The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

72

It takes me over a week to recover from being brought back to life.

It's either that or serious influenza, as fever and shakes rattle my whole body, my stomach churns and aches and protests and my chest feels like it's in a vice. Harleen brings me chicken noodle soup—thankfully from the bodega and not homemade—and washes my fluffy pyjamas and puts cheesy romantic movies on the television. Mercifully, her new friend Pamela doesn't come around while I'm sick, and I eye each of our houseplants with a hint of malice. I wonder for a moment if metahumans are psychic when it comes to first-vibes about their best friend's new best friend.

"You want me to take your appointments tomorrow?" Harleen asks that night, trying to spoon-feed me cream of wheat.

"No, I think I'll be fine," I say, trying to dodge the spoon and getting a chin full of wheat. As I wipe it with one of my many tissues, I say, "Perks of living with your boss, huh?"

"Won't be for much longer." Harleen successfully gets a spoonful into my mouth and asks, "Have you thought of a topic for your dissertation yet?"

"You have no idea," I mumble.

She blinks. "Well? What are ya thinking?"

"I don't know," I say. "I'll extend your research on personality disorders."

"Sienna," she says warningly. "We've talked about this. It has to excite you, light you up from the inside, or—"

"Or I'll never be able to push through it," I finish. "I know. I just... Honestly, I'm struggling to feel motivated anymore."

"Academia can be hard," she says kindly. "You've been at it for almost a decade now." She pauses, scraping the spoon around the bowl. "Did something happen?"

"What? Of course not," I say quickly.

"You've been a little..." Harleen gives her head a quick shake. "You've been sick," she lands on instead. "You're bound to feel run down. But you can't let that get in your way. You can't give up now. Think of all your work. Think of your student loan."

I sigh. "If only a mega-rich man became obsessed with me and had it cleared."

Harleen laughs. "Oh boy, you think he'd have a brother to do mine?"

Smiling, I take her hand. "You have no idea how much I appreciate you, Harleen."

"I love you, Sienna." She flings the bowl to the floor, droplets of wheat spraying everywhere, and flings her arms and legs around me in a bear hug. "I'll help you every step of the way. Okay? There's nothing more important than your dissertation. How about we find you a supervisor real quick? That might inspire you."

I think of how Professor Strange would react if I asked him to supervise my dissertation, and a shiver runs through me. "Maybe not too quick. Let's shop around first."

"You know, I would suggest asking Doctor Crane, but I think he's already taking on Pamela."

All air leaves my lungs. "I... He... What? Pamela?"

"Yeah. She's doing her doctorate, didn't I tell you? Botanicals and horticulture. Anyway, her last supervisor was a real skeeze, so I told her she should ask Doctor Crane. She took one of his classes last year, and he works a lot with compounds."

I wonder for a moment if this is a cruel twist of the timekeepers, or pure coincidence on Harleen's part. Either way, it doesn't matter. I try not to think about it. Try not to picture Jonathan sliding heart rate monitors over another woman's chest, the graze of his fingers at her wrist, the way his eyes will light up if she's open to trying the fear toxin...