2020-09-23 - Twisted

It was in the very early hours of morning that Cecil went to find Olivia for help, hobbling as best he could (while the cats almost tripped him). It's still dark outside, and for some people, this still counts as the night before. Poor Cecil was horribly embarassed to pester Olivia, but he spraine his ankle 'in his sleep' and needed help.

Open at this hour is the ER and maybe some urgent care clinics. Cecil needs to be x-rayed. His ankle isn't broken, it's not a bad sprain, but it's painful and needs a sprain boot and crutches. And iced for 20 minutes every four hours, and he needs to take it easy. He's been given codeine for the pain. Cecil continues to look mortified about it all.

Not so much earlier that night, Olivia had chosen to sleep in a pair of soft pajama pants covered with images of tiny sloths and a light blue cotton tank top. Even with the a/c on, she fell asleep face-down atop her comforter and sheets, nearly diagonal across her queen-sized bed, an arm folded under her head instead of one of several pillows at the head of the bed. Her hair is mussy atop her head.

Cecil's knock on her door doesn't receive a reply, but the door is already open a good six inches. Some Bach plays quietly over speakers placed around the room. Her bedroom is as sparse as the rest of the house. A bed, no frame, a dresser that looks mid-century vintage. There are a few plants. And her ipod is docked to connect to the much more modern sound system.

At some point, Cecil's presence, his voice, something ... drags her out of sleep and she pushes herself up to blink at him with a certain haze to those usually-sharp blue eyes, having to register the words he's spoken a few times before she's abruptly fully awake as if someone snapped their fingers and flicked her switch to 'go'.

In a heartbeat she's pushed off the mattress with a hop and crossed the space of the largely empty, sizable master suite to crouch before Cecil to examine his ankle, gently, and with some apparent physiological knowledge; she gently manipulates the swelling joint, causing as little pain as she can, but it's certainly not a painless process. In a voice that brooks no argument, she announces in a voice that is still sleep-tinged, "We're going to urgent care. I don't think it's broken, but if we don't make sure, it's bound to be." Optimistic pessimism at its best. She doesn't question the method of the injury just yet. But she does usher Cecil over to her bed, pulling his arm up and around her neck to take the weight on that side of his body for the movement, neither shy about the body contact nor seemingly affected in any other way. Matter of fact, efficient, determined.

Once he's seated, she dresses in a flash, completely unbothered by his presence. Pajama pants are replaced with a pair of jeans that fit as though she's owned them for quite some time. She disappears into her closet and returns with a white-eyelet, light cotton, sleeveless blouse over which she is pulling on her familiar denim jacket. Over toward the dresser she steps into a pair of sandals. She spends no more than sixty seconds in the bathroom, emerging with a less mussy ponytail and a freshly washed face.

They end up at the nearest Urgent Care, Olivia driving Cecil in her Volvo sedan (her baby, she refers to it, given what she gave up in the divorce to keep the car); she might not follow all the traffic laws, but she does so in a way that doesn't jar the man in the passenger seat. Once they reach their destination, she makes him wait for someone to come out with a wheelchair to wheel him in and walks through the entire process with him. Once the psychologist is awake -- at least in a situation such as this one -- she is on one hundred percent. She lets Cecil advocate for himself, but in between she presses about the potential of hairline fractures, and about getting him a few hardcore prescriptions (that are probably not entirely necessary). But when she wants to be convincing, the doctor knows what to do.

His foot well-wrapped and booted -- Olivia made the on duty but very young doctor stop wrapping the first time and start over for some technical reason -- and crutches attained somewhere along the way, Olivia gets Cecil back home and into the house. Setting him up on the sofa with his foot elevated and iced for the time being -- it's still dark outside, the moon is still up -- she efficiently retrieves a glass of water and a dose of the medicine and provides them to him, settling to her knees on the floor, watching him take his damn medicine before nodding with satisfaction.

Taking the glass from him when he's finished with it, she sets it aside and just watches the man, the wheels of her mind turning almost visible behind those pale blue eyes. "Gray Harbor is a place where you can sprain your ankle while asleep and feel lucky. Do you want to tell me about it, Sess? Or would you rather relax? I could make you some eggs." It's not like Olivia to overdo it. But this is Cecil. There's some affectionate demand there. He was injured, and she was asleep? Somehow this is not acceptable to the woman and she's demanding some pull along with her pseudo-culpability.

Olivia may be the only soul to ever see Cecil in shorts, and the only reason he put them on before waking her up is because jeans or khakis would require too much tugging over his wounded ankle. It may not be broken, but it smarts, and Cecil isn't a tough guy on a good day. The shorts were a good idea. They made the examination process easier, and he's still wearing them as he gets settled on the couch. Shorts and a t-shirt.

His hair is disheveled. It always is, but this is bedhead times ten. "I'm sorry again," he says. He's been so mortified about it all. Needing help. Which he gladly accepted! But still, so mortifying. The cats gather on his lap as he remains stationary on the couch. "Eggs actually sound really good," he admits. "I, er, I had a bad dream."

It may be that Olivia picks up on how unusual it is for the man to be seen in shorts, on some level recognizing his discomfort with the whole situation. She's some combination of in control and there to help. Some might balk at her commanding demeanor. Others might be upset by the way she demands to help every step of the way, leaving no room for mortification or shyness. The only soft part of her is in her touch and the startlingly gentle calm behind those blue eyes. There, should he be looking for it, Cecil will see the affection of their newly formed partnership. There, depending on his perception of such things, he might see and realize that he has more efficacy than it appears. A fully focused Olivia is a force of nature; but there's a soft side she rarely lets the world see. Right now, his injury brings out the fight in her. But what lies beneath that fight is a vulnerability that most don't ever get to glimpse.

"Do you want a blanket?" His disheveled hair is just plain endearing. "If you apologize to me again, Sess, I'm going to have to do something extreme." He doesn't want to see extreme. Still, there's a twist of a smile on her lips as she speaks the words. "I'll tell you a secret -- well, I'll tell you and the cats a secret: It's nice to be needed." 'Nice' doesn't quite cover it, but the woman is corralling her words with particular care. Without waiting for him to answer, she grabs a soft throw and drapes it across his stretched out legs. A little food with the pain-killer would be a good thing. "Scrambled, poached, fried, over easy?" She's headed back for the kitchen. "Don't you dare get used to this, Harvey. I promised myself a few months ago that I wouldn't cook for a man again. Admittedly, it was a bit of an emotional resolution, but still. A girl has to have some boundaries."

She rustles around in the kitchen and the way she does so demonstrates a working knowledge of culinary endeavors. "Want to tell me about that bad dream? I promise not to psychoanalyze. At least not overtly." There's a rueful glimpse of her smile once again. She also preps some toast to go with the eggs. He doesn't have to eat it if he isn't inclined.

"S--" Cecil catches himself and ducks his head with a little laugh. "Thank you, Olivia. Truly." He's a pretty good patient, all things told, happy to let Olivia take the reins, but able to advocate for himself. He's agreeable. Olivia is a doctor, and Cecil trusts her expertise. "I've been in very good hands."

He strokes the kitties' ears, each in turn. "I would love a blanket," he says. The cats look very pleased with themselves, scoring lap time with their human. "Scrambled, please," Cecil calls after Olivia, "and I promise I'll make it up to you sometime. Dinner, in one form or another."

He sits back and keeps petting his cats. Gazing up at the ceiling, he says, "I was back in high school, which is nightmare enough. Then the vice principal comes in and asks the teacher which one of us he's going to sacrifice to the principal. There was a scuffle, and then most of us basically ran for it, and I fell when I was running. I must have been thrashing in my sleep, because I woke up with the sprain."

Olivia pauses what she's doing to look up as he nearly apologizes again. Her laughter briefly harmonizes with his. "Good catch, Harvey. I don't renege on my promises." Or threats. "I don't get many complaints about my hands, but I'm not a medical doctor, and you know it." She turns toward the stove so he can't see the softness in her eyes just then. The egg scrambling is done. Nicely so. Enough butter. Not too much salt. Not too hard. She pulls out a plate, butters the toast. All this while he talks about his dream. Stove turned off, plate in hand, a small glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in her other hand, she crosses back over to where he is reclined on the sofa.

They don't (yet?) have tv trays, so she nudges a small, mismatched end table over with her foot beside him and sets down plate, napkin, fork, juice. "You don't really believe that the injury happened outside that Dream, do you, Sess?" If that's the case, where to even begin? Olivia is still refreshing her own memory about how things work in Gray Harbor since her return after a fifteen year absence. She drags a chair around to face him and settles there, tugging off her sandals and dropping them beside her on the floor. This done, she pulls her bare feet up on the front edge of the chair and props her chin on one of her denim-clad knees as those sharp blue eyes regard the man thoughtfully, curious.

Cecil says, "Oh, Olivia, you're too good to me," as she brings over the scrambled eggs, toast, and juice. "One of these days, I'll make it up to you." Kitty noses lift and sniff at the eggs, but they're well-behaved animals and know they have to wait their turn on the rare occasion they get any human food. No such luck tonight. Cecil tucks in with an appetite.

He's polite as he eats, not speaking with his mouth full. "I know the injury didn't happen outside that dream," he says, "but I hate to think about it. The principal turned into a monster with all these tentacles and tendrils, all coming out of the ceiling. Some of the students were acting heroically, but I hid." He shakes his head, not proud. "But it probably saved my life."

"Being the hero is over-rated. Whatever gets you out is usually the best bet," Olivia answers -- perhaps her rule for Cecil in such situations is different than her rule for herself -- first before backing up to how good she is to her house-mate. "Not 'too' good, no." Her blue eyes light up just so with a breath of mischief. She does glance to the cats now and then, they are a sort of extension of Cecil after all (at least that's how she looks at it). His appetite might surprise the blonde, slightly. But she makes no comment on it. Even Olivia has lines when it comes to care-taking and infringing on perceived space.

There's an exhalation from Olivia as Cecil states that he knows where the injury came from, but he'd have to be watching for it to notice. "So the other students: did you recognize any of them? Is there anyone you'd like to call to check in on?" Now she shrugs out of her denim jacket, letting it drape over the back of the chair she's occupying.

Hey, tentacles or not, a man has to eat. He's used to grabbing a bite after murder scenes, too. The cats look hopeful, but it's all for naught. They'll have to wait for 6:30 for their vet-approved breakfast today. Probably for the best, the ginger tabby is beginning to get a little tubby. "I recognized a lot of them," Cecil says. "The chief was there, and Joe. Alexander was the teacher. Roen was there, so was that guy with the nose who hangs out with the chief. I plan to make a few calls in the morning, and I'll see the chief when I go into work."

Olivia is patient for the the time Cecil spends eating; but then patience is definitely a thing for Dr. Kincaid. Not even a hint of a rush to learn what Cecil will share when he's ready to speak the words. "de la Vega," she echoes. "Cavanaugh." Alexander? That name doesn't register as readily. "Roen. The nose? You mean Rosencrantz?" She considers that list for a moment. "All men, then? Was anyone else injured?" She slides her arms around her legs to hug her shins loosely.

"There were women there," Cecil says, "but I don't know any of them. And yes! Rosencrantz, that's it. Alexander Clayton, he's a friend of mine, and an associate of the chief. He seemed to know something was wrong from the get-go. At the time, all I could think about was being a teeanger." He groans. "It was horrible. I was a foreign exchange student here. I had no friends. The chief bullied me." He covers his face with one hand, then laughs despite himself. "Being sixteen again was almost worse than the tentacles."

There it is! Olivia recognizes the name now. "Oh, Clayton. We met once. Interesting fellow." She dips her chin as her guess on the nose was correct. It wasn't so difficult a connection to make after the first two names were listed. "Being a teenager tends not to be a favorite memory for most people," she agrees tangentally. The chief bullied teenaged Cecil? Olivia swallows her reaction to that, though her eyes dance a bit. "It sounds as though it was quite unpleasant, in any number of ways." He covers his face and laughs and Olivia allows herself a small smile of sympathy. "How did the tentacles fit in to a high school Dream?" Freud would have a field day. She urges the story on gently without overtly pressing at her friend.

"The tenacles didn't come til the end," Cecil says. "I guess the scenario was that the Vice Principal wanted to pick one of us to send to the Principal's office, with the understanding that the Principal would eat us as part of some routine sacrifice. Joe offered himself up, but Alexander and the others told him no. Then a fight broke out with the Vice Principal. My associate Vyv threw a desk with his mind. Anyway, it summoned the Principal, and that's where the tentacles come in. He was a literal monster."

It makes a better story, really. Keeping the tentacles until the end. The big reveal. Olivia's body language and the attentive quality of her gaze (which should be sleepy) demonstrate she's right there with Cecil as he tells it. "Worse than corporal punishment, certainly," she murmurs blithely. The name 'Vyv' doesn't ring a bell for Olivia. "So they wanted a sacrifice. That seems to happen quite a lot, if my memory is at all correct. And quite honestly, Sess, I'm not sure how much of what I keep remembering is what happened back in my teenaged years and how much of it is a product of my considerable imagination and my id." As opposed to her ego? "So the Principal showed up like the Queen Alien in the movie..." she prompts, waiting for the next portion of the tale. "Meds kicking in yet?"

"Oh yes, I'm feeling quite all right now," Cecil says. He sets the plate aside and resumes petting the kitties, who have given up on human food and fallen asleep. When he pets, they start purring. "So the other teachers and students started to make a run for it, and Alexander told us to run while he held the Principal off, but some students grabbed him. I ran, but I'm not much of a runner, and there was debris everywhere, so I tripped and faceplanted." He sighs. "It was embarassing. But I managed to hobble away, and I woke up injured. I think we all made it out." He lowers his gaze, studying his cats as he says, "I remember thinking 'they should take the kid no one will miss, the one with no friends.' Things went to hell before I could suggest it."

Olivia utters a quiet 'mm' as Cecil answers that the meds are in full gear. She doesn't get up to deal with the dishes just yet. He's to an important part of his tale. He tripped and faceplanted. "I'm glad it was only your ankle, then," she responds. "It would be embarrassing to teenaged you, maybe. But adult you has no reason to feel that way." She gently tries to extract his mental state from the Dream reality to the current one. She nods once more at the statement that he thinks everyone got out, her thoughts tipping to 'Clayton' for a few moments. "Did you feel like a loner in high school Sess? Because I know for a fact that there are several someones who would miss you in the here and now." Friends, she reminds. He has them. "Tentacle hell," she agrees mildly. "If you were to be pulled back to that place again, what would you do? Is there any way you could be prepared?" Is she shoring up his confidence after the fact, or is she suggesting he think about the potential and strategize? It's hard to say.

Cecil says, "Oh, I was such an awkward teenager. I'd spent quite a few years as a child ill, so ill I almost died. It's when my, er, abilities started to manifest. I missed out on a lot of key socialization. The fact I looked like I was twelve til I was about twenty doesn't help. Now that I'm out of that mindset? I don't plan on offering myself up for sacrifice. I have a lot to live for and wonderful people in my life. I've found my center in my career, and besides, who would care for the cats?" He scritches the torbie under the chin, and she chirps happily.

Olivia offers a fond smile at the description of Cecil's awkward teenage years, though the mention of being ill eases it away. He says a handful of the sort of things she'd like to hear him say, and Olivia's gaze turns assessing. Is Cecil placating her? It's a real possibility. She doesn't disagree about people in his life. She's seen more than one. "Definitely no sacrificing. Let's agree on that one." If his cats tether Cecil to fighting for this reality, Olivia won't argue with the statement. Her attention slides down to the feline receiving the fond attention and rests there for awhile. "Have you had many Dreams recently, Sess?" That blue gaze slides back up to Cecil's face, gentle and hard simultaneously.

Cecil seems pretty sincere, but he also seems a little out of it, not feeling much pain anymore. The torbie rubs her face against Cecil's hand, and the ginger tabby just keeps purring as he curls there. They've developed quite the bond with the man. They meow, sometimes, when he's late getting home. Not because it's time for food, but just because he's not there. Cecil murmurs, "Esme's a good puss, aren't you? You too, Theo." He then says to Olivia, "I haven't had many, no. This is the first one in a long time. I tend to be sparing with my abilities so as not to draw that sort of attention."

Olivia watches as the effects of the pain meds kick in. "Let's get you to bed before you completely conk out and wake up with a crick in your neck, too." She slides her feet off her chair and pushes to her feet, leaning down to gently pull the throw away without disturbing the cats giving Cecil all the love.

Cecil sits up and says, "All right." He starts to move the cats, and they mew in complaint. They're comfortable! "I know, dears," he murmurs, "I'm sorry." He manages to get up with the help of his crutches, and the cats pad around his feet, ready to follow him wherever he goes. This snuggle session isn't over! "Thanks again, Olivia. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."

Olivia is on the job until Cecil is tucked in with his kitties, crutches within reach. Even a glass of water and the medication on his bedside table. She adjust lights, covers, all the things. With a fond demand that he sleep and dream of much better embarrassing things, the doctor heads out to clean up after the midnight breakfast before returning to bed herself. She'll still be up at five for her morning run. But this time she won't leave for the run, or later for work without checking on Cecil.