Unreasonable
Chapter 3: Effects
By Yumegari and LRH
Again, the road to consciousness seemed a long slog as he sighed after a few moments. His eyelids fluttered and eventually eased open. "Nnnh..." He looked at her a little blearily, blinking.
"Hey," she said softly. "Welcome back."
He blinked slowly. The air felt strangely charged, and he could feel it in his nostrils as he breathed, the strange, sharp, pinkish-orange scent of the anesthetic still lingering. And yet... there was more. A mingling of odours, slipping into the fore of his attention. A brown, thick scent he recognized as the soup they'd just eaten combined with an almost overpowering gold, almost powdery odour that he couldn't readily identify. It swirled in his nostrils with a barely noticeable light-blue, dry scent he vaguely recognized as laundry soap and the bizarre, yellow-green tang of artificial green-apple scent. These scents painted lines over a backdrop of a dull, smooth, warm beige easily recognizable as the scent of another human being. Lancing through it, however, was a sharp, pungent, dark yellow smell of adrenaline-saturated sweat. Fear. He could smell the fear that had made her shake only a short time ago. Behind that was the greyish-brown odour of his own home. He sat up and blinked at her. "You smell terrible," he said, with the tone of someone telling a friend who looked a wreck that they looked awful.
She made a face, somewhat insulted, then it smoothed away as she realized what was happening. "It's the serum," she said. "I injected it straight into your frontal lobe, right about the area that processes scent signals. It should go back to normal shortly. How do you feel?"
There was a pause, then he blinked and one hand crept to his throat. He gulped audibly. "Nauseous..." he managed. He rolled from the chair and staggered at an alarming pace past her and to another door to her right that she'd not noticed before, pushing it open and disappearing behind it. The sound of retching could be heard two seconds later.
Aghast, she went to the door, but not through it, letting him keep what dignity he could.
He hated vomiting. He absolutely hated it. Hunching over a toilet bowl was a ridiculous position, and the stuff always got into his nose. His throat always burned and his eyes always streamed, his middle and chest always ached by the time he'd finished, and the very concept of it was disturbing to say the least. And yet, after his stomach had emptied itself, the smell, acidic and sickly-sweet, thick and grey-green and powerful, invaded his nostrils the moment he was able to draw breath and turned his stomach once more, doubling him over and robbing him of breath again as his insides heaved and his throat closed up and his hands curled round the toilet seat, gripping it. He gasped horribly and yet the heaving continued, cold sweat dripping on his forehead. It had gotten into his hair, which hung in lank, damp strands around his face. He seemed to hyper-focus on the beaded, wet lines that connected his face to the now filthy water and still gasped for breath.
When he didn't come out, she went in. She wet the sleeve of her sweater in the sink and knelt next to him, pulling his hair back and wiping it as clean as she could. "I'm really sorry," she said contritely.
"I forgot, I forgot that you can't eat before anesthetic. I'm so sorry."
He leaned forward, his cheek pressed against the cool plastic of the toilet seat, and struggled to catch his breath. The smell seemed to subside in intensity after a moment--was he getting used to it or was the enhancement wearing off like she said it would. He drew a long, shuddering breath and pushed himself upward, only to fall to the side and lean against the wall. But at least the smell wasn't nauseating him further any more. Maybe now the room would stop spinning.
She took care of the mess and sat next to him, crossing her legs and watching him closely. "Better yet?" she asked carefully. "The serum is going to spread through your brain like a wave, spreading out from the injection site. I don't know how fast it will go, but the next big thing it ought to hit is your speech center."
He sat against the wall for a moment, still breathing heavily, his eyes closed, and a rueful half-smile flickered across his features. "You mean I'll start babbling next? Heh heh.... People have always said I talked too much... they haven't heard anything yet, now, have they....?"
"It won't last very long," she offered helpfully. "It's just the rejuvenation itself that produces a mild euphoria in the brain." She itched to take notes of this, her first human subject, but felt it would be inappropriate.
"Hehhh.." He seemed to finally catch his breath, somewhat. "Euphoria.... Now there's something I ... hadn't expected...." He pushed himself to his knees and then stood, swaying. "Not staying in here any longer..." he muttered and turned, weaving out of the bathroom and back toward the easy chair, flopping into it.
She followed him again, hunting for her glasses briefly, then pulling up the wheeled stool and perching on it, still watching him. The arms uncurled lazily behind her, and one reached out, picked up the discarded syringe, and put it neatly on the table next to it. "Does it feel like anything?" she asked avidly.
He opened his eyes again and rolled his head to the side to look at her. An amused look crossed his features for a moment. "I remember ... such ... avid ... fascination. Such a drive ... to ... know all possible ... results...." He shook his head. "Heh.... You're itching to write all this down... aren't you?"
She nodded, already looking around for paper and something to write with. "Please, tell me everything you can."
"Hnnn..." he rumbled. "I don't recall ever having been a subject of study before...." One hand rubbed at his face. "By all means, I should ignore your questioning and send you on your way before I change my mind, but I feel compelled to tell you what you want to know. Call it the last vestige of some kind of respect for scientific progress, if you will. I can't say I feel much differently to how I normally feel except that everything seems brighter, louder, smellier, and my fingers are tingling. Heightened sensory perception, I suppose. I feel as though I ought to be twitching, but I'm obviously not. My thoughts are full of words... " he trailed off, looking past her. "And I still feel a little queasy." One hand twitched and he looked down at it.
She found a pen and started taking notes on a piece of paper from the pocket of her lab coat. "It's in your motor cortex," she said. "And it should reach your limbic system very soon. That controls emotional responses and behavioral drives, like hunger and anger."
He stood, pacing about. "I've at least a nodding acquaintance with the brain's functioning, thank you..." He put his twitching hands behind his back and kept moving, pacing back and forth, back and forth, occasionally taking a deep breath to still whatever internal twitching he might have been experiencing. "And as to behaviourial drives, I also like to think I might have some kind of control over them. Although I do feel rather hungry now that you mention it. Still I wouldn't want to eat after all that..." Another short heh sound. "I used to be found chewing on something almost all the time, and now I can barely dredge up the interest..." he laughed at that, an almost nervous sound, and continued pacing up and down.
She took another note -hungry, nervous- and continued in her post of observer, watching him pace the room. She pulled the actuators back to keep them out of his way, the lower two braced against the floor and the upper two arched up over her shoulders.
He paced back and forth a few more times and then stopped, noticing that movement, then looking at her as though seeing something about her for the first time. "You've already gotten used to them, haven't you?"
She stared at him for a breath, until she figured out what he meant. "Oh. Um, a little, yeah. They're not as intrusive as they were at first. I don't have to think about them so much."
"Your movements with them... they're almost instinctive," he said, stepping closer to look at her. "Look at the way you've curled them round you like that." One hand came to rest on her shoulder, almost unbearably hot against her skin as the other ran a finger along the length of the top left arm. "I've never seen them on someone else before."
She stiffened, looking at his hand on the actuator, hyper-aware of the pulse in the ball of his thumb against her shoulder.
"Quite a striking image, wouldn't you say?" he continued, now looking down at her once again, so close to her that she could again feel the heat actually radiating from him. "Such a bizarre fusion of human and machine... Strangely stimulating, when you think about it..." Very close, now, his hand moving to the side of her head.
"Striking," she repeated quietly, looking up at him. "Yes..." She pulled back, pushing the stool backwards until her back was against a table. She felt suddenly colder.
"I've seen the way you've been looking at me, you know," he said, apropos of seemingly nothing. "Were I anything like the crowd of hormone-soaked, brainless, subhuman individuals you've probably accustomed to, I would have seen that as perhaps some sort of cue, and taken advantage of it." He took a few steps closer. "Perhaps I should."
Her eyes widened as she caught his point. "What? No, I haven't been..." He was far too close for comfort. "What are you talking about?"
He grabbed her upper arms. "So now you decide to play coy with me?"
"I'm not playing anything!" she said hastily, trying to pull away. "What are you doing?"
"Don't deny what you've been doing, what I've seen!" he shouted. "Those glances, that tone of your voice! You've become attracted, haven't you?" His hands once again came up to either side of her head, fingers in her hair, palms pressed above her ears. "Well? What is it you want?"
"I don't want anything!" she protested, trying to pull her head free. "Please, don't touch me!"
If at all possible, he grew even angrier, his scowl growing heavier. "You're afraid, now. You're repulsed, now, aren't you?" he snarled, grabbing her shoulders again. "Now that something comes of those stares, you've suddenly lost the fascination! Oh, no, you couldn't, possibly, not with a monster like myself!" He wrestled her against the table, holding her down, pressing her against it.
The last time she'd been this frightened of him, he had had his hand around her neck. She struggled, desperation giving her more strength than she had. She lashed out with the actuators, hitting him ineffectually across the shoulders. One blow got lucky, catching him across the back of the head.
He lurched forward and almost on top of her, his head alongside hers, hair falling over her face. But his grip on her shoulders loosened and he grew still, his breathing loud in her ear for a few breathes. Four... five... he pulled away slowly, straightening and taking a step backward. He looked away. "Animalistic of me..." he muttered, pushing his hand through his hair again. He walked back to the armchair and sat in it.
She didn't move for a long moment, then she stood up, unsteadily, and ran her hand through her own hair, which had come completely loose from its bun. She let it hang down, hiding her face as she walked out into the kitchen without saying anything, shutting the door between them. Her knees gave out and she slid down the wall next to the door to sit there, her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to stop shaking before she bit her tongue. Her heart beat didn't seem to want to slow at all from its current pace of frightened-rabbit.
In the silence of the room, she became aware that she was being watched. Spider-man stirred and, after noticing his bound state, struggled up onto his knees. There was a pause as he apparently solidified his thoughts before he looked at her again, noticing her state. "What's the matter?" he asked, peering at her.
She shook her head, denying anything. "He, uh, he." She couldn't finish the sentence. She swallowed, and got her voice under control. "Are you okay?"
"Nothin a few aspirin and a hot bath won't cure," the other replied glibly. He shifted his shoulders, apparently attempting to work his hands free. "You seem a little leery to tell me anything, doncha? Lemme guess,," he continued. "He threatened to kill you if you told anybody, right?"
"No," she said, sitting up a little. "It's not that. It's not . . . Nothing happened." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, and the actuators as well, listening for any sound from the room behind her. "He didn't do anything."
"You sure don't look as though he didn't do anything. You look more like you're expecting him to come crashing through that door any second," was Spider-man's reply. He pulled one hand free, then, after a little more shifting, pulled the other free, as well.
She looked up at the door, which remained satisfactorily un-crashed-through. "Just, just a side-effect. I think it was a side-effect. Stimulate the limbic system, get a response." She tried to think about it clinically, and failed.
"Uh huh," Spider-man replied, now working on untying his feet. "And what'd he do? Limbic system's pretty well tied to emotions and drives, isn't it? Doc Ock's a pretty dangerous lab rat, doncha think?"
"His idea, not mine," she said into her knees. "I want to go home."
Spider-man finished untying his feet and stood, taking a moment to work the kinks out of his spine. "I can get you out of here and to the police. And hey, if you bring 'em those arms, maybe they'll knock half-price off their Witness Protection Programe, whatddya say?" he finished, holding out a hand to her.
She looked up at him, and took his hand to stand up, but looked back at the door. "Okay."
"Great," he replied. "Let's get out of here before--" he stopped short and appeared to twitch, his gaze whipping toward the door. "Hooboy," he said. "Get behind me." He lifted a hand to web the door shut, but nothing happened. He tried the other one. "Not cool," he muttered backing up a pace. The door opened.
She did as she was told, putting not only Spider-Man, but half the destroyed table between her and the lab door. "What's wrong?" she started to ask in response to his mutter, but then the door opened and she froze, except for the arms, which lay low to the ground, weaving warily back and forth.
"There you are, I was wondering if you were going to come back out. Listen, I--" Octavius stopped, the door open fully now, affording him a perfect view of Spider-man, who stood between him and Clair. "You've gone and freed him." He almost looked a little hurt.
"No," she said softly, chewing the corner of her lip and backing up almost involuntarily. "I just didn't stop him."
"And wasn't that lucky for both of us, eh, Chubs, because now I get the two-for-one special. Bring in a villain and a witness and get a year's subscription to Columbia Record Club for free!" With that, he backed up, a glance at the window telling him it would be easy to break and yank Clair through in a minimum of time.
Octavius clenched a fist, scowling spectacularly at his long-time foe. "Do you have any idea how tired I am of hearing that?! It's all well and good for you, isn't it, you over metabolized little pipsqueak? You haven't shut up, just grinding the same lines in year after year after year, ever since this mess first started!"
Clair pressed herself against the wall, staying as far away from Octavius as she could. If she got too close, he could take control over the arms again. Of course, she wasn't sure he couldn't at this distance, only about 15 feet, but there wasn't much else she could do.
"Why Otto, I'm shocked," Spidey replied flippantly, backing up to the window. "You'd think from how you're talking that I spend all my time coming up with new ways to insult you!"
"And even now you try to goad me! Even now! When I come so close to being able to ... able to ... agh!" He reeled, clutching his head, his shoulder hitting the doorframe as he sank to the floor. "Nngh...."
Clair took a startled breath. This wasn't supposed to happen. Fear of Octavius warred with concern for the patient. She moved forward, haltingly.
He remained kneeling on the floor, bent forward, his hands at either side of his head and buried in his hair. "Ngeh..." he spluttered. "So much sound... in my mind..." he gasped.
Spider-man paused, watching the latest little drama unfold, stepping out of the way of both of them, an action that brought him closer to the window.
Decision made, she came to his side, but there was nothing she could do for him. It was in his head, very literally. "It'll pass," she said quietly.
He knelt on the floor, panting. "Changes ... made to control... arms...." His head came up and the most malevolently exhilarated grin split his features. "I can hear them, now! Feel them! Even from here, even though they're connected to someone else, I can control them!" With that, the actuators, quite of their own accord, whipped toward Spider-man.
Clair yelped as she was jerked backwards. She tried, frantically, but she couldn't control them at all now, or even influence them. The sleeping-limb feeling roared up her spine, stealing her breath away.
The actuators pounded against the walls and floor, shattering the window Spider-man had been edging toward and destroying more of the room's interior. Spider-man dodged and flipped out of the way, then disappeared out the window, only to return a moment later to leap toward the wall, bounce off of it, flip past the actuators, and barrel into Octavius, knocking him to the floor.
Clair curled in on herself as best she could, protecting her head while the arms did their damage.
"Stop," she yelled. "Stop it!" She wasn't talking to either of them. Instead, she was pulling at the cord that held the harness tightly on her, trying to get it off, get away from the things before they dashed her against a wall.
Spider-man had rolled free of Octavius and had come in for another shot, but Octavius rolled aside and snapped to his feet, wobbled, then suddenly caught Spider-man's next punch and threw him against the wall. The fight continued as Spider-man threw kicks and punches and Octavius dodged them with uncanny speed, finally catching the other's foot and upending him, spilling him onto the floor, following it up with a blindingly fast downward punch, which Spider-man rolled out of the way of, sweeping Octavius' feet from under him. Octavius hit the floor and immediately launched himself at his foe, catching him across the chin and in the stomach before Spider-man managed to grab Octavius's head and butt it with his own with a sickening crack.
Clair was still struggling with Octavius's knots, which were complicated and many, when she heard the sound. She looked up to see if either of them were still standing.
Octavius fell forward, ending up on his hands and knees again, before Spider-man hauled him upright and slammed him against the wall. "Gimme that cord," he said, waving one red-and-black-clad hand toward it. Octavius struggled, but dazedly and ineffectually.
Finally getting her feet under her, she worked the cord free and passed it to Spider-Man, slightly dazed herself. The harness gaped loose, still attached to her by the needles in the back.
Octavius struggled harder, but Spider-man managed to bind his wrists in front of him. He sank to the floor, panting, and looked up at Clair, his eyes still unreadable behind the goggles.
She avoided his gaze, pulling tentatively at the harness, and hissed when it pulled at her back. "How do you get this off?" she asked aloud, twisting an arm behind her back to feel it. "I want them off."
Octavius dropped his head. "Just unfasten it," he said, his voice sounding strangely defeated. "Once you do that, a disconnecting mechanism will retract the needles."
She ducked her head and unfastened the harness, gritting her teeth and clenching her eyes shut as the needles retracted. Suddenly, she felt so light as they fell away, and she swayed, then caught herself against the wall.
There was a pause, then suddenly the actuators whipped themselves away from her, arrowing toward Spider-man. He leaped out of the way at the last minute, and they pursued him, whipping and striking until one managed to slap against his head, and two more struck him across the face and chest, sending him flopping to the floor. They stood over him like some bizarre kind of insect before they made their way toward Octavius.
Clair backed away yet again, finding a corner behind her. She didn't take her eyes off Otto and the arms as she edged sideways, spidering along the wall until she was behind the island.
He looked up at her again as the actuators lowered themselves next to him, tentacles curling inward until the whole array sat like a bizarre, long-legged dog.
She pressed backwards as though she wished she could melt through the wall. Through the goggles, she had no way of telling what he was thinking, what his new intentions were.
One of the actuator heads nuzzled under his hand the way a dog does with its head. Absently, he curled his fingers over it. "I told you I wasn't going to kill you," he said, sounding confused.
"That's not what I was afraid of," she answered, taking a deep breath.
He looked puzzled for a moment, brows meeting in confusion. He took a breath as though to say something, then stopped. Gazed off into the distance again for a moment, then blinked. He snerked, then began to laugh, a wheezing sound.
"Why are you laughing? It's not funny!" she protested.
"Heh. From here, it is. Of all the things I could possibly do, all the pain, the constant threat of death, and the thing that frightens you the most is the prospect that I could take advantage of you." He shook his head, still snickering quietly.
"It's not funny," she repeated, taking a step forward, beginning to get angry. "I'd begun to think that you were maybe human. I helped you, and you tried that, and..."
"Doesn't it simply reinforce an appearance of humanity? It's what humans do, isn't it?"
The frustrations of the past few hours collected and overflowed. "Humans, normal people don't kidnap people and make them do surgery on them. If I were anything like you, I'd have killed you while you were under the anesthetic, or at least left you under for him to collect." she shouted, gesturing at Spider-Man. "Normal people feel gratitude!"
"Gratitude?" he echoed, standing, though with a little difficulty. "I should think the fact that I've decided to let you live after all this has finished can be considered gratitude enough! You are not in a position to expect anything more, girl! And as to the extent of my humanity," His voice dropped to a low, intense growl as he stepped forward. "I'm sure you've noticed by now that I'm far enough removed from humanity that such measures have become a necessity!"
"You're not removed from it at all!" She clenched her fists and glared at him. "You're just a messed-up freak who thinks that his problems are more important than everyone else's."
There was a pause. A dangerously silent pause as he turned white. A split second later, his tied hands shot out and grasped her throat in a tight grip. His face, twisted with fury, snarled inches away from her. "How dare you..." he hissed. His grip tightened.
She gasped uselessly for air, clawing at his hands and trying to pull away. "I'm sorry," she mouthed frantically, unable to speak. "I'm sorry!" Her lungs burned with the effort, and her knees went weak, which just made matters worse.
"You're ... sorry." he repeated. His grip loosened a fraction, just enough to allow her to breathe. "You're ... sorry." He looked about to say something else but the words refused to form.
She continued trying to pry his hand loose, her eyes locked on his. "I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice a rough whisper. "I didn't mean to. I was angry."
"You expect me to accept such an excuse? The world is filled with such flimsy motivations," he growled quietly.
"No," she said, starting to cry. Her shoulders shook, and she wouldn't have been able to get enough air even if he hadn't still been holding her by the throat.
He released her and stepped backward, an unidentifiable look on his face, almost as though he'd come upon something he had no clue what to do with.
She collapsed to the floor, sobbing with her hair covering her face. This was just one straw too many, and her mind couldn't handle it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated insensibly, her hands hovering around her bruised throat, but not touching it.
This, more than anything else, caused him a bizarre confusion. He couldn't even pinpoint why his thoughts ... scattered like that, why he found himself wishing he knew what to do. He always knew what to do. He always assessed the situation and came to a definite conclusion. But now, with this girl kneeling on his floor and sobbing, he found himself ... lost. His eyes darted about the room, came to rest on her again, then searched the room a second time. He'd noticed, almost detatchedly, now, that she was topless. He stood, located her sweater, and returned to where she still knelt. Unsure of what exactly to do with it, he reached forward, poking it into her field of vision.
She jerked and looked up at him in surprise. His expression was something she'd never seen before. Slowly, she took it and pulled it over her head, ridiculously grateful for the feel of it covering her, hardly even noticing the soaked cuff. "Thank you," she said haltingly, wiping her eyes. Her shoulders still shook, but she sat up and repeated herself one last time. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have said that to you. It's an awful thing to be called."
Sitting next to her, he blinked at her for a moment, then looked away, a rueful look on his face. "That's the first time I've ever heard an apology from anyone for something they said," he mused.
She pulled at her dry sleeve, hiccoughing. "It was awful," she repeated. "I hated being called a freak in school, and I swore I never would. It's the worst word in the world."
"Hnnn," he growled thoughtfully. "It quite probably is," he said, his voice a low rumble. Of all things, he found himself wishing he could think of anything else to say, but words were lost to him. He sat silently, staring contemplatively at the floor.
"It shouldn't be, should it?" she rambled, pulling at a loose thread. "Five letters, one meaning. 'a person, animal, or plant which is abnormal, aberrant or deformed.' It shouldn't hurt so much." She looked up again, but her eyes were far away. "Especially from someone who should have known better, who you thought that you knew better. And it shouldn't stick for so long."
He blinked. "How do you mean?" he asked, sounding strangely curious.
She turned her head, looking at him but not seeing him. "I was sixteen. Not that long ago. I'd just graduated, and Chad," She broke off briefly, her face twisted. "He didn't deal with it well. Couldn't comprehend that I wasn't leaving high school just to spite him. And the scholarship didn't help. And it shouldn't still hurt!" She ground her teeth. "I'm a grown woman, for crying out loud."
"Things have a way of staying with a person long after they should have faded," he stated rather gruffly. There was a pause. "He thought you'd graduated early just to spite him?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
She shook her head, scowling at the past. "He wanted me to stay with him. Told me I had to choose between him, and college. And I did, and we had the worst fight." She touched her eye, soothing a bruise long-healed. "He called me a freak when I hit him back. A stupid, stuck-up freak." She laughed slightly, humourlessly. "For him, that was as close to clever as you got."
Now Octavius was amused. "And you dated him?"
She shrugged. "I was sixteen, and I fell for the cheesiest pick-up line in the world." She rocked back on her heels and laughed harder. "'I lost my phone number, can I have yours?' In hindsight, I should have known he'd be a moron. He died as much an idiot as he lived."
Octavius shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position in which to sit, his hands still bound. The bandage on the side of his head bore a small red spot where the hole bled slightly. He reached up and rubbed gently at it. "Oh, do tell. I could use a laugh."
"A skateboard accident," she said acidly, smiling as she leaned against the island. "He thought he could play chicken with a delivery truck. He was in a coma for a year before he finally died last month. And do you know what could have saved him?"
He smirked. "You're itching to tell me. What could have saved him?"
She cocked her head to the side, smiling crookedly and tapped his forehead, right between his brows. "Zombie Juice."
A beat passed. Octavius snickered. "Oh, the irony," he said, an almost uncharacteristic smile on his face.
"Yeah," she said, nodding and looking back at her hands. "That's one word for it. And what a proof it would have been, for it to heal a brain so damaged. The damage from the accident, at least. There's not much it could have done for the latent stupidity."
"It'd be 'Flowers For Algernon' all over again, in some ways," he replied a little contemplatively.
"Something like that." She looked up at him through her hair. "Out of regard for the scientific process, how are you feeling now? At the rate it was going, the serum should be almost completely spread."
He thought on that for a moment. "I feel... almost as though I've woken up from a fever dream. I don't really know how else to explain it." He looked as though he would say something else, then stopped and fell silent, gazing thoughtfully at nothing. After a pause, he spoke again. "My mind feels ... clearer. Like ... a radio connexion that lost all the interference that had been making it fuzzy and garbled.... And I feel somewhat lightheaded...." he added, as though coming upon a realization he wasn't expecting.
"Good," she said, nodding, then she looked over her shoulder at Spider-Man's limp form. "I wonder if he could use some. Two concussions in one day; not good. There has to be some serious damage in there."
He turned and looked at his enemy's still form. "He's been through worse. He's been beaten bloody more times than most people can count and he seems to come out of it all right." He shifted again, his wrists pulling against the bindings. "However, if he keeps falling over the next time he and I fight, I'll be sure to send him your way," he finished dryly.
"If I'm still around," she said, rubbing her throat. "I seem to make some lousy decisions about who I yell at."
"Shows you've got a spine" came his gruff reply. "I was beginning to wonder, there." He shifted again. "I thoroughly expect you to refuse, but ... would ... you untie me?"
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "You're joking, right?"
"I don't joke," he replied. "You have my assurance, for what it's worth, that I won't touch you."
She conceded, and reached over to slip the knots loose. "You don't seem like the joking type."
He sighed and rubbed his wrists as the knots came free, flexing his hands. "Hnnn..." he said after a moment, that sound that meant he was thinking, and perhaps about to say something.
"What is it?" she asked, leaning her head back against the cabinet again and playing with the cord, braiding it through her fingers.
He sighed again, a different sound this time. "I don't often say this. Not much call to, you see. But ... yes." He cleared his throat. "Thank you." He looked away.
"Oh," she said, slightly startled. "You're welcome. I'm glad it worked. I was worried, you know. Until today, it was only theory."
"Hm," he said. "Seems to have worked rather well," he said, gazing distantly again. He stood again, and approached the actuators, stopping and looking down at them for a moment before silently unbuttoning his shirt again.
"I think they might be part of your problem," she said, standing up. "Your mind just isn't designed to handle extra limbs. It doesn't have the connections."
He stopped, then tilted his head back slightly. "How much do you know of me?" he asked, not turning to face her.
"Only what's been in the Daily Bugle," she admitted. "What everyone knows."
"Hm," he said. "In other words, not much." He finished unbuttoning the shirt and shrugged it off, holding it in one hand for a beat before dropping it. "You know that I've made myself a lot of enemies, don't you?"
"Yes," she nodded, glancing over at Spider-Man. "I understand what you mean. I just meant to tell you that the serum won't protect you from future abuse. I'm sure you know what I mean when I say that the brain is a delicate computer."
"Yes, I do," he said, picking up the harness and placing it over his shoulders like one would don a vest. "I've no choice, though. Perhaps... perhaps you'd best hope that I'm killed before I am forced to find you again for another dose." He slowly fastened the stays on the harness.
"I'll make myself harder to find," she promised. "This has been a . . . an experience that I would not really care to repeat." She moved over to the lab door, going to get her notes and the vial of serum.
The last stay fastened, Octavius took a breath and waited for the stab of the needles into his spine. He gasped as sensations flooded his consciousness. He'd almost gotten used to being without them, and now that he'd reattached them, the vague notion that maybe they really were a factor in his previously deteriorating condition rose which, along with the rush of data and sensations, caused him to lean dizzily against the wall, panting. "No choice," he gasped, more to himself than to anyone else. "There is no choice...."
She came back into the kitchen, pulling her lab coat on, her notes and the vial tucked safely in the pockets. "Did you say something?" she asked, pulling her hair out of her collar. She felt more like herself than she had since he'd come through the window at the lab.
Still leaning against the wall, he drew one hand down his sweating face "Nothing," he muttered. "I said nothing...."
"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned for the patient once more. "I didn't think they'd affect you this badly again, this soon. They didn't do anymore to me than a mild headache."
He slid to the floor, still leaning against the wall, the actuators now curling slowly toward him. "It's not only them," he muttered, his breath still loud. "Enormity. Lack of choice..." He swallowed labouriously, running his hand over his face again.
She perched on her heels in front of him, examining his face critically. "Not to sound cliché, but there's always a choice. You might be safer, physically and mentally, in custody. I understand if it's not an attractive option, but it's there."
"Not ... necessarily," he said, slowly catching his breath. "Survival is survival no matter the surroundings. Custody would prove no safer than the world out here.... and an institution wouldn't have people such as yourself...." He fell silent again, still breathing heavily.
"You have a point." She fell silent, looking around. Then she stood up. "Am I free to go?"
He'd calmed somewhat, still leaning against the wall. "Yes," he said. "I keep my word, if nothing else." There was a pause, and he lifted one hand. "One question, though."
"Ask away," she said, checking to make sure she had everything important. Check.
"What ..." He almost didn't ask it. But he'd been wondering, and something in the back of his mind prompted him to ask, before she left. Something he should know no matter what he might have consciously thought about it. He forced the words out. "What is your name?"
"Clair Watson," she said before she could stop herself. "I probably shouldn't have told you that."
"Hnnnn..." he said, smiling almost at a private joke. "Who will I tell?"
"I'm more worried about you looking in a phone book and finding it, to tell the truth," she said, smiling weakly. "No offense meant."
Here he chuckled. "A pity, that, and here I was hoping we could get together for coffee sometime...."
She smiled a little more. "I'll have to pass. Thank you for the help, doctor, and I hope sincerely never to see you again." She walked over to the door that she hadn't seen open yet, the one with a peep hole. Of course, it was locked. She jiggled the knob a few times, and looked back at him. "Er, could you unlock it?"
One actuator snaked toward the door and unlocked the deadbolt and pulled back the three door latches. He said not a word as it retracted to curl round him again.
She stepped out, and looked back again. He looked so tragic there, but there was nothing keeping her there any longer. "Good bye," she said softly, shutting the door. She walked away, slowly at first, but each step grew faster until she was running from the building. She didn't stop until she reached her own apartment, near the university. She checked her pockets, and realized that she had left her keys in her backpack, which was still at the university. Laughing, she sank to sit on the edge of the stoop. The laughter grew and grew until she was half-hysterical, rocking back and forth with her head thrown back. One of her ground-floor neighbours, Jake, came out to tell her off, but stopped when he saw her face and the bruises on her neck.
"What happened to you, Clair?" he asked frankly, looking around to see if a mugger or angry boyfriend lurked nearby.
"I just realized," she laughed, snorting ridiculously. "I left my bra in Doctor Octopus's lab!"