Hey, first of all, I want to say that I'm sorry for the long wait for an update. This whole past year ain't really been particularly good for anyone, y'know? If you hadn't heard yet, my cat, Shy, who I had since I was 13 (2003), got pretty sick this year and, as one very elderly cat tends to do, she died in August. Her health was on the steady decline, and it didn't help that she'd also developed feline dementia, and this really took a lot of my attention because the poor girl would forget where she was, or would just fall off of surfaces she'd use to be so graceful on. Then came the total decline of her control on her bodily functions, which was about the time I had to make the rough decision to let her go.
I grew up with that cat, so it was just devastating to see her have to go through that. And I'm sure I'm still not fully recovered from that, since this was such an important individual to me. Having an animal for 18+ years sort of does that to you. No other critter is ever going to have the same sort of bond that I had with this cat, purely because she was mine when I was a teenager and clear into my adulthood, having been with me through some pretty major events. I especially just miss the smell of her fur, which was this sort of fresh earthy smell despite her being a very clean indoor cat.
That said, I have a new cat now, and her name is Mei. I hope she's very different than Shy, because I don't want Mei to be a replacement. Mei is a new experience, and it's really weird to be able to buy turkey cat food now.
Anyway, I actually not only finally got this chapter done, but the next chapter is already about 65% done so I hope that can get out sooner than the last gap, lol.
Also, I have this cute drabble idea floating in my brain set sometime between "It Started With a Laugh" and "White Noise" that I want to eventually get written out as a mood lifter.
So, anyway, this chapter is a bit bleak mostly because it's building up for something in the next chapter, and I'm also FINALLY going to utilize a little bit of my headcanons I've tossed around Tumblr for QuackerJack's backstory as to why he's the way he is. I don't want to cement it entirely yet, because I want to have some wiggle room, so if something is a bit vague, just attribute that to his faulty memory retention not getting details totally accurate. ^^;
Anyway, let's get this story going~
Jacky could remember the first time he'd really begun to snap.
The linchpin of a moment that began the chain of events that made him who he was today. He could remember nearly every little trivial detail, from how scratchy the fabric of the suit he wore that day, to the deafening echo of the gavel striking down to silence his erratic outbursts.
He could recount it with the sort of air as if it had been a recent event, although it was far from such.
A court hearing that was for the massive recall of the allegedly faulty product from his company, about a decade ago, give or take a year, maybe even three. He could remember exactly how many rows of laminated tile were between the chair he was seated in and the judge's desk. He remembered how he had been given ample warning to hold his tongue during testimony. His poor lawyer was exasperated by having to fumble with his arguments in order to gain any type of footing in the case each time Jack caused a contradiction.
The whole ordeal was just stressful, but it really wasn't until the third day of the trial when the gravity of the situation finally caved in on him and he just started laughing. He didn't really mean to laugh, especially not at the evidence photos of documented cases of injury caused by his products, but something went off in his brain that just told him: Laugh.
He laughed and laughed and kept laughing, until his chest ached and his sides were sore. He pressed his hands against his beak and tried to stifle it, but it made his nostrils hurt when the snorts just escaped through there instead. His eyes were wet and burning, sight blurry, shapes becoming incomprehensible to him as each chortle escaped him against his will.
He was painfully aware of the disapproving stares he was getting throughout the courtroom, but very few seemed to understand at the moment that he was not laughing out of some warped amusement. He kept laughing, gasping and wheezing as tears streamed down his face. He slid out of his chair and crumpled in a heap on the floor under the table in front of him, slapping a hand against the tile weakly, still laughing despite how much it made his insides hurt.
The gavel continued to pound against the desk surface, almost rhythmically, and the murmur of the room droned like a muffled choir, a chair's legs squeaked across the floor like a chirp of a panicked cricket.
He was in pain, sore from the chortling without enough time to catch his breath, but he was still laughing. He was so dizzy from not being able to breathe properly that all he could see was moving shapes and blurred colors as the forms gathered around him in an attempt to restore calm. Any words spoken around him at this moment were muffled and their tone made little to no sense to him. Was no one going to help him?
He felt someone grab at his arm, and without hesitation, no thought whatsoever in making a decision, he bit them, not unlike a startled dog that had been cornered. Another hand reached for him and he swung his fists in that direction. More hands on his shoulders, pulling his arms behind him with as much care possible as to not injure him as he writhed and kicked and shouted and gnashed his teeth, face hot and eyes unfocused as that awful laugh just kept escaping him. He didn't want to laugh, really he didn't, but he couldn't help it; it was all he could really think to do.
He pulled his arms free from the firm grips and he really couldn't explain what was going on in his mind at the moment, but he just kept laughing, it was so funny but he couldn't explain why he thought that at all. He heard someone say something about medical attention, but he felt perfectly fine aside from being out of breath from laughing so hard. He wasn't sick, after all…
The fit subsided, and he found himself on the cold tiled floor, his wheezy breaths and a persistent ringing filling his ears as all other noise seemed to be unreasonably muffled, not particularly clear in any audible enunciation. He blinked and stared distantly at the shapeless mass of chatter in front of him, painfully aware of the sound of the inner workings of the clock on the wall was the only thing that was captivating his attention as it clunked loudly with each second, vibrating through the floor as his head lay on it.
That was the day he decided that he just didn't like wearing scratchy itchy suits anymore.
Instead of letting him leave for the day to go home once the fit subsided, there was a bit of a detour, much to his confusion. He wasn't even allowed to approach his car, and was instead escorted to a different vehicle altogether. He looked at the place made for him in the back, and then at the two rather large dog-faced individuals flanking either side of him.
"... This is an ambulance." Jack said quietly.
"Yes, Mr. QuackerJack. It is."
"... But, I'm not sick." He said, shaking his head with a frown. "I'm going home, let me get to my car."
"Mr. QuackerJack, this is out of an abundance of caution. We'd appreciate it if you would cooperate with us; we just want to run a few tests to make sure you're alright."
"An evaluation is what you mean. I said I'm fine." Jack said in an accusing tone.
"Sir, I don't know how else to explain this to you." One of the dog-faces said to him gently "But either you follow us willingly, or you go with them because you bit and struck someone during your fit, which would be an assault charge if that's what you would rather happen."
Jack's eyes trailed along the direction that was pointed out to him and saw a squad car parked at the other end of the lot. The warm summer wind blew through his feathers, drowning out his hearing if he tilted his head just right.
"... But I'm not sick." Jack said quietly, sounding less sure of himself now. "... It was just a misunderstanding, I…" He stopped before wheezing in a state of apprehension again, voice starting to sound weak: "... I… I just want t-to go home, please."
The dog-face that had spoken to him before placed a large hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him, and it was clear that this was something he was well trained for. His natural stature as a Duck made him feel very small and helpless at the moment as he looked upwards to stare at the individual. He knew that they were trying to reason with him, smiling gently as if the suggestion to come along was supposed to have been his own idea all along.
His insides hurt at the thought of it and he just wanted to throw up.
Before he could make a decision on whether or not he was going to step into the ambulance without a complaint, he saw one of the plaintiffs; a parent of one of the children who had been allegedly harmed by his faulty products. The very testimony that he'd lost any sense in himself to pay attention when it was honestly very important to do so.
He couldn't help himself, he needed to know, and he somehow managed to get a few steps away from the two large dog-faced individuals, and shouted across the parking lot at the parent. A goose.
"Hey!" Jack called over the person, just as the dog-faced individuals caught up to him. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted: "Hey! How is she!"
Geese tended to tower over Ducks, with few exceptions, as they usually had a larger stature and were just a generally larger variety of Avians. Goslings were almost identical to Ducklings in their youth, but the point was, when he was approached by the parent, the Goose parent, a mother, was able to stare down at him without so much as bending their posture, and oh good lord, why did he feel so unbelievably small right now, was no one able to stand eye-to-eye with him at all?
He couldn't exactly remember the exact words spoken to him, but he remembered that he felt like the ground had been yanked out from underneath him the moment the words had hit his ears.
The warm wind stung at his wet cheeks as he was led back to the ambulance, answering questions in a very numb manner, watching as a cuff was fitted around his arm to measure his blood pressure, and just nodding as all this technical mumbo jumbo jargon. Apparently, it measured a bit high and they wanted to keep an eye on him just to be sure.
Something about it not being wise for him to drive at the moment or whatever, but he couldn't help but feel like this was just a convenience for them to latch onto so he could be kept at the hospital for observation.
They think they're so clever, like I wouldn't catch on…
"So, Mr. QuackerJack, how are you feeling today?"
"Aside from being barred from going home right now in my own car and having the worst day of my life so far, I'd say I'm doing good considering." Jack said in a voice that was very much dripping with sarcasm. He propped his arm against the counter next him, and rested his head on his hand. The trip to the hospital had barely taken ten minutes, and now he was in one of the clinic rooms, being asked questions. "Let's just cut to the chase here and tell me what this is really about. Why can't I go home right now? I feel fine."
"Do you have anyone we can contact?"
"What, like, family or a partner or something..? They're covering for me at the factory."
"Anyone who would be able to come in and handle a few things for us while we get this sorted out."
"Get what sorted out, what exactly is going on?"
The scratching of the pen on the paper on the clipboard stopped momentarily before starting again.
"Mr. QuackerJack-"
"Jack." He corrected swiftly. "Mr. QuackerJack was my father."
"Jack, do you know exactly what happened today?"
"Well, of course, it wasn't that long ago. Today was day three of my court hearing, which I really shouldn't be discussing outside of the courtroom."
"Are you aware of the fit that you had before arriving?"
"What, the laughing? Last I heard, there wasn't some law against having a case of the giggles." Jack said, rolling his eyes. "So I laughed a little, so what? Everyone laughs, I don't know why it's such a big deal."
"... Could you hold on for a minute or two, I need to make a phone call."
Jack made a noise that was a non-verbal go-ahead, and he sat back in the chair. The suit he was wearing was beginning to make his skin itch again, and he was starting to wonder if maybe he was just allergic to wool. Come to think of it, his socks were starting to feel scratchy as well, his entire body felt like it was going to break out in hives at any minute. He scratched at his head, hoping to get some relief from that, but it only seemed to make the urge to rake his fingers across his skin more irresistible than he could handle.
Before he knew it, he was pulling the coat of the suit off so he could properly scratch at the itches tickling his body, finding the whole thing just maddening. He really didn't stop to consider that this might have been a nervous response or maybe think to himself that perhaps jumping to the conclusion that stripping down to his colorful boxers to scratch at a particularly stubborn itch in the small of his back was maybe an unusual reaction, given the circumstances.
The door to the examination room clicked and pushed open just as he stood there, dumbfounded, while standing with a majority of his clothing in a pile on the chair next to him, hands curled into clawlike postures as he continued to absentmindedly scratch at himself.
"... I think I'm breaking out in hives." He said quite calmly, as if that was a perfectly good explanation as to why he was in only his underpants after only being left alone for, at most, five minutes. "I'm itching all over. I think I've developed an allergy to wool."
He thought that it was a perfectly reasonable answer, as he seemed to be developing a rash along his right side, but for some reason, attention was brought to the fact that he'd also managed to tear out a few feathers during his frantic scratching. Even the fluffy down on his head seemed to litter the floor. Of course, he was just so itchy, so it made sense that he would have scratched a few places more than the others.
"... Jack, why don't you wait here while we get you something more comfortable to wear?" The nurse said, glancing at her colleague.
"If you could just get me a cream or something for my skin, I think that would be a much better idea." Jack continued to scratch at himself, this time a particularly stubborn itch that had settled on his back. Thank goodness he was such an active individual, otherwise he doubted that he would have been able to contort to reach that. "... On second thought, do you have something like a soap or wash I can just soak in the tub with, like we used to do with oatmeal and chicken pox?"
"We'll be sure to look into that, but we need you to follow us to a different room, and I'm sure you don't want to make the trip in your boxers."
"... Why can't we do whatever we need to do right here?" Jack said, trying to keep from losing his mind over the burning itchy tickling sensation spreading over his body, and oh man, the areas on his chest were the absolute worst of it, it felt so inflamed and raw. Didn't they see how distressed he was over this sudden rash? Never had he felt such a case of the hives before, he was beginning to wonder if perhaps his feathers had picked up a few mites and maybe that was the cause of his discomfort. He inhaled sharply and said in a forcefully calm tone, gritting his teeth: "Please, I'm itching all over, I don't know where this rash came from, it's driving me crazy, do something, I feel like I'm on fire."
The first nurse approached him with gloved hands and began inspecting the ruffled feathers and patchy skin. Sure enough, there was definitely a rash that seemed to have sprung up under his plumage, along his chest, sides, back and belly. No doubt exacerbated by his obsessive scratching in the last ten minutes.
"Mr. QuackerJack, are there any allergies you have that may have set this off?"
"I have a seasonal allergy to ragweed, but that's usually in March or April, not this late in the year, and it's mostly a nasal issue, I have antihistamines for that." Jack said, not really noticing that he'd been addressed more formally, despite expressing displeasure at that before. "It just started about an hour ago, before I got here."
"An hour ago? Was there anything you may have been in contact with or maybe there was something that happened that was very stressful that may have set off your autoimmune system?" The nurse said, gesturing for her colleague to come over to take a look as well. "We might have to take a scraping so we can test it to be sure this isn't caused by a contaminant."
"... What, like, someone poisoned me or something? Are you saying someone else made this happen!" Jack said loudly, eyes wide, as he lifted an arm to have that spot inspected as well. "I've been at a trial all week, how could anyone even be able to-?"
"Mr. QuackerJack, I was suggesting more of maybe a pollen related sensitivity. No one was suggesting that someone has harmed you." The nurse said gently, eying him with a sense of caution that wasn't there a minute ago. "... Why would you think that someone would want to hurt you?"
"... Well, I… the recall, there's that trial going on right now for one of my…" Jack fumbled over his words in a weak attempt to explain, absentmindedly reaching a hand to scratch at his shoulder. "... There was an incident, and… I mean, I'm sure you've heard the news about it, it's on all the local stations, I don't really have to repeat all that, it's not really my fault anyway, the directions on the box were very clear, it's not my fault if they didn't read it properly."
The male nurse then said, quite loudly and without much tact: "Oh, that's right, didn't one of your toys manage to maim someone?"
Jack flinched.
"My toys are not dangerous!" He snapped, fists clenched tightly. He was beginning to shake. "Just get me something for the rash and let me go home, I want to go home, I have things to do!"
This declaration was met with an uncomfortable silence. He did not like that. Not at all.
"... Mr. QuackerJack, we're not authorized to let you leave right now."
"I'm not sick! I'm fine, I'm just a little itchy, and I don't appreciate you all purposely antagonizing me!" Jack screamed, stepping backwards and away from the nurses. "Let me go home! I'm not sick!"
He was aware that, yes, he was still standing around in his underwear, but he was not going to be made into a fool.
The lady nurse whispered something to the male nurse, and there was a mutual nodding between them. Jack did not like that at all.
"... You can't keep me here if I don't want to, I'm an adult and I know my rights." Jack said in a level voice, gritting his teeth as the itchy rash flared up again. He couldn't help it, but his hands quickly began scratching at his belly as the painful tickle began spreading again. "... Oh, please, just make the itching stop, I can't think straight, I can't stand it…" He moaned pleadingly, fighting back the urge to bite at his arms as the hives seemed to start spreading from his shoulders to his extremities.
Why was he the only one who seemed so alarmed by this rapidly developing rash? Surely a severe case of hives like this would garner at least some immediate attention?
His eyes drifted downward and he was shocked to see a fair amount of white feathers littering the floor at his feet. Was he molting? Molting season was well over a few months ago, and wouldn't occur again until at least September. Where did these dropped feathers come from?
He felt a firm hand touch his shoulder with the same sort of care as one would while addressing a frightened child.
"Mr. QuackerJack, if you would please try to settle down, we'll gladly do our best to ease your discomfort, but you need to cooperate with us so we can help you."
"... I wanna go home." Jack moaned pitifully, raking his fingers across the rashes again. "... It's just molting. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm just itchy."
Maybe now was about the time he considered the possibility that he was actually having a fit. A rash that just seemed to get worse and worse the more upset he was getting. The sudden bout of laughter he couldn't control earlier. For goodness sake, he was standing in the middle of an examination room in just his boxers, scratching himself raw. Surely it had to be the stress getting to him, it wasn't his fault, he was just bending under pressure, that's all, it could happen to anyone, it didn't mean that anything was specifically wrong with him, he was just having a physical reaction to the emotional pressure of the whole ordeal of a trial he was being forced to sit through…
That urge to vomit from earlier crept back and he felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably as he broke out in a cold sweat. The air around him was getting hot, almost suffocating.
"... I'm not sick, but I feel like I'm going to be sick…" He whimpered as he started trembling, wrapping his arms around his midsection in an attempt to ease his sudden and inexplicable bellyache. "... I don't feel so good…"
"Get him a bin and some water." He heard the lady nurse say to the other. "Let him breathe, I'll get him something more comfortable to wear."
Jack was carefully guided to the chair to sit down in while the bag-lined bin in the room was pushed within reach. He was determined to not have to be sick in it; he wasn't going to let himself be embarrassed or humiliated any further today. He sipped at the paper cup of water bitterly and stared at the male nurse with a frown and clenched teeth.
"... I run a company, you know. I'm not helpless." He said for no reason in particular. "I'm just having a bad day, that's all. Everyone has bad days." A cap-sized cup filled with some sort of syrupy looking liquid was held out to him, and he eyed it with a sense of distrust. "... What's that for?"
"Something to help with your nausea."
"... I know what those types of things do, it's going to make me feel all woozy and tired." He pushed the hand away and shook his head. "No thank you, I'll just sleep it off at home."
"Sir, I don't think you really understand; you're not cleared to leave right now." The male nurse said as carefully as possible, trying to not upset him further. "At the very least, we need to treat this rash before we can discuss what to do next."
"... This is a very nasty rash." Jack said quietly, sipping at the water again. "... Can someone suddenly develop an allergy to wearing a suit? I've had to wear one all week, that has to be the reason…"
The lady nurse returned, carrying a folded set of what seemed to be loose fitting loungewear, almost pajama like, but of a more lightweight fabric. Shirt and shorts, and a pair of slippers, powder blue in color.
"... I'm going home after this, I'm not staying." Jack said, still adamant that he was going to convince them otherwise. He begrudgingly pulled the shirt over his head. "I'm just putting these on because I can't wear that suit, it's giving me a rash."
His skin still itched, but the fabric helped keep the air-conditioned air from stinging at the raw defeathered patches. Admittedly, this outfit wasn't as constricting to wear, but he was determined to make that a temporary inconvenience. He wasn't putting that suit back on anyway.
That nauseated feeling in the pit of his stomach still lingered. He clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply, trying to keep a grip on his nerve.
... Maybe I was poisoned after all… He thought to himself, tugging at the drawstring of the shorts uncomfortably. The rash, my feathers are falling out, and I just feel like throwing up. Someone could have done something to the water pitcher back in the courtroom when I wasn't looking…
He followed the nurses deeper into the hallway, the winding corridors and maze-like floorplan was very disorienting, he could have sworn they passed by the same drinking fountain at least three times. Too many mumbling voices over the P.A. System, swivel stool wheels squeaking in such a screeching manner, that overly pungent stink of sanitizing chemicals wafting out of empty rooms, televisions blaring local channels, potted plants that looked way too perky to be real. He spotted a fish tank that was acting as a partition for one waiting room lobby. As he stepped by it, his eyes locked on a butterfly fish that was drifting aimlessly with the current caused by the air pump that circulated the oxygen.
He blinked.
"... Um, how long until we get to do something about the rash?" Jack said quietly, realizing that he'd lost track of where the front lobby was and that thought was rather unnerving to him. "... I have a few complaints."
"You're doing good, Mr. QuackerJack, we just have a couple more doors to walk through."
"... Why are you talking to me like that?" Jack said, looking at the walls and realizing that the decor was a more neutral, calming sort of artwork aesthetic, bland beige walls with wood framed artwork of very calm meadows and countryside scenery.
Oh dear…
The itching started to burn again, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning and clawing at his body in a frantic and fruitless attempt to soothe it away. He felt like he was losing his mind, surely these hives couldn't be a normal reaction. Something was wrong, he was so sure that someone had done something to him, it's all their fault, whoever had done it must have been trying to ruin him, it was the only explanation, it had to be. He felt like every single one of his nerves were on fire, he couldn't even figure out where he should scratch now, because it all became an incomprehensible meld of painful tingles and twinges. All he was at the moment was itching.
Feather fluff hovered in the air before him, suspended by the gentle flow of the central system. He pulled his hands away from himself and awkwardly pulled at the collar of his shirt with shaky hands, looking down at his chest, which was beginning to make him resemble a stress plucked chicken.
"... Make it stop." He whined, almost in tears now, surprising himself with how pathetic he was starting to sound. "I can't stand it, get me a cream or something, an antidote, I think I've been poisoned!"
He quite literally couldn't stand now, or least, he couldn't step forward without agitating his condition. How in the world could this have progressed so quickly? He was perfectly fine a couple of hours ago, this had to be some sort of chemical reaction, no way this was purely because he'd aggravated an allergy.
Why was no one listening to him?
"Mr. QuackerJack, please, we're going to do everything we can to help ease your discomfort and anxiety, but you have to work with us." He heard one of the nurses say. He couldn't keep track of who was speaking, despite that either of them had very contrasting voices. "Would it help if we wheeled you to the exam room if you're having difficulty walking without irritating that rash?"
"... But, we just left the exam room." Jack said in a level voice.
"That was the clinic part of the hospital. We're going to run a few lab tests on your skin so we can determine if it's an allergy or a different kind of reaction."
Jack was still eyeing the framed artwork. This was the sort of decor of an area of a hospital meant to accommodate comforting individuals who were going to have a more extended stay.
He was not going home today after all, as much as he was trying to fight it.
He reluctantly agreed to being escorted via wheelchair, if only because the urging from the nurses was too much to argue against when his mind and energy was being consumed by focusing on this incessant itching that spread through his body like an unchecked wildfire.
The rash had now spread to his neck, and his face was beginning to tickle uncomfortably.
A durable paper-ish bracelet was fixed to his wrist, bound by adhesive on the ends to keep it a loop. Orange. His name was written on it, and some additional jargon that didn't make much sense to him at the moment. He honestly couldn't read much of the text littered around him, but he chalked that up to the awful skin affliction draining all his attention and energy on the matter.
"Okay, so what are we in here for today, Mr. QuackerJack?" A rather upbeat voice punctuated the room as yet another hospital staff member stepped in, completely giving off a different sort of air compared to the ones he'd encountered in the clinic portion of the hospital. A female pigeon in a lab coat. She seemed genuinely friendly, but Jack couldn't imagine anyone in this profession being excited to deal with sicknesses all the time.
Jack automatically reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it upwards.
"I think I'm going bald at a record's pace. My skin is on fire. You tell me." He said sourly, eyes narrow as he gestured to the rashes. "... Who are you exactly?"
"Quickest explanation is that I'm the dermatologist; I specialize in figuring out what's going on with your skin, feathers and talons." She said, retrieving a fresh pair of rubber gloves to inspect him closer. "I'm Dr. Kin, but you can just call me Sandy if you want."
"... Sandy?" He moved his hands out of the way.
"Short for Sandra, I'm not one for excessive formalities, the hospital setting is stressful enough as it is, the least I can do is make it a little more familiar."
"... Dr. Sandy Kin." Jack said quietly, eying the nametag pinned to the coat. "Dr. S. Kin. Why am I not surprised?"
"Funnily enough, my family actually studied mostly as podiatrists, I'm actually the odd one out."
"... Funny." He grumbled, clenching his hands against his clothing fabric as he fought the urge to scratch again. "So, when you do the tests, can you figure out if it was something someone else did to me, ooooor… how does that work out, exactly?"
"Why? Do you think that you might have been in contact with anything in particular? Honestly, any thoughts you have can help us narrow down the cause."
"... It's really just a thought. I didn't see anything, but I'm just a little shocked by how fast this all came on." Jack said, twinging as he was gently prodded at as the shirt was lifted up. "It burns, so I thought maybe something chemical related? I work with toys, so maybe I have an allergy to some materials I've been using recently?"
He didn't really want to voice his concerns about being poisoned right away, as he had a feeling that he was going to be met with the same level of interest as everyone had given him on the matter thus far. If she was a skin doctor, surely she could find that out anyway.
"An interesting theory, but unusual that if that was the case, I'm surprised this rash hadn't started on your hands." Dr. Kin said, continuing to inspect him. "I would think that's where contamination would have started, or at least on your forearms. The lack of blisters seems to lean on this not being of chemical origin, but I'll still take a scraping so we can run a few tests to be sure I'm not overlooking anything."
"It started before I got here; I've been at a trial all day."
"Yes, I know, that event is actually being televised."
"... What?" He said hoarsely.
"It's a big case, and you've got a big name company, we don't get much excitement in this town so naturally, everyone is interested."
"... Was that a live broadcast?" Jack felt like he was going to probably crumple to the floor if he tried to slide off the examination table now. "Are you telling me that everyone saw that outburst!"
The itching was getting even worse, if that was even possible, and he was fighting every single impulse to try to run to the water cooler in the hallway to try to lift the large jug and dump it all on himself in a wild attempt to cool down his inflamed flesh. Logic told him that he was more likely to injure his back than actually manage to lift the jug out of the cooler, but he wasn't really thinking logically at this point.
"Well, I wouldn't say everyone, but anyone who was tuned into the live coverage, it's likely."
Jack felt the color drain from his face, and the itching remained as intense as ever. He hated how absolutely nonchalant everyone else seemed to his situation.
Maybe they know exactly what's going on with me, and this is all just punishment for what I've done…
He must have not been paying enough attention, because he was momentarily stunned by the gleam of something metal and sharp looking that Dr. Kin was holding, and that caused him to flinch away in shock.
"Oh, don't worry about that, I'm just going to take a little scraping sample of your rash so I can get some tests run on it, so it's not going to hurt." She tried to reassure, seeing how startled he was. "It's a bit like shaving, if that helps ease your mind."
"... I don't shave." Jack said earnestly, and it was true, he didn't really sprout whiskers and stubble like other male Ducks his age seemed to. He always suspected it had to do with the fact that his adult plumage never really came in like his peers, so he was probably just going to be baby-faced for the rest of his adult life.
"Ah, okay then, then I don't really have a good analogy, so you'll just have to take my word when I say not to worry."
"... That's not really too comforting." Jack said flatly, clenching his teeth in anxiety. "This really hasn't been a good day for me."
"Hey, I get it, and me holding a scraping tool isn't helping much either, I'm sure." Dr. Kin said, nodding thoughtfully. "But it's the least invasive way to get a sample so I can run that down to the lab and figure out what's causing that rash."
"... Maybe I'm allergic to wearing suits." Jack offered, desperate for a proper answer and a lead in determining what was causing his ailment.
His skin continued to itch terribly, and the hot burning sensation had caught up to the rash spreading along his neck. He almost considered begging for a sedative to knock him out and let his mind and nerves rest, but thought against it as he thought it would bring more unwanted attention to this already awful situation.
He just wanted to get home as soon as possible. Every second that passed made him dislike hospitals more and more.
"Well, by all appearances, this really does look like a case of stress induced hives, but I'll still run the sample to the lab just to be sure." Dr. Kin said, having been so swift and efficient with the process that Jack hadn't even realized that the skin scraping had even occurred yet. "It just looks so inflamed probably because you've clearly been scratching at it."
A telephone affixed to the wall rang loudly, the most piercing of electronic noises to cut through all the chatter. Jack flinched.
"... It itches." Jack said defensively, as if to try to justify it. "What do you expect me to do? I'm itchy, so I have to scratch at it. I feel like I'm losing my mind right now."
"I suppose it's fortunate that us Avians don't have nails or claws on our fingers, but you could still rub yourself raw, which looks like you may have done on a few spots here already."
"So give me something to make it stop, then."
The phone continued to ring.
"I'd love to, but it has to be determined if this is a physical reaction or an allergy, so that we can figure out if it's better to use a cream or just an antihistamine. Doing anything with medicine right now could compromise the results. Hold on, let me get this call real quick."
"... Oh, for the love of…"
"Jacky?"
He felt himself drift back into consciousness. Honestly, he was a little confused as to how that was possible, until he realized that he'd definitely been asleep.
The memory of that day was probably more vivid than it had been in the longest time, particularly because he could actually recall what some of the faces looked like this time around. It was bizarre to not be met with the incomprehensible nonsense that his mind was used to conjuring when seeping the memory into his dreams.
Although, he was always very much certain the judge had been a sparrow before. And who exactly was taking his place at the factory again..? Were the details getting muddled between themselves, or were they finally becoming clearer than they had been in years?
"Jacky." Claire said, a little more insistently as he continued to rub at his eyes.
He blinked, and rolled his head to look in her direction.
"... Hey."
"How are you feeling?"
Jacky hesitated before answering with a half-hearted shrug: "Not worse, I guess. My head's all fuzzy, but I was sick yesterday, huh?"
"It really wasn't a good day for you at all."
"... I was a bit of a jerk last night."
"There's been a lot going on, I don't blame you."
"You should. I deserve it."
"That's not what we're doing right now. It's another day, hopefully a nicer one."
"I hope so." He said, shrugging anxiously. "... I have to go back to the hospital today."
"... Yeah." Claire said, as if the thought had already been in her brain all morning anyway. "... It's going to be quiet around here when you do."
There was a pause from Jacky before he said: "Are we just making small talk right now to fill the air for the sake of it, or what..?"
A single stifled laugh escaped Claire.
"Looks like it." She said. "You said your head feels fuzzy. Fuzzy like static or fuzzy like it's feeling lightheaded?"
"Foggy. Like it's not very clear, and it's just not so easy to think good." He mumbled, holding a hand to his head as he sat up. There was a pause, and then he added: "... My throat's dry."
"Let's get you some water, then. You probably didn't have enough yesterday." Claire recalled the amount of tears he had cried the day prior and considered the possibility that he was probably a little dehydrated since she couldn't recall him actually taking any sips of drink afterwards, if any.
"I want juice. It tastes better."
"Water will be better first, trust me."
"It's so boring and tastes blaaaaaand." Jacky whined irritably, clearly not understanding the logic at the moment.
Goodness, his bout of illness yesterday must have really drained him and his patience…
"Okay, what about this; you can have juice, but you need to have a glass of water first." Claire offered as a compromise, reaching for his hands to help him stand from the bed. "Ducks are supposed to like water, y'know."
"For swimming. And I can't because my guard feathers never really came in; I'm not very waterproof." Jacky huffed. "I just sink."
"The fluff looks good on you."
"Then you should have seen me ten years ago, I had a lot more on my head… I think." Jacky started to laugh before stopping suddenly, realizing that he couldn't say for sure. Odd, considering his memory issues only seemed to affect the current time and time frame of the breakdown that landed him in the mess to begin with. "... To be honest, it's been a long time since I've seen a photograph of those days. I really don't remember when I started wearing the hat; it feels like it's always been there, but I know that the costume stopped being a costume after…"
He paused again. He really couldn't remember. Oh God, when was the last time he did? When was the last time he'd thought about it being a memory? He had a life and for the first time, it finally sunk in the unnerving fact: he couldn't remember.
"Jacky? You went quiet, are you alright?" Claire's voice cut through the rising inner panic.
"... I… don't remember."
"I know. Whatever is going to come back over time will do it at its own pace-"
"No." He said over her, sounding audibly distressed. "I mean I don't remember things that should have happened well before the accident. Things that the injury shouldn't have affected."
"... You just woke up, it's probably because you're still-" Claire tried to find a reasonable answer to help ease his mind, but she was swiftly cut off.
"Listen to me." Jacky said, stamping his foot on the floor in cadence. "Listen. I don't remember. How long has it been that way, why am I just now noticing!"
Claire really wanted to say something that would immediately dispel his distress, but she knew better than to just dismiss it.
"... What sort of things aren't you remembering?"
"I… I don't know exactly, but I feel like I should at least remember having some sort of life before going nuts." Jacky said, losing some of the enthusiasm in his panic as he realized that he wasn't even sure what it was he was being upset over. "... Haven't I ever mentioned any relatives before..?"
"No, never." Claire said, keeping his hands in hers. "You never said anything about anyone, and I never really thought to ask."
"... Not like I could have said anything about it anyway, since I don't think I've ever really thought about it in years…" Jacky mumbled, completely baffled. "You'd think that I'd at least know where my parents are, they can't be THAT old, surely I'm not the only one with the 'QuackerJack' surname…"
"Unless that's a legally changed name."
"... What?"
"It's such a specifically unique name and oddly fitting for your former job."
"Excuse me, what?"
"... I'm just saying, it's possible that it's just a stage name… that got out of hand."
"No. No, no, no, no, I'm a QuackerJack, I've always been that for as long as I can… Oh, sweet mallard magpie, that's the whole problem isn't it! I just can't remember anything!" Jacky was getting agitated again, tensing his frame as he shuffled his feet and tugged his hands back. "A face or-or a name or something, anything in my memory, who I knew or who knew me! It's just toys, everything is toys!"
"Jacky. Jacky! You're getting upset, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that at all."
This wasn't an accusation or assumption. Claire was acknowledging his distress and letting him know it was a valid response.
"I'm upset, of course I'm upset, I can't catch a break at anything. My head's spinning and I don't even know why half the time." He huffed hoarsely. "I'm in trouble for something I barely recall being a part of at all, and no matter what I say about it, it's pointless."
There was a silence as he continued to shuffle his feet anxiously, tilting his head back and absentmindedly pulling against her hand grip in a backwards leaning motion. He did not want to make eye contact.
"Jacky."
He didn't react. It seemed like he'd been momentarily caught in a trance, eyes fixed on something only he saw.
"Jacky." Claire said a little more insistently, reaching up to pull his head to face her. He blinked blearily and frowned slowly, as if confused by the response he'd gotten. "Lost you for a second there…"
"... I didn't go anywhere. I'm just tired." He mumbled. "... I'm always tired." He added in a defeated tone.
"I'd imagine so, after the kind of nights you've been having." Claire agreed before noticing that he had a pained expression at that comment, as if he felt guilty about the thought. "Hey, you're not in trouble or anything for that, you haven't done anything wrong."
"... Didn't I cause a car to crash into a tree the other night?"
"It's been sorted out, no one was hurt anyway, and besides, it was a fire hydrant."
Jacky snorted under his breath before reaching his hands up to pull her's from his face. "... Do I have to go back today?"
He said that with an almost playful whine.
"The deal was for the weekend, and we only prepped for that long." Claire reminded him gently. "You were only cleared for a few days at most. Besides, we're expected to check in by the end of the day and I'm sure if we don't, someone is going to come by anyway just to be sure."
"If it's Darkwing coming around here, I'm going to give him a swift kick in the-"
"Jacky."
"I was gonna say tail feathers! But, that said, I don't think I'd really be held responsible for wherever my foot lands if I lash out."
"That sounds premeditated."
"That'd be the one thing I'd admit to having forethought to… I can't be the only one who's considered it. Heck, he's short enough, I could probably knock his head, if it wasn't for the balance problems I have because of this darn broken brain." Jacky grunted, sounding agitated again. "... He's got such a punchable face right now, he looks so much like… makes me so angry at just the thought of it…" He muttered under his breath through his teeth, eyes blinking rhythmically, almost as if he was definitely having a physical reaction to the idea. His fingers curled into fists and he shuddered with each deliberately controlled breath, as if trying to force himself to calm down but was not gaining any sort of progress in the attempt.
"Let's get you something to eat since we're both up now and you really do need something to buffer your meds so you won't be sick later." Claire said, attempting to redirect his attention. She could tell that he was in need of a distraction at the moment. "You're starting to look pale again. You should eat something."
Jacky flinched and looked back at her guiltily, then apologized in a mumbled stream of words. His brain was beginning to feel like a badly tuned analog broadcast, complete with tickly white noise scratching along the inside.
Oh lord, the air felt thick and he needed to sit down soon, he realized.
He followed her out of the room, barely listening to a word she was saying as his eyes fell on the mess of the scrapbook he'd attacked in his fit of frustration and rage the night previous. He'd be surprised if there was really anything worth being salvageable in the chaos; he'd even managed to bend the spine at a near perfect perpendicular fold, an impressive feat considering how thick the book had been.
You know you only did that because the alternative was trashing the computer, if it wasn't for the book being right there. A voice drifted through his brain lazily. It felt good, didn't it? Just lose all control and go bonkers? Just break whatever you can get your hands on? Let you forget why anything was wrong to begin with, how fantastic, no one would blame you, no one CAN blame you, they expect that of you by now anyway, you can't control yourself, you're practically feral…
"Jacky?"
He felt himself be pulled away from his thoughts again. Fingers that weren't his were brushing up against his cheeks, as if sweeping away something.
"You're crying again." Claire said in a tone that wasn't accusatory, more of an observation. "What's up?"
"... I dunno, it just keeps happening." He answered truthfully, shaking his head with a halfhearted attempt to explain himself. He then forced a laugh, almost weakly. "... Guess my brain has a mind of its own."
That was a terrible joke. Stop while you're ahead.
He grit his teeth and stifled a noise of annoyance, and said, loudly and borderline frantically: "Scrapbook, more like scrapped book, am I right! 'Cause it's trashed!"
What are you doing?
He didn't know. He felt his body begin to shudder and twitch as bouts of laughter escaped him like a furious case of the hiccups, making him wheeze and sputter between each cackle, to the point that he sounded less like he was laughing and more like he'd been stricken suddenly with a respiratory illness.
Scrapped book. It's a scrapped book now. It's so funny and he didn't know why. His eyes and head rolled upwards and he felt his knees give out as the laughter drained whatever residual energy he'd had left, leaving him sitting on the floor in an awkward slump against the back of the couch, almost like he'd become a life sized ragdoll, as his vision swam in and out of focus hazily between blinks of hot tears, chest and lungs aching from the snorts and gasps of misaimed amusement.
He wanted to cry properly and he couldn't even get that right.
When the fit had finally subsided, he found himself in a fetal position, one hand gripping the right side of his head with a clenched grip, while the other was stuffed into his mouth, teeth biting down on his own thumb and index knuckles as if he'd tried to stifle himself instinctively. It took him longer than he'd like to admit to realize that the reason for the pain in his left hand was because he was the culprit.
He then realized that he wasn't just laying on the floor, but was being carefully cradled as well. There was another hand, not his (obviously), pressed softly to his forehead, likely checking the state of the fever that still lingered. His entire body felt stiff, as if every muscle had locked up during the fit and refused to relax despite the ordeal being over.
Oh lord, he was exhausted.
There was a hushed whispering in his ear, and he realized almost right away that Claire was trying to comfort him as the hand moved from his forehead to his cheek, then back again in a gentle stroking motion through the fluff. It pulled him out of the brain fog gradually.
"... H… How long… was I out..?" He murmured after about a minute or two.
Claire's hand stopped and there was a light gasp, likely because she'd been surprised by his sudden coherence.
"At least five minutes. I was about ready to call the hospital if you didn't snap out of it soon." She pulled him forward in a more firm embrace now that he was being cognitive. "It's a good thing we're going back today, so you can be checked over, I'm not a fan of these fainting spells."
"... Sorry." Jacky mumbled, feeling his face getting red and hot with embarrassment. He wanted to hide his face so badly, feeling as though any eye contact was going to make him lose his nerve again.
"Don't be, it's not your fault." She tried to reassure him.
"... I didn't mean to start laughing like that…" He insisted with a whine. "... I think I just lost control for a moment…"
Crap. He didn't mean to say it like that, oh man, oh no, he was going to come off as unsound if he kept talking like that.
"I know, Jacky. You don't have to explain yourself. You're tired and not feeling well, your nerves are shot, you're uncomfortable, you've got a fever and your brain is just overworked." She said, as if trying to convince him for herself. "... You still up for something to eat? It might help."
"... Honestly, I'm starving." Jacky said, as if that thought had finally clicked in his brain. "... The last thing I ate, I think, was the pretzels, and that was like a snack anyway."
"I could put together some oatmeal if you want."
"Fancy." Jacky let his tongue slip out between his teeth teasingly. "What can I have with it, then?"
"What do you want with it?"
"Something sweet, no exceptions."
You'd eat straight garbage if it wasn't considered so weird. Why so picky now?
Jacky stole a sidewise glance and was somewhat relieved to see the figment in better shape than it had been the day before. The hat was no longer askew, and the road rash sort of mess that had been on its face was no longer present. However, the rips and tears in the fabric seemed to remain, as did the dark stains around the face and neck of the costume. It's eyes appeared to be tired, staring past him, strangely enough.
It wasn't really fixed; the figment was just in a better visual state overall. Jacky was too drained to consider if it was significant in any way, or if he was just overthinking about it. For all he knew, this was the fever goofing with his brain… his imagination was known to run away from him, after all.
Jacky tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, just not wanting to approach the idea of it right now.
"I could add fruit or something to it. We're still watching how much sugar you get in the day, y'know?"
"I swear, if this whole ordeal ever blows over, I just want to hork down an entire package of raw cookie dough."
"Think you can stand alright now? You don't have to walk far, it's just at least to either the kitchen, or the couch, if you want."
"I'll manage."
"Jacky, please, if you need to rest more, I'll gladly bring the food to you here."
Jacky hesitated, glancing sidewise as if thinking about how to respond, and that the act of thinking itself was more effort than it should have been.
"I don't like this…" He mumbled, pressing his hands to his forehead as he pulled his legs up in a partly curled position and threw his head back in exasperation. "I feel so utterly useless and broken!"
"Jacky, you've been ill, it's okay to be a little worn out."
"I can't be the only one who finds it concerning how many times this weekend I've lost awareness." He looked up wearily. "... That's not normal. That can't be normal."
"And that's why when we get back to the hospital, we're going to tell them about it so we can try to figure out what's been causing it, but first, you need to eat something." Claire said in a forcibly calm tone, which made Jacky wince a little, feeling as though he might be a little too persistent at the moment. "You don't have to eat all of it, just enough to buffer your meds."
Perhaps she'd misjudged his enthusiasm, as he'd pretty much scarfed down the entire contents of the bowl she'd handed him before she'd even gotten halfway through. She had the feeling that if she hadn't been present, he'd probably would have shoveled oatmeal into his mouth with his hands instead of a spoon. Quite honestly, Jacky always seemed to eat as if he was worried that there wasn't going to be enough, but she suspected that had something to do with him having been at a point where food had been scarce for him. If she didn't coax him to slow down and pace himself, he'd likely eat until he unintentionally made himself sick, as he had done so on a few notable occasions.
To be honest, Claire really didn't know how to classify that sort of behavior. Jacky definitely liked food, but sometimes he'd get so wrapped up in anxiety that he'd forget to feed himself. Or he'd just stuff practically half a pizza in his mouth in seemingly one bite and hardly chew it, making her worry about him either choking or it not settling well with him later in the night. Absolutely feral boy he was sometimes…
It's still a bit gloomy outside. If it was a weekend day, this probably would be a perfect time for him to curl up for another nap on the couch, but they needed to get back to hospital for check-in and the schedule didn't really allow for much margin of straying off the path. Best to not give anyone reason to think they were up to any sort of mischief…
Admittedly, Jacky felt really awkward riding in the front seat of a car again. In the past several months, he could count all the times he's done so on one hand, and it just felt strange for some reason. He briefly wondered if he was ever going to be considered well enough to be able to pilot a vehicle again, and he realized that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd sat behind a steering wheel. And he was certain that if he could recall, it wasn't going to be anything more recent.
At least the less turbulent car ride was easier on his senses than being up in the air. His face was pressed sideways against the window as he gazed out at the street and sidewalk lazily, almost mesmerized by the dull glow of lights peppered against the wet asphalt. Advertisements of various products and merchandise and seasonal sales seemed to cover every square inch of building and advertising space, and it was probably then Jacky realized just how commercially driven the downtown district was.
It was a little infuriating to see a brick and mortar gaming store still adorning itself with crisp clean cutouts of that accursed Whiffle Boy, and Jacky wondered with a bitter taste in his mouth if that company ever once experienced a business slump in its entire existence, because nothing seemed to slow it down. Even that oversaturated company that kept churning out big bobble-headed, dead eyed plastic collectibles in display boxes (which seemed to line every inch of the shelves they were sold on in nearly every store) seemed to have no shortage of supply and demand. Good lord, he remembered how frustrating it was to see those soulless affront to toy design monstrosities lining the desks of his coworkers, a majority of them just absolutely atrocious with few rare exceptions.
"Jacky, are you alright? You've been quiet for the whole drive."
Jacky looked up.
"... I really don't want to go back there right now." He said, frowning. "... You know that Darkwing is going to probably show up before the end of the day to bother me about the tapes once we get there, right?"
"Unfortunately. I know it's not going to be fun, but… you really probably should watch those eventually."
"You said I didn't need to before! I don't want to! I'm not at my best in them!" Jacky said defensively. "I strangled a robot with my bare hands and terrorized my friends!"
"I know, but maybe it might help with what's been going on with you lately, like those nightmares you keep having but can't remember what of." Claire said, trying to be reasonable. "Maybe it's something that's trying to get unburied or-?"
"No! I don't want to know!" Jacky shouted suddenly, which honestly took Claire by surprise at how abruptly he'd become so agitated. "It's bad enough that's recorded on video, I don't need a front seat visual on any of that either!"
He hit a fist against the car door in a fit of frustration before smacking his hands and feet against the front console in front of him as a rising scream of emotion just escaped him as he did this.
The car had been parked curbside about a minute before this happened so that Claire couldn't be distracted while driving. It was very clear at the moment that Jacky was starting to have either a panic attack or a meltdown as he kicked and shouted.
Claire kept her eyes on him as she silently reached for the car-locking button as a preemptive measure if he decided to fiddle with the door handle in this state, with her having a sort of nagging thought that Jacky could very well try to open the door and run off if she didn't do this ahead of time.
"Let me out! I want out! Get me out of here!" He screamed, clawing at the seatbelt, seemingly forgetting how to work the latch in his panic. His actions were making the car rock somewhat, and no doubt would begin to attract the attention of bystanders if this kept on. "Out! I need to get out!"
She couldn't touch him when he was like this, it really wasn't a good idea to try. He was having a full-blown anxiety induced meltdown, and all she could do was just wait it out until he'd calmed down enough to be spoken to. As long as he didn't start ripping his own feathers out or beating his fists against his own head, she couldn't really do much to intervene without upsetting him more.
In the time of about five or six minutes that definitely felt more like an hour or so, Jacky's thrashing and wailing finally began to quiet down and he slumped back in his seat as he held his hands over his eyes while a dragged-out groan left him.
"... I don't feel good…" He whimpered, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes before dragging his hands down his face.
"How? Do you think you're going to be sick, Jacky?" Claire said, somewhat relieved that he was coherent again, but still concerned.
"No, my head hurts." He said with a pitiful whine, looking absolutely miserable.
... All that screaming and kicking around he just did, he probably triggered a migraine. Claire thought to herself.
She turned the car radio down to a soft murmur and said: "I'm sorry I can't do anything about the light out here, but I'm sure once we get checked in at the hospital, you can lay down."
"... I wanna go home…"
Claire had no idea how to respond to that.