@dralliscameron gets a starter because DOCTOR WIVES, obviously?
Papers, papers, more papers. Lisa’s two and a half cups of coffee in -- and realized she should have switched to tea about half an hour ago, hence the kettle now steaming quietly from the kitchen. She’s exhausted.
Allison’s shut the bedroom door a while ago. Lisa doesn’t want to disturb her . . . and yet. Suddenly a pang. When was the last time they’ve caught each other -- been in the same house -- relaxed, work finished, spending time beside one another? Through the scribbles and prescriptions and data, Lisa’s started a headache -- and she’s started to miss Allison. How long has she missed her?
Lisa wanders the house, arms crossed, streaming through the living room momentarily. Staring blankly at photos. Book titles. Maybe she can put a fire on again? It’s died forty minutes ago; it’s weakly clinging to the finishing crackles, the charred wood, now . . . no, Lisa decides, it’s too late and she’s too tired. She makes her way down the hallway and to their bedroom, pushes the door open with the tip of her fingers, leans on the archway. She can see the small, fuzzy shadow of Allison in the dark, in their bed, back turned to her . . . she can’t tell if she’s awake or not. The amber light from the hallway, streaming in, should be enough to stir her if so.
