We're gonna be taking a dive into a few things in this chapter that probably should be addressed anyway, but anyway, despite the universe doing all it can to make distractions, I still got this done.

Enjoy~

"I gotta say, this feels really weird…" Jacky said, folding his hands together as he wiggled his foot idly. "I'm not used to your office looking like this, Ms. Mustela."

Jacky was laying on a couch, and he wasn't sure if he preferred it to the familiar large chair he'd grown accustomed to from prior visits. He did not particularly like when things were suddenly different after a sudden lapse of time in his perspective.

"I had to make some changes once I relocated, Jacky." Ms. Mustela explained as she flipped through some folders in a cabinet before extracting a strangely thin one. "... Unfortunately, most of your files are still missing, so your folder isn't as thorough as it had been before, but at least we're familiar with each other."

"Yes, Ms. Mustela." Jacky agreed quietly, twiddling his thumbs. There's was a definite awkward air hovering around him, and he fidgeted ever so slightly. "... So, still no word on how those placebos came about?"

"With QuackWerks disbanded, I'm afraid that it will be very unlikely if we'll ever have an answer to that." The weasel shook her head. "At the very least, I'm just glad that you're back with us."

"Don't say it like that, it sounds like I died or something." Jacky tilted his head back to look at her.

"How would you rather we refer to that as then?" Ms. Mustela said earnestly.

Jacky closed his mouth for a few seconds and thought to himself before saying in a small voice: "... I dunno, but it's just really weird to hear about it from other perspectives, because as far as it seems from my point of view, I woke up four months later without remembering even falling asleep. At least when I went crazy the first time, I still had my wits about me, so to speak. Things made sense to me, even if it didn't to anyone else. I don't like being clueless."

"No one really does, Jacky." Ms. Mustela said, thumbing through the small stack of papers in the folder before sighing. "... I'm afraid that your last sessions aren't recorded in this folder, this is really getting to be too fishy."

"I'll say. It's like there's some conspiracy." Jacky chimed in, sounding a bit more amused than he should have. "Gosh, I wonder who I must have annoyed so much that they're trying to wipe me off the face of the earth?"

"I'm not sure, but at least now that QuackWerks has been disbanded, hopefully we'll have better security measures to make sure something like this won't happen again…" Ms. Mustela made a note on one of the papers with a pen. "I don't know how they managed to get such a monopoly on everything as fast as they did, but it's clear that whoever was behind it didn't have benign intentions in the long run."

"No one wants to tell me anything about how that whole disbanding thing happened." Jacky looked at his twiddling fingers as he kicked his feet in the air without much a thought as to why he was doing so. "Apparently, it's got something to do with me, so no one wants to 'compromise' my memories by giving me too much speculation."

"Perhaps for the best." The weasel agreed. "We don't want you to be believing things that didn't quite happen such ways."

"... Yeah." Jacky sighed and nodded automatically. "... I suppose you probably want me to talk about what happened last week between me and Darkwing, huh?"

"Only if you want to, Jacky. I'm here to listen to anything you feel like sharing."

"... I really didn't mean to do anything like that." Jacky was quiet. He stopped kicking his feet in the air and let his legs drop and hang over the arm of the couch. "... I can't really explain it well, but I just remember being so scared of that scary looking Mr. Banana Brain imposter. That's what I recall last, telling Darkwing to get rid of it, and the next thing I know, he's got me by the shoulders, screaming at me to wake up." Jacky sat up on the couch and grabbed his upper arms in a motion as if trying to ward off a sudden chill. "... I don't like it, I don't like that I can do something and forget about it right away…"

"Do you have any idea as to why you might have wanted to take Darkwing's firearm like that?"

"Ms. Mustela, it's a gadget gun, he uses it to apprehend people, I mean I think the most dangerous thing it can technically do is a grappling hook, but it doesn't have any bullets!"

"That wasn't what I asked."

"... I don't know. I don't remember the incident itself, so I doubt I'd even remember what was going on in my mind at the time." Jacky said sheepishly, feeling very small now. "... I'm just as baffled."

"Darkwing was able to give some of the details, at least."

"Oh? And what did he say happened?" Jacky half expected it to be explained in a way that took some of the blame off the Mighty Mallard, and was ready to defend his case despite not having much knowledge due to his faulty memory.

"Well, to put it simply, Jacky… you disassociated." Ms. Mustela said, putting her pen down and looking at him directly as he cringed and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Something triggered a defensive response in you, and you reacted to what you thought was a danger to you. What you saw was very different than what was really happening."

He hadn't expected such an answer.

"... I'm sorry."

"Jacky, no one is blaming you."

"... I know, I'm just… sorry." Jacky mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "... I wish I could be able to explain why I do these things, but-"

"You're recovering from temporal lobe damage, Jacky. Memory problems and altered emotional states are a symptom, and we just need to sometimes remember to be patient."

Jacky forced a snort through his nostrils.

"Darkwing isn't very patient, he wants answers to things right away." He grinned as if this was amusing. "He's played so many video games, he's used to it being done right away, I bet."

"I understand that Darkwing is at least trying to help you, correct?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he really knows how to." Jacky nodded absent-mindedly, looking up at the holes in the plaster tiles of the ceiling. "Claire keeps reminding him that he shouldn't be trying to force me to remember anything, since that's not how amnesia really works. I guess he thinks if he can get the right trigger word or show me the right thing, that I'll magically remember everything. I think he's seen too many movies, really."

"I'm sure he means well, at least."

"Oh, I'm sure, but I can't help but feel like he probably thinks this was his fault to begin with."

"What makes you think that?"

"He was there, Ms. Mustela." Jacky said as if stating fact. "He was there when I fell, he was there for the whole thing. He won't tell me exactly what happened, but I think he may be somewhat responsible for why I fell out the window, and I think he wants to help so he doesn't feel so guilty."

"Have you asked him if that's why?"

"Well, no, not exactly. I mean, he won't answer my other questions directly, so why would he answer those ones instead?"

"I'm not sure, Jacky, but it couldn't hurt to ask him yourself." Ms. Mustela offered. "Who knows? Maybe the both of you could come to a better understanding of each other."

"... He's had plenty of time to get to know me better, I'm almost insulted that I had to have my head smashed against the sidewalk to get him to care."

"... You certainly have your way of explaining things, Jacky."

"I'm sorry, was that a bit too graphic?"

"Well, you definitely don't seem fazed by that manner of speaking." Ms. Mustela said before frowning slightly, an action that confused Jacky. "Jacky, are you alright? You've been shivering for most of this session."

"I dunno, I guess the room's cold." He shrugged.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"I ate some. I really didn't care much for the oatmeal, it was thick and bland." Jacky wasn't exactly sure as to what this had to do with him shivering.

"How do you feel? Are you dizzy at all?"

He hesitated for a moment to think about it thoroughly before answering.

"... Maybe a little."

Before Jacky could really protest, Ms. Mustela picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk and hit a few buttons.

"Hi, this is Mustela. Could you send a nurse this way, and bring some juice boxes? I think Mr. QuackerJack is experiencing a minor drop in his blood sugar levels."

"... I haven't even been allowed to eat much sugar." Jacky said quietly, completely missing the point as Ms. Mustela thanked the person on the other end and hung up. "... I thought it was going to give me headaches or something?"

"Too much sugar, yes, but you still need natural sugars." Ms. Mustela said, seating beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder in a motion to keep him from getting up. "And you most certainly need to be sure that you don't skip meals. You can't exactly heal properly if you aren't taking care of yourself."

"... I didn't really think that was a problem, I wasn't very hungry at the time, anyway." Jacky mumbled, rubbing his arms again, teeth chattering. "... Really starting to regret that now, I'm starting to feel a little gross…"

"That's why I asked for them to bring some juice boxes. It should help with your blood sugar, and I'm sure you won't mind having those." Ms. Mustela said in a sympathetic voice, letting him lean into her for support. "You should feel better after you've finished at least one."

Jacky's response was to just nod, as he was intensely focused on keeping his mouth shut on account of feeling mildly sick, but thankfully not so much that he was going to empty his stomach into a trash bin. If he could keep it together until he was able to sip at the juice boxes, he was going to be fine, he told himself.

"Sip" was perhaps and understatement, as he managed to completely gulp down a single juice box through the small straw in less than five seconds in a single inhale. He reached for another one desperately and was rather annoyed when a hand slowed him down.

"Slow sips, Jacky, you'll make yourself sick otherwise."

"... I'm fine." He couldn't help but feel like he was being patronized just a little bit.

"Jacky, trust me, just take it slow."

He gripped his hands around the juice box and slowly took a drink, staring at the weasel with a very focused expression. Ms. Mustela watched him carefully before seeming satisfied with the response.

"Feel any better now?"

"... Kinda." Jacky mumbled as the nurse checked his vitals and reflexes. He looked away as a stethoscope was pressed to his chest, and he mentally kicked himself for letting himself get into this predicament to begin with, when the easiest solution was to have simply just eaten his bland food.

"You aren't shaking as much now, so that's a good sign."

"... I'm sorry."

"It's quite fine, what matters right now is that you're alright."

He took another sip of juice and stared ahead with a straight face, eyes starting to water. He sniffed loudly, and this did not go unnoticed.

"Jacky?"

"... It's just… really good juice." He mumbled with a weak smile, but it was very clear that something was bothering him and this was just a cover story. He blinked and took a deep breath. "... Like, really good juice. Whuh-what is this, like an apple blend or..?"

"It's white grape."

"Graaape, of course, I should have known."

There was another awkward pause of silence as the nurse made some notes on the clipboard and asked a few more questions that he nodded or shook his head to, and finally gave him the okay to carry on with what he had been doing.

He sipped the juice again.

"... Is it alright if I just take the rest of these to my room?"

"Of course, Jacky." Ms. Mustela nodded, looking relieved that he was being more responsive than he had been a few minutes ago. "Now, is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

Jacky took another sip of juice, which this time gave an empty sound as he'd reached the end of the juice box (following it up with three more quick empty sips, as is custom with the end of a juice box).

"... Nothing much that would really get an answer." He said. Sensing the mild confusion, Jacky added: "Well, I mean, it's just that Darkwing keeps insisting that Mr. Banana Brain had something to do with my accident, but that's honestly ridiculous because Mr. Banana Brain would never hurt me." He set the empty juice box on the floor near the edge of the couch. "Well, that and the fact that Mr. Banana Brain can't do anything unless I make him." He added that almost as an afterthought as he reached for a third juice box and stabbed the straw through the top. He took a sip and leaned leisurely into the arm of the couch. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Darkwing's got himself a screw loose after his year off the grid."

"And what makes you say that?" Ms. Mustela blinked as she took a seat back in her own chair.

"Well, obviously, Mr. Banana Brain can't do anything unless I make him, so Darkwing insisting the contrary is very confusing." Jacky said, shrugging. "He's very persistent that I finish watching those security tapes, but I don't want to after seeing how deranged-" Jacky cut himself off, and blinked with a mildly distant look in his eyes before he continued in a softer voice. "... I'm not denying that I did any of that, but it's just so surreal to see it in action because I really don't remember any of it. Darkwing insists that I finish the tapes to be able to answer some of my questions."

"But, you don't want to."

"Ms. Mustela, I snapped and tried to strangle a Crimebot then dismantled it with my bare hands, all because it said the wrong word to me. That one had two different perspectives; the surveillance footage and a video feed from the Crimebot's point of view, before the force of me launching at it broke the camera, but-but it kept recording the sound and it was horrible to hear my voice so angry and unhinged and I swear I would never ever do that on my volition! What if, on the rest of the tapes, there's a video where I actually hurt someone that isn't a Crimebot?"

"Well, Jacky, I'm not going to tell you what you should do, this is something you have to make a decision for yourself, whether it's a good choice or not…" Ms. Mustela said, folding her hands and legs to give him her full attention. "But whatever you decide to do, it should be a choice that puts your mind at ease."

"... I don't think I'll really be able to get over it until I confront it, but I just… I just don't want to see those tapes until I'm sure I'm not going to have a freak out like last time when I snapped out of it and realized I was trying to flush them down the toilet." Perhaps it was his wording or the way he said it, but there was a slight snort from the weasel, which caught him off guard before he shot back in a flustered tone, blushing furiously as his feathers ruffled: "It's not funny! I don't even remember grabbing the box!"

"I'm not laughing at you, Jacky, it's just that you have a bit of an amusing way to explain things sometimes."

"... I don't like being laughed at if I haven't made a joke…" He mumbled, shaking his head. "... But, like I said, I don't know what's going on happen if I see the rest of the tapes. I really don't know what to think anymore…"

He really hated the process of the MRI thing. He couldn't recall very many times having had it done, but the very few times he could remember, the memory was met with much displeasure.

It was loud. It was so confined. He had to stay as still as possible for a very long time. He had to do all this on his back. He did not like being on his back, in a small confined space, in a very loud place, and being expected to not fidget even the slightest.

It was boring. It was uncomfortable. It was so very anxiety inducing. And it made his entire body feel like he was in desperate need of a good sprint away from this horrible, horrible room.

It was such a loud room.

But, he had to do this. It was the only way they could get a good look at the physical insides of his head without using invasive instruments. He couldn't make heads or tails of the images they managed to get out of this thing, but he had to trust that the doctors knew what they were doing.

But it was just so loud.

This time was a bit different, however. It seemed that he'd managed to make his discomfort known despite not exactly verbally expressing it, so he was handed something that looked not unlike a strange pair of earmuffs.

"... What're these?" Jacky looked at them and fiddled with the adjustable strap (despite having no idea what they were sized for).

"Noise reduction earmuffs." He was told. "These particular ones are safe for the magnetic pull of the machine, and normally we use these for patients with sensitivity to sound."

"... Now, how come I couldn't use these before?"

He didn't exactly hear a response, as he'd already slipped them on his head and found that it certainly reduced the noise around him considerably. He pulled one side off to listen to the given directions for the MRI procedure. This was not his first time with the machine, but it had been far enough time between for the process to be mostly forgotten with his injured brain. This was in fact the fourth time this session that he had to hear what to do, because he was starting to have trouble with retaining information again, which he had to assume that the lack of enthusiasm he had for this event was probably partly to blame. He nodded without much real meaning behind it; he assumed that they'd have to explain it to him again and again during the procedure anyway.

"... How long is this gonna take again?"

"Best case, about ten to fifteen minutes, that is if you don't move too much during the scan."

"Oh, but that sounds like forever when there's nothing to do!" Jacky whined, slumping his shoulders and throwing his head back. "I hate having to stay still, it makes me just want to do anything but that!"

"Unfortunately, you need to be as still as possible for the procedure, or we simply won't get a clear reading, Mr. QuackerJack."

"And I just hate how small of an area I have in there." Jacky continued.

"If it makes you feel any better, Mr. QuackerJack, you aren't the only one who feels this way."

"It honestly doesn't make me feel any better, it just confirms how commonplace the apprehension is."

"Would it help if you had a comfort item with you during the procedure?"

"Mr. Banana Brain doesn't like loud noise either."

"You could cover his ears, I'm sure."

"Mr. Banana Brain doesn't have ears, he's a banana."

"Then what is it that you want us to do for you?"

"... Well, I already got the ear muffs, but I guess I could just bring Mr. Banana Brain the next time we do this, he's napping anyway right now." Jacky said before catching the look he was given. "... Oh, you think I'm being serious… this is… I'm just gonna put these ear things on now, and get this over with."

He hated the noise, but as it wasn't as loud as before thanks to the ear muffs, he decided that how he now hated the vibrations that rattled throughout the machine, making him feel like it was some sort of death trap he was stuck laying on his back for. He just had to stay as still as possible for a good quarter of an hour, and the session would be done for now.

Jacky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the shuddering of the machine that made him feel like he was on a plane experiencing turbulence. It wasn't so much that he was unnerved or anything, it was more like the intense feeling of vulnerability was rising with every second the longer and longer he had to remain in this position. He was starting to see one downside to these noise reduction earmuff things: No distracting noises meant that his mind was free to wander about wildly as he realized that silence was almost as loud as not-silence.

Within minutes, his mind was already buzzing around with at least five different subjects, and two of them were about that strange looking Mr. Banana Brain and how Darkwing stated that it wasn't even the first one he'd crafted in an attempt to recreate his dear plush pal.

It's not even cuddly, it looks so sharp and jagged for no reason, at the very least it needs to make sense otherwise making it sharp and jagged makes no sense in my style. Jacky thought to himself, frowning. Besides, there's just one Mr. Banana Brain, I can't just make another one so easily, that's probably why it didn't turn out so well, but what on earth was I even thinking when I put that thing together? Actually, better question: Why did I freak out over seeing it in the first place? Why would it possibly be this terrifying, it really doesn't look much, it looks like a rough scrap metal project more than anything…

At this point, he realized that his breathing pattern was becoming quick and shallow, and the gradual sensation of something heavy sitting on his chest was becoming present. He knew this meant that the claustrophobic feeling that this machine caused was starting to set in, and he repeatedly reminded him that it was all temporary and that he'd be out of here soon enough. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and tried to focus on the texture of the fabric against his fingertips, anything to steer his thoughts away from the overwhelming hyperaware sensation of being restrained in such an enclosed place.

By the time the process was over, he was biting his bottom lip hard enough to make it numb, and he hadn't even realized that he still had the ear muffs on long after it was finished. Jacky stared in confusion a good while before it finally dawned on him why things sounded so muffled and quiet, and he was just so embarrassed that it had taken so long to sort that out.

"Are you alright, Mr. QuackerJack?"

Jacky narrowed his eyes just slightly. He was getting tired of hearing and having to answer that question all the time. He heaved a heavy sigh.

"... I… I don't know, I guess I'm just… I didn't like that…" He mumbled quietly, avoiding eye contact. "... It was very… shaky. And cramped."

"You did very well at staying still for the session, so I'm sure we got the imaging we needed for the assessment."

"Good, because I really don't want to do that again for awhile…" Jacky said unenthusiastically. He slid off the surface of where he'd been laying, and stepped behind the attending physician or whatever they were called, so he could be led to the room where they explained things to him. Claire was just outside the door, having been waiting for him, and a small smile lit up on his tired face upon seeing her. "... Hi, Claire."

"Are you alright? You look tired, Jacky." She said, frowning in concern as she looked at him, having read his body language.

He responded by wrapping his arms around her and leaning against her for support, uttering a tuneless hum to himself, before finally speaking again.

"... I've been tired for months, Claire, that's normal." Jacky said in a quiet voice before forcing a little laugh out of himself. "... I just don't like doing that scan thing, that's all. It's so boring and it makes me feel like I'm trapped the longer I have to stay there."

"I just get worried when I see you being listless." Claire said as she returned the embrace, silently pleased to find that Jacky's frame seemed to finally be putting on some of the weight he'd lost during his months' long joyride through town, even if he was still somewhat scrawny overall. "How do you feel, then?"

"... Better, I guess. I don't hurt right now, if anything." He mumbled in an earnest tone, shifting his position to look at her more properly. "I just didn't like that scan thing. It wasn't so loud this time, because they got something to cover my ears, but it still rattled around, and I had to stay still for like ten or fifteen minutes, and it feels so much longer when I can't do anything else." Jacky gave a weary exhale, and put his head on her shoulder again. "... I don't like being forced to stay down, I don't know why, but I just don't…"

"I don't think I'd like that very much either, that definitely doesn't sound very pleasant." Claire said with empathy. She ruffled the feathers on his head gently, and he gave a pleased and comforted little noise. "Ready to see what they have to say about the scan?"

"Uh-huh." Jacky nodded with not much enthusiasm. Despite the affirmation, Claire still had to urge him to move, as he seemed quite content to just stay right there with her.

He just seemed so out of it at the moment, and she suspected that was because he'd been overstimulated from the MRI machine and induced claustrophobia, in addition to his limited capacity to handle stress, especially with him still in recovery. It had been an infrequent occurrence for his attention span to fluctuate, and it was hard to predict when he'd simply lose interest in favor of something more appealing to him. At this moment, he was more contented to cling onto her, and that's all that mattered at the moment as far as he was concerned.

He giggled giddishly as Claire carefully unraveled his arms from her and held his hands firmly in hers. He tugged back playfully, as if he'd completely forgotten what he was supposed to be doing right now, and snorted another laugh.

"Heeeeeey, Claire…" Jacky said in a sing-song-ish voice, a goofy little grin spreading on his face. "Whatarewedoin?"

Claire couldn't help but smile a bit at that; even when experiencing some impairment, he was maintaining that playful charm that seemed so rooted in his personality.

"Jacky, we really should go see those results." She said as he continued to pull at her hands, while he chuckled in a teasing tone. "... Jacky, are you sure you're alright?"

"Mm-hmm. Just a little tired, but I'm fine, really."

"Tell you what, you follow me to see the results, and we'll see about letting you rest."

"But, you're visiting, it'd be rude to fall asleep when you're visiting."

"Jacky, I'm more concerned with you getting better, than whether or not it's polite for you to be napping during a visit. If you need to rest, then you can rest once we see the results."

"It's not fair to you, you waited for me to come back off my delusional trip for so long, the least I can do is-"

Fingers pressed against his beak in a silencing gesture from her. Jacky blinked and stared back at her with wide eyes.

"I understand what you mean, Jacky, but you need to take care of yourself before you start worrying about other things."

"But-"

"What I want is for you to take care of yourself first, the most important thing right now is making sure you're healing properly."

"I'm doing fiiiine…" Jacky said in bit of a drawl, rocking in place anxiously regardless. "My head doesn't hurt, and despite the fact that I'm tired, I'm actually pretty lucid right now."

"And that's great to hear, but we're still going to look at those MRI results." Claire said with another careful pull of his hand, trying to coax him to follow her. "Let's get this done before we look for something else to do, okay?"

"You're going to have to explain it to me when they show them to us, you know that I can't make heads or tails of those pictures…"

"Of course, Jacky."

"I mean, I can't be the only one who can't read those, I don't know how you do that."

Recovery was going to be lengthy, no doubt about it. He was doing well at it, but he was far from the end of the road. That limp he'd had was gradually getting better, and the worst of his visible bruises had finally faded. The scar that marked the impact point of his head injury caused the short feathers on his face to ruffle awkwardly in a small line, as did the mark left on his shoulder.

As far as visible ailments went, he looked more or less the same as before, save for the scuffs and marks left behind, and it was easy to overlook the fact that his brain was understandably healing at a different rate.

Because of this, Jacky became aware of the very likely possibility that he was now more susceptible to motion sickness than before due to the altered integrity of his equilibrium.

He knew this because he certainly felt half ready to puke despite the relatively smooth ride in the backseat of the Thunderquack, and he had ran through all the possible factors in his mind as he gripped the cushion of the bench seat with one white-knuckled hand while his other hand squeezed Claire's, desperately seeking something else to focus on than his upset stomach.

Jacky had been granted permission to have a supervised visit to the place of residence that he'd called "home", mostly to find some things to bring back to his hospital room to give him a better sense of familiarity and comfort for his extended stay, but also to give him a much needed reprieve from the hospital environment that had been his sanctuary for the past few months. Darkwing was his assigned escort, and Jacky honestly wasn't too surprised.

He felt Claire put her free hand on his back, and shuddered as a chill ran through him.

"I know I say this a lot, but are you alright, Jacky?"

"... Mmph…" He grunted, shaking his head slowly. He swallowed and managed in a hoarse whisper: "... Uh-Airsick…"

"Aw, geeze, do we need to stop?" Darkwing called out from the front passenger seat, looking over the head rest. "Not to sound rude or anything, but the seats haven't been scotchguarded since we had to replace the upholstery."

Jacky forced a quizzical look through the nauseated grimace.

"... To put it simple, your blood from your injuries didn't just stain your hat."

Jacky's face seemed to get paler under the feathers from that statement (and he himself could feel that), and he cursed under his breath as his stomach felt like it had just done two backflips at a sudden change in orientation of the Thunderquack. He absolutely hated the motion sickness, and the worse thing about it was probably that he knew that nothing he did was going to really stop it until the ride was over.

"... How long until..?" He managed before forcing himself to shut up when a sudden bitter taste in his mouth worried him. Jacky was determined to keep himself from the embarrassment of barfing in the backseat of his former adversary's vehicle. He swallowed again and mumbled an inaudible apology, before pulling his hand free from Claire's to grab the back of the seat in front of him, trying desperately to stabilize his equilibrium, reduce movement, whatever, anything, anything to ease away those nasty little disorienting queasy sensations trying to fight him. "... Are we there yet..?" He said in a miserable little moan.

"Have you always had this problem before and I'm just noticing or..?" Darkwing glanced over the back of the seat at him again with a mildly concerned expression.

"... No… I think… I-I think it's because I hit my head…" Jacky tried to speak in short sentences, glancing out the side window for any familiar landmark of sorts to assure him the trip was almost over. He clenched his teeth as another chill ran through him, and he wondered if he looked as bad as he felt. He must have looked a sight. "... M-messed with my balance or… or … augh, I c-can't really think right now…"

He did not like being sick. He did not like feeling ill. And he certainly did not like the entire experience of being airsick.

"... How long has it been..?" He added in a small voice, wondering if he was just hypersensitive to turbulence, and that perhaps a ride in the sidecar of the Ratcatcher would have probably been more comfortable and less distressing to his insides. Actually, scratch that, a city bus would have been a more reasonable option.

"About five minutes."

Jacky made a weak grumble of protest, proclaiming something to the effect of "Longest five minutes I've ever had", and let go of the seat to lean back while covering his eyes with an arm laying across them. If he was right in his estimation, then there should be another five minutes left, seven tops. He hated every second of this ride, and he most certainly was going to hate the ride back.

... I really hope this is just restricted to aircraft rides, otherwise traveling anywhere from now on is going to be an absolute nightmare…

It seemed like it took forever, but he finally felt the Thunderquack lurch to a halt and tensed from the rough landing, clutching the cushion he was sitting on and the back of the seat in front of him again while issuing a cry of fright. There was a lengthy silence from him afterwards before he started to chuckle nervously, finally able to relax once he realized he'd managed through the whole nauseating trip without tossing his cookies.

He continued to laugh weakly as he was helped out of the backseat of the Thunderquack, laughed as he stood there on the familiar grass of the familiar front yard, laughed as he stumbled a few feet away, and finally, with a sharp surprised gasp, ducked away to spit up in the bushes. Claire, understanding sweet soul that she was, kept a hand on his back until he was able to step away and sit on the cement porch step in front of the door, glassy eyed but certainly looking far less nauseated than he had been minutes prior, although a reddish tint still flushed across his face from the embarrassment.

"... S-s-sorry…" Jacky stuttered in small voice, keeping his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grimacing in disgust. "... Was on the verge for a while… oof…"

"You couldn't help it, you just had motion sickness."

"... Can't remember if it's ever been that bad before, I think hitting my head really messed up my inner ear balance…"

"Well, then, we'll just have to make some changes to how we travel from now on."

"... I like how that's your first concern and not the fact that I just heaved under our window."

"We can't do much to change what's already happened. You got sick, it happens to everyone."

"... I'd rather it doesn't, it's terrible, terrible, just absolutely terrible…" Jacky looked up, appearing to have recovered somewhat from the temporary bout of sickness, but was still a bit woozy. "And then I have to do this again, because we have to go back to the hospital anyway. How was that only a ten minute ride?"

Claire unlocked the door and reached under Jacky's arms to help him to his feet. It was really bizzare to know that he hadn't stepped foot through this threshold in well over seven months, even though he could only remember three of those months (neither of which were the four he could not before). He was never going to get over the fact that he had been "gone" for so long, even though his sequential memory acted as if the whole chunk of time had simply never happened.

He honestly hadn't expected much of a change in the layout and decor of the house, and he found that he was right. Everything looked relatively the same. The same framed photographs. The same slipcovers on the ottomans. The same books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. The pillow and blanket he liked to use was neatly folded on the far end of the couch, as if waiting for his return. The potted plant in the corner had a very noticeable difference in the number of bloomed flowers than the last time he'd seen it, by which he meant that all the blossoms had since disappeared.

Jacky sat on the couch, holding the pillow and blanket as if they were prized possessions, and eyed Darkwing and his rather tall sidekick with the same sort of caution as one might do so with a pack of dogs that was staring at a bag of fresh cheeseburgers in their hands.

This was his pillow and blanket, and he was going to bring them back to the hospital with him.

"You can sit here for a bit while you get your bearings, Jacky."

"I'm fine, I'm not feeling sick anymore."

"Well, just enjoy sitting on the couch, then."

"Okay." He grinned. "I missed this couch. There's really no couches at the hospital, except Ms. Mustela's, but I can't really sleep on that."

Of course, not much of substance really happened for a good while. There's only so much you can do to explain exactly how enjoyable one's sitting experience on a couch can be before it gets tedious and monotonous, and only so much description can go into observing Darkwing and Launchpad observing Jacky.

Anyway, Jacky liked the good vibes of this couch, and he really couldn't be bothered for the next twenty minutes (aside from having been offered something to drink on account of having thrown up not too long ago). Once that was over, he announced that he decided that he definitely wanted to bring the blanket and pillow back with him, as well as his scrapbooks. He followed Claire around the house eagerly, clutching the pillow to his chest as he considered what things were worth bringing back, and what was just fine being left here.

"Shame I can't bring back the couch, could you imagine trying to shove that thing in the backseat, it'd be almost impossible." He chattered, having recovered enough from his temporary spell of illness to act as he normally would on a good mood. "Don't get me wrong, I like a good bed like anyone else, but I just really like that couch. Wow, you've really made sure to keep the dust off the scrapbooks, almost as if you'd been… looking at them… all the… t-time…"

That was it. The exact moment when it finally dawned on him the extent of the fallout from his actions during the chunk of time he could not remember. It hit, and it hit him with the energy not unlike emotionally taking a slugger to the back of the knees. Perhaps it was a good thing that he had been clutching the pillow in his hands, because he quite literally collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll, which of course caused quite a commotion as one does not normally do that unless something is wrong.

He still couldn't remember a thing about the whole four months in question, but he sure felt guilty. He was completely aware of the fact that he was on the floor right now, and more than enough aware to know that perhaps doing so without warning was incredibly frightening to one who might be concerned about his well-being. It wasn't so much that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but more like he completely just… stopped.

"Jacky!"

The air around him felt thick, almost viscous and hard to breathe, as if he could possibly be drowning, but that was ridiculous, because last he recalled, he was nowhere near water.

You've done it, you've really done it, the only reason she could have possibly been looking through those books constantly is because she most certainly was worried about wherever it was you were during all that time, you've hurt her, she won't admit it, but that's what you've done, you monster…

It honestly astounded him that it had taken him this long for it all to really hit. Yes, he'd been upset about the predicament before, but mostly because of how inconvenient and frustrating the whole process of recovery had been. Yes, he knew what happened before he'd been injured, but it had always been observed with the same sort detachment as if he'd been simply told an unbelievable story, even if he was reasonable enough to accept it as fact, regardless of how he felt emotionally.

Jacky finally came to his senses (or rather, his level of awareness of where he was gradually improved), and realized that his fingers were gripping fabric tightly, and his arms were wrapped around something solid. His eyes fluttered open and he couldn't see much in front of him as something was already in the way. And it took him a good long minute to realize that was because he had his face buried in that something.

That something was a someone, and that someone was Claire.

He quickly pulled his face away and looked up, appearing to be very forlorn and apprehensive. That wheezing noise he made when he was upset and panting made itself known, and he darted his eyes around the room as he tried to make sense of what exactly happened. Curse these memory lapses; if he ever saw Megavolt again, he was going to make it a conscious effort to apologize profusely for all the flak he'd given the forgetful rodent for his retention issues over the years.

He racked his brain for the last recent things he could recall, and mentally ran them through a list that he repeated to himself as he added something new to it, trying to cement the events more clearly in his memory.

Today, he was allowed a visit home. Today, he was allowed a visit home to pick up some things to make his extended stay at the hospital more comfortable. Today, he was allowed to come home for a visit to pick up some of his things to make the lengthy stay at the ward less stressful. Today, he was going to get to bring back some familiar items to the hospital, and he was going to bring back his pillow, the blanket, and his scrapbooks…

?

?

!?

!

Scrapbooks. Scrapbooks! His scrapbooks! He was commenting on how there wasn't even a little bit of dust settled on the covers, and had come to the realization, that awful realization that Claire must have spent so long, so much time looking through those scrapbooks while he was gone, when he had snapped and was wandering the streets in whatever state of mind he must have been in, oh, oh no, she must have been so, so worried about him the whole time!

"There's no dust on the scrapbooks!" Jacky suddenly screamed, effectively scaring the bejesus out of everyone present. "There's no dust on the scrapbooks, you never put them away, I hurt you, you said I didn't, but I did, I diiiiiiid!" The last syllable dragged out in a wail as he burst into tears (something that he had miraculously managed to not do yet today despite that last hour being one exhausting ordeal after another). He buried his face in his hands, and his body just shook. "I'm a horrible, horrible monster! I don't remember anything, but I know I am!"

He felt Claire wrap her arms around him, and he honestly wanted to push away, but this entire trip to the house had been just so tiring and he simply lacked the energy to do so, so he just leaned into her with a weak groan of protest and continued to cry, which had been reduced to whimpers and hiccups.

"Jacky-"

"Stop it! Stop trying to justify what I'm doing, I'm so tired of hearing that it's not my fault and that it's fine and how you understand, because it's not fine, and it's completely my fault and you have every right to be angry with me!" He shouted and grabbed the fluffy down on his head in rough handfuls and yanked down, vaguely aware that he'd actually plucked a few wispy feathers from his scalp. "You can't tell me that you're one hundred percent okay with everything that's happened and is happening and is going to happen! I'm not okay with it! There's no dust on the scrapbooks, Claire! There's no dust because you must have looked at them while I was gone because you had no idea what else to do! How can you say I didn't hurt you when I clearly did!"

He really didn't care if he was making a scene right now; all this had been hovering over him for weeks, and he'd done so well at pretending that it wasn't a concern, and accepting that everything was what it was, but the lack of dust on the scrapbooks was the last straw, he couldn't stand the idea that Claire had been thumbing through the books every single day, waiting for any news of his whereabouts and maybe even fruitlessly hoping something in the books would be a clue for what exactly happened (although he was sure that would be complete bunk, he did not design the pages to be cryptic at all).

He did this to her, whether he meant to or not.

"..."

Oh, he did not like that silence. He looked up with a bit of a slow and awkward uncomfortableness, and flinched when he realized what he had just said.

"... Uh…"

"... You're clearly having a bad day, there's a lot going on right now and-"

"Yes, there is a lot going on right now." Jacky said over her. "Also, what are we doing on the floor?"

"You fell, Jacky."

"Ah. Yes. Of course. I'm getting good at that, I guess. But, how did it happen this time?"

"You just fell without warning, and right now, I'd rather know if you hit your head or not when you did." Claire said, helping him stand again, with Jacky making a few awkward steps to correct his balance.

"... I don't think I did." He reached a hand to his head and prodded either side carefully. "... It doesn't feel sore. If anything, I'm just a bit tired, but that's always a thing now."

"But you're absolutely sure that your head is alright?"

"Physically, yes." He said, looking around briefly. "... I was holding a pillow, maybe it cushioned things."

"And you have no idea why you would have dropped like that?"

"No, Claire."

"Because if you do, then we can be more prepared if it happens again."

"Claire, I don't know, other than the sc… Scrapbooks!" He shouted suddenly once that thought smashed through the tired haze that fogged his mind. He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her with wide eyes and an immensely guilty look on his face. "Claire, the scrapbooks! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you-!"

He was cut off when he was pulled forward roughly into a firm embrace, and he wasn't sure if he even deserved it. He also realized that he seemed to be shaking quite a bit, and briefly wondered if her action was also a means to stabilize him before he dropped to the floor again.

You helpless disaster, can't even stand properly…

Jacky shoved that internal voice to the back of his mind. That was the negativity talking to him. He did not like the negativity; that's what invited the sharp toothed ducks to find Mr. Banana Brain.

"Jacky, it's okay, you don't have to ap-"

"It's not okay, Claire. This is not okay. I am not okay." Jacky said calmly, heaving a heavy sigh. "Whether I meant to or not, I still did this. I am not okay. I'm not okay. And it's okay to not be okay with things not being okay. Because if you keep pretending to be okay when you aren't okay, then you're not going to be okay." He paused, and frowned a little to himself. "... That probably would have been more profound if I could just word the things I want to say right."

"I suppose if I understand the gist, it works just as well."

"But, you do get what I'm saying, don't you? It's okay to not be okay with all the things that are happening."

"... You know, I think this is the most serious thing I've heard from you in weeks." Claire blinked and said in mild surprise.

"I know I'm not the best guy to be giving epiphanies, but I do know that it's impossible to be okay all the time." Jacky shrugged, before snorting a little. "Well, let's be perfectly honest; it's probably not wise to take sage advice from the town loon."

Aaaaand, another chapter done~