Music: Rx (Medicate), Theory of a Deadman 
March 19th, 2020

*****

The sound of Adam's alarm blared through the room. Stella muttered a few nonsensical words, fuck a star among them, as she reached over to smack Adam. 

"You first," Adam grunted out. "I shared my bed. You get to make pancakes." 

Howie groaned something unintelligible, possibly asking for another five minutes, before rolling over and half-crushing Adam. 

"Fuck off," she grumbled as she threw the blankets off. 

"I'd like to," he retorted. 

With a sleepy smile, she gave him the bird before pulling herself out of bed. She shuffled out of the room, making sure to take as long as she possibly could.

At long last, the door clicked shut behind her. Done teasing Adam, she took the steps two at a time. She could already hear the coffee maker running - bless that man and his understanding of her addiction. Auto-brew had to be one of their favorite coffee maker features. She poured herself a cup of coffee before she started. 

After washing her hands, she let Melissa's voice guide her through the steps of making pancakes. Flour, sugar, baking powder, eggs, milk, and butter blended together. She added chocolate chips and plenty of cinnamon.

As she cooked them, she was reminded of so many mornings at Melissa's house. 

Her first morning there, punctuated with anxiety over what this woman would do with her. 

The morning she taught Stella how to make this recipe. 

The week after, when Stella tried to make it on her own. And almost set the kitchen on fire. 

Her first Christmas morning there. 

The first snowfall they had together. 

"They smell good," Howie commented as he slid in behind her. He reached around her to grab a mug and set about preparing his first cup of morning tea. 

"They'd better." 

Tea preparation done, Howie took over the burner next to her. After letting the pan heat up, he added bacon to it. "You doin' ok, after last night?" 

"Yeah. Slept pretty well." She wouldn't tell him she took an extra Seroquel last night. He'd only scold her for not following her psychiatrist's orders. What was wrong with wanting to sleep well, for once? 

Howie, not much of a morning person, nodded his head. He let the conversation go, choosing to focus on not burning the bacon. 

Adam and Chyou came down just as Stella finished up with the pancakes. Avoiding looking at Chyou, she served their breakfast and went upstairs to go get ready. Nothing on Earth could get her to eat those pancakes again. 

The first thing she did when she entered her bedroom, the one Chyou slept in, was strip the bed. She sent the white sheets and purple comforter down the steps, where they landed in a heap. The thought of sleeping on dirty sheets made her gag. 

Returning to her room, she glared at Chyou's bookbag. Instead of moving it, she shoved aside the urge to do exactly that. It wasn't in her way; it was just a reminder that someone else was in her space. 

From her spare clothes, Stella picked a pale blue blouse and gray suit pants and matching blazer. She eyed a pair of summer-like heels before sense won out and she chose a pair of loafers instead.  Rummaging her jewelry box, she pulled out an amethyst colored bangle. Stella decided against earrings and a necklace. 

To finish getting ready, she applied enough foundation to cover her freckles and blush to add some red to her complexion. Her petal pink and pale gold eyeshadow, along with light mascara and eyeliner, brought out her eyes. She applied her shimmering pink lip tint before tossing it into a spare purse. 

Giving herself a quick once over in the mirror, she decided she looked perfectly appropriate for a professional lunch. 

The door squeaked open - Stella made a reminder to find WD-40 that was not in Adam's workroom - to let Howie in. "You about ready?" he asked. 

She glanced at him, already dressed for work. Stella found herself envious that all Howie had to do was throw on suit pants and a button-down shirt to be ready for work. Not that he looked bad in it, with Adam's help Howie had learned how to clean up. He would never be fashionable by any means of the word, but at least his fiance managed to convince him that Hawaiin Shirts were not fancy attire - no it did not matter that they had collars. 

"You think I look alright?" she asked, fussing with her braid. Yes, it still looked alright after having been slept on, but there was part of her that wanted to rip it out and redo it. Or take a pair of scissors to it. Or something that made it look like less of an afterthought. 

He arched an eyebrow at her. "You're really asking me that?" 

Stella looked him over - the black pants and yellow shirt might deceive most people but she still had pictures of him decked out in questionable polos and sandals with socks. "Good point, where's Adam?" 

"What? You're not respecting my fashion choices?" 

"Didn't Adam pick that out for you last night?"

"With my input!" Howie protested. 

"Mhmm." She rolled her eyes at his antics. "Your input is what tie you want. From the two or three he picked in advance." 

He threw his hands up in defeat. "Come on. Before you make me late." 

"Sure, blame me, I'm convenient to blame." She stuck her tongue out at him as she strutted by, the worry about her hair long forgotten. "Who's turn is it to get morning drinks, anyway?" 

Howie followed her out of the bedroom. "Y'know, I don't got a clue." He took out his phone to text his partner. "I hope it's not mine. That'll make me late." 

"Aren't you always late?" she teased, retrieving her wallet and anti-anxiety medication from where she left it last night. 

Howie stopped to say goodbye to Adam, who had the pleasure of working from home, while Stella grabbed Howie's car keys and went to wait for him. She passed Chyou on the back porch, and mumbling a good morning as she made her way past the college student. 

Chyou said something back, not quite audible above the sudden pounding in Stella's head. 

When she was off the porch, away from Chyou, she let out a sigh of relief. Her shoulders relaxed with the weight removed. Setting into Howie's SUV, she glanced at Chyou through the rearview mirror. One of these days, possibly soon, Stella would have to be nice to her. Upsetting Howie with constant fighting wasn't worth it. 

He really deserved a better friend. 

Maybe someone he didn't have to look after all the time. 

Someone who didn't make him panic with an unanswered text. 

Howie slid into the driver's seat, pulling Stella out of her reverie as he turned it on. His phone connected automatically, a song from Taylor Swift coming through the speakers. 

"Not changing it?" he asked as he pulled out of his parking spot. 

She shrugged. Taylor Swift, annoying as she was, was worth it if it gave him a few minutes of peace. If the next fifteen minutes or so of pop music got under her skin, she had her headphones with her. 

Not taking his eyes off traffic, Howie reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, hoping that his warmth would pierce the fog that settled around her. She watched other cars snake their way down Broad Street with them, in a world separate from her.  

"Ah shit!" Howie shouted, banging his hand off the steering wheel. 

She pulled her gaze from the nearby kiosk to look at him.  They hadn't hit anyone, so what was the need for his exclamation? 

"You didn't eat breakfast," he grumbled. "And only five minutes until I have to be there." 

And she only ate half of her quesadilla last night. Which she'd gotten away with by agreeing to eat a hearty breakfast. 

Fuck. 

That wouldn't be happening again anytime soon.

"Sorry," she mumbled. An attempt at a smile didn't fool him. "I'll get something after my appointment this morning." 

"You? Eat? After someone digs around in your head?" 

"FIrst appointment. Don't have to talk about much that happens up there." 

He drummed his fingers off the steering wheel and glanced at the clock again. Stella could hear the argument: get her food and be late, or trust her to eat. 

"Send pictures," he finally relented. 

Stella swallowed her first remark - she wasn't a kid thank you very much. "Fine." 

"You have your phone, right?" 

She could hear his eyes narrow, the not-so-inner detective part of him coming out. "Of course I do. I'm not a kid." 

"And if you didn't leave the damned thing everywhere but with you, I'd agree." 

Even Stella had to admit he had a point. It wasn't like she was attached to it! It was easy enough to leave in her bedroom, at some diner or another, the grocery store, and the few other places she went. Of course, she checked only to oblige him. Stella distinctly remembered tossing it in her bag, which was where she pulled from in triumph. 

She certainly hadn't been worried she'd left it back at his house. "See, I can send you pictures." Just to prove her point, she snapped one of the courthouse as they went by, sending it to him. 

"Smartass," he grumped when his phone chimed. "Maybe, just for that, I'll introduce you to my partner." 

"Joy," she replied, rolling her eyes. "What's his name?" she asked, spying opportunity. 

"What, you don't remember?"

Stella looked at him. It was that look, asking if he really expected her to remember things she had minimal interest in. 

"Keith," he replied at the look. "You'd think my best friend in the entire freaking world could remember the name of the other guy I spend most of my time with."  

Her heart plummeted. There was no way that relationship would continue. She shouldn't have gotten involved with him in the first place. 

Why did she need to keep that, of all things, a secret from Howie?

"What's he like?" she asked. Maybe there was a chance there were two Keith's in the department. 

"Why the sudden interest?" He asked as he pulled into the parking lot behind his building. 

"No reason." She felt her face heat up and risked turning her head to face the parking lot. Maybe Howie wouldn't pick up on it. Maybe he wouldn't notice how fast her words came out. Her stomach wriggled in the silence. Had she said too much? How much was he putting together? 

"Stell!" he shouted. 

"I didn't know, okay?" she muttered. "It's not like it matters now, anyway." Even when she pulled her phone out earlier, she noticed the lack of texts from him. It wasn't like they texted everyday between dates - she'd been kind of out of touch for a week, but before she left there was a steady flow of conversation between them. She pinched the palm of her hand, the sudden pain enough to keep her tears at bay. What if's weren't going to do her any good right now. 

Howie pulled into a parking spot and rested his hand on her back. "It's fine." He squeezed her shoulder, a failed attempt at reassurance. "You deserve to be happy, you know." 

She looked at him, eyes misted with tears she refused to let fall. Not today. 

He pulled her in for an awkward hug. The center console dug into both of them. "I mean it." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll find out what happened the other day. Try and get you some closure, yeah?" 

Pinching herself again - not today, dammit tears - she nodded her head. "So, who's turn is it to do the Starbucks run?" 

"His. Don't worry. He still runs on military time. Which means, my tea is half-way to cold and I'll have to reheat when I get in there." 

"Alright. I'll see you tonight, then." 

"Tell me how the psych went." 

They separated and shared a smile. She walked him to the back entrance before leaving him to go around the building. Checking the time, she noticed she only had five minutes to make it to her psychiatrist. 

Moving a little faster, closer to a brisk walk than a leisurely stroll, she turned off in the direction of the office. She dodged between people, trying to use her smallish stature to her advantage - it was easy to slip between people when you weren't much fatter than a wraith.

 Why did rush hour have to be so busy? 

As she tried to squeeze between two people, she failed to notice someone else behind them. With not enough time to wriggle out of the way, she collided into their coffee mug. "Sorry!" she shouted, looking over her shoulder. 

She froze. 

Covered in, what looked like Howie's tea, was Keith. 

Fuck. 

He was supposed to be in there already. Howie said so! She would have taken another way if she'd known. 

Keith started to open his mouth.

To say what - she had no clue. There wasn't time to listen to this! There certainly wasn't time to hash out all of whatever it was that happened the other day! She shouted an apology before turning around and disappearing into the crowd. 

Half-way down the block was the psychiatrist's office. She entered the building and headed for the right suite, years of doing this left her certain that she could find it in the dark. With her eyes closed. And blindfolded for good measure. 

The receptionist smiled at her and checked her in. 

Did she get a bonus for having the receptionist recognize her on sight? Extra crazy points or something? 

Before she could sit down, Dr. Patel waved her in. 

The coffee-colored walls of her office were meant to lure unsuspecting patients into a false sense of security and familiarity. Stella wasn't an unsuspecting patient - she knew how doctors worked. She made herself comfortable in the blue armchair across from the other woman. It was her usual seat, just as comfortable as it had been last time she was in here. 

"So, how's the family?" Stella asked. It wasn't like she cared but it made a good show for Dr. Patel. 

"They are fine. Thank you." There was no warmth in her voice, her smile did not reach her eyes. 

The good thing about being in the medical field: everyone knew each other somehow or another. 

The bad thing about being in the medical field: everyone knew each other somehow or another. 

She and Dr. Patel were no exception. Stella knew of her reputation; it was the main reason she sought out the doctor. That, and she wouldn't require her to attend therapy. By now, she was sure the other doctor knew her reputation as well. 

Professional distance was an interesting thing when you shared a profession. Their different fields made it easier, but there were many reasons Stella didn't talk about her personal life at work. 

Sitting in this chair was one of them. 

"How have you been since you were in last?" 

Manic. Fucking manic. Maybe some hypomania on vacation. Depression found a home too. "Fine." 

"How are your eating habits?" 

Horrible. "Perfectly fine." 

Dr. Patel leveled her cold brown stare at her. "And what's the truth, Dr. Montgomery?" 

Dammit, Howie snitched. "One nice full, probably mixed, manic episode,  296.64 if you need a reminder of the diagnostic code. One wonderful bout of crushing depression, but that one's normal. Eating is normal. Haven't lost any weight." At least, she was pretty sure she hadn't. Her clothes didn't feel any looser. 

"And how's your anxiety?" 

"Ativan and I are best friends these days." She gave the doctor a strangled smile, in hopes that she'd share in her humor. 

Except Dr. Patel ignored it. Like always. 

"Are you still attending your therapy session after this?" 

"Sadly." 

"Good." 

Stella debated how happy it would make her to call the doctor a bitch. Pretty damn happy, possibly the highlight of her day. 

But it wouldn't be worth the lecture on manners. Or her questioning her parenting ability. Again. And it certainly wasn't worth the threat, possibly promise, that she'd tell Liz all of her concerns for those aforementioned parenting abilities. 

After a few other cold questions and colder answers, she increased her antipsychotic and mood stabilizer, while holding off on the anti-depressant. SSRI's were a dangerous game, and the risk was too high right now. 

Stella left the appointment and went to wait for her therapy appointment. She skimmed over the magazines in the waiting room. Psychology Today, Scientific American Mind, and other mental health related magazines lay scattered throughout. Their candy-bright covers promised techniques on how to achieve happiness and stability, ways to focus, and finding your inner genius. Things she had no interest in. 

What did she need therapy for, anyway? She was fine! 

Sure, a little hate for her biological family. Anyone would feel the same after she went through. Perfectly normal and expected. 

Trauma? She had that in spades. Someone must have mixed up the good luck and bad luck ingredients when they made her. But, it was fine. It didn't bother her anymore. That was all in the past. 

If she weren't alright, the medical board wouldn't have issued her a license. 

She wouldn't be able to hold down a job. 

She'd still be drunk. And on a never-ending high. 

Or dead. 

"Stella Montgomery?" a feminine voice called out. 

She looked at the source - a young woman, who looked fresh out of college. She had to withhold the grin that threatened to break out. The new ones were the easiest to fool. 

They'd discharge her in no time flat.