Before, Linda had thought this would be like putting a child to bed: panic, insults, stalling, distractions, outright refusals for cooperation, and possibly even physical resistance. Now, she realized he wasn't going to do any of that. To him, this was going to be much more like bending him over her knee and striking him until he came up with an acceptable answer. They both expected a confession; she was the only one who understood they each had their own version of the term.
"Michael, whatever you think is going to happen, it won't. The whole point of this is to get emotional context without your answers influenced by fear or coercion."
"You won't help me," he muttered, placing his hands back in his lap and looking past her. He no longer considered her a threat, more something boring he wished would leave or go back to being a threat.
"Can't or won't?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.
"Won't," he stated, placing his hands flat between his knees. "I don't need heightened senses to smell money."
"Michael, this is free," she commented.
He shook his head. "I don't want to meet with anyone. I don't want to stay here. I don't want to be forcefed any drugs and I don't want to be cut up and stabbed as a test subject. I don't want to sit here and guess what answer you want so you can prove something for another research grant. The only reasons you haven't tossed me in a room and made up your analysis is because your check is riding on proper procedure."
Linda quietly set her pen and pad of paper down on the table. "I'm sorry. This is my fault; I completely overestimated S.H.I.E.L.D.'s competency and how much you had been informed. The only thing keeping you here is this interview. No one's committed you here and I haven't signed any orders. There's no bail set, given your previous compliance with the courts. Maia called local jails just now," she pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. She typed a response while turning back to Michael. "None of the other jails will take you, I'm sorry. You're not staying here, you're being accommodated. You're just here to wait for your fri—Max and Hector. It's perfectly legal for you to walk out that door when this is over, but to be honest, you have no money, you're in a prison uniform, and it's 1:00 on a sunny afternoon. Frankly, I'd recommend you use your time here as if it were a hotel. If you ever wanted to be spoiled, this would be the best time to take advantage of the opportunity."
"In exchange for what?" he asked. He wasn't used to people offering him anything pleasant without the other shoe needing to be dropped.
"Hardly any bargains you're used to. Practically nothing," she said, hoping to convince him this place was a harmless as it was supposed to be. "Usually we require residents to adhere to a regulated schedule to encourage social activity, but you aren't required to be here. Plus, as much as I'm fine interaacting with you, we'd rather not risk you scaring our patients—or any of them scaring you. Social activities are optional in case you're interested; we only require adherence to hygiene rules and dress code fromyou, though."
"What about drugs?" he asked.
Linda pressed her fingers to her temple. This was going to be a long day. "You're not committed here. We can't administer anything unless there's an emergency. At most, you're fed blood out of regulation thermoses."
She was received with a long pause; he was still doubting he'd be free of danger intended and ill-treatment for once. "That's it?"
"That's it, Michael."
"No tests?" he asked.
"All of them are optional if any are recommended. You can even come in later and take them if Max and Hector changed your minds,a dn even then we wouldn't if we suspect coercion."
More silence. Minutes of silence. Then, a few words, hoping to return to silence. "I have no answers. I don't know and never have."
He didn't receive silence. "You're referring to when you bit Ms. Jaffrey?" She didn't even miss a beat. She knew exactly what he meant.
"Yes. Isn't that...?" he didn't know if he should finish the sentence, let alone if he should have started it. It was too late to backpedal now.
"That's more likely something the prosecutor is interested in. What I need to ask you about is what prompted your actions right after that. Everyone reported you as perfectly compliant with Max and the police until then. Did you remember any of that after your blackout ended?"
Linda's breath caught in her throat as she watched him for an answer. She expected to slowly wheedle out an explanation of simple surprise and panic over finding blood in his mouth and yet another victim after so many months Nearly every patient she had met had tried to run away from confusion or fear. This should have been easy, even normal, for all his refusal and stalling.
It wasn't.
Instead, she watched something inside of him crumble. The last bit of strength he had to defy her and what little he had to hide behind to protect himself from a friend who had gone to the trouble of making sure Michael was treated like a human being again had been torn down and he was afraid of picking up the pieces. His gaze drifted to the floor, almost as if he wanted to watch the proverbial pile of dust. "Everything, I remembered everything after that. I had answers for everything, except that...I thought I had answers." His voice cracked, turning hoarse. He shook his head, tossing long, matted curls about. He managed to speak, his voice cracking from the emotions, ones that became obvious he feared more than her. "I don't even know where it came from. I just wanted my friend to think of me as a human...a real person. Even in prison, even if the police took me away, I could be treated like one. I thought I could leave him with enough to finish the cure if they came to get me first. I could get out of jail with the money I made at Horizon like anyone else. Not a bribe, but whatever fines they decided on."
"Michael, are you saying planned to send yourself to jail?" Linda asked. If The Raft turned out to be the best thing to happen to him that day, how confused did he have to be to think that way?
"I didn't have a choice." The strength in voice had returned. Flat, unemotional, dull, nothing but a statement. Water is wet. The sky is blue. "Horizon was losing donors and grants by the day because of me. I needed the DNA of the boy, but no one wanted to give Max permission for anything realted to my work. If I ran away, he'd come looking for me, or Spider-Man would. The problems wouldn't stop until I was officially gone. At least Max would remember me like everyone else...like I used to be. Horizon was his dream and I was damaging it."
Linda wondered if he ever thought jail would keep Spider-Man from bothering him. "You don't put any of that blame on Spider-Man for outing you?"
Michael shook his head again. "He was right. He called me a 'loser'," Michael's accent beecame thick, his tongue working with the word as if it were a piece of hot shrapnel lodged in his teeth. "He told me there was nothing tragic about my life anymore. He was right." It was a confession. Truth forced out. His truth.
"You don't seem to hold any hatred towards him when you talk about him, yet you seem afraid of him."
"I just want to be done with him," Michael said, practically pleading to the carpet. "I don't want any 'help' or apologies. I don't want to wait until he changes his mind again, or what he thinks is right for me, I don't care if he thinks he understands or if it's just pity. I don't want any more to do with him."
"He's offered these things before?" There weren't any news articles of these two getting along. Ever.
"He's insisted most of the time. I tried—I thought I could predict it. I don't want to anymore. I don't want to blame him or hate him or admire him or anything. I don't want anything to do with him. I want to be done with him."
"That sounds like a wise choice, Michael," she said, suddenly scribbling in her notepad.
He looked up, wondering what had happened. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing without your permission, Michael. I can recommend the court order a restraining order or perhaps requiring Spider-Man take courses on conduct or anger management. I can't promise anything—it's hard to serve orders to someone who has no civilian identity or address—but a note from a psychiatrist could have some impact if you wanted it written up and would affect any contracts if anyone hires him. I could at least let Hector know that meeting with Spider-Man would be itself and that if he wants to settle, he probably should ask for different conditions."
"You can do that?" Michael asked. He was still confused that someone in authority agreed with him about this. No more the fault of the vampire, even if it was an accident.
"I'm not a lawyer, but my signature can be used to put pressure on him. If he still insists, he'd be negotiating against a lot more compensation than before."
"Only if I want?" Confusion still.
"Only if you want, Michael."
"Then yes, please. I don't care if you tell them he hurt me. I would appreciate anything to keep from having to worry about what he wil do next."
"I'll do everything I can for you, Michael, I promise."
"That's all there is, though," he said, returning to the floor. "All I wanted was to be human for Max, at least to be as close to one as I could for him.. But...I suddenly found myself more monster than anything. In front of Max. I know I was shot by the child, but all I could think of was that it could have been Max's blood in my mouth, and after everything he had done for me.
"Except...there was more. I remembered everything. I could heard Niko's voice fading. I cold feel the boat rocking under my feet. I could smell the ocean.
"I could have lost Max the same way. I don—didn't want to lose my last good friend because I couldn't do enough for them like I always have. I don't want to be that….to him." His voice faded away. There was something else now, something she couldn't see. "I'm sorry, I don't even know what I am anymore." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and kept his head bowed.
He couldn't keep it up anymore. No one had ever tried to help him like this since...since before he had been turned into this mockery of mythology and mankind again. He couldn't stop the tears.
"Michael?" Linda asked, softly, leaning towards him while making sure she stayed in her seat. She had no idea if personal space was still one of the few things he had or if was now just another awkward luxury everyone else could afford easily while he barely remembered the connotation.
No answer. No movement save for soft shaking that rustled his hair. Then drops began to fall from his face to the fabric of his pants. No more hiding what he was doing. No more pretending it never happened before.
No more comfort by keeping it a secret.
She pulled out a packet of tissues from a different pocket of her coat. "Here," she said, sliding it along the table. "Michael, it's okay," she said as she carefully pulled her hand away
His hand left his kneed and moved towards the tissues, then swiftly retreated back. His shaking had lessened. Both hands curled over his knees, pulling at the fabric. More drips. He was calculating. Would he lose more giving in and inviting condescension or fighting this out alone while being watched?
"Michael, Max doesn't blame you for what happened. He told me to make sure everyone here understood it was outside forces that caused what happened. Spider-Man and Ms Jaffery may say something different, but I'm only here to help listen to what you say. You're safe here, I'l help you with this."
No answer. One last drip as he reached for the tissues, this time without stopping.
"Michael-"
He held the tissue to his eyes, as if to concentrate on hold it there. "I don't want to see Max. I ran away—flew away. He couldn't have suspected I was innocent then and...he wouldn't have cared. I just wanted to get away."
"To where?" she asked. It was an innocent question. She finally had an ulterior motive and it was to distract him from being so upset. She wasn't digging for more information this time.
She got more. "Away. Anywhere. I just wanted to disappear. He was my last friend in the world. I just wanted to disappear from the world. I didn't didn't want to be a part of it anymore, so much of it woul be better off without me."
"Michael, that's—that all for now. If you want to leave immediately, we can hold all your things in your room. If you'd like to stay, I can escort you there after you calm down. You can take all the time you want."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, crumpling the wet tissue in his hands. More work for others. More burdens. He was a nuisance again. He couldn't even find a reason to strike her. She wasn't violent or angry and her threats amounted to talking some more.
"Michael, this is completely understandable for a man who's been through what you have. It's perfectly healthy to express feelings like this. It's human."
No punishment. No locking himself away for longer in here. No drugs. No needles. After so much fear of revisiting that moment, someone had given him back what he'd thought he'd lost in it.
A doctor had promised him he was human.