The interview, if it could still be called that, was failing miserably. To Adam’s benefit, he was trying to give a damn about the grants that were exclusive to Harvard researchers. He was trying to remember which faculty remember had won which award, and which one had funded which scholarship. He was trying to nod at the right moments, and to force a smile when someone told a joke that sounded like it belonged in the New York Times.
He just didn’t care anymore.
“Adam, are you even listening?” Tom’s breath was hot and damp against Adam’s ear, and he fought the urge to shudder. He was exhausted, overstimulated from the lethal combination of days of networking, lack of sleep, and being freshly heartbroken.
There was no denying that Adam Carlsen was an introvert. He felt most at ease when he was alone with his work, computing models and analyzing data. He was uncomfortable at parties, at dinners. He avoided them at all costs. Hell, he would have skipped his own prom if Holden hadn’t been heartbroken by a douchebag. Interviewing and networking was hell on earth when he was in the best mood.
But when he was exhausted, nursing an Olive Smith-hangover that might follow him for the rest of his life? It was hell on earth.
“Dude,” Tom whispered through gritted teeth, “I know you’re tired and your introverted ass is probably running on empty by now.”
Adam’s jaw popped as he pulled away. Tom wasn’t aware that the interview was pointless at this point. There was no way that Adam would go to Harvard with how things had ended between him and Olive. Not because he couldn’t face her, no, quite the opposite. He would run to her in a heartbeat, and probably would for the rest of his life.
He had promised that their arrangement would be for Olive’s benefit. He wouldn’t ruin her experience by making her see her ex-fake-dating-boyfriend every day. It would be awkward, and uncomfortable, and he knew her well enough that she would pretend that it didn’t bother her, and it would distract her from her research.
No, he couldn’t put her through that.
“It’s been a long week. But can you hold it together and not act like a complete ass for one more fucking day?” That was rich, coming from Tom. Adam hadn’t been an ass when Tom had been paraded around like a show dog all week.
“I can’t help it,” Adam snapped, “I’ve been told I’m often-” antagonistic and unapproachable, “difficult .”
Tom rolled his eyes as he settled back into his chair.
So no, Adam didn’t care about Tom’s feelings. But that didn’t mean he needed to be rude.
Adam barely acknowledged that Tom had said anything. Instead, he turned to the woman beside him, Miriam, who had been watching the with interest.
“You told me yesterday that you’ve been researching implicit biases when analyzing computational models?” He raised an eyebrow, “I hate to admit it, but I hadn’t considered some of the ways that social factors could impact my own analysis.”
The woman, whose blonde hair was stacked atop her head in a style he could only classify as intricate, grinned at him, “Well, Doctor Carlsen, if you were aware of your implicit biases, they wouldn’t be implicit, would they?”
He had met Miriam at a handful of conferences over the past decade, and she was a firecracker. Unlike most of the faculty members he had spoken to at Harvard, she was a no-bullshit professor with no tolerance for office politics. She only cared about the research.
Olive would love working with her.
Miriam was quick to verbally spar with him, challenging him to reflect on how his privilege has provided him advantages in academia. Tom followed along for a few minutes, tossing in the occasional comment, but quickly became bored and moved from the table. As soon as he left, Miriam leaned into Adam’s shoulder.
“I’m noticing some tension between you and Doctor Benton, Adam.” Her voice was low and inquisitive.
“No serious tension,” He sighed, looking back at his long-time acquaintance, and occasional friend, who was making no effort to conceal that he was checking out the waitress, “It’s been a long couple of days, and I’m still a bit jet-lagged. I think we’re both just a bit tired.”
She gave him a disbelieving look and took a sip of her tea. There was barely a three-hour time difference, and he’d been in the state for nearly a week. The dark circles under his eyes had gotten worse in the past two days, and he was wearing the same blazer and pants he’d worn the day before.
Which were coincidentally the same blazer he’d worn that night at the hotel conference. Before Tom had met him in the hotel lobby, he’d found the debit receipt from the sushi restaurant in the coat pocket. A flood of warmth, followed by chilling emptiness, filled him. He’d stared at it for the entire ride to the restaurant, wondering how the best night of his life could be reduced to a few scraps of blue ink on a piece of paper.
“May I ask a personal question, Adam?” If she noticed the way he flinched, she didn’t acknowledge it, “Do you have any family in Boston?”
“I’ve known Tom almost as long as I’ve wanted to be in Academia-” Adam began.
“Besides Tom, I mean.” She raised an eyebrow inquisitively, “I couldn’t help but notice when reviewing your CV that you’ve spent your entire career in California. You must have roots there.”
“Some, yes. However, most of my grads will be done within the year. I would hope that Harvard would let me finish their mentoring. I wouldn’t want to leave anyone hanging, so to speak.”
“That would be accommodated, of course. But that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about personal roots, Adam. You have friends in California, yes?”
He nodded in response. He only had friends in California, or rather, his only friend was in California.
“A girlfriend, too?”
His face blanched. Miriam had confided in him how isolating her transition from Oxford to Harvard had been, and he knew it was a genuine question and not a flirtatious remark. His expression answered her question.
In his peripheral, a woman ong red coat passed by the restaurant window once, and then a second time. They seemed to be peering into the restaurant, pacing back and forth. He felt bad for whoever was outside. The restaurant had a pretentious dress code, and there was no doubt that the maitre d’ would deny service to anyone not wearing all-black.
“I know you’ve been offered a position before, but always declined.” Miriam was watching him carefully, “But you’ve never been interested in moving to Boston.”
“I wasn’t at a point where I felt comfortable leaving Stanford,” He began his rehearsed statement with ease, eyes flickering to the window, “But after a few years of experience, and having seen a few generations of students’ doctoral dissertations, I’m feeling confident that I could contribute to your-”
“It’s so quick,” She interrupted, “I wondered if you were running from something…”
The owner of the red coat had opened the front door, and was holding it for an elderly couple who were entering.
“…or to someone?”
The owner of the coat was hidden by the faux-wooden-divider at the front door. Whoever it was, she was perfectly average height, just visible over the top of the divider. He could only see the top of her head, which bobbed into view, there was a slight skip in her step.
He knew that bounce. He knew that walk.
But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Olive, because Olive had ended it. September 29th had come and gone, and she had followed their agreement and ended it. He had tried to stay bitter, they had broken every other rule that they had made, but he couldn’t. He had known from the beginning that it wouldn’t last, and he had accepted long ago that he would take every magical moment that he could with her.
It couldn’t be Olive. He knew that in his brain.
But the woman turned, and it was Olive.
She was here, in this over-priced, pretentious restaurant. There was no reason for her to be, none of her friends would be dining at a place that served escargot as an appetizer, but there was no way that she would know where he was. She couldn’t have come here looking for him. Unless…
The chair scraped across the wooden floor as Adam muttered his apology, excusing himself. The walk, shorted by his exceptionally long stride, felt endless. He was oblivious to the hush that fell across the table. He only had eyes for her.
Olive was here.
His elation quickly shifted to concern. She was trembling, and her eyes were watery, swollen, and the same shade of red as the overcoat. Her usual neat bun was messy and unkempt, with curls sticking to the skin on her face.
His chest twisted. Was she crying because of him?
“Olive, are you okay?” He instinctively moved to hug her, to wrap her into his arms to keep her safe and shield her from the eyes of everyone in the vicinity. She hated when people saw her cry. He froze before he made contact. He wasn’t her safe space anymore, and he had no right to touch her.
His arms fell to the sides, useless.
“I’m fine.” Her lips were twitching to some mockery of a smile “I... I’m sorry to interrupt this. I know it’s important,”
He wanted to hush her. Nothing was more important than her. He had never been a romantic, but he would throw it all away- his work, his career, his broccoli fueled diet- if it would keep her happy.
“I know that you want to move to Boston, and—this is inappropriate.” Olive continued, stumbling over her words like she was nervous. “But it’s now or never, and I wasn’t sure if I’d have the courage to...”
He’d spent the past thirty-four years of his life wearing a mask, building walls to protect himself. In less than a month, Olive had barrelled through them at an impressive speed. Now, he was trying to show her all of his feelings for her, without speaking. Boston meant nothing if she wasn’t with him, and that whatever had happened, he’d handle it.
“I need to tell you something. Something happened. With-”
Tom’s voice cut her off, “Hey, Olive.”
Adam didn’t miss the pure panic rippled across Olive’s face at the interruption.
“Hi Tom.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own, too steady and removed, “Can you give us a minute of privacy?”
Olive wouldn’t show up to anything unannounced, let alone his job interview. No matter how mad she was at him, she wouldn’t sabotage or do anything to put him at risk. Something must have happened, and she was coming to him for help.
“Olive, I know you’re young and don’t know how these things work,” Condescension was practically dripping from Tom’s voice, “but Adam’s here to interview for a very important position, and he can’t just—”
Alarms blared in Adam’s head. He was a notorious grump, and terrible in groups. Getting up in the middle of lunch wasn’t unheard of for him, and Tom had covered for worse faux pas over the years.
Something was wrong.
“Leave,” Adam hoped the weight of years of friendship would tell Tom that Olive was more important than a stupid lunch.
Olive’s mouth quivered. For a moment she looked like she was going to be sick. Then, she composed herself, nodding, “Okay. I’m sorry, I—”
Fuck. He’d never speak to Olive in that tone, “Not you. Tom, leave us.”
“Dude,” Adam could hear the smirk in his colleagues’ voice, “You can’t just get up from the table in the middle of an interview dinner and-”
It clicked.
Tom wasn’t trying to save Adam’s ass, or save their grant funding. No, he knew about whatever Olive was about to say, and he was trying to stop her. He didn’t want Adam to know.
“Leave.” It was a growl, low and mean.
Tom laughed, the same sound he made when one of his student’s made a high-school level error, as if Adam was a child that couldn’t be trusted not to touch a hot stove, “ No. Not unless you’re coming with me. We’re collaborators, and if you act like an asshole during a dinner with my department because of some student you’re screwing, it will reflect poorly on me. You need to come back to the table and—”
“A pretty girl like you should know the score by now.” Tom froze at the interruption, confusion blooming across his features like mold.
The voice, Tom’s voice, continued, “Don’t lie to me and say you didn’t pick out a dress that short for my benefit. Nice legs, by the way.” There was no mistaking that it was Tom’s voice speaking, but it couldn’t be. Tom’s mouth wasn’t moving, and he looked just as confused as Adam felt.
It took Adam a moment to notice the cellphone in Olive’s trembling hand, and another to realize that it was the source of the noise. It was playing a recording.
“I can see why Adam’s wasting his time with you.”
Olive was staring at the floor, tears flooding her cheeks. She wouldn’t look up to meet Adam’s eyes, and he was slowly realizing why. As the truth dawned on him, nausea twisted, and his lunch threatened to make a reappearance.
No. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.
“Olive. You don’t think I accepted you into my lab because you are good, do you?”
A supercut of the last month flashed through his mind. The way Tom had stared at Adam’s arm wrapped around the back of Olive’s chair. The cruel glint in Tom’s eyes as he asked Olive about her mother, and his smirk when Adam had jumped to her defense. The way Tom had nodded to himself afterwards, as if realizing something important.
“A girl like you. Who figured out so early in her academic career-”
The memory of Olive in their hotel room, sobbing after the conference, washed over him. How powerless he had felt as she trembled, watching helplessly as she suffered. He had been furious that some monster had ruined her first conference, a day that should have been filled with pride. He had been shaking with rage, but desperate to stay calm on her behalf.
He remembered the shame he felt when he realized that the comments were due to their relationship.
“-that fucking well-known, successful scholars is how to get ahead.”
It would have been awful to hear those words spoken to anyone. But to see Olive, sweet Olive, his Olive, who worked so hard to help everyone around her, who worked so hard to get to this point…It was sickening.
“You fucked Adam, didn’t you?”
His own advisor had been cruel and manipulative, but never like this. He had pitted the lab against each other, but he had never stooped so low to sexually harass them. If he had, Adam wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t have broken him.
It hadn’t broken Olive. She was so fucking strong.
“We both know you’re going to fuck me for the same reason.”
“What the—” Tom had finally collected himself to react, stepping forward to grab the pohone..
Adam didn’t look as he swung his arm out to block him. It had thrown him Tom off guard, only taking a flat palm against his chest to send him to stumble backwards.
The recording continued. Each word of the pure ugliness was like a knife in Adam’s chest, twisting and ripping him apart. He had trusted Tom, and Adam had trusted Tom with Olive.
This was Adam’s fault.
It was Adam’s fault that he had the ammunition to throw at her, and it was Adam’s fault she didn’t want to file a Title XI report. If Olive was willing to fake-date a stranger to help one friend, it wasn’t hard to imagine that she’d hold this secret in a misguided attempt to protect him. Tom knew it, and he’d exploited it.
That fucking bastard.
He couldn’t look at Tom. If he did, he might not be able to control himself.
“Quick Question. Who do you think Adam will believe, Olive?”
He let out a groan. Adam was the one who sang praises about Tom to her for the past week. Of course she wouldn’t trust that he’d believe her.
He couldn’t look at Olive. If he saw the pain on her face, the pain that he might not have caused but he was responsible for, he would shatter. He couldn’t do that right now, because right now she needed him to be strong.
“It was him.” Adam’s voice was unnaturally cold, even to his own ears, “It was Tom. The reason you were crying.”
Her lip trembled as she nodded. Olive was terrified, whether it be of Tom or how Adam was reacting, he couldn’t tell. Soon, he would comfort her. He’d stand by her side as she worked through whatever she needed. But right now, he was fueled with anger.
He should have asked her to turn off the recording. She didn’t need to relive it. But he couldn’t. His heart was pounding in his chest so hard that it hurt. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and didn’t trust himself to move, lest he explode.
It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion, helpless to do anything but bear witness to the tragedy, so he could help clean up afterwards.
“As advantageous as my collaboration with Adam has been, sometimes it’s a bit annoying how he needs to be best at everything, and I like the idea of taking something away from him for once.”
Something. Tom had used the word something. He thought Olive was replaceable, a research grant or some frivolous award. Tom spoke about the woman that Adam loved like she wasn’t the most brightest light in his world.
“This is ridiculous.” Tom made the mistake of reminding them of his pathetic presence, “I’m not sure what this bitch’s problem is, but she’s clearly—”
Adam didn’t see that Tom was only reaching for the phone. All Adam saw was Tom moving towards Olive, his Olive, and Adam reacted.
It was like watching a video game. Two floating hands grabbed Tom, one by the neck of his shirt, and the other by his bicep. They hurled his body away from Olive and into the divider without hesitation. They squeezed tighter as Tom’s head hit the wooden trim with a satisfying crack.
Tom fought back. They were equally strong, and equally athletic. But Adam was fueled with love, pain, and betrayal. A sense of possessiveness, the need to protect Olive, had given Adam enough adrenaline to hold him down.
“I’m going to kill you,” Spit flew from Adam’s mouth as he spoke, “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you even think about her—I’m going to fucking kill you.”
He was vaguely aware that he’d just professed his love for Olive for the first time. He was so impassioned that he didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. That was inconsequential.
All that mattered was that he had to keep her safe. Adam would never let Tom near Olive again. He wasn’t going to let Tom hurt Olive, or hurt anyone else, again.
He hardly noticed the shouts from the interview table as the people he’d tried so hard to impress jumped out of their chairs and sprinted to the front doors.
“Adam—” Tom’s face was quickly going scarlet from lack of oxygen.
Adam stared into Tom’s eyes, the same eyes that had comforted him for years. The same eyes that had stared at Olive like a piece of meat. He looked for any hint that this could be a mistake. That Tom’s words had been some sick, cruel joke that had spiralled out of control. It still wouldn’t be forgivable, but it would provide some hope that Tom wasn’t purely a monster.
But then Adam thought about all of Tom’s one-night stands, who never seemed to be older than twenty-five. The cruel comments that he would make while swiping through dating apps. His willingness to flirt with anyone and anything. And his frequent complaints that he couldn’t keep female lab assistant for more than a few weeks, that men were just more reliable.
It was true. Tom Benton preyed on young, impressionable women,
“Actually,” He exhaled, “I will kill you anyway.”
A pair of hands were pulling at his jacket. It was the Dean, Dr Wilson, the head of Harvard Medical Sciences. He was pulling on his jacket, trying to pull him off of Tom.
“Doctor Carlson,” He sounded horrified, “Doctor Carlsen, let go of him.”
He would have strangled Tom right there, right in front of everyone. Adam had half-a-mind to do it, too. If it wasn’t for the small, shaking voice that called him home.
“Adam,” Olive’s voice cracked, and he turned towards her tear-stained face, “Adam, don’t. He’s not worth it.”
She was right. Tom wasn’t worth it.
Whatever happened to Tom, was Olive’s decision. He had agreed not to report what had happened because she wasn’t ready. The decision of what happened to Tom Benton should be hears. She didn’t want to see Tom hurt like this, or, at least she didn’t want to see him charged with assault.
It would feel satisfying to give Tom what was coming to him. But this wasn’t about Adam. This was about Olive.
He dropped Tom unceremoniously to the floor. Miriam pushed past him, giving Adam a concerned look, before starting the basic checks for a concussion. He ignored the shouts and the demands for explanations, that were quickly filling the room. They meant nothing when Olive needed him.
He turned to her.
She stopped crying in the past few minutes, but she looked exhausted, and terrified. Olive’s shoulders and knees were trembling.
Fear struck him. Was she afraid of him, and his sudden burst of anger? Now that she knew how dark he could be, how passionate he was for her, did she not want him around? She had broken up with him, after all. Not for the first time, he wished that he could read her mind and see what was behind those brilliant eyes.
He gingerly stepped towards her, and she opened her arms to embrace him.
Yes.
For the first time, Adam didn’t hesitate before wrapping his arms around her. She fell into him, like he was the warm bed that she came home to at night. He held her, before gently cupping her face in his hand. Her skin was still damp, but soft against his calloused palm. His thumb wiped away a stray tear, careful not to scratch the delicate skin. With the other hand, he combed back her soft hair, cupping her head.
As the adrenaline faded, he came back to himself and his surroundings.
Adam knew that she was strong, he’d known it from the day they’d met. She’d been fighting her entirely life, and she didn’t need anyone to protect her. But he would stand by her and support her if she’d let him. He wanted to be her teammate and her anchor. He’d do it for as long as she’d let him.
The realization hit him-she had let him. She had come to him, even when she had doubts that he’d believe her over Tom. She had come to the restaurant, sought him out, so that he would know the truth. She must trust him.
The thought was overwhelming.
Her eyes were still watery. He dimly remembered their first encounter in his bathroom nearly three years ago. She didn’t remember it, and God he wished she did, but they had been two strangers, two equals, sharing a moment. They had moved miles in such a short period of time.
His tsunami of rage towards Tom was dissipating, but the aftershocks of hurt and shock washed over him. Adam hadn’t said any of those things, nor had he thought them, but how many times had he heard Tom say something else that was questionable over the years and didn’t realize it? How many signs of his toxicity had he missed, or chosen to ignore? He let Tom stay in his fucking house, for god’s sake.
He should have realized something was wrong. He should have never trusted Tom to be near Olive, not after he had so callously asked her about her mother’s passing.
“I’m sorry.” Adam didn’t realize he was the one speaking, and for what he was specifically apologizing for, he wasn’t sure. But once he started, he couldn’t stop, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“It’s not your fault,” And of course she said that. Olive, ever-so gracious, trying to comfort him when he should have been protecting her.
“Dr Carlsen.” The voice behind him was angry, and Adam stiffened, “I demand an explanation.”
He ignored him. Olive needed to know that she cared about him more than Harvard, more than his career. When she had ended things, he had accepted it. He hadn’t told her what she meant to him. The words to convince her to stay had died on his tongue, because he was afraid to fight for her.
He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
“Dr Carlsen,” The voice wouldn’t shut up, “this is unacceptable-”
“Adam,” Olive whispered. “You have to answer him.”
The rational part of him knew that was true. If he was charged with assault, it would overshadow Tom’s actions. Worse, it’d be hard to take Olive for dinner from jail. They needed to unveil the truth before Tom spun some twisted version of the truth.
He exhaled, kissing Olive’s forehead. It was a promise. A promise that he would come back, and he would take care of her, that he loved her and that he was there for her.
By the time he had composed himself, the mask was back. He wasn’t Adam, Olive’s friend. He was Doctor Carlsen, a man who struck fear into graduate students and ready to do anything for the woman that he loved.
“Send me that recording immediately,” The relief that spread across her face soothed him. She was a strong person, she didn’t need his protection, but this was something that he could support her through. There were no secrets now, it would be handled. He turned to the Dean, “We need to talk. Privately. Your office?”
Adam didn’t flinch at the look of indignation on the man’s face. If he hadn’t noticed Tom’s behaviour, he deserved to feel insulted. Besides, Adam had dealt with Title IX complaints before, having gone with Holden after more than one homophobic comment from ex-colleagues.
He couldn’t take away the pain that Olive felt. He couldn’t take away Tom’s betrayal. But he could do this. He could help Olive lessen the pain and trauma of needing to relive the memories in front of another group of strangers. He could carry that burden for her.
“Keep him away from me.” He jutted his chin towards Tom, who was defending himself to an unimpressed Miriam. She took one look between Adam and Olive, and then winked at him.
“I wondered if you were running from something…” He remembered her earlier words, “or running to someone?”
Adam crouched so that his eyes were level with Olive’s. She had a hopeful expression on her face, and her eyes flickered around his like she was trying to memorize his.
“I am going to take care of this.” He assured her, the promise nearly choking him, “And then I’ll come and find you, and I’ll take care of you.”
She nodded, softly. His last three words were unspoken, but he hoped to God that this time she felt them.
I love you.
