[fanfiction] - Adam Carlson's POV of the Love Hypothesis

confrontations - part II

Noone - in all of human history - ever put more emphasis on one word than Olive Smith did when she asked 'WHAT?' after I gave a pretty brief summary of why going through with the white lie of us dating made perfectly sense. 

"Seems like a win-win to me." I add, because - from my standpoint it is. For her. Also for me, but I refuse to aknowledge that for a second. Because that would be just mean. Selfish. Wrong. 

All the things I never wanted to be, but most and formost not to her, specifically. 

She's the last person, I ever want to hurt, so my own 'win-win' in this situation can't be of any relevance to the advice I just gave her. 

"You mean - forever?" She all but shrieks the last word and while it pains my heart, I try to overlook the fact, that she sounds actually horrified. Like, being bound to me - even only as a facade - would be a burden, she can't stomach for longer than - a brief period. 

"That sounds excessive." I try to deflect with a neutral tone. No feelings, just facts. I owe that to her. 

"Maybe until your friends are not dating anymore? Or until they're more settled? I don't know. Whatever works best, I guess." I try to casually shrug, which is a bad move. I might look like I'm about to have a stroke, because all my muscles are so tense, under so much vibrating pressure, that I could probably combust into a pile of dust, if I let go for a sec. 

"Are you not married or something?" 

That takes me by surprise. And that's actually kind of ridiculous. A lot of people in the past have assumed, I would be married. Especially women. Holden once told me, they do so because of my lack of any flirting attempt. And it's just the epitomany of irony that the very only person alive, who I would ever think about approaching in a flirtatious way (seriously, I wouldn't even know where to start - but that's a whole other problem) - comes to the same conclusion anyway. 

"My wife and the twins won't mind." I actually try a joke, a very cheap one to be honest, and - not that I am THAT surprised: It doesn't deliver. 

"Oh my God! I - I didn't - I am so so sorry..." Her panicked expression and wobbly voice make me instantly regret what I said. I should have known. I should have known that Olive Smith is the kind of person - wonderful, goodhearted soul! - who would chastise herself to a serious degree, thinking she could harm an intact family. See - even if I'm trying to not harm her - I do harm her. There probably should be a restraining order for me to not enter her direct vicinity of like... 100 ft or something. 

"Just kidding!" I try to tell her, but she is back to wordvomit 2.0

"... really had no idea, no idea, that you..."

"Olive!" I was joking!" I bark - loud enough to get through to her and I see her mixed feelings displayed on her facial features when she joins my glance. Confusion. Relief. Anger. 

"Dr. Carlsen, this is not something you should joke about..." 

"You really need to start calling me Adam. Since we've reportedly been dating for a while." 

That gives her pause. She pinches her nose like I do, when someone asks me a question, I've already answered twice. It's a nonverbal statement of disappointment and exhaustion. 

I want neither of such things to be for her. Disappointing? Exhausting? Hell, no. 

"Why would you even pretending to date me? Why do you care? What's in it for you?"

It's a good thing she doesn't look at me right now, after asking this question. Because she probably would be highly irritated to see all color leave my face. Panic flaring in my eyes. But I gulp it all down, with effort, but eventually I succeed, not a nanosec to soon, because she looks right up again and locks eyes with me. 

"It would help you out. And I have my own reasons." My vocal cords are about to tear. I sound pathetic, but she doesn't seem to mind. Her misemeanor clearly focusses on my words not my delivery.

"What reasons?" 

I once had to spontanously come up with a forty minute panel talk about interdisciplinary collaborations between clinical biological research and organic chemistry and I did it just fine. Clearly, I would have assumed, that I'd be able to come up of the top of my hat with something smarter than: 

"Reasons." 

Thank you, brain. 

"If it's criminal, I'd rather not be involved."

I can't help but grin. Although, it's more a brief smirk than anything else, still, I can't help it. On top of everything I also enjoy her humour. It's just too much. 

"It's not." I promise, but she doesn't look convinced. 

"If you don't tell me, I have no choice but to assume that it entails kidnapping. Or arson. Or embezzlement." 

I almost bite my cheeks bloody to prevent to laugh out loud. That's why it takes me a second to realize that the concern on her face is still very prominently showing. She IS in fact worried. Well, I simply can't have that. I can't let her in the dark about my motives, because clearly - not very flattering for me, but true - she'll assume the worst. 

And by realizing the truth - even as it is bad - is not half as bad as ... arson. 

"If I tell you, it cannot leave this room."

In my head I see a version of Holden, vigorously shaking his head, shouting NO at me. Don't tell her. She has already proven that information isn't well protected with her. But then she says:

"I think we can both agree that nothing that has happened in this room should ever leave it."

"Good point." I nod. Sigh. Repeat both. 

"Okay." I'm bracing myself. For the truth. To tell her, show her a glimpse into the reality of my personal life, my struggles. This feels way bigger than it actually should, but, I guess, she doesn't know that. 

 "I'm considered a flight risk." I should have chosen my words more carefully, because - again - her adrenaline levels make her jump to the WORST conclusion. 

"Flight risk? So it is something criminal." 

I shake my head abruptly and I'm so pathetically eager to deflect her assumptions, I do something, I didn't do since I was... sixteen or something. I fall into the pit of wordvomit. Hasty, breathless and rough.

"What? No. The department suspects that I'm making plans to leave Stanford and move to another institution. Normally it wouldn't bother me, but Stanford has decided to freeze my research funds."

She looks perplexed. 

"Oh. Can they?"

"Yes. Well, up to one-third of them. The reasoning is that they don't want to fund the research and further the career of someone who—they believe—is going to leave anyway."

Hammersteins name is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. I don't need to give her all the unnecessary details about him and me bumping heads for half a decade already. Nor does she need to know that specifically dating HER, Olive Smith, very much more sooner than later finishing up her studies with Stanford and moving on... might not help my case at all. But she doesn't need to know all of that. She doesn't need to know, that she is the very only person in the whole world, I would put in the effort of this charade. The very only person I would do anything for. 

Anything. I just realize right now. It's really a lot. I sigh again. 

She really doesn't need to know.