This story was an improv on the #InvisibleMan chat room. It's posted largely unchanged, 'cos I'm too busy writing other stuff to bother editing this. :-)
"Tolerance Improv" by CritterKeeper
Darien caught himself staring hungrily at the vial of Quicksilver and forced himself to look away before Claire could notice. He licked his lips and tried to tell himself he wasn't craving this injection, the relief from impending madness, the caress in his veins.
He had himself under control by the time Claire finished preparing the shot and looked back at him.
She slipped the needle into his vein expertly, and he felt the counteragent beginning to wash through him, painful at first, then cool and comfortable.
But something was wrong.
Claire finished and pulled the needle out, but it didn't feel like she had finished. The craving still itched at the back of his head.
He bit back a wimper of frustration and checked his tatoo. It wasn't just him. The last segment of the snake was still red.
"Um, Claire?" he asked as she started to move away, taking the precious vial with her.
He held up the tattoo. She caught hold of his wrist and peered at it, frowning, biting her lip.
"Has there been some sort of budget cutbacks I didn't hear about? The Official tell you to cut the dosage?"
Claire shook her head sadly. "I gave you the same dose as always for this level, Darien."
She moved over to the counter and Darien fought back the urge to call out to her. She pulled out a tuberculin syringe and drew up a single cc of counteragent.
"I'm going to titrate this, to see exactly how much more is needed to bring you back up to full."
She turned his arm so that she could watch his tattoo, and slipped the little needle into his aching vein.
The injection was maddeningly slow. Darien wanted to grab hold of the syringe and push the whole thing in, and wasn't sure even that would be enough. The last segment of his tattoo turned a muddy brown, then finally green. Claire immediately stopped.
It wasn't enough. The tattoo might think it was, but it wasn't. The release he craved eluded him still. She withdrew the needle, and a slight moan escaped his lips. Disappointment and frustration. She heard it, she frowned, but she chose to ignore it. For now.
"Claire, what is it? Why did it take more this time? Why doesn't it feel right?"
She bit her lip, not quite sure how to tell him.
"We knew this was coming eventually, Darien." She sighed. "It's just the first signs, but it's starting."
"What's coming?" Fear finally distracted him from the aching need within that wasn't quite sated.
"Resistance to the counteragent. Tolerance.
"You'll gradually need larger and larger dosages to achieve the same effect.
"Eventually, we won't be able to keep up."
Darien felt his guts go cold. The world seemed to slide sideways.
"It's not an immediate thing, Darien. It's taken this long just to see the first signs of tolerance, it could be years yet before we need another option."
He barely heard her. He though about the madness, about the idea of losing it for good, of going beyond the point of no return. The thought was seductive and terrifying, as always. The counteragent had been his safety net, and now the threads were starting to fray. Someday he would fall, and it wouldn't be able to catch him anymore.
"How long?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know...." Claire's own frustration was showing. Tears lurked in the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn't let them out. She couldn't afford to lose control, not now. Not when he needed her.
"I've been working on a couple of ideas," she started, "for other counteragents, something that would attack the quicksilver from a different direction, or maybe suppress production completely at the source." She met his eyes, trying to reassure him. And herself. "We have time. We can do this."
"I hope so," Darien murmured.
Claire recovered some measure of control, and turned briskly back to business.
"I'll let Eberts know that the counteragent budget will have to be adjusted accordingly. I can estimate how much extra we'll need based on this, and we'll chart how much counteragent you need each time."
Darien swallowed. "You mean you're going to do this every time?"
"Do what?"
"Give the bare minimum to, uh, change the monitor?"
"It's the best way to track how fast the resistance is progressing. It also might help control it, slow it down."
There it was. The promise of a more important good, a reason to deny himself relief. He'd know it was coming. He still died a little inside, knowing he might never again feel the joy of a complete fix. Knowing this nagging frustration was going to be a constant companion.
"Okay," he whispered softly.
"Tolerance Improv" by CritterKeeper
Darien caught himself staring hungrily at the vial of Quicksilver and forced himself to look away before Claire could notice. He licked his lips and tried to tell himself he wasn't craving this injection, the relief from impending madness, the caress in his veins.
He had himself under control by the time Claire finished preparing the shot and looked back at him.
She slipped the needle into his vein expertly, and he felt the counteragent beginning to wash through him, painful at first, then cool and comfortable.
But something was wrong.
Claire finished and pulled the needle out, but it didn't feel like she had finished. The craving still itched at the back of his head.
He bit back a wimper of frustration and checked his tatoo. It wasn't just him. The last segment of the snake was still red.
"Um, Claire?" he asked as she started to move away, taking the precious vial with her.
He held up the tattoo. She caught hold of his wrist and peered at it, frowning, biting her lip.
"Has there been some sort of budget cutbacks I didn't hear about? The Official tell you to cut the dosage?"
Claire shook her head sadly. "I gave you the same dose as always for this level, Darien."
She moved over to the counter and Darien fought back the urge to call out to her. She pulled out a tuberculin syringe and drew up a single cc of counteragent.
"I'm going to titrate this, to see exactly how much more is needed to bring you back up to full."
She turned his arm so that she could watch his tattoo, and slipped the little needle into his aching vein.
The injection was maddeningly slow. Darien wanted to grab hold of the syringe and push the whole thing in, and wasn't sure even that would be enough. The last segment of his tattoo turned a muddy brown, then finally green. Claire immediately stopped.
It wasn't enough. The tattoo might think it was, but it wasn't. The release he craved eluded him still. She withdrew the needle, and a slight moan escaped his lips. Disappointment and frustration. She heard it, she frowned, but she chose to ignore it. For now.
"Claire, what is it? Why did it take more this time? Why doesn't it feel right?"
She bit her lip, not quite sure how to tell him.
"We knew this was coming eventually, Darien." She sighed. "It's just the first signs, but it's starting."
"What's coming?" Fear finally distracted him from the aching need within that wasn't quite sated.
"Resistance to the counteragent. Tolerance.
"You'll gradually need larger and larger dosages to achieve the same effect.
"Eventually, we won't be able to keep up."
Darien felt his guts go cold. The world seemed to slide sideways.
"It's not an immediate thing, Darien. It's taken this long just to see the first signs of tolerance, it could be years yet before we need another option."
He barely heard her. He though about the madness, about the idea of losing it for good, of going beyond the point of no return. The thought was seductive and terrifying, as always. The counteragent had been his safety net, and now the threads were starting to fray. Someday he would fall, and it wouldn't be able to catch him anymore.
"How long?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know...." Claire's own frustration was showing. Tears lurked in the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn't let them out. She couldn't afford to lose control, not now. Not when he needed her.
"I've been working on a couple of ideas," she started, "for other counteragents, something that would attack the quicksilver from a different direction, or maybe suppress production completely at the source." She met his eyes, trying to reassure him. And herself. "We have time. We can do this."
"I hope so," Darien murmured.
Claire recovered some measure of control, and turned briskly back to business.
"I'll let Eberts know that the counteragent budget will have to be adjusted accordingly. I can estimate how much extra we'll need based on this, and we'll chart how much counteragent you need each time."
Darien swallowed. "You mean you're going to do this every time?"
"Do what?"
"Give the bare minimum to, uh, change the monitor?"
"It's the best way to track how fast the resistance is progressing. It also might help control it, slow it down."
There it was. The promise of a more important good, a reason to deny himself relief. He'd know it was coming. He still died a little inside, knowing he might never again feel the joy of a complete fix. Knowing this nagging frustration was going to be a constant companion.
"Okay," he whispered softly.