Trials And Tribulations

Steam billowed from the coffee pot as Grace buttered some toast. Putting away the butter, she grabbed the strawberry preserve, lightly smearing that on top of the butter. The toast was pleasantly warm as she bit into it, butter melting, savoury mixing with sweet.

Coffee was poured next, creamer added before plate, mug and the women made their way to the couch.

It had been a month since the doctor had heard anything from Adam, though, she wasn't surprised. The man was not one for 'friendly check up' calls or emails. He was quiet, which she respected. It frustrated her a tad, however, after reading through what had occurred in his past, she thoroughly understood the silence.

So, when she got a knock on her apartment door (she hadn't been expecting anyone or anything) surprise wandered, languidly dragging itself through her mind.

She opened the door, eyebrow raising seeing the person on the other side.

"Adam?" She looked around. "How do you know where I live?"

She could have smacked her forehead.

Cyber security...hacking? He must have hacked Frank or David's computer.

Adam blurted it out, answer rushed.

"I'm leaving, I have a new job."

"You're leaving?"

Adam coughed.

"Yeah, to Prague, with Interpol."

A perplexed Grace frowned.

"I wouldn't recommend that."

She turned.

"Come in, sensitive issues are not to be discussed in doorways."

Adam nodded, the doctor noting a gulp, not mentioning it.

Adam had just turned up to her apartment out of the blue. This confused her, and slightly worried her.

How did he know where she lived?

How did he know she would be there?

She closed the door behind him, anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

Something was off. This wasn't the practise, however, she would get to the crux of it.

"I take it this is a flying visit?"

Adam stood by the kitchen counter, leaning on it awkwardly. Grace felt a twitch of her upper lip. He looked as if he were trying to be casual.

"Figured I ought to tell you face to face. Not via email."

Grace tilted her head.

"Email?" She raised a brow. "How many have my email?" She sighed. "Interpol, huh. From cyber security to world security. That's quite the leap."

"Its a job. I'll take it. I have combat training. I can handle it, even if I'm not like their other agents."

Grace fought the urge to sigh again.

"I've met many people in my career Adam. You are among the most human. I mean that, sincerely."

Adam snorted. Grace's head turned to him. The two shared an odd look.

"We may not be in the clinic, Adam, but that doesn't mean I'm about to not care about your situation. I don't think this is good for you, however," she held up both hands, "you need to move on, do what you must."

The doctor cocked her head. She looked at a small pink ball on the floor. She kicked it, prompting scuffling feet on the tile. Little claws tapped as a small dog came running out of a different room.

Adam saw the dog, smiling immediately.

"Already boiled the kettle."

Grace walked into the kitchen, looking back at the man.

"Always prepared, British requirement."

She saw the smile, feeling a smile bloom on her face. She looked at her dog, frantically wagging his tail, jumping up happily, attempting to have his head against the man's hand.

"That's Freud."

"Freud?"

The smile became a grin. Strangely, a sense of discomfort bubbled in his gut, so he looked away, keeping the silly grin.

"Really?"

Grace's smile widened. She chuckled.

"Yes, being a psychologist and all."

She kept laughing, covering her mouth.

"It was the moustache really."

Adam sat down.

"I had a dog, Kubrick. He was put down quite a while back."

That was where the discomfort stemmed from, his memory of his scruffy best friend.

Grace took a mug from the drainer.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Dogs are far more than 'pets.' They mean much more than many realise. Kubrick was a true artist."

Freud's little legs meant he couldn't quite get onto the couch cushion next to Adam. He snorted, uneasy feeling fading.

The grey ball of fluff heaved himself up, sitting, giving the agent 'puppy eyes.' Adam sat back, patting his lap. An excited dog hopped onto his lap, nuzzling his hand happily.

Grace looked at the scene, hope emerging, its light flickering back to life in front of her.

"Well, there's a complement."

She smiled, knowingly.

"He doesn't just do that with anyone." She held up the mug. "Got to have coffee. You're sat down, with a dog on your lap, and he's not about to let you go after five minutes."

The doctor chuckled. "Strong, one sugar, right?"

Adam, preoccupied with Freud ignored retinal prompts, audio in his direction. He looked up, realising he could ignore them felt good. It felt damn good.

He nodded, Grace got out a coffee jar, leaving Adam to (as gently as he could) tickle Freud's tubby pink belly.

Adam looked around, a glint of gold catching him. A degree in clinical psychology, from Harvard, no less. Grace sat down, placing a tea tray down carefully before settling. She saw the agent's gaze, following it.

"Harvard alumni. Five years, four observing in multiple clinics, and six in Oak Wood. Covered a lot there, eleven variants and sub-variants of clinical psychology."

Adam wished for her to continue. She was, however, in her element, her world, her home. She was herself here, not her business self.

Grace got the silent message.

"Decided I wanted to be a psychologist at sixteen, got into Harvard after attending Oxford at seventeen. Came to Boston at eighteen after my Father moved out here and took me with him. I had no real say in the matter. He earned what kept us afloat, he worked himself to the bone to get me into both institutions. He did construction, had contracts all over Massachusetts. We came here after my Mother died when I was nine. I didn't understand what was wrong with her for quite some time." She halted. "You don't need to hear about that."

Adam motioned for her to go on. Grace sipped some coffee, coughing slightly before continuing.

"She developed fibroids from an early age. She was given Lupron, then Synarel. They always worked to shrink them. Then, at twenty-nine, she devolved another, larger fibroid. Doctors though with the same prescription, they would get the same results. An MRI scan revealed this one had grown, almost covering an ovary. It was cancerous and multiplying quickly. There wasn't anything they could do. I, as a child merely observed my Father. I feel terrible in saying this, but I wasn't interested in what was going on. All I knew was that people went into hospital sick, and came out well. Only, Mum didn't come out this time."

She bit back a grimace, pointing towards a photo of a thin man, an arm around a smaller, younger Grace, big grin on his moustached face. Grace had roundness of his cheeks and a similar shade of brown hair.

"Gregory Heart-Fielding. And, there?"

She pointed next to that, a larger picture, frame ornate, a few pearls accenting it. That showed a kind, homely looking woman, cropped blond hair, half rimmed glasses perched upon a button nose. Grace had her hazel eyes.

"Cecelia Drummond-Fielding. She was a data analyst." She laughed quietly. "That was taken before she had me. Twelve and a half hours in labour, she liked to remind me when I stressed her. I was born 7th August, 1991."

Adam swallowed caffeine, hints of toffee sliding down this throat. It tasted, good. Something other than energy drinks, he found he enjoyed the beverage, and the small gesture from Grace.

"She sounded like a wise woman."

Grace nodded.

"Very. Sharp, on the ball. Her head was a chaotic mess of information that she somehow could pluck out what she needed when she needed it. Annoying, as she often proved Dad and I wrong, but useful, as," she snorted, "she often proved both of us wrong. Brain a little like Frank's, only..."

Adam feigned spitting out coffee, eyeing her warily.

"Only, with more 'tact,' right?" He mumbled the rest for effect. "Almost want to take back the 'wise' now..."

Grace laughed. The agent noted the use of 'Dad' and 'Mom,' more personal than 'Father' and 'Mother.' Also, the snort made him smile inside. No longer needing to keep up professional pretence, Grace was about to open up more.

"Anyway, back to your departure. Do you wish to continue your sessions? Prague, right?"

Adam nodded twice.

"Sarif already found me a psychologist. A 'Delara Auzenne,' she works for Task Force 29."

Grace nodded.

"Excellent."

A wide smile formed as she drained her coffee, grimacing slightly at its cold surprise. Adam found that adorable, shaking his head at the word. He looked down into wide black eyes, Freud was curled up, hot little body warming his lap. The Miniature Schnauzer looked at him innocently.

"Adam?"

Grace enquired. Green eyes met hazel, an apologetic head shake followed.

"Do have David email me Ms Auzenne's details, so I can forward your files to her. Continue where we left off."

She stood, checking Adam's mug. A few dregs remained. "Are you finished with that?" Adam glanced into the mug, molten brown liquid still, much like his demeanour. He realised he had only moved his head, his body was as still as a statue. That must have looked strange to the doctor, a puzzled brow and crinkled forehead were what he saw.

"Sure," he said it again, correcting it, confirming it, "sure. I'll let him know."

Grace took his mug, placing it onto the tray.

"Or you could hack his laptop again, acquire her details and send them to me, since you already know my email."

The man's eyes widened, his body let out a long huff. Did Grace, Dr Grace just call his bluff? Half of him wanted to smirk.

The other half wanted to bolt, that part also fused into him after the operation. He hated that, the want to flee. He wasn't built for that. Even before the completely unnecessary augments replaced most of his extremities and organs, in turn, making him powerful (Sarif didn't know Adam had read he only needed an arm amputating, not ALL of his limbs,) he was never one to flee.

Fight or flight? He'd chose fight. Call him stubborn, but, for all he had lost, Adam found he needed to be stubborn. It was the only way he had a semblance of normality. If he didn't fight, he wouldn't have anything to hold on too.

Water trickled into the sink, washing away the coffee which swirled around and around towards the plughole.

"Grace?"

Grace rinsed her mug, popping her head around the corner pillar.

"Hm?"

Adam carefully manoeuvred himself up, placing the ball of fluff where he had sat. A whine left Freud's mouth. Adam turned, stroking behind the dog's ears in apology for taking away his warmth.

"I should be going."

Grace walked towards him.

"Okay. Thank you for coming here. It can be daunting being in a new environment."

Adam looked back.

"Freud helped. He takes after his namesake."

Grace tilted her head.

"What, tubby, greedy and fluffy? Pretty sure Sigmund didn't leave grey fluff everywhere he went..."

Adam laughed.

"Take care, Adam. Good luck with your new job, whatever it may be. If it's hacking, at least I know you are fairly proficient at that."

Adam shook his head playfully. Grace offered a hand, which he respectfully shook, before leaving the apartment and chubby canine behind.

He had initially been reluctant to come to Grace's apartment, wondering if, on home ground, Grace would have the upper hand on him. The step above him.

In the clinic, they were on the same step. Or so Adam wished to believe. He felt like a yoyo being played with by a hapless child, carelessly thrown down, only to come zipping back up again quickly. It made him feel disorientated when he really needed to orientate himself.

And, now, he had a new psychologist. He knew nothing of Delara, nor her practises.

He could only hope (the word lingered in his mind as he walked to the elevator) that she was similar to Grace.

Grace listened, didn't pry, and actually seemed to give a damn about him. If Delara were like Grace, Adam wouldn't have many qualms in speaking with her.