Gideon Fischer ⚕️ Alex Karev (pediatrician) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2020-03-23 18:28:00 |
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She had not expected checking the mail to be something that brought her to her knees. Embry had filtered through the mail there for her parents, and a few random junk mail things addressed to herself before she got to a smaller envelope that had been addressed to her in a flowing script, just an address as a return instructions on the envelope. She recognized that handwriting, even though Clementine did not write to her often. It was on a few of the recipe cards she had shared, and the birthday and other holiday cards that she had written to her. Even though Gideon was in town and Embry could have asked him, especially as they had been spending an...inordinate amount of time together recently, she hadn’t asked him about his mother. Clementine had not answered her calls or texted her in weeks. She had not given any reason for her silence, and the last time they’d seen one another she had seemed in excellent spirits. She had been thinner...almost a little frail looking, and that worried Embry. She’d asked how she was feeling, however, and Clementine had insisted that Embry not worry...that she was just fine. Embry stuffed the rest of the mail beneath her arm there beside the mailbox, her scrubs still on from work, and tore open that envelope, letting her eyes scan over the words. Embry, I know that I should have told you sooner, but if you're reading this, you already know that I'm gone. Or if you did not know, I suppose this is me telling you, finally. Please don't think that I kept this from you out of disrespect or mistrust. I didn't even tell my own children until there was nothing more to be done, until all I had left was a count of days to remain. I knew that Gideon and Margot would fight it, that they would refute my decision. But I've done this on my own terms, as much as I've been able to do, and I don't think any of us could ask for more than that, in the end. Your friendship was unexpected, but no less important to me for that fact. Though I knew you for a short few years, you found your way into my heart with a simple ease. The time spent with you was never anything less than a delightful and much needed reprieve from the rest of the world. I know that your heart still aches, Embry dear, and it may for some time. But it won't forever. Time mends a great many things, and those it doesn't… Well, those we just learn to live with. Everything happens. Maybe not for a reason, but it happens all the same. You have such a great capacity for love, and it is my dearest wish that you find someone worthy of accepting that gift. Be patient with yourself, and with whomever you choose. Real love is worth it. Don't mourn my loss. I know it's awful of me to ask such a thing, and I'll understand if it's something you can't see through. Remember me, laughing over a plate of decadent French toast. Clementine Fischer The air left Embry’s lungs, tears welling in her eyes, and she had collapsed to her knees there in her parent’s driveway, a sob fighting its way out of her chest. The rest of the mail had scattered, and Embry didn’t actually know how long she sat just there until her own mother had rushed out of the house and gathered her into her arms. She had been shushed and comforted as much as she could be, the mail had been gathered and brought into the house, and for some time, Embry had sat there at the kitchen table with her head almost between her knees, that letter clutched into her hands. When the initial shock left her, she’d gotten up from the table and swiped only her keys and her phone off the counter before she left, that letter still in her hands. Something like bitter denial and raging grief was gnawing at her chest, and before she knew it, she had parked in Gideon’s driveway and walked up the steps. She knew she looked an absolute nightmare because her cheeks were flushed, eyes red from tears that still hadn’t fully abated. She knocked on the door and then rang the bell twice because she...she needed to hear it from him, too. She needed a confirmation that this was not just some sick non-reality that she was living, and even if she didn’t want to hurt him, she had to know. -- Gideon had moved to Dunhaven barely a month after his mother had passed away. The timeline there had been dictated by how quickly he could buy a new home in the sleepy Virginian town. Despite that rush, he actually had come to enjoy both the town and his new home there. And, admittedly, some of that may have been due to his burgeoning friendship with Embry Marshall. It was hardly unusual for him to find her on his doorstep without an announcement otherwise. (Really, he'd considered giving her a key to the place. Maybe before the new year.) But the... urgency of this- with two knocks and two rings of the bell- seemed to signal... something else. Opening the door, his suspicions were confirmed. "Em? Jesus. Come in. What the hell happened to you?" -- She did step inside when he invited her to do so, but just barely. Just...on the other side of that threshold, the letter still clutched in her hand. She hastily wiped another fallen tear from her cheeks and sniffled a little, “I j-just got a letter, and I needed to…” her lip trembled, and she desperately wanted to beg him to tell her that it wasn’t true, but that was likely twice as unfair because he would just have to confirm it anyway. It had to have been somewhat recent. No more than...what, 10 weeks? “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry to even ask you or bring t-this up, Gideon, but your mom...Clementine…” her voice shook as she held the letter up, already crinkled from her hold on it. She shook her head softly, throat uncomfortably tight, “She...she’s really gone?” -- He'd shut the door behind her, but before he could really invite Embry in further, the... reason she was there all but tumbled out. Your mom... Clementine... It was like someone pouring ice water down his spine. Gideon stood taller, rigid, all... sense of emotion whatsoever removed in an instant. Because he couldn't- he couldn't allow emotions to take him. This wasn't the time or the place, and, quite honestly, there might never be one. "She died in August." Succinct. Clinical. -- Despite being in the medical profession and knowing that the territory required you to be able to somewhat distance yourself from those deeper emotions - when possible - the clinical way that he confirmed his own mother’s passing surprised her. Because she was the one barely hanging onto her sanity...breaking down and making a scene while he remained composed and...distant. To be fair, he’d had a while to process this. Weeks. Just over two months. And she had seen Clementine what...that first week of August? How could she not have known? How could she have believed her when she brushed off those concerns and said that she was fine? The time before that had been in June. She knew something was off, but she hadn’t thought that Clementine would lie to her. Embry was both suddenly overwhelmed with grief and anger because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She...she would never have a chance to say goodbye. Not the way that she wanted to. Not more than that fleeting kiss she’d pressed to Clementine’s cheek as they hugged outside of their brunch spot, or the ‘Goodnight, talk to you soon!’ she had spoken the last time that she had called. Hot tears had welled in her eyes, and Embry clenched her jaw tightly, her heart pounding uncomfortably fast as this news settled sickeningly into her stomach, “Right. I...okay. I should...g-go. Y-you shouldn’t have to d-deal with all this. I’m just…I’m sorry.” She turned to put her hand on the door, fully intent on probably just sitting in her car in his driveway and crying, but at least he wouldn’t have to see her. -- A moment, a breath. Then, "Wait." Gideon exhaled, heavily, then took a few steps back. He still felt... God, he didn't even know how to name the feeling. "Come inside, Em. Properly, I mean." Walking over to the kitchen, Gideon pulled a bottle of scotch down from a shelf and quickly poured out two double shots. He downed one, slid the other to the side for Embry, then refilled his own glass. Why did Embry have a letter? He'd gotten one, as had Margot and... and, well, there was one for Gavin, too, but he wasn't allowed to have it until he turned eighteen. But why Embry? -- He asked her to wait, so she paused, though she was surprised when he told her to actually come inside. She still lingered by that door a moment even as he walked into the kitchen, but after a moment or two, she followed. Embry felt untethered in a way that she couldn’t fully explain. Though she could barely even begin to imagine what Gideon and his siblings must be feeling - how they had felt these last months while she had been unaware - she was still hurting. Embry looked at that shot for a moment before she picked it up and downed it, sitting heavily into a barstool there at the counter before she slid the glass back over to Gideon. The letter was half folded, and she fiddled with the edges there in her hand, staring at the counter. She folded it a little more fully, shaking her head, “I feel...so stupid for believing her when she told me she was fine.” She put the folded letter down on the table and roughly wiped her cheeks again, trying to pull herself to some sort of equilibrium. -- He'd only taken a sip from his second shot, but Gideon refilled Embry's glass without hesitation. He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter, then put those beside Embry on the bar before he found his own seat. "We all believed her," he offered, quietly. Looking over at the letter she had set down, Gideon shook his head. "I... didn't know she knew you. Past that once at CHOP, anyway." -- The paper towels were there in place of tissues if she needed them, but Embry didn’t immediately reach for them. She did, however, reach for that poured shot and she took it all at once again instead of sipping. Maybe she shouldn’t have done back to back shots so quickly, but she needed something burning in her stomach other than guilt and mourning...because Clementine didn’t want her to mourn, and that wasn’t quite fair either. She gave a small, wet laugh when he said that he didn’t know they’d kept in touch, but she nodded, “That was...the first time.” She stared down at the countertop, letting her eyes search for patterns or imperfections, “She gave me her number, and...we talked. We watched movies from our respective couches. The next time she was in Philly, I took her to brunch like I promised I would, and that...that became our thing. Brunch.” She ripped off one of those paper towels and dabbed her nose, thinking about how Clementine had laughed so freely that last time they saw one another. She...had said some things that Embry was now thinking a little harder about. Advice given without other prompting. That pat on her cheek and that long look she’d given her at their goodbyes. Sweet girl… She shook her head, willing Clementine’s voice out of her mind, “Even when I moved home, she made time for me.” -- Gideon gave a misplaced sort of smile when Embry downed her second shot, and though he didn't follow suit, he did refill her glass once more. There was so much that Gideon didn't know, it seemed. Even gone, his mother was still surprising him. "I... really didn't know, Embry," Gideon added, again. It seemed important to reaffirm that fact for Embry, with everything else shifting underneath of her. "She never mentioned you to me." And maybe that, somehow, was callous- even if he didn't intend it to be. "But I'm... glad she had you as a friend." -- Though she brought that glass back in front of her again, she didn’t just take it like a shot this time. She didn’t even immediately lift it to her lips. She just ran her finger around the rim, as though that might occupy her mind enough to make this feel okay even for a moment. “I didn’t think that you did,” she assured him after a moment, although it might have left a slightly sour taste in her mouth, “I thought a few times to ask...if she was mad at me because she wasn’t returning my texts or answering my calls, but…” she shook her head a little, looking down at that amber liquid in her glass, “I thought it would be awkward.” She took just a small sip from that glass, “I’m lucky...to have her as my friend.” She glanced up at him, her eyes sad, “She was the only person that celebrated my last birthday in Philly with me. My friends were all busy, my family was here, and my boyfriend...well, that’s another story altogether. But she showed up out of the clear blue with a cupcake and candles, and...and we had French toast with blueberry compote and fresh cream. For my graduation, she got me that hot pink stethoscope that I use every day at work…” -- "I... I would have told you, if you'd asked." Though, in retrospect, that probably didn't mean very much at all. A faint smile emerged when Embry described that last birthday, even if the... genesis of an almost-solo celebration wasn't exactly happy. "That... sounds like her." French toast. That had been her favorite breakfast, and yet Gideon hadn't been able to bring himself to eat it since she'd died. "I know the one," he offered, with another sigh. "She bought mine and Margot's, too." -- Her lip trembled, and she shook her head a little, “No, I...I saw her at the first of August, Gideon. I drove up to Baltimore and we went to brunch like we always did, and she just kept talking about what a very good day she was having. The best in a while. It wasn’t long after that when I...I thought I said something wrong, offended her or…” she took another sip from that glass, but it couldn’t have been long after that she’d gone downhill quickly. Embry nodded a little, a small smile on her lips, “She always seemed to know when I was having a rough time...checked in when she knew I had a big test or project. She was just...present when I really needed someone to be, but was too ashamed to tell my parents I was struggling.” Managing a small, sad sort of laugh, Embry managed, “I’d never even given much consideration to hot pink, but she said it was bright and sunny like me, and she couldn’t find yellow.” -- The first of August. That had been... Gideon downed the rest of his scotch. "Twelve days later." "I swear sometimes she had ESP." Even if, logically, Gideon knew that no such thing existed. "I could never keep anything from her." But she could... keep so much from him. "She was right, though. It does suit you. I can spot you across the room." -- She nodded a little, but didn’t pick that scotch back up just yet. There was some comfort, albeit small, to know that Clementine hadn’t just...ghosted her. She had not just suddenly decided that Embry was not worth her time. “I think...she tried to draw a line because she knew we worked together,” Embry said with a small smile, hoping that he didn’t take it too much to heart that Clementine had just kept their friendship from him. She never knew - at least to Embry’s knowledge - that they had slept together. She had drawn a hard line on revealing that, “Her mother’s intuition was spot on.” Her eyes welled a little more with tears again when he agreed that it suited her, and she managed a smile, “Yeah. I...it’s my favorite stethoscope. Everyone has something to say about it, and it always...makes my day better.” -- The delineation that Clementine had apparently drawn made sense, in retrospect, even if it was a bit harder to deal with now. ESP- or mother's intuition- never could have predicted that he'd move back to Dunhaven and strike up a friendship with Embry of his own volition. Gideon ripped off another paper towel and handed it over to Embry. He wasn't bothered by her tears, no, but if it was a small comfort, he'd offer it. She had more than earned that. "You're staying here tonight, by the way," Gideon added, with a little nod to the glass in front of her. -- She would have dealt with this on her own, somehow, had Gideon not moved back to Dunhaven. She would have figured out a way to come to terms. It was...a little easier with him here, though she still didn’t want to lean on him unnecessarily...to make his own grief deepen. That wasn’t fair to him. She folded that paper towel and pressed it to her eyes a little, dabbing away the tears that had gathered. One thing that she was certain of was that Clementine Fischer had left a permanent mark on her life. In some strange way, she’d gotten a little accustomed to not hearing from her these last weeks, and maybe that would be helpful going forward, but at least...she didn’t have to worry about her anymore. Although she hadn’t thought about it when she had started drinking, he was right in that she shouldn’t really go anywhere. Not for a good long while anyway. Though she had hung out here often, she’d never stayed the night at his place. Not here, anyway, and that one time back in Philly...well, it had been the one and only time even if she ‘wasn’t the sort of girl that got kicked out of bed for eating crackers.’ “Yeah? I mean, obviously I wouldn’t drive, but if...if you’re not actually okay with me staying, I can call someone,” she offered, just to ensure that he wasn’t only saying that out of obligation. -- Gideon just fixed her with a look. "Embry. I'm not going to invite you in, give you as much of my good scotch as you want, and then kick you to the curb. Never mind that it's also November. I might not process grief well, but I'm not a monster, either." He took another sip of his own scotch. "And I know just what to make for breakfast tomorrow." -- “It’s barely November,” Embry argued, as it was still early on in the month. She had just spent the last few evenings helping him eat through discount Halloween candy, though she wouldn’t argue the rest. She finished off her glass of scotch as if to prove the point that she was saying right there instead of going anywhere, “I’ll just camp out on the couch if you find me a blanket.” Embry paused a little, wondering if he would make French toast like she had talked about, or if that was still...too much, too soon, “What’s that?” She asked just so that she didn’t make a potentially harmful assumption, though if he decided to keep it a secret, she wouldn’t be offended. -- There was… an impulse, unanswered, that told Gideon he should offer his own bed to her for the night, that he could take the sofa, since it was mostly his fault that she was here at all. "I'm sure I can scrounge up something for you, Em." Maybe it was too much. But, carefully, Gideon offered, "French toast. I've got her recipe, and if she didn't already give it to you, it seems right to pass it on. The… blueberry compote and fresh cream might depend on the status of my fridge stock, and how easy those recipes are when I Google them sober." -- Embry's lip might have trembled a little, but she managed a smile and a small nod, "We never…cooked at home. I never got her recipe for that one, but I am told I perfected her macaroni and cheese. I'm not much of a cook, but her directions are easy enough to follow." She managed a smile and offered, "I'm also good with just syrup, if it's too much trouble. I'm not incredibly picky. I'm…sorry that I dragged you into this. I know it wasn't something you were prepared for, and I really…I didn't want to hurt you more, Gideon. I just…thank you, for letting me stay." -- "You'll have to make me macaroni and cheese, then, so I can be a proper judge of that." Not that Gideon had any real reason to doubt her. Embry was his friend, and had been long before he'd known about her connection to Clementine. She was right, of course, in that he hadn't been prepared for this particular conversation, but… that didn't mean she owed him an apology, either. "You don't have to say that, Embry. It's… going to hurt for a while, no matter how it's brought up. And commiserating with friends is better than alone." -- She gave a small smile and nodded, "I can do that. Pick a night and we'll feast on noodles and cheese." She would be sure to go to the store and get all the varieties of cheese that Clementine suggested…she would make sure to add that secret ingredient - just a dash of cayenne pepper - and hope that Gideon approved. She hesitated a moment or two before finally nodding, "It is. I…would have survived had you not been here, but it would have been more difficult to accept. She…asked me not to mourn her, but that's hard." -- Gideon couldn't help a little scoff of... almost-laughter. "Of course she did." He shook his head. "She was... insistent on that, from the moment we first knew what was- was going to happen. Easier said than done, though." Another sip of his scotch. If he wasn't allowed to mourn, surely he could at least drink. -- Embry gave a small nod, looking down at her empty glass, though she knew she likely shouldn't have anymore, "I think she knew it was impossible that anyone who loved her wouldn't be sad to see her go, but maybe…" she trailed off for a moment, pursing her lips. "I'm going to try to just celebrate everything she was and all we had instead of focusing on what was lost. It's easier said than done and I'm still…I'm angry that she didn't tell anyone until it was too late and that I was so blindsided by this. But I'm going to try, for her." -- Everything about this damnable situation was easier said than done, really. But maybe that was... just the way of things. Gideon had never lost anyone else so important to him. He'd lost patients, yes, but this was... so much different. "I... spent a lot of time very angry," Gideon admitted. "I would have torn the world apart if I could, to change... to change anything about it." -- Of course it wasn't fair. Not in the least. Embry would never truly understand Clementine's reasons and maybe she would always struggle a little with that closure, but having Gideon helped. Maybe they could support one another through this. He admitted his own anger, and maybe she should have given him his space, but Embry reached out, putting her hand over his there at the counter, giving a small squeeze, "She…did things on her own terms." And maybe she'd done as she had to prevent them all from going crazy searching for not-there solutions, "The universe really sucks sometimes, though." -- He didn't shy away from the contact, though Gideon did look down at Embry's hand over his own. He managed a small smile, and a little exhale. "You can say that again, Em." Gideon turned his hand over, lacing his fingers in between Embry's. It was a simple gesture, nothing to be read into. Common comforts in loss. "I'm glad you're here." -- "The universe really sucks sometimes," she repeated with emphasis, just in hopes that maybe it would lift his spirits the tiniest bit that she decided to take his words literally. His fingers laced through hers, and Embry didn't think too much of it. Since their friendship had began there had been an easy closeness between the two of them, maybe borne out of the fact that they'd been far more intimate in the past so these smaller gestures felt normal and comforting, "Yeah? I'm glad you're here too, Gideon. Not just at the loft here, but…in Dunhaven. If you had to go anywhere, I'm glad you landed here." -- And he did laugh, shaking his head as if maybe he wasn't supposed to, but smiling all the same. The words that followed seemed to surprise him, slightly, but he didn't refute them. He hadn't expected to come back to Dunhaven after his high school years, and if his siblings hadn't already been in town, he might not have made that choice. But, now... he wouldn't change it, no matter the circumstances that had driven such a choice. "It's been a good place to land, all things considered." |