Disclaimer: All Spider-Man characters are property of Marvel. I wish I owned them, but I don't.
Author's Note: I forgot to mention last chapter, thanks to lotus-kid and vorkosigan for supplying the info I needed on medical proxies. And sorry for my disappearance; I was visiting home for about a week and a half, and home visits tend to drain me of creativity. I just can't seem to write in that atmosphere, for some reason. But now I'm back, and I'm going to try to do as much as I can before classes begin on the 29th. And for all of you who spotted the Murdock reference, yes, it is indeed that Murdock, as you'll soon see, though his costumed alter-ego won't be making an appearance, as far as I know. I thought he'd be appropriate not just because it's a sneaky reference, but because Murdock was actually Otto's first lawyer in the comic, back when Otto first had his accident and no one was sure if he was genuinely a bad guy, or just someone a little confused by his traumatic accident. Another slow chapter, and this one is kind of short, but things will pick up! I promise!
NOSCE TE IPSUM
Two – Tabula Rasa
The surgery room below bore more resemblance to a medieval torture chamber than a hospital room, Curt thought, his uneasiness intensifying as he took a seat in the viewing chamber. The walls were a drab gray, half in shadow because the lights had been positioned to fall directly over the spine of the shrouded figure laid out on the table. Thick leather straps securely bound Otto's prone form to the table, and the motionless actuators had been stretched to full extension and bolted to the floor just behind the pincer heads and at various points along their lengths. To Curt, it looked like an ancient rack, stretching Otto's limbs to the breaking point. Adding to the illusion was the table of operating tools, many of which didn't belong in a hospital room. Saws, drills, and other power tools Curt didn't recognize shared the table with the surgical implements.
Standing just far enough not to interfere with the surgeons but close enough to move in should trouble arise were half a dozen heavily armed police officers in Kevlar armor, fingers on the triggers, ready to fire at the slightest twitch of one of the deadly machines. There were more armed men in the viewing room with Curt; the operating theater had been chosen as the location for the removal of Otto's actuators for this purpose: to position gunmen out of range of the deadly actuators but keep Otto within range of their rifles. These were the people who'd be able to put a bullet in Otto's skull if necessary…
It all made Curt's skin crawl, and for what must have been the thousandth time since he'd signed the release form three days ago, Curt wondered again if he'd done the right thing. Legally, he had every right to make such decisions for his unconscious friend, and he'd already been told by every doctor and police officer that he'd spoken to that he'd done the right thing, that this could only help his friend's situation. But it still made him nauseous to think that Otto was undergoing extensive neural surgery because of Curt's decision. And now there was no going back; the surgery was scheduled to begin in about ten minutes. Curt shifted in the narrow, straight-backed seat – probably designed for discomfort to keep any watching medical students awake – and found himself wishing he were elsewhere. He'd cancelled class for the day to be there for his friend, but now Curt found himself dreading it. What if Otto awoke while he was here, and found out what Curt had done? What if he hated Curt for it?
What's done is done, Curt thought resignedly. If Otto was going to hold this against Curt, then so be it. Maybe he'd hate Curt for the rest of his life, but it would be a better life than if he still had the actuators attached. Right?
The viewing room's door opened again, and they were joined by a tall young man in a slightly shabby but still well-tailored suit and sunglasses. He held a briefcase in one hand, and a white cane in the other. Curt watched him out of the corner of his eye, idly wondering what the blind man was doing in the viewing room. He heard a murmured exchange between the man and one of the police officers, then the blind man began to head towards Curt. "Dr. Connors?" he called, head slightly cocked as he awaited an answer.
"I'm Dr. Connors," Curt offered, and the man oriented himself on the voice and headed confidently towards Curt with only the slightest use of the white cane. He came to a halt before the scientist and offered his hand, after shifting his white cane to the hand with the briefcase.
"I'm Matt Murdock, Dr. Octavius's lawyer," he introduced himself. "I've been trying to contact you, but I always seem to be just missing you." There was something faintly accusatory in his tone, as if he suspected Curt of avoiding him. Which he had been, truthfully. Curt didn't want to make any more life-or-death decisions for his friend, decisions that could land Otto someplace worse than the operating room. He was rather surprised to realize that Otto's lawyer was blindhad they been so desperate for someone to take Otto's case that they'd have taken anyone? Then Curt mentally slapped himself. He of all people should know by now that handicaps didn't stop someone from being good at their job. Maybe Murdock couldn't see, but didn't most of a lawyer's work deal with talking? Testimonies, statements, confessions… you didn't need sight to process those, just a keen mind. And Curt bet that for the times when eyesight was required, such as the examination of evidence, Murdock had an assistant with a fine eye for detail who could tell him all he needed to know.
Murdock's smile didn't waver, but Curt realized he was probably wondering why Curt hadn't taken his hand. "Er, left hand," he mumbled, still embarrassed by his earlier thoughts. "I'm an amputee."
Murdock set his briefcase on the floor, leaned the cane against the chair, then offered his left hand. "Sorry about that," he said, taking Curt's hand in a firm grip. He then took the seat next to Curt and asked curiously, "What's it look like in there?" He nodded towards the glass window overlooking the surgery room.
"Like they're torturing him," Curt said before he could stop himself, then grimaced.
The lawyer heard the pain in Curt's voice, and said with surprising sympathy, "It's hard to watch friends being hurt – especially when we're the ones responsible for that pain. But you made the right choice, Dr. Connors. This is the only chance he'll have at ever regaining a normal life. It may ease his sentencing, and since it takes quite awhile to recover from major surgery like this, he may spend much of his prison time in a hospital rather than a penitentiary." Curt shuddered at the thought of Otto locked away with the scum of society, where that fine mind of his would go to waste. "I'll do whatever I can to keep that prison time to a minimum," Murdock said.
No promises to keep him out of prison completely, Curt noticed sadly. This is probably the best that can be hoped for. "What's going to happen to him?" Curt asked.
Murdock mulled this over for a moment. "They want to put him on trial for the murder of those seven doctors, bank robbery, reckless endangerment of lives, and destruction of public property. He could end up with life in prison if he's found guilty of all charges – multiple back-to-back life sentences, with no chance at parole." Curt's mouth was suddenly very dry; it didn't sound like Otto had a snowflake's chance in hell. "However, we've seized Dr. Octavius's files from OsCorp, and I intend to prove that he wasn't responsible for his actions, that the AI of the tentacles took over his mind and made him do it. At the very worst, he'll still be considered an accessory to these crimes, and get shorter jail time. At best, I may be able to get an insanity plea. He'd be better off in a mental hospital than a prison. They aren't good options, I know," he said, perhaps sensing Curt's despair, "but it could be much, much worse."
Curt couldn't think of a response. Below, several doctors filed into the room, and Curt focused his attention on them as they took their positions. One of them flicked on a monitor that showed a 3D representation of Otto's ruined spine. Dr. Fischer had shown Curt pictures they'd taken of Otto's spine now, and the pictures from the initial attempt to remove the actuators for comparison. The damage had increased, meaning they had to formulate a new way to remove the actuators with the least damage.
It hadn't done Curt any good to see that there was a drop of dried blood on one of the older pictures that had been retrieved from the destroyed surgery room…
They'd opted not to completely remove the spinal brace. The melted nanowires had fused with his spinal cord as well as to the vertebrae, and removal could cause severe neural damage. As long as they weren't hooked up to the immense weight of the actuators, they weren't doing Otto any harm, beyond making his spine more rigid than normal. Only one of the nanowires, the one pulling Otto's vertebrae out of alignment, was going to be removed. The arms, harness, wires, and the outer part of the shell of each vertebral segment of the spinal brace would be removed. The part of the shell lying flush to his skin, however, had melted into his flesh. In places, skin had even healed over the metal. Complete removal of the metal brace would be more painful than leaving pieces intact. So the nanowires and a thin line of metal plates running from nape of neck to small of back would be all that was left of the harness – he'd never completely regain his flexibility, but they thought he had a good chance of being able to walk again. He'd also have extensive scarring around his waist and along his spine, but he'd be alive, and… normal.
Beside Curt, Murdock had opened his briefcase and pulled out several papers with the raised bumps of the Braille alphabet. He was running his fingers over the lines, but his face was turned towards the doctors below. Curt couldn't shake the feeling that, despite the man's handicap, he was somehow watching what was going on below.
The police officers in the viewing room with Curt lined the window, guns at the ready. One hovered near him and Murdock, ready to yank them out of the way should chaos erupt below. Curt didn't think the man's presence was necessary; the actuators hadn't so much as twitched since Otto had been brought in. If having heavy metal bolts driven through their segments hadn't brought them to life, Curt didn't think there was any danger now. The machines seemed to be completely dead. And from the uneasy glances of the doctors, they weren't too happy about the police presence, either, even if their purpose was to protect them from the actuators.
One of the doctors removed a saw from the table, his eyes never leaving the actuators as he started it up. The machines didn't react to the sound. Encouraged, the doctor walked over to the closest of the actuators, the lower left. Curt forced himself to watch as the blade bit into the metal. The blade whined in protest as it tore through the conduits running through the actuator's heart, spraying a dark, oily fluid over the doctor and Otto. Metal screamed in agony, voicing what the immobile machine and scientist could not, as the final connector between actuator and harness was severed, and the ruined end fell off the gurney to fall to the floor with an echoing clunk.
Curt couldn't watch anymore; it reminded him too much of his own amputation. Maybe the actuators weren't flesh and blood, but they were still part of Otto. He refused to break his promise to himself to stay with Otto, so instead, he squeezed his eyes shut.
But he couldn't block out the sound of another actuator dying, nor could he escape the knowledge that it was his fault…
XXX
The continuous thrum of voices, echoing and faint as though crossing a vast distance, finally drew him out of the darkness to which he'd retreated, into equal blackness when he tried forcing his eyes open. The voices grew louder as he became more aware, but they remained indistinct, their meaning escaping his attempts to understand. He opened his mouth to call out to them, but his dry mouth refused to form the words. He licked his lips and tried again, this time forcing out a barely audible, "He… llo…?"
Something appeared before him, slim, delicate and vaguely feminine. He couldn't distinguish any details, but something about her seemed… familiar. That alone made him desperate to make contact with her; she was the first thing he'd seen since waking on the riverbank that had triggered that feeling of familiarity. "Who…?" he tried. She angled her face so she was looking obliquely at him, and he thought he caught a flash of red in her dark eyes before she turned away. That one look had been enough for him to realize where he'd seen her before – she'd been the shape he'd seen reflected behind him in the puddle, before he'd sought help. "Who…" he asked again, but her shape became less defined, dissolving into a fine mist before vanishing completely, taking the voices with her.
He frowned in bafflement. Was he even awake? He'd thought he was; he could feel his body through a pleasant haze of numbness, and now that the voices had gone silent, he could hear the bustling sounds of life some ways away. If he had to venture a guess, he'd say he was in a hospital; it would fit with the hard bed beneath his stomach, the antiseptic smell in the air, and the constant hum of activity somewhere beyond him. But he couldn't see anything, though he knew his eyes were open. Something was wrapped around his eyes, blocking out all light –then how could I see that woman? – and he tried to drag his arm over to pull the bindings away, but the limb felt leaden and wouldn't respond to his commands. He groaned, and heard something shift off to his left at the sound. There were footsteps, receding from his hearing, and then after a moment, footsteps returning.
"Awake at last, I see," came a voice, its tone polite, if strained. The man, presumably a doctor, moved closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Thirsty," he said thickly. "Numb. Can't… see…"
"I'll have some fresh water brought to you," the doctor said briskly. "The numbness is from the painkillers; you were in pretty rough shape from your ordeal." He seemed to be almost purposely evasive, to the frustration of his amnesiac patient. "As for your eyes, your sensitivity to light seems to have worsened since you were last checked out. We've kept your eyes covered because we've needed light to examine you, and this was the best way to protect them. Now that you're awake, though, I can find a pair of sunglasses for you."
He remembered how his eyes had burned when he'd awoken on the river bank, and wondered why. But his mouth was too dry to form more than monosyllabic sentences, so the question would have to wait. There was something far more important he needed to know. "Who…?"
"I'm Dr. Fischer," the doctor said, misunderstanding his patient's question. "You're in Midtown Hospital." There was something peculiar about the man's tone when he said that last, a sharpness the amnesiac didn't understand. "You were brought here five days ago, when the police found you on the river bank. You've been undergoing treatment for radiation sickness, and you have some minor burns." There was a hesitation in the doctor's voice, as though there was something he was reluctant to say…
Five days… He'd been here five days. More of his life that he'd lost… There was a commotion at the door, and he found his head being lifted from the donut-shaped head rest used for face-down patients. A smooth glass rim was held to his lips, and he greedily sucked down the cool water. Much better, he thought, as whoever held the glass pulled it away. Radiation sickness… burns… but what about the machines on my back? That can't be normal. Why doesn't he say something about them? He may have no memory, but he knew people didn't just walk around dragging metal snakes behind them.
The doctor had taken the interruption to speak with someone else who seemed to be standing outside the doorway, so his patient took the time to take stock of his body. It was still numb, but with a little concentration, he found he could at least shift his limbs. The effort was still enough to wear him out, and he let his face fall back on the cushion beneath. He had the feeling that strength would be slow to return, and that he'd have to take things one step at a time. As for those… those machines that had been attached to him, he had no way of knowing where they were. Odd… I don't feel that weight on my back any more. Is it just the numbness?
"Better now, Dr. Octavius?" Dr. Fischer said, presumably to some other medical personage who had joined him. The patient sighed, wondering when he was going to get the answers to his burning questions. Oddly, however, this Dr. Octavius seemed to be rather reticent; there was no answer to Dr. Fischer's inquiry.
"Dr. Octavius? Is everything all right?"
Still no response, and a suspicion began to form in the amnesiac's blank mind. The name held no familiarity for him, but… it was possible…
"Dr. Octavius?"
"Is that… me?" the patient wondered. "Am I Dr. Octavius?"
Dead silence met his remark. Then, "You don't remember your name?"
"No," he said hollowly. "I don't remember anything before…" He felt so pathetic. "Please… who am I? Why was I in the river? What are those… those things on my back?"
"Well, this complicates things," he heard Dr. Fischer mutter to himself. "Yes, you're Dr. Octavius. Doctor Otto Gunther Octavius, to be exact," he said.
"Otto Octavius," he repeated, trying the name out. It still wasn't familiar to him, crushing his hopes that knowing his name would be the key to unlocking the rest of his missing memories. His head would have drooped, had his face not already been pressed against the cushion.
"As for the rest…" Dr. Fischer trailed off. "That's a long story, and I don't think it's for the best that I tell you right now. But I can say that you don't have to worry about those machines attached to your spine. Two days ago, you underwent surgery to permanently remove them from your body. You're free of them."
XXX
The message on Curt's cell phone was a request from Dr. Fischer to come to Midtown Hospital as soon as possible. He presumed that it meant Otto had awakened, but why had he sounded so urgent? Maybe it was something else, another surgery they'd decided Otto needed that he had to sign for… No, he had to be all right; Otto was due a little good luck after all that had happened to him. Curt's last communication with Fischer had revealed that Otto was recovering, though it would be a slow process. The call had to be about Otto's awakening.
He dreaded the impending encounter with his friend, but it was better to get it over with as soon as possible, so he cancelled his last class for the day and took off. Still, he found himself driving more slowly than the rush hour traffic made necessary, and by the time he parked in the hospital's sub-level garage he'd managed to steel his nerve for the confrontation.
It wasn't Dr. Fischer who'd met him in the lobby, however, but the lawyer, Matt Murdock. The blind man's look was inscrutable as he greeted Curt, remembering to offer his left hand. "It seems we have a complication," Murdock said. Curt couldn't judge from the man's tone whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, but since when had complications ever been good?
"Is Otto all right?" Curt asked, feeling the first stirring of alarm. The doctors had thought the surgery had been successful, but it had been such a sensitive operation that something could have gone wrong and they just didn't know it yet… Then again, it was Murdock who had met him, so maybe the problem was legal rather than medical. Maybe the police wanted to take Otto now, rather than wait. If that were the case, then there was nothing Curt could do for him.
"Physically, he's fine; the doctors are confident he'll make an almost full recovery." Murdock hesitated. "However, he has another condition that has only just become clear now that Dr. Octavius is awake. He's suffering from severe memory loss."
"How severe?"
"Without questioning Dr. Octavius myself, I can't be certain, but Dr. Fischer believes it's a near total loss. Apparently, he can't remember anything except waking up on the river bank. He didn't even know his own name, before Fischer told him." Murdock looked grim. Complications, indeed.
"He's what you would call a tabula rasa," came Dr. Fischer's voice from behind them. "A blank slate. It's not from the surgery; he says he was like this when he woke up, before the police found him. He…" Here, Fischer hesitated. "He didn't even know what the tentacles were. They frightened him."
My God… Curt tried to imagine what it must be like, waking into a situation where he was alone and in pain, and the whole world was against him – and not knowing why. Curt tried to quell the horror welling within him. "Can I see him?" Curt asked. It would be a futile gesture; if Otto couldn't remember his own name, there was no chance he'd know who Curt was. But after all this, a friendly face would probably be welcome, even if that face was an unfamiliar one.
"He was sleeping when I checked a few minutes ago," Dr. Fischer said, shaking his head. "Now that the surgery is over, the police should permit visitation. But… it wouldn't do any good; he wouldn't even know who you are. And… it could prove to be very painful for you. You were close, right? You'll be a total stranger to him. For some people, that's hard to take." His voice softened. "It's possible your presence could job a few memories, but don't expect miracles."
Curt swallowed; his mouth felt suddenly dry. So many years together… gone… "Is his memory loss permanent?" he asked hoarsely.
"It's difficult to tell," Dr. Fischer said, after a moment of thought. "I've heard of cases where an amnesiac's memories come back all at once, cases where they gradually come back over time… and, sometimes, the memories never return. We're not even sure about the cause of the memory loss, though considering the neural damage that resulted from the initial accident, it could have its roots in that."
Curt's knees felt weak, and he collapsed into the nearest seat. Murdock sat beside him and cleared his throat. "Which leaves us in a very difficult position," Murdock said. "He can't go to trial with his memory gone; he can't defend himself, and it wouldn't be very humane condemning a man who doesn't even know what he's done. There are those who want to jail him anyway, since we have incontrovertible evidence that he's Doctor Octopus, but that's not too likely, fortunately." He gave Curt a wry grin. "If that happened, there'd be public protest about the breakdown of the judicial system, villain or no."
"So what's going to happen to him?" Curt felt ill at the thought of jailing someone who was, in a way, a complete innocent.
Murdock absently ran his fingers along his briefcase's worn leather handle. "I'm pushing for house arrest," he said. "Dr. Octavius can't stay in the hospital forever, but he can't just go free, either. Confining him to a safe house while he recovers his memories seems to be the best option. Unfortunately, he has no family to take him in. Once we get approval, we'll have to select a place for him and find someone to take care of him – it wouldn't be safe for him to live alone. Because you have power of attorney, we're going to need you involved in this."
Curt had the dismaying feeling that he was going to see a lot of Murdock in the future. Why had he ever agreed to this? Because you're Otto's closest friend… and because you never envisioned a scenario where there'd be no Rosie to handle this for him.
"We can't keep him here much longer; the police presence is driving the staff crazy, and no one is too happy about having the famous Doctor Octopus in the same building, even if he has been, to put it delicately, disarmed." Despite Dr. Fischer's nonchalance, it was evident that he was one of the doctors uncomfortable with Otto's presence. "As soon as we're certain he's stable, we need to get him out of here."
"It's going to take time; assuming we get approval, we have to find a safe-house for him, and in his condition he'll need constant supervision," Murdock sighed. "Not many people are going to want to take care of him, despite the fact that he's completely harmless."
A safe-house… living without memory, without friends, with strangers who hate him for reasons he won't understand… I can't let them do that to Otto. Curt knew he was going to catch hell for this later once Martha found out, but it didn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. "I'll take him."
To Be Continued…
