Song of the Turtle Dove
The Sky Splits Asunder
-i-
Sunday morning Alex wakes and dresses in a pair of track pants and an old threadbare Columbia t-shirt. It had been well past midnight when he'd finally made it home, deciding last minute to follow Rebecca's advice and try and get some sleep. He'd managed a solid five hours.
At the desk shoved into the cramped corner of the bedroom, his laptop and the files of paperwork beg for his attention. He ignores the call for now and instead goes to the kitchen for coffee. Pariah is waiting expectantly by the pantry door when Alex shuffles in. The mangy wolfhound woofs once and raises a paw in the air, demanding his own breakfast.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Alex says around a jaw-popping yawn, and opens the pantry to get a large scoop of dog food. Pariah sneezes and wags his stringy tail as he moves out of the way, choosing instead to stand at his bowl by the kitchen entry. He starts wolfing down the food before Alex even finishes pouring it in, oblivious when a bit of water is tipped in to soften it for his aging teeth.
Alex rolls his eyes and pats the gentle giant on the head as he passes by to the Keurig machine, placing a chipped blue mug in and flicking it on. Pariah had been a rescue from the shelter some few months back. Alex can't really think of an excuse for taking the dog home, only that he felt he needed some kind of distraction and Dana had suggested a cat or pet fish for company. He had gone in looking for a quiet companion and had come out with a shabby, overly-grown Irish Wolfhound that looks more like one of those shoddy old shag rugs from the seventies than any breed of dog.
Hence the name Pariah. The beast is really nothing pleasant to look at and probably would have lived out the rest of his days in a concrete cell had Alex not picked his ugly face from the mass of other dogs. He seems to naturally turn people away, and Alex had liked that about him immediately. They are very much alike in that regard.
The machine beeps and Alex gratefully reaches for his steaming mug, resting his lips against the rim and letting the heat and scent warm his face to a pleasant morning flush. Sipping carefully, he pads back into the living room and eases down into the couch cushions. The TV is already on, as it always is, and Alex digs around for the remote to change the channel to the news.
The weatherman predicts scattered thunderstorms throughout the day. A flash flood warning is issued from Poughkeepsie all the way up to Kingston. Alex chews his bottom lip and narrows his eyes at the weather patterns flowing over the screen. It is unusual for mid-November, but not entirely unheard of. The summer had been uncommonly mild and seems to be just now heading into hurricane season. Still, Alex prefers not to be battling weather better fit for Dorothy and her Kansas home while driving to work.
The weather report finished, the news anchors come back on and start dishing out updates for the most recent stories; chairman retiring from senate in the next year, gay activists still celebrating their latest victory, president to pass through local towns and visit hurricane victims, murder trial finally coming to a close.
Surprisingly, after a while Alex feels himself start to dose off. It has been a long time since he's relaxed like this, since he's allowed himself to enjoy a bit of downtime rather than throwing himself into his work. Rebecca would be proud, he muses as he stretches an arm out and sits his mug down on the side table. He's almost tempted to call and tell her that he is doing just as she said.
But then he realizes how stupid that sounds and leans back into the couch, letting his eyes slide shut just as Pariah hops up and claims the rest of the couch for himself (which is no small feat considering the damn dog is well over a hundred-thirty pounds and nearly seven foot tall when standing on his hind legs, diminishing the couch to appear as if it were made for children instead of adults).
He's just beginning to sink into that land of fog that lies somewhere between being awake and asleep, dreaming without really dreaming since he's still aware of Robin Meade chattering away on his TV and of Pariah's canine snores raking along his nerves, but dreaming enough to see an ocean's waves rolling and breaking on hot sand as seagulls cry overhead behind his eyelids, when the doorbell rings and shatters the beautiful image like a rock striking glass.
Alex's eyes snap open as the tones of the bell fade off and go quiet, only to chime persistently again right after. Bemused, he shrugs off sleep's caressing fingers and stands. He hasn't even been awake for more than two hours, and already he finds himself seeking a nap? Either he is getting old (which is a long way off still yet), or he really does need to get more sleep before he finds himself face down on the floor in a coma.
Which is ridiculous, he chides – quickly making his way to the door as the person on the other side deems fit to start pounding with an irate fist when it takes Alex too long to answer – because he is a damn doctor and he knows his body better than anyone else does, and he is certain he has, at the very least, six more days of sleeping the minimum requirement before he completely crashes.
…maybe four.
He pauses just as he's about to pull the door open and frowns at the lock. Rarer still than taking a nap when there is work to be done is for Alex to have visitors. No one knows where he lives except for Dana, since he found it somewhat necessary for her to, Rebecca (who read his tax return and found it out that way after he refused to tell her), and the bill collectors for obvious reasons.
As a rule none of his patients are ever given his home address. For personal reasons, sure, but mostly for security. After what happened with Heller a few years back, Alex isn't willing to test the waters and give someone such an opening again.
Suddenly, both the determined knocking and shrill doorbell start up together in an obnoxious cacophony loud enough to rile Pariah into a fit of indignant barks from the living room. Gritting his teeth, and bracing himself for the possibility that it is an upset patient come to fulfill some personal vendetta, Alex wrenches the door open with a volley of cutting threats waiting on his tongue, and nearly chokes on them.
Altair glares back at him from the otherwise silent hallway, one hand raised to continue jabbing at the doorbell and the other pressing a Blackberry to his ear. Glancing quickly down, Alex confirms that the other man had been kicking at the door rather than knocking like a normal person. Typical. From within his apartment, Alex hears his phone start to ring, only to abruptly be cut off when Altair lowers his own and ends the call.
"How – "
Altair effectively cuts him off by shouldering his way through the doorway and further into the apartment. "We need to talk. Now."
"I apologize, Dr. Mercer," Alex swings his head around from giving Altair's back a dirty look and raises an eyebrow at another familiar face, obviously having been blocked by Altair before. Malik is scowling and shaking his head as he too steps inside, his entire demeanor crackling with irritation. "I tried telling the idiot to wait until you were back at the office, but he wouldn't listen. The stupid child."
Alex frowns and just barely stops himself from going across the hall to Officer Cross' door and demand he come arrest the two lunatics invading his home. He asks, peevish, "How did you get this address?"
"Google," Altair snaps from the living room where he's ardently fighting off Pariah's excited crotch-seeking muzzle. "Now can you hurry up and get your damn horse off of me? I need to talk to you."
-i-
The two of them stay so long that Alex begrudgingly ends up offering them lunch and sets about reheating cold leftovers that Dana had sent home a few nights ago out of pity. It's nothing extravagant and he takes a certain amount of pleasure at watching Altair's mouth, so like his younger brother's, scar and all, twist in distaste with the first bite of spinach casserole.
Malik is more tactful about it, choosing instead to push the lump of stuff around on his plate as if he's contemplating eating it but really isn't. Alex does the same.
"This is disgusting," Altair states. "I'm finished. We should get back to the issue anyway."
Alex rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair. "By all means." A few minutes pass in awkward silence as Altair stares expectantly across the table, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm next to his plate. Finally, exasperated, Alex snaps, "What?"
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
Alex takes a prolonged moment to gather his cracking composure because, even though for the past year Altair has managed to be a bigger pain in his ass than paying taxes, Alex is a professional damn it. He has an image to uphold.
At Altair's side, Malik rubs his forehead to stave off a headache. He had explained to Alex that he had been dragged along against his will and, until Altair had begun talking, had no idea what any of this was even about. "I'm sure Dr. Mercer is doing all he can, Altair," he says, words clipped. "How many times do I have to remind you to be polite like you're some unruly toddler?"
Altair ignores him. "I need to know something is going to be done. This bastard has been off the grid since they locked Desmond up. Kind of convenient, don't you think?"
"Vidic's practice has extensions all over the globe. It isn't out of the ordinary that he travel," Alex says, standing and gathering the dishes just so he can keep his hands busy. "His representative explained all of that away and even provided documentation in court. It isn't against the law to do your job."
"But he was Desmond's therapist!" Altair protests.
"He used to be," Malik interjects. Alex dumps the dishes into the sink and tries not to let Malik's coming words affect him. "Dr. Mercer is his therapist now, and was when it happened. Dr. Vidic, according to the verdict, had nothing to do with what happened."
"He has to know something."
Alex turns and leans back against the counter, gripping the edges with tight fingers. Slowly, he says, "Altair, I know you want to believe that someone framed your brother, but – "
"Desmond is innocent." Altair's stubborn glare brooks no room for argument. Alex takes a deep breath and studies the linoleum beneath his bare feet.
"Desmond has a history of depression and a charge of assault on his permanent record," he shoots back. The words taste wrong in his mouth, like they are lies even though they're cold facts. He isn't blaming Desmond, not when he's as unstable as he is, but he did murder Lucy Stillman. There is no getting around that.
But Alex knows what Altair means when he says his brother is innocent. The man committed a heinous crime, yet Desmond remains somehow clean. As if he didn't do it, not really. Desmond is almost childlike sometimes. As disturbing as it is fascinating, Alex has noticed that Desmond acts as if he has no common sense – that he does things without really thinking them through. Like a little boy who plays with matches.
This is where the courts had deemed him mentally unstable and shipped him off to St. Benedictine's. The fact that Desmond already had a history battling depression seemed to only push the decision even faster, spurred on by Alex's own diagnosis stating as such. Alex's reasoning back then had been Desmond's health. Lately, however, as his visits become more frequent and Desmond's behavior more peculiar, he's starting to believe he's perhaps condemned someone who never deserved it in the first place.
It's some time before anyone says anything again. The tension is thick enough in the air that even Pariah is unsettled, choosing instead to pad back into the bedroom and curl on his dog pillow than face the three men butting heads next to his food bowl. Altair, unsurprisingly, is the first to break the uncomfortable silence by again declaring his brother's innocence and demanding Alex's interference.
"You have to get him an appeal," Altair finishes, standing now and pacing back and forth between the kitchen and dining room. Malik watches him tiredly from the table.
"We've tried that already, and it was denied. There's nothing to convince anyone that Desmond isn't guilty."
"Says who?"
Alex nearly throws a ladle at Altair's head. "Says the state, Altair! Says the judicial system, says the law. He was given a fair trial – "
"It was not fair! You threw him to the damn wolves, he doesn't remember anything. How can you say he's guilty when he doesn't remember!" Altair is yelling now, voice hoarse and cracking with his ire. It's the most emotion Alex has ever seen him display. Until recently, he's only ever witnessed the other man's stubbornness and open disdain on a muted level, restricted to quiet seething or sharp barks.
Now, though, his anger and hurt is being voiced loud enough to probably terrify the neighbors, leaving Alex stunned. Even Malik seems taken by surprise at the sudden outburst, his gaze locked onto Altair with slightly-wider eyes.
"You were supposed to defend him. You might've kept him out of prison, but that place isn't much better!" Altair stalks across the kitchen and jabs a bruising finger into Alex's sternum. "You didn't care. All you saw was a case and you dumped him the first chance you got." Alex opens his mouth to retort, incensed, but Altair doesn't let him. "This guy, Vidic? He knows something. Desmond was never the same after he started seeing him, but he wouldn't listen to us when we talked to him about it. Now all of a sudden he's slapped with murder and Vidic hops on the first flight out of the country. It's bullshit."
Malik stands suddenly, causing his chair to scrape back against the floor. "Altair, enough. You can't suggest things like this without having something to back it up."
"What makes you think I don't?" Altair drops his hand from Alex but refuses to step back. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out something Alex can't really make out at first, not until it's being shoved against his chest with a growl. It's a small orange prescription bottle. He doesn't recognize the drug.
Suddenly Malik is there, pulling Altair back and inspecting the bottle in Alex's hand. "What is it? You didn't tell me about this."
Alex eyes it suspiciously and then looks at Altair. "Well?"
"They were Desmond's. Vidic prescribed them. His name is even on the fucking label, see?" Alex does. "I haven't been able to find out anything about them. It's like they don't even exist."
Malik takes the bottle from Alex and examines the label more closely, frowning. He mumbles something and then turns to Altair with budding realization. "Desmond told you about them, didn't he? When you visited him last week. What else did he tell you? Why didn't you say anything?"
"He begged me not to. I don't even think he meant to tell me about the pills, it just kind of slipped. And then he started freaking out and saying I couldn't tell anyone, that it would ruin everything if I did." Altair seems to slump a little, looking suddenly exhausted. Malik's frown seems to soften, and then disappear completely as he sighs and hands Alex back the bottle of pills. Alex averts his eyes as the two men share a glance not meant for outsiders.
He clears his throat and straightens, edging away from the two of them to get some space. "Ruin what? What was he talking about?"
"Hell if I know, he was raving by that point. They took him away before I could ask anything else."
He shakes the pills curiously, mentally riffling through every known medication trying to place the drug in his hand. Parvu-avis. It rings no bells, hardly even sounds like a legitimate drug. "I don't know what this is," he says honestly. "Do you know the last time he took one?"
"He was probably taking them right up until he was arrested. I don't know for sure." Altair scrubs his hands up his face and through his hair, threading his fingers at the nape of his neck and closing his elbows over his ears. "You have to talk to Vidic, Alex. I've been calling and leaving messages for months. He never answers."
Alex doesn't say he knows that already, that he's also been calling, emailing and even going to Warren Vidic's offices downtown since the day Desmond had been read his rights trying to catch the elusive doctor and have him answer some questions. At one point the thought of booking a flight to Dubai, where he knew Vidic to be at the time, had even crossed his mind. This 'obsession' with Desmond Miles has been growing for a very, very long time.
He shuts his eyes and breathes in deeply before turning back to the other two with a grim expression. "Just because I don't know what this is doesn't mean anything. It can't change what's happened. If by some miracle pursuing this can get Desmond an appeal, though, I promise you I'll do what I can." He glares at Altair's immediate frown. "I know you don't believe me, Altair, but I do care for your brother. I don't want to see Desmond suffer any more than you do."
Maybe it's the way he says it that makes Altair look at him like that, like Alex is suddenly some puzzle he didn't expect to drop in his lap; suspicious and a little wary, sharp with something uncomfortably close to understanding.
But understanding what? His obsession?
He'd said care for your brother. Not care about.
The thoughts put Alex on the defensive and he quickly distances himself, turning his face away and walking out of the kitchen to the living room. The two don't stay much longer after that. Alex assures them, in his own way, that he will do what he can, but that most of it will have to wait until after the holiday since Vidic's office will be closed. He promises to keep them updated, forces Altair to agree not to do anything on his own in case it screws up a chance for an appeal and all but shoves them out of his apartment.
He watches them from his window as they exit the building and take a left on the sidewalk, heading up 1 5th Avenue toward the city. His building is four stories high, but even from the top floor he can still see when Malik raises an arm and squeezes the back of Altair's neck in a reassuring gesture that, somehow, sends a spike of jealousy and want straight through Alex's core.
He abandons the window and throws himself back into his work.
A/n: Just a heads up, everything is better if you read this on Archiveofourown. I put up a picture of Alex's apartment over there for curious eyes.
I know this chapter kind of sucked, but I promise next update will be better. Don't let this chapter turn you away!