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Ollivander had rested easier once Nick had left his tent and bid him goodbye, but the nagging feelings came and went. Downing the last of his rum, he grumbled and went looking for more, rummaging around drawers and trunks and pacing his tent relentlessly. Why was he so on edge? Why were all his alerts running in his mind, as if something was terribly wrong and he needed to fix it or escape? His life was good here, it wasn't perfect, but hardly anyones life was. He was doing what he'd always wanted his entire life, being a top notch doctor, helping people. He'd even crafted a little family here, and had a lover to boot. Granted, not an unmarried one, but still, enough to keep himself calm and content. It wasn't a grand life, full of adventure or wonder, but it was enough. Wasn't it?

Then why did he feel as if this was all so wrong? The more he drank the more wrong everything felt, the angrier he got with himself. It was frustrating being unable to sort out his own mind, to figure out the puzzle before him. He was only 25, he was hardly having a midlife crisis. Things had even felt wrong with Nick. Why had he had a sudden urge not to share a drink with the man? They'd been intimate many times, and again in his tent earlier, in the closest of ways there was absolutely no reason to be squeamish about sharing germs from a damned drink. And why on earth did his tent continue to feel empty? The feel of the fur of his bed had only seemed to irritate him further as if someone else, something else perhaps, should be there but he couldn't place what. It was maddening that someone with his mental capacity and stature couldn't put his finger on it.

In hindsight, the drink probably wasn't helping as he'd gone through half of another bottle by now pacing madly. Digging through his medical bag he frowned. Why would he have a pager? They didn't use these at the circus. He just came when called. It looked like the kind of crappy, well used and standard issue one a hospital would give out to its attendings that were on call even if it was off at the moment. He shook his head and put it back, the confusion causing a migraine.

As he rubbed his temples, trying to will away the feeling of 'wrong' that surrounded him, he heard footsteps outside his tent and turned. Had Nick come back? While normally he wouldn't mind the man coming for a rare double visit, he wasn't sure he was in the best of moods right now for company and too distracted to make for a good lover. But then, Nick never skulked around his tent like these footsteps. The man simply waltzed in and loudly announced himself, taking what he wanted from the doctor and damn any sense of privacy Ollivander had. Raising an eyebrow he scowled at the opening of the tent, ready to go off on whomever was spying on him. Perhaps even, Nick's husband had finally put two and two together and had come to confront him? But that didn't seem quite right either with how careful he was to cover Nick's tracks for him.

"Who in the hell---" he started to roar as he flung open the tent flap, only to look around in disbelief and mild shock. There wasn't anyone there. Not a single soul. He quieted and started to sober, an eerie feeling settling over him. How could he feel threatened in his own home? Unless perhaps it wasn't....no, that was a silly thought and despite the lapses in security all day he wasn't going down that rabbit hole. Did he need a mental health day? Some time to find help? He couldn't be going insane could he? To be fair, it wasn't uncommon for genius level IQ individuals to have some mental instabilities or quirks of some kind. But split personality or schizophrenia was a bit much, he had thought. But then what else could cause such a disassociation to all things that were meant to be 'comfort' and 'home' to him?

He walked around the perimeter of his tent, and then checked the two others closest to his own, desperately hoping to find someone lurking around a corner. He didn't want to be hallucinating, couldn't bear the thought that he might be going crazy as panicked tears pricked his eyes. He'd accomplished so much academically in his life so far, he was too sharp for this, surely, too cultured and ambitious to let one days worth of disorientation tear his mind to pieces. Perhaps he was though. How else could someone explain hearing and seeing things? Being unable to remember the comings and goings of your day and when you'd moved from one place to another? He didn't even know how long Nick had actually stayed in his tent with him earlier, and looking at his pocketwatch didn't help at all. The damned thing seemed broken, ticking backwards and forwards all day long, and at times stopping completely. No. No. If a mind like his thought something was wrong, something was wrong, he knew it. Perhaps it was the drink that emboldened him but he was going to find the Ringmaster and talk to him right now about the odd comings and goings today, if he could just remember where the elusive man was.

"Dammit! Why isn't my brain working, come on, you are not this stupid Ollie! You don't have altruistic naive fluff between your ears like --"like who? Who had he been thinking of and referring to before his mind caught up? He couldn't quite say. Had he cared for someone else outside the circus? Did he have a roommate? He yelled to the nothing and mist that settled on the ever silent tents and slammed the nearly empty bottle of rum at his feet, the glass shattering as he stalked off back inside his tent. His fist connected with the metal examination table, the sound reverberating through the tent, the only accompaniment to his stormy mood.

He would find out what was going on if it was the last thing he did.

WC: 1039 -- x2 solo