Author's Note: Where did all the reviews go? Did I break this website? Many thanks to those who reviewed this story- my emails told me that you have and I've replied where I could, but the reviews themselves are still MIA.
I was glad to see that many of you of schooling age are familiar with the orbital model of the atom. I guess your science schooling was better than mine- I only learnt at 17 when I had chosen to study Chemistry at A-level. I'm not sure what the equivalent of that is in the US, but A-levels are highly specialised courses that are taken with a view to studying a set subject at university.
Anyway, let us continue. It's time for Jacques to make some bad decisions. If you're wondering about Jacques' reaction to Erwin's suggested diagnosis here, remember this is the 70s...
The Shadow On The Reef
Chapter Thirteen: Bootstraps
"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." - Andy Warhol
After his conversation with Tyler, Jacques had another cup of coffee, but rather than sitting and moping, he took this one to his room and paced back and forth with it cradled in his hands while it cooled. Occasionally, he paused to look out of the window, before getting back to pacing again.
We are all different. I am not a copy of Théo. I am me.
He had always known it, really. He had a good eye for human behaviour and if he hadn't been told repeatedly that all the clones were the same, he would have figured it out months ago. The problem was that it was obvious to Jacques he was an inferior copy, in so many ways. Surely the others had realised this as well? They must have done. How could they not? Marcus, the perfect example of what a Spy should be, surely had. Hadn't he?
Jacques walked calmly over to his room's window and opened it. A warm breeze curled around him, smelling of the sea. He held his coffee cup over the long drop, and let go.
Unacceptable.
The plain white cup plummeted down the side of the tall building. By some miracle, it missed the rocky outcrop and splashed into the sea. If he was not good enough, then he had to change. He had to become better. He could feel energy filling him. A new sense of purpose beckoned. He refused to be anything but the best.
I will never let another person die due to my incompetence. Never.
So. Where to start?
With another coffee?
Jacques carefully made himself a fresh cafetiére of dark roast coffee, and sat back down, drumming his fingers. Now he had to consider his weaknesses, and decide how to conquer them. Perhaps make a list? No- that would be too depressing.
Let us start with intelligence. Well, he didn't seem to be lacking there. He considered himself well above average compared with the other mercenaries. Not on Engineer's level, perhaps, but...more than adequate. Although...Marcus had been quicker at drawing conclusions than he had, several times. What could he do about that? Study. Learn more. Spend some time off-base renewing contacts.
More important was his general feeling of being weaker and less strong than the other Spies. Admittedly, strength was not their forté, but stamina and determination most certainly was, and he was lacking there. He seemed to need more sleep and got tired more easily. So, how did one improve on that? It was a matter of health...
Oh no...
That meant medical. Which meant a Medic. Perhaps I'm not doing so badly after all... But no, he knew that was not true. He couldn't go on like this- being mediocre at best, an utter failure at worst. If he had to see a Medic, he had to see a Medic. Clenching his jaw, he decided that he owed Erwin an enjoyable session of poking and prodding him, anyway- it might assuage his sense of guilt over what had happened to the doctor. Yes. I will go and see Erwin. Right now.
He squared his thin shoulders and took a deep breath before opening the door, and making his way to Erwin's quarters. He guessed that since everyone from the Peru mission was on compassionate leave, he'd be there rather than in his laboratory.
There was the sound of hammering inside as he opened the door and some muttering in German.
"Docteur?"
"Ah, Jacques." The hammering stopped, and Erwin turned around to face him, his black hair salted with wood shavings. Kepler shot down from his shoulder and landed on the floor in front of Jacques, spreading his tail and pacing back and forth with his chest puffed out. "Oh, silly bird! He is not a zhreat. Such a pretty tail! Come here." Erwin knelt down and scooped up the bad tempered dove, stroking the little white head.
"He certainly is striking," Jacques said hesitantly. "The peacock tail is an...interesting addition."
"Ja, it is, isn't it?" Erwin gave one of his slightly-too-keen smiles, and Jacques started to regret coming to see him. "A side project of mine is inserting and activating genomes from different species. It's more complicated zhan you might zhink. Zhe results are stunning aren't zhey?"
"Yes, stunning," Jacques replied faintly.
"I have a few other ideas...but zhat's for anozher day. Geht da drüben, hübscher Vogel," Erwin said, shooing Kepler away and gesturing to a chair. Jacques checked it carefully for any signs of gore or blood, but it seemed fine and he sat down. "It's good to see you. Is zhere somezhing I can do for you?"
"Yes, Erwin, I... Yes, this is more than just a social visit," Jacques admitted. He paused for moment, coming up with a suitable lie that would get what he wanted. "Lately, I have been feeling somewhat...weak and tired. I was wondering what I should do about that?"
"Hmm," Erwin said. He came up the shorter man and quickly grabbed his lower eyelid and pulled it.
"Mon dieu!" Jacques said, resisting the urge to pull away and rip his own eyelids off. "What are you aghhrrhhhrr..." Erwin had moved on and wrench his jaw open. He made a thoughtful noise, and then let go.
"Let me see your hands," He demanded. Jacques paused before peeling his gloves off. "You bite your nails."
"Yes, yes, I know," Jacques said in irritation. Erwin turned his hand this way and that, apparently fascinated by it.
"Is this an examination or a marriage proposal?" Jacques asked.
"Examination," He confirmed, flashing Jacques a quick smile. "It does look like you're a little anaemic. Zhat is somezhing of a puzzle. I am as well, you see. All of us who went to Peru are, according to zhe blood tests. Albrecht and I can't figure out vhy zhat vould be. It's easily treated."
"Wait...you said Albrecht took blood tests and yet you still felt the need to maul me about just now to confirm what you already knew?" Jacques asked.
Erwin just shrugged. "Good medicine is zhe art of observation. Zhankfully, zhe treatment is simple: rest, plenty of red meat and dark leafy greens. A good diet. Now...vhere are zhey..." Erwin turned away from him and started rummaging in a drawer. Jacques leant back against a wall and waited patiently. "Ah!" He threw a bottle at Jacques, who failed to catch it. Erwin raised one of his thin eyebrows at that.
"What is this?" Jacques asked, stooping to pick up the little plastic bottle. "Oh! I assumed it would be more dubious."
"Iron and vitamin B supplement," Erwin explained. "I've been taking zhem myself. Zhey have helped me regain energy after...everyzhing."
"I...suspect I need more help than a healthy diet," Jacques said hesitantly. He picked his glove up and slipped it back on.
"Hmm... It is possible zhat..." Erwin tapped his finger against his lips. "Jacques, sit."
Jacques sat back down slowly and cautiously.
"Has your sleep been disturbed recently?"
"Oddly enough, it has. I think it has something to do with watching my best friend die."
"Nein, nein, go back a bit. Has it been disturbed for zhe last monzh or more?"
"Maybe..." Jacques said slowly. "It takes a long while for me to get to sleep, and then I wake up too late."
"How has your appetite been?"
"Normal, I suppose?"
"You suppose?" Erwin leapt on the word like a hawk on a mouse.
"I mean I...do not have the best appetite at any time."
"Have you felt zhe need to smoke more, or use ozher recreational drugs? Caffeine or alcohol, for instance?"
"I...yes, perhaps I have smoked somewhat more than usual," He admitted.
"I'm surprised zhat's even possible," Erwin remarked sarcastically. "Have you noticed any changes in your ability to concentrate? Any problems wizh memory?"
"Yes, I have felt tired and... docteur, where is this line of reasoning headed?" Jacques asked. "If you have an illness in mind, just let me know which organs you wish to remove or mutilate."
"Given your recent behaviour, I am wondering if you have a mild case of clinical depression."
"Depression?" Jacques snapped. "That is ridiculous!"
"Ah, please," Erwin said, holding his hand up. "Depression is as much a physical disorder as a mental one, and a person vizh your...hmm, how can I put zhis... introspective and blame-driven personality... is just zhe sort of person who vould be prone to it. However, it can happen to anyvone. It is a disease and it can be treated."
"By a lobotomy, perhaps?"
"Your medical knowledge is dreadful," Erwin replied with a disapproving sniff. "You need a course of antidepressants. I zhink ve could start vizh imipramine. I'll have to lookup zhe correct dosage..."
"Absolutely not," Jacques said suddenly. "I appreciate your concern, Erwin, but this is not the treatment I am looking for."
"Zhen vhat are you looking for?" Erwin asked.
Jacques paused. What indeed? What else should he have expected, asking the mad doctor for advice? Why had this even seemed like a good idea?
What he said next to Medic was something Jacques always remember. It was the moment that sealed his fate.
"I do not want to be a liability any longer. I want to be the best," Jacques said quietly. "The best Spy. In the Institute. In the world. I want an edge."
"Hmm," Erwin said, cocking his head on one side in thought. "Zhat vould be an interesting challenge."
"I was thinking more of an exercise regimen," Jacques said. "And I do not have depression."
"You are zhe best judge of zhat, not me," Erwin said blandly.
"I am not that kind of person," He said with a disapproving sniff.
"As you say," Erwin said calmly. He got to his feet, and Jacques stood up as well. "Vell, it seems I have some planning to do."
"No implanting exotic organs, docteur."
"Vould I do such a thing?" Erwin asked.
"Oui. You would," Jacques replied flatly.
"Vell...yes. But I swear I von't do zhat zhis time."
"What do you mean 'this time'?" Jacques asked, but he got no reply as Erwin shooed him out of the room.
Jacques walked away thoughtfully. Whatever Erwin came up was likely to be utterly horrific, and he was ready to politely refuse. Or possibly even rudely refuse, it necessary.
He strolled back to his room, thinking about the other thing he had mentioned. Preposterous! To suggest I am depressed!
He sniffed disapprovingly.
Ridiculous!
Scoutbot was bored.
He landed on the roof of the Institute and watched the seagulls fly around him. He didn't like seagulls. Nasty little fuckers. They deliberately crapped on him, he was sure of it.
Bored. So bored now. Reaaaaally bored.
All the other Scouts were busy doing awesome stuff of some sort, so that meant one thing: It was time to make some trouble. So, who could he go and annoy? So many possibilities...
Hmm...
Now that was a good idea! He could go bug someone and do a good deed at the same time! How cool was that? He walked over to the rooftop door and wrenched it open, before hurrying down to Albrecht's infirmary. Why the hell is he the only Medic who actually does medical stuff round here, anyway? Shouldn't they take turns? Did he, like, get the short straw or some such shit?
He banged on the door and then shoved it open, striding into the stark white bed-lined room. Albrecht was sat at a desk, tapping a pen on his teeth. He looked up in surprise when the robot entered. He gave a thin and not-particularly welcoming smile.
"Hello, Scoutbot. You're zhe last visitor I vould expect," He said.
"Oh, heh, yeah. If I get sick, I go and see Dell."
"Just as vell. All zhat oil and grease is disgusting," Albrecht replied, wriggling his nose in revulsion. "I'm glad I don't have to deal vizh it. Eh, no offence."
"Wait, wait- you work with blood, puke, and shit, and you think a bit of grease is disgusting?" Scoutbot chortled. "That's just crazy."
"Zhey are useful diagnostic tools. Grease is just grease. Nasty, slippery and hard to clean," Albrecht replied. "So, can I do somezhing for you?"
"Uh, yeah..." Scoutbot looked around curiously. "Hey, where's Vlad? Wasn't he over there?"
Albrecht suddenly gave a frown mixed with sadness. "I've moved him to my own room for his convalescence. He... needs time to adjust to his current condition."
"So, he's getting better? That's cool. You know, loads of the guys wanna know how's he doing."
"He's in a stable condition," Albrecht replied mechanically.
"I bet he has, like, wicked scars," Scoutbot said insistently. "Or is he missing arms and legs or stuff? I mean, there must be a reason why he's hiding like this. Does he look super-gross?"
"He is not hiding!" Albrecht snapped, slamming his hands down on the desk and rising to his feet. "If you are just here to try and gawp at my patients, you can get out."
"Woah, woah, no need to get so defensive, Doc! I mean, I just wanted to see the little guy. He must be bored sick by now!"
A rubber-gloved hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his throat. Albrecht snarled as he yanked the robot closer with surprising strength.
"'Little guy?'" Albrecht hissed.
"Jeez, doc, way to overreact! And yeah, you keep squeezing my neck. Go on, do it. That's real scary for a robot," Scoutbot replied easily. "Cos, you know, you might manage to bend a joint a bit outta place, if you're really strong."
"How did you find out?" Albrecht demanded hoarsely, not letting go. Scoutbot was surprised to see that the man's cheeks were actually starting to redden and his eyes glistened slightly.
"Chill, bro. I've not told anyone," Scoutbot said soothingly. "And yeah, so I found out. I mean, he had a bed by the window and I can fucking fly, right?"
Albrecht let go of him suddenly. Scoutbot wobbled for a moment before gaining his balance.
"I can't fix zhis," Albrecht said quietly, looking away from Scoutbot. "He's my... and I can't help him!"
"I guess he doesn't wanna be seen, right? Big guy like him, made so tiny?" Scoutbot said. "I mean he's, what, six inches tall?"
"Twenty-two centimetres," Albrecht muttered, sitting down suddenly and resting his head in his hands. "Ah, Gott."
"I had this idea. He must be going nuts right now, but, you know, there's some cool stuff you can do when you're real small. Stuff no one else here can do."
"Like?" Albrecht said bleakly.
"Like going flying with me," Scoutbot stated. "I mean, flying is awesome! And now he can join me. He'll love it, and it'd be great to... to... have some company. You know."
Albrecht blinked rapidly. He gave a small shaky smile. "I vill ask him. Zhe fresh air vould do him good."
"Yeah he needs to have some fun! I tell you, it'll be so cool!" Scoutbot said eagerly. "You go ask him, Doc, and let me know."
"Ja, I vill." Albrecht blinked a few more times, and then cleared his throat, picking up his clipboard again. "I have vork to do right now, but...danke, Scoutbot."
"Hey, no problem," Scoutbot replied. "See ya soon."
The robot waved goodbye and walked out, speeding up into a run as he entered the corridor. As he raced along, he decided he'd have to get hold of the other Scouts and see if any of them had any Ant-Man comics they could share...
In Chapter Fourteen: Erwin has an idea about how to help Jacques- but should he accept it?