[ lab-bunny - sona / canon ] - treatment plan
summary: marcy visits easterman in his office, and vows are reaffirmed.
note: just something short i wrote to get back in the groove of things, haha ^^"
cw: (legal) age gap, toxic codependency, power imbalance, easterman being weird to his controversially young subordinate
Bright fluorescent light from the hall filtered through the shutters, spilling thin strips of white across the office. It was just bright enough for Marcy to make out the familiar outline of Easterman, though the shadows concealed most of his face. His features dissolved into darkness, leaving only the occasional glint of his reading glasses and the glow of a slowly burning cigarette. She sat quietly atop the edge of his desk, elbows resting on her knees, studying him with absentminded fascination.
Most evenings ended like this.
Marcy would be released onto the trial grounds, dispatched to invade active trials and terrorize the poor reagents within them. She always returned with blood on her gloves, another exemplary evaluation waiting in her file, and another quiet walk back to his office. It’s been like this for as long as she can remember, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.
"My dear."
Her head lifted immediately. The doctor wasn’t a man known to waste affection. Every endearment carried purpose, and every purpose demanded her attention.
Easterman tapped the ash from his cigarette into the crystal ashtray beside him. The sound echoed softly through the office as he then set aside his glasses. Without looking away from the documents spread across his desk, he extended his now free hand and gave his thigh a single, absent pat.
Marcy's lips curled into an eager smile. She must have exceeded even his expectations today.
Without hesitation, she slipped from the desk and crossed the short distance between them. One hand found his forearm, and she carefully settled onto his lap. She folded herself against him, her cheek resting near the curve of his neck as her arms loosely circled his. The scent of tobacco smoke lingered on his clothes, softened by expensive cologne and a light tinge of musk.
Easterman sighed, offering her a tired, almost wistful smile. He gently brushed a hand through her curls before returning his attention to the scattered reports covering his desk. "They're trying to take you away from me, you know."
Marcy's eyes opened a little wider. "What?" she asked quietly, lifting her head from where it rested against him. "Who?"
He never met her gaze. Instead, he calmly sorted another stack of papers, aligning each page with meticulous precision. "Who else but Avellanos?" he replied. "She questioned my judgment ever since you became my most... valuable asset. She insists I've grown distracted, and that my priorities have shifted." A quiet laugh escaped him, warm but lacking its usual certainty. "I suppose, from the outside, it must seem that way."
Marcy searched his face, unsettled by the distance in his expression. "They won't do that," she whispered. "They can't."
"They'll certainly try."
Only the faint rustle of paper and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights filled the office. After a long moment, Easterman spoke again, his voice lower than before. “I know a teacher isn’t supposed to love a student but..” His fingers paused atop the folder in front of him, smile softening into something almost melancholy. “I can’t help myself. You’re wonderful.”
Marcy felt warmth creep into her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, unsure whether to respond.
So, Easterman went on. “You truly are my most remarkable creation.” His eyes remained fixed on hers a moment longer than necessary. Almost as if waiting for something.
Marcy understood him without needing another word. She shifted closer, her heartbeat loud enough that she wondered if he could hear it. Slowly, almost timidly, she reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his dry, weathered lips. She felt warmth bloom through her chest, spreading until it settled comfortably beneath her ribs.
When they finally parted, they remained close enough that their foreheads nearly touched. She searched his expression, desperate for any sign that she had pleased him.
Easterman's gaze softened in a way few people would have ever believed possible. "There you are," he murmured, almost to himself. "I'll never let you go. They can pry you from my cold, dead hands before they take you away from me." His hand lingered against her cheek, reluctant to let go, almost holding her face in place with that iron grip of his.
Marcy's smile came easily this time, small but sincere. "I know," she whispered.
And she believed him completely.