SEPTEMBER 25TH, 2014
"--and what I'm telling you, sweetheart, is that I, simply, do not believe it's quite ready."
The Doctor rolled a pen back and forth between his thumb and index finger. Tie loosened, a few too many days of stubble accumulating on his composed visage. The last four years were a war of attrition for both of them, although for him, the cracks had only recently begun to show. His wife remained beautiful-- no, flawless-- as ever, and she gifted him only a sad smile.
"Look at me, hon. Look at me and tell me honestly how much time you think I have left."
She reached forward to grasp one of the chair's armrests with trembling, wrinkled fingers. As she struggled to pull herself out of the semi-reclined position, her thinning hair spilled across her weathered face. He couldn't look at her without seeing his own failure reflected in her condition. He furrowed his brow, dropped his gaze to her lap. She knew that expression all too well. The same dedication that made him a brilliant scientist, an unwavering companion, a dedicated husband-- it was his blessing and his curse.
"I think--"
"Oh, don't..."
"--that the uncertainty in our tritetrabenazine trial run warrants--"
"Stop it with the self-flagellation. You know--"
"--A closer look, maybe supplement it with regular infusions of--"
"NORMAN."
She raised her voice and the doctor fell silent. She never raised her voice. Not once in their 30 years together.
"Just... stop. For a second, just pretend you're back at work. This is just another case. I'm not your wife, just another patient. How old does this patient look?"
"...Approximately eighty years old."
"And family history. Medical complications. How long would you give anyone else in my condition?"
He dropped his head into his hands.
"Months," he admitted morosely.
The doctor felt a hand come to rest on his cheek. He leaned into the touch, lifting his head to look into her eyes.
"I know you can figure this out," she said lovingly, "but you can't do it if you're dividing your time between the lab and-- caring for me."
"So, what, you expect me to leave you to die?"
"I didn't say that."
"What, put you into-- into a home where some- some wage-slave without even a rudimentary grasp of your condition can scroll on his cell phone while you waste away? No. I would never."
"Honey. Breathe."
"Not going to consider the cryonic approach either. I don't care what Conrad says. There is no way to lower the temperature of an intact human body fast enough. It's a fool's pursuit."
"Okay, so then you don't do it intact."
"...You don't--? Gina, that's insane. You--"
"You remember what you told me after our wedding?"
"...About our vows."
"You said that you thought it was 'childish and pessimistic to assume death could part us'."
---------------------------------------------"...childish and pessimistic to assume death could part us. I remember."
He stood up, pacing towards the window, disappeared into the cluttered recesses of his mind for a few long moments.
"What if--" she began. "What if you were right?"
Norman turned back to look at his wife.
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