Her alarm clock rings at 5:30, and she stumbles blearily into the half-light of her apartment. She has slept for ten straight hours, and now her body feels slow, like even the blood is sluggish in her veins. She dresses with her eyes closed and, clutching a bottle of Gatorade, steps out into the chill morning air. At 5:45, her feet and legs protest, but she forces herself into a run, clumsy heavy limbs finally loosening, coming to life. She feels the breath steady in her lungs, the beating of her heart, ecstatic and swift, and she runs until black edges her vision, and she must finally stop, chest heaving, pulse roaring in her ears. The gray cast finally begins to lift from the world, and for the first time in days, she begins to feel like herself.
It's 6:30 by the time she climbs the final stair, and 6:45 when she finishes her toilette, stepping from the bathroom. She brews a pot of coffee, this takes six minutes, makes oatmeal (three and a half minutes), a protein shake (one minute) and eats an apple. She does not notice the box by the door, it doesn't even register as she leaves the kitchen. Her eyes studiously avoid it as she walks to her bedroom.
It is 7:01 when she begins dressing, and 7:30 when she finishes her makeup. She watches 15 minutes of a breakfast show she's never seen before, and reaches the bus stop at 8 o'clock, the hospital at 8:45, her office by 8:50.
She has skipped the Captain's appointment entirely.
By 11:45, the fluorescent lights of her office have dragged a terrible headache into a full-fledged migraine, and she retreats outside, hoping the warmth of the sun and the darkness of her sunglasses will bring her some relief. She walks to the base of the rear courtyard, spreads her lunch over the stones, and tries to relax in the shade of stairwell. By 12:15, she is sleeping soundly, by 12:30 she wakes with a violent, flailing start.
"Woah! I didn't mean to scare you."
The world is twisted, and it takes her a moment to realize it's because her glasses are askew. She coughs and straightens them quickly, patting her hair down.
"You don't have to look so god-damn smug about it," she grits out finally, and Knauer laughs, sending a fresh wave of rage through her.
"You.. uh…" he gestures to the right corner of his mouth, "got something there."
She wipes quickly at her mouth with the back of her hand, wincing a little as it brushes the bruise on her jaw, and finds a string of drool with a growl of annoyance.
He snickers, and she gives him a look that could eat through metal.
"I would have left you there, but you're getting a little crispy on one side." She snorted and rubbed at her cheeks, but they did feel warm…
"You didn't bruise any," he's saying quietly. "I figured you would. You took a wallop."
"Oh, I did bruise," she said testily. "I bruise easily in fact; thick, thick makeup… Can't say the same for you, though."
"Yeah," he laughed, brushing the edges of the bruise gingerly with his fingertips. "It's not doing much for my reputation around here. Ryans told everyone I got into a damn bar fight…"
Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore, and patted the stone step beside her. "Sit down, you're making me nervous…" He complied with a shrug, and she continued. "Not doing anything for your reputation, huh? You afraid someone might stop thinking of you as such a tight-ass?"
"A tight-ass?" he asked, surprised.
She smirked. "Too harsh?"
"One of the nicer terms I've heard employed actually." He grinned again, and she couldn't help but smile in return this time.
"So, I heard you came in late this morning."
She stopped, staring at him indignantly. "What are you checking my time cards now?"
"No, but when a 6'5, 290 pound intern is reduced to tears by a man he could bench press, well, word gets around."
She sighed, pushing her glasses up and squeezing the bridge of her nose.
"I surmise this has something to do with the Captain."
"You'd 'surmise' correctly. He wasn't all that pleased when he found your office empty and locked this morning."
"He told me that he values our 'time together'. That's what he calls our sessions. It's the only power I have over him."
"I'm not sure that's the right way to go about this: take away his toys because he's been bad. He's not a child."
"He is a child," she snapped. "He has a highly developed brain, he has an IQ higher than Einstein for Chrissakes, but he's got the social skills of a three year old. That's mine, I want, now. There's not a single thought behind one of his actions, no consideration given for the trouble he causes, the feelings he evokes, the people he hurts. Everything is about him and his own immediate gratification. The human mind is programmed to deal with rage. When someone cuts you off, and steals your parking spot, you might get angry, maybe even angry enough to want throw a punch, but you don't do it. You restrain yourself, because you think of the consequences. That part of his mind doesn't exist. Within his perception of reality, his actions have no consequences. He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and to whomever he wants."
"So you're saying what we have on our hands here is a psychotic three year old who's a dead shot and can build a bomb out of a cell phone and a couple of bottles of cleaning supplies?"
She snorted. "You sound as though you're familiar with him."
"Him? No, not him, but I'm familiar with his type. He's too smart, he thinks the rules don't apply to him anymore."
"No, I don't think that's it." She shook her head. "I think at this point, we're all playing by a set of rules that are his, and his alone. My only hope is I can figure out what his game is before it's too late..."
OO
She does not see the Captain the next day, or the day after. After the incident with the intern, they send him back to his room, keeping him there almost constantly. They escort him to the cafeteria for breakfast, and do not allow him out again until lunch time, when Harley had the most unfortunate opportunity to run into the very man she'd been avoiding for three long days.
"Now, I'm really beginning to think you don't like me."
It was amazing how a man with so recognizable a face could so easily blend into the crowd. She could have walked past him without a second thought.
"Captain," she said stiffly.
"I have to apologize. That's what you want, isn't it? For me to say I'm sorry? Well, I'll say it, and if you sit down, I might even mean it."
Her teeth gritted together just slightly: she had no patience for his games today.
"I'll stand, thank you."
"Suit yourself. I was only being courteous. Now, I suppose this whole little tiff of ours is about the scuffle we had the other day. There's no reason to get so angry about it, it was just a little argument, a love tap if you will…"
"You almost broke my jaw, Captain. I'd hardly call that a 'little' argument."
He pursed his lips into a little pout. "Well, I told you, I do get a little carried away in the heat of the moment. Haven't you been listening, Harley?"
"Oh, I have been, and it never ceases to sadden me, the cycle of abuse. You watched your father do it to your mother, and now you're going to continue in his path of behavior?"
"I'm nothing like my father," he hissed, and she refused to let herself feel even the slightest fear, held his gaze with narrowed eyes.
"You're a coward, is what you are, just like him. You have no control over your own life, so you have to take your frustrations out on a woman. Does it make you feel stronger because you can bat me around like a doll?"
He turned his head slowly to the side, and she could see the muscles clenching in his jaw, beneath the scars. His neck gave a series of pops.
"I know… you ladies like to say nasty things when you're angry, you like to get under our skin, but I don't think you're gonna like what you find under there, my dear."
"You'll address me as Doctor Quinzel, from now on, Captain. I think we're done for today."
She had no idea how he managed to move so quickly, but his hand was very suddenly wrapped around her wrist, and she turned her eyes back on him angrily.
"Don't you walk away from me. We're not finished here, not until I say. Do you think you can just turn your head and ignore me? That I'm just going to disappear into the shadows like a bad dream? You owe me time, Doctor."
"Let go of me," she snarled, and he bared his teeth in return like a dog, though he complied, dropping her hand as though he couldn't stand to touch it.
"You'll see me on Monday, Captain. There will be no more trips outside, there will be, in fact, no deviations from your suggested course of therapy. If you so much as roll your eyes at me, I'll see to it that they give you so many drugs you'll drown in your own saliva, do you hear me?"
He did not reply, but his hands were knotting together, and she had the distinct feeling that if they were not surrounded by people at the moment, she'd be laying in pieces on the floor.
She held his murderous gaze for a moment longer, before turning on her heel and stalking off.
She managed to make it to her office before she collapsed into tears.