-Doc- Up and At 'Em

There are a startling number of people in this world who look at the suffering of their fellow man and choose not to give a fuck and a half about it. I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t take on this philosophy for myself, because giving even just a single fuck has been the number one cause of my pain lately. In fact, I’d say it’s been the only cause of my pain lately.

I went to talk to Boss…god, I don’t even know how many days ago now. Three? Four? When I had just awoken from my coma and was in the first stages of recovery, I said some things to him I really shouldn’t have. I’ve ruminated over them for a few weeks, and decided that I really did owe him an apology. I went to his office in the East Wing to do just that, but I was given a rather odd reward for my compassion. Boss started spouting off all sorts of things about his true nature, about what a fool he thought I was. I’ll be the first in the group to die, he says. I tried to talk him down; he said he was going out to do some “odd jobs.” Fucked if I remember details.

Did I mention that he was in his Teller state of mind at the time? Oh, I should have, because the minute I realized there was no convincing him and agreed to stand down to let him leave the office, he grabbed me from behind and injected some sort of tranquilizer into my jugular vein. I’m still not entirely sure what he gave me, but all I remember after that was being dragged into the living room before I passed out.

Next thing I knew, Steele and August were standing above me, tucking me into my own bed. I tried to mumble out what happened to me. I think they understood, but August immediately shushed me and told me it wasn’t time to wake up yet. I must have agreed with him, because I immediately fell back asleep. I’ve recovered to the point of being functional, of course, but whatever Teller injected me with did not agree with the morphine I was already on. And thus, my recovery receives yet another setback. I’m a bit upset that I’ve had to deal with the pain in my arm au naturelle since; frankly, I’m quite lucky to be alive. Teller is a clever fucker indeed, but a doctor (even a fake one) he is not; I’m not sure if he completely understood just how terrible wantonly mixing drugs could be. August has been helping me detox myself a bit, so I know for certain I’m going to live. I’ve been feeling very sluggish and groggy, but today, I woke up feeling much better. I think I’ll go out on a walk; the fresh air would do me some good.

As for the Boss, last I heard, he locked himself in his office. Like hell if I'm even going near him again soon, so he can sit in there and not give me a fucking overdose.

Stay safe, everyone.

(PS: Steele, if you’re nice to the Boss, he might give you that shiny new copy of Catch-22 he bought for you.)

-Doc- Bad Medicine

As Steele has helpfully pointed out in past comments, I am not a real doctor. I do not claim to be one, despite my years of schooling in medicine, but I do my absolute best to ensure that every patient I see is treated well and has benefited at least slightly from my intervention. This applies especially to this team: what many of us have come to consider our family.

When I went to give Todd his sedatives last night, I had the opportunity to speak to all three personalities inhabiting his mind. Todd just wanted me to shoot him up and get it over with, but before I could, Sybil emerged. I don’t often get to speak to Sybil, so I put the syringe away and took the opportunity to have a chat with him. I don’t usually deal well with children, and Sybil is very childlike at his core. I asked him if things were okay, and the answer he gave was…well, in some parts, it was disturbing. I won’t share all he said for the sake of his privacy, but one thing struck me in particular:

“When you give us that medicine, none of us /really/ go to sleep. We just go into one place where we don’t move as well, like a dream. And Grosvenor and Todd fight without talking or moving at all.”

I immediately asked him if this was okay, and he seemed to think so, because the sedatives help him to relax. At the time, I blindly accepted this answer and gave the injection. Sybil thanked me and smiled.

Suddenly, Todd’s hand grabbed my left wrist, wrenching it in his direction a little. I winced painfully for my poor shoulder. A gruff voice from the depths of his throat shouted, “The fuck?! What did you say to him?!”

I reflexively tried to pull away (not a very good idea, I think that’s when I popped one of my stitches), ordering Grosvenor to let go. He wouldn’t of course, but we proceeded to have an…odd conversation. Honestly, he reminds me of Marcus near the end of our relationship, with just a dash of murder added in for good measure. He mostly tried to re-explain how he is “scar tissue, not really human,” and I proceeded to explain why that is a load of bullshit. He is a piece of Todd’s mind, and Todd is human, whether he likes it or not. So that makes him at least a piece of a human, if only by association. Grov, sorry that “sorta human by association” doesn’t sound nearly as imposing as “inhuman,” but it’s far more accurate.

As his posture faltered and his words became more nonsensical (he even claimed he would be able to read the writing in the bones I’ve been finding; what a crock), I bid him good night. Todd returned, confused and feeling the effects of the drugs.

“Grov…that guy…” he slurred as his pupils dilated. I shushed him and helped him up, letting him lean on my right shoulder as I led him to bed. “That guy…that…that guy…” he mumbled. I gently shushed him again, helping him to the bed. He stumbled, his weight like another dagger in my wounded shoulder despite my good posture, but I kept him steady. Once he slid onto the bed, he looked at me through his glassy, half-open eyes.

“That guy is so full of sh-”

He trailed off as his eyes slid shut and his head lolled to his shoulder. I stayed a moment to ensure that he was comfortable, shut the light off, and closed the door as I exited. Then noticed that I had been bleeding from my shoulder and took care of that.

I feel terrible. While Sybil did say he didn’t mind, from his description, I see things this way: every time I’ve been administering these sedatives, I’ve been essentially trapping Todd within his own mind to contend with these personalities with no easy escape. He’s found no peace in this process. While it’s a necessary evil in some cases due to Grosvenor’s violent outbursts, but from this point on, I don’t believe I’ll be relying on sedation, heavy or light, as anything but an emergency measure in anyone’s treatment plan.

After all, it's my job to help you all be as healthy as possible so you have the best chance at survival, not to torture you.