usual back in London. John was picking up hours at work between adventures with Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson had put up 221C for rent again.
"Oh! And I ran into Betty they other day. She was asking about you," John said, and then, "but we don't need to talk about that?" when it was clear to him that Samantha was telegraphing discomfort.
"John," she said, eager to change the subject, "How well do you know Mycroft?"
John blinked.
"Um…Well enough?" he answered, "Why?"
"There's…information I'm withholding from him about the mission. My reasons for doing so are my own but I'm wondering if I'm making a mistake in that."
There was a long silence. John seemed to think about this as if it were a question that should not have been for him.
"Well…" he said with a breath, "Knowing Mycroft, if there's something you're keeping from him it's likely he already suspects this. At any rate, it wouldn't be in your best interests to be dishonest with him."
Samantha nodded in acquiescence.
The sound of a phone alarm sounded through the speakers just then. John grabbed his phone and grimaced at the screen.
"Sorry, Samantha. I have a shift at the clinic today. Catch up with you later?"
"Of course!" Samantha said with a wide smile, "It was nice to see you again. Can't wait to get back to London."
"Homesick? That's new for you. Might be a good thing though?"
"Well, we'll see."
After they said their goodbyes and the call disconnected, Samantha shut her laptop and lay back on her bed. She stared at the blank white ceiling and sighed. She had a lot of thinking to do.
