I don't know how fast I'll be updating this, it's sort of a side project to everything else I'm doing. I just wanted an excuse to pick apart Kevin's brain and have some Gwevin fluff thrown in the mix. Yeah.

Disclaimer: I have zero rights to Ben 10. All characters are copywrite Cartoon Network and Man of Action.

Usually when you go to another planet for the first time you're supposed to take an oral vaccine against whatever crazy alien diseases your species' biology might get sick from. These days most planets won't even let you enter their atmosphere unless you have a vaccine synthesizer on board. It's practically second nature to anyone who's been around the galaxy at all, like using a seatbelt or something. At least it's supposed to be.

Guess who forgot to pop the pill this time?

It's not my fault. Well, I guess it kinda is, but it's not like you can blame me. I'd been stuck on one rock for six months straight fixing up other people's shitty cars for a quick buck. Space travel protocol was the last thing on my mind.

Not to mention Tennyson called me out there for no goddam reason. He said it was because there was some tech he needed identified out there- I don't get why the hell his new partner couldn't do it, but I agreed anyway- but then it turned out the thing wasn't even there. After that he kept saying it was for "old times sake" or some sappy bullshit like that. I swear to god, I don't see him for a month and he turns into one of those annoying yappy dogs that tackles you whenever you come home from work. It's his fault I had to go on that planet in the first place.

I guess it doesn't matter much now. I sorta lucked out, now that I think about it. My Osmosian DNA, or more accurately the human DNA that isn't there because of it, is keeping the fungus from actually hurting me. Doesn't change the fact that my stomach is a sack of acid. It's still doing it's thing like it usually does, even if I don't have any symptoms. Grows in my stomach, I cough up the spores, more people get infected, the stuff in my stomach dies and I'm in the clear. The doctors told me it'll take three weeks.

In the meantime, I'm stuck in this shithole of a containment room with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and fight the urge to punch out that goddam lightbulb that won't stop flickering.

I've been in here for three days. Eighteen to go. I am going to kill myself. After all the shit I've been through in my life, all that time in the Null Void, all those aliens trying to kill me, sitting around in a tiny room with a flickering lightbulb is going to make me fucking kill myself.

I don't know what the walls are made of. Some sort of weird plastic alloy. The bed, chair, and urinal are the same stuff. When I absorb it and make a sharp point out of it I can scratch the wall, but that doesn't tell me much about how hard it is. The only real way to know would be taking a shot at the glass wall, the one between my cell and the visitor's room, but if I managed to crack it the Plumbers running this place would shoot me or something. Anyway, I just absorbed it for the millionth time. Not like that's going to accomplish anything.

I hear the door to the visitor's room opening. Well, it could be any noise I'm hearing, the glass muffles it so much that everything sounds the same, but what else can it be? I turn around- yup, called it. Whoopie.

For a second I get all excited and think someone actually came to visit me, but no, it's one of the guys who come to feed me three times a day. And by feed me, I mean pass me a IV bag full of nutrient juice through a slide with three different airlocks and make me stab my own wrist with the needle. None of them are willing to come in here, even with suits on, because the spores are too hard to sanitize off of stuff. Not that I mind having to do it myself, it's not that hard, but every time I do it, it reminds me of that time right after I got out of the Null Void when some douchebag I used to deal with, Dan Reinman or something, talked me into shooting up with heroin a few times. It'll get me reminiscing for hours.

That's probably the worst part about this place. Too much time to think. The one thing I like about being a Plumber and fighting the bad guys is that there isn't any time to think about the shitty side of life. Well, and I know I'd be doing Dad proud. And it makes me feel good about myself for once. And I get to be with Gwen more often. Ben too, I guess, he's less of an asshole than he used to be, or maybe I am, I don't know. Whatever. Anyway, what I was saying, I don't have to think about anything but how to stop alien criminals or how to fix up a spaceship, well, now it's mostly fixing up cars at the shop, but still, it keeps me busy. Nothing to do that here.

I jab the IV into my arm and relax into the chair. It's no use fighting it. I try to think about that order I have waiting back at the shop, hopefully Ricky will cover it because I'm sure as hell not, not while I'm in here... And just like that I'm fucking thinking about my old life again.

Alright, I admit, I've never been good with taking the vaccine tablet. There was one other time it came back to bite me in the ass. I was 13, six months fresh out of the Void, and Hectrik, a fellow lowlife who pitied me enough to take me in as his assistant, was dragging me along to some planet I can't even remember the name of to make a simple tech trade, I can't remember what or with who we were trading either. All I remember is that it was my third time off-planet and I thought I was too cool for the pill. Spent the next week with a migraine and another symptom I'd rather not talk about.

I was such an idiot doing that. At least this time I could just say I was rusty. It's pathetic, either way. My dad tried so hard to get me in the habit. Every time we went somewhere new he'd make me take a sugar pill. One time, I think I was seven, we were going to some beat-down amusement park, and he gave me the pill and just wouldn't take it. He wouldn't let me out of the car. It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like he was keeping me there for hours. Eventually he started leaving without me. I caved. And I was bawling my eyes out, I swear to god. He came back and I took the pill and he carried me over to the park and we went on one of those big scary roller coasters together...

I'm tearing up. I'm fucking tearing up. I grit my teeth and grind at my eyes. What am I, a goddam baby? I avenged Dad's death months ago. I did what I could. I've moved on.

I stare at the glass as if that's going to help me shut my fucking brain down. It doesn't. I slam my fist against the wall and the room shakes. No one's there to notice.

I'm so bored, I swear the next person to walk in is gonna stay and talk to me whether they want to or not. It'll either be that hobbling fishheaded guy with the extra set of arms and buck teeth or the midget Aerophibian thing who constantly mumbles to himself. Can't say I'd want to chat with either one of them, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The lights dim. That was dinner they just gave me; I'd have to wait until tomorrow for another food run. I unhook my IV and crash in the rock-hard bed, head spinning. I'm tired, but not because I'm sleepy or, well, tired, I'm just just... I don't know the word. I've heard Gwen use it a few times. Next thing I know I'm staring at the visitor room, half-expecting her to walk through that door and give me one of those amazing little smiles she gives me when she's been worried about me, right before she starts yelling at me about how much of a doofus I am.

She doesn't. My gut wrenches and I can't keep my eyes open anymore.

I try to relax and order myself not to dream, because the past two nights didn't go over so well in that department. It doesn't work.