Chapter 20

Connections

Spruce

I don't quite look Samson in the eyes, instead looking behind him to the paintings he's used to try to brighten the sterile little office where we meet. I fidget on the little couch and wish for the session to be over. I know he's just going to try to make me feel better about the monster inside me … I'd rather just focus on what needs to be done. Katniss is teaching us to swim this evening, and before then I'm going to check in on Tony – he has to have some kind of special treatment to heal his bones by the time we ship out to District 2, and he has to be totally sober to prevent any nasty interactions. So no painkillers even though it's an incredibly painful process – it's not going to be easy for him.

"So … would you like to see the video?" he asks.

"I guess so," I say nervously. For a while now, we've been trying hypnotism – he puts me under and asks to speak to the Other Guy. Since I'm not upset when this happens, I don't transform. I've just woken up from the most recent of these sessions. I still feel groggy and disoriented from the hypnosis. I guess it finally worked if he has a tape to show me – I was wondering if that was the case when I glanced at my watch after waking up and saw our session was almost over.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, Spruce," he tells me reassuringly.

"No I … I want to see what he has to say for himself," I say. As much as I want to just forget about him … I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious too.

He pulls down a screen and turns on a projector I never noticed before, and I look at the image in apprehension. Even sitting on a couch, I can immediately tell it's The Other Guy waking up from the hypnosis – his whole posture and facial expressions change. He sits up straighter than I do and holds his head higher and his expressions are … wild and dark. It's like looking at someone else in my body and my flesh starts to crawl. I feel my heartbeat start to go up and I take a few deep breaths to counter it before my monitor goes off.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Samson. What's your name?" the doctor's voice says from off-camera.

"Hulk. I like Hulk," the Other Guy answers almost … shyly.

"I'm happy to finally meet you Hulk. I've been working with Spruce for a while but this is the first time we've met."
"How is doc?" the Other Guy asks, and it takes me a moment to realize he means me.

"I think he's all right – he's certainly doing better than anyone could have hoped for given everything he's gone through."
"Stupid Capitol hurt Spruce!" the Other Guy says and the heart rate monitor goes off.

"It's all right – that's over now," Samson says quickly, comfortingly. "You helped him with that – you helped him get out, and saved several other people on the way. We owe you a lot." I suddenly feel a bit … ungrateful. As much as I resent him … Dr. Samson is right on that point.

"I want to smash the Capitol. Stupid Capitol. They hurt good people." I knew his speech was broken, I've always been aware of it, but it surprises me to hear it now and realize how childlike it is. He sounds angry, but in a brittle, fragile way. I never thought …

"You've done quite a lot of that already," Samson says softly.

"Whenever Doc lets me." And in a moment, my irritation is back. When I let him? He comes tearing through my consciousness like a rampaging beast, pushing me into the back of my own mind, and he has the nerve to say I let him?

"Why do you think he doesn't let you very often?" I glance at Samson, hoping for an apology. He doesn't say anything.

"He hates me," Hulk answers, and his voice is so forlorn I almost feel bad … because I do.

"What makes you say that?"
"I don't know."

"I don't think Spruce hates you," Samson says comfortingly, leaning forward to put a hand on Hulk's arm. I'm glad he thinks so. "I think you scare him."
"Why?"
"Spruce is not a violent person …"
"I know!"
"And so when he wakes up with blood in his mouth …"

"I had to bite! Bad men everywhere, trying to hurt Game Buddies!" he insists.

"And so you bit them but didn't swallow?" He surprises me by making a sound of complete disgust.

"NO! MEAT GROSS!" he shouts at the top of his lungs and the heart rate monitor starts to beep.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Hulk – don't get upset," Samson says comfortingly, his voice betraying nervousness for the first time. When the monitor has stopped, he goes on. "All meat?"
"YES. ALL MEAT IS GROSS!" the Other Guy insists fervently, and I am very surprised to hear myself laughing. I was so terrified of what he might have done … and it turns out he's a vegetarian. He probably thinks I'm horrible for my love of steak and chicken … There's a thought.

"Do you like animals?"

"Living animals!" he insists sullenly.

"Yes, that's what I meant, animals as in animals to play with or look at," Samson clarifies, clearly fighting not to smile.

"I like small things. Protect small things. Hurt bad people and protect small things. That's me," he says proudly.

I don't know how to feel about this. Any of it. Samson sees my face, and then glances at his watch and stops the video. "We'll continue this soon," he says softly, putting a hand on my knee. I nod.

"How does watching that make you feel?"

"I … don't know. Not really. Better, I think."

"Just remember that … perhaps he's not the monster you've always thought," he says gently. "I'm afraid our time is up for today, but as always … if there's an emergency, you know you can always contact me." I've never entirely understood how my feeling constitute an emergency, but I nod and smile as I stand up to leave.

I make my way through the maze of hallways towards Tony's family's quarters, still thinking about the surreal video I just watched and everything that it could mean for me. Samson has talked about "integration" before and I was never ready to even consider it – I always thought of the Other Guy as a monster I wanted to be rid of but …

He likes animals. He likes protecting things. He cares far more about me than I ever have about him.

That doesn't exactly fit into my image of him. And it doesn't exactly make me proud of myself.

I'm drawn out of my thoughts by the image on the screen in every hallway – they're playing me telling Katniss about Mom and Dad. I cringe – I knew cameras were there when I said it, and I'd rather have them know than think I'm a father-beating louse, but even so … That's so personal, and now everyone knows it. I'm beginning to understand how Katniss and Clint must feel with the propo department obsessed with their love life.

I look down and do my best to ignore it.

I finally get to Tony's quarters and I immediately know something is wrong – I hear loud arguing, and I get an uneasy feeling I can't explain. I knock on the door and Morgan answers almost immediately – her eyes are rimmed with red and she doesn't look quite as put together as she usually does. "Oh Spruce, it's so nice to see you," she says with a strained smile. "But now's not a good time – I think you should go." With the door open, I can hear what's going on inside – Howard and one of the doctors are responsible for the arguing, and worse than that, I can hear Tony whimpering in pain. I catch the words "withdrawal" and "agony" and "interaction" and the gist seems to be that Howard is demanding that they give Tony a bit of any kind of painkiller and the doctor's insisting even a small amount of anything other than naproxen would be dangerous, and the naproxen is clearly not doing much to help. My heart rate picks up enough to set off my monitor, though it beeps slowly, and Morgan looks at me in concern.

"Is he okay?" I ask, and take a moment to take a few deep breaths and calm my rate. I knew Tony would be in pain – I knew that. I knew he took painkillers recreationally – I disapproved but I didn't think it was an addiction. But if it was, and he's going through withdrawal on top of how painful that process already is, and the dependency on the drugs would have made him more sensitive to pain anyway … He's not just in pain, he's in anguish, and in actual danger too.

"He'll be fine, Spruce – why don't you go on with your day …" Morgan says nervously even though my monitor has stopped beeping.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm a doctor – I've seen people suffering before. I'd like to help, if I can."

"I don't think there's anything you can do, sweetheart," she says.

"I can be a friend," I answer softly. It's true – as a healer, there's nothing I can do that doctors with full training haven't already done. Even if I had all my herbs with me I wouldn't dare – who knows how they'd interact with his medicine. But Tony …

Tony believes in me. He always believed in me. Even when we were in the training center, he sought me out and trusted me to try to keep the kids alive. He said incredibly kind things about me in the propos they filmed. And I've always liked him – I don't know why but we just clicked.

"Please ma'am, I want to stay," I say. She sighs heavily but nods and stands aside, so I get my first look at Tony. He doesn't look good – he's as white as a sheet and his hair is plastered to his forehead by sweat, and his eyes are rimmed with black. He's sitting up in almost the fetal position on his bed, rocking slightly, with his broken leg still out in front of him in its splint and cast. He's hooked up to an IV of medication. I sit on the edge of his bed, and consider putting an arm around him but think better of it.

"How are you doing, Tony?" I ask.

"How's it look like I'm doing?" he asks gruffly without looking up. I run through how I would manage the pain if he were one of my patients – there's nothing more I can do medically to take away the pain, no medicine I can give him to dull it. The closest thing I can think of are the babies I've delivered to mothers without any medicine – those that thought it would hurt the baby, despite my reassurances, or the ones who went into labor when I didn't have anything safe for them.

"Tony … I want you to breathe just like this …" I say and try to demonstrate. He responds with pungent cursing. I almost smile – it's not the first time I've gotten that response.

"Okay then. I'll just sit here with you," I say instead.

"Leave me alone," he hisses.

"You'll never forgive me if I do," I answer.

The minutes tick by and I sit there, forcing myself to act like a doctor and not show how deeply it hurts me to see a friend in pain.

"Are you going to preach at me?" he asks after a long silence.

"No, of course not!" I reply in horror. However upset I am to know that his substance use has become a full-blown addiction, no matter how unwise I think he's been, I'd never scold a patient in pain. Much less a friend.

"Good, you're the first one," he says, the ghost of his typical smile playing across his face, and then he grimaces again and rests his head against his knee. I pat his back – the only thing I can do.

"What are you going to do after the war?" I ask after a long moment of silence. Tony loves to talk – maybe it'll help.

"Hopefully find a mountain of attractive women and a lake of booze," he answers gruffly.

"Come on – you have to have something in mind," I tease after indulging him with a laugh.

"I … I'm going to build arc reactors everywhere. It'll change everything. We could shift a significant portion of the workforce and certain key resources in the energy districts into agriculture, increasing food production for the entire nation."

"Who would build the arc reactors?" I ask.

"Well I said most of the workforce. Some of the survivors of District 12 and some of the people with relevant experience in District 5 would need to help people from 3 and 13, especially during the initial production phase … But think about that, Spruce, think about all the districts having reliable power without anyone in 12 choking on coal or anyone in 5 dying in the refineries like Shale's mother did. Think about how many resources – land, workers, material – that could go into new farmland, new ranchland. Combine that with better distribution once you get rid of the Capitol's control and we'll feed so many more children …" He takes a few jagged breaths and stops speaking, and grips his elbows so tight his knuckles go white and I know the pain just got worse. But it seemed to help for a while.

"That would be really something," I say, thinking of all the children I've seen die – of hunger, of sickness, of violence. I wonder how many he's seen die – surely not as many. He was privileged, and while his best friend was killed in the Games, I doubt he's seen any children die in person. Yet I've seen how he winces when he watches poor children eating in that desperate, hungry way. He could have stayed in his little bubble, stayed where he was safe and sound in his father's house, and instead he gave it all up to help everyone. How could I fault him for his addiction, especially when it runs in his family?

"Morgan, can you let Katniss know I won't be there tonight?" I ask her. That may be a foolish decision – continuing with my lack of ability to swim may very well kill me – but I can't leave Tony.

"Of course I will, sweetheart," she says and hugs me, then hugs her son one more time. "You're going to be okay, baby, you're doing so well," she tells him and strokes his hair. He groans in answer – I can't say for sure whether it's entirely in pain or also in embarrassment.

"Tell me about the arc reactor tech, if it's not proprietary, of course," I say.

"What?" he asks.

"Explain it to me. I've always been curious."
"Are you serious? I'm going out of my skull in agony and you're asking me to explain my tech?" he asks angrily.

"Yep," I answer flatly. "And remember that I'm just now getting to university-level physics. I have an aptitude for it, and all the knowledge I've picked up from casual reading, but you'll still have to start slow."
"You son of a …"

"Don't you dare insult my mother," I cut him off, letting a bit of anger into my voice for the first time, but fighting not to laugh. I know he didn't mean it like that, and as angry as he is now, I know it'll help if he has to think about something else. And I really do want to know. "The distraction will help," I say softly. "It's the only thing that may, at this point."

He spends the next several hours walking me through it – I ask a lot of questions, and he curses at me for my ignorance and my district of origin. I don't hold it against him – I know he's in pain on every level. Doctors come in and out and monitor his vitals – they debate stopping administration of the treatment so they can start treating the withdrawal, but that would mean he's not going to ship out to District 2 with us. Every time that possibility is brought up, Tony says no – he'll go on. "Please, Tony – you don't have to do this, the others will be fine," Morgan says every time.

"We really probably would be," I add.

"Screw that. I'm going with you guys. I'm not sitting it out – you guys need some brains in the operation," he says in reply the first time. It becomes more profane with each repetition, but he always insists. But if he looks to be in actual danger instead of just excruciating pain, they'll do it regardless of Tony's opinion on the matter. Not only is it their imperative as doctors, but it's what Fury and Coin will want – better for one of their Avengers to sit out the opening salvos of the assault on District 2 than to lose him entirely, especially in such an ignominious way. All though I'm sure they'd report it as him dying of his wounds – an infection or something of that nature – rather than the truth. I just hope it doesn't come to that – I know Tony will be upset if he has to stay behind, that he'll beat himself up about it, which ironically, might contribute to a relapse. I have to do whatever I can to get him through it – even if that's not much.

When dark has fallen, I ask the doctors about giving Tony a sedative so he can sleep. "If general anesthesia were safe, we'd have already put him under," the lead doctor, an older woman from 13, says.

"I'm not talking surgery grade anesthesia – just a mild sedative. Is there anything that'll work safely?"
"I don't think I can sleep," Tony says weakly.

"You can, and you will – and when you wake up you'll be one night closer to healed ribs and leg," I answer, even though I'm not at all sure he can.

"I'd be very cautious about any medication, no matter how mild," the doctor answers. I have to say I'm not impressed by her bedside manner – doctors have to be calm but there's a difference between being calm and being cold.

"What about warm milk? Will that be all right?" I ask. I assume it will be, but you never know – if something works at all as a medicine, there's a chance it could interact with something.

"That should be fine, but I doubt it will help much," the doctor answers.

"Any help at this point will be welcome," I say. "Can you authorize a priority for milk for us?" Any animal product is prioritized to the thinnest residents – but I know there will be some, and hopefully given the circumstances they can get it for Tony.

"Of course," she says coolly.

"I don't think I can sleep," Tony repeats.

"You can, and you will. Just listen to me, for once."

About an hour later (a long, excruciating hour), one of the nurses arrives with milk, already warmed, in a thermos. I pour a glass and help Tony drink it. He makes a face as he drinks it – he must not be a milk drinker. "Think this will help?" he asks.

"It will. So will this, if you just listen. I need you to close your eyes …" he swears at me. "No, listen. I promise it'll work if you just pay attention." I make him lay down – a struggle in and of itself since he wants to stay sitting up and curled – and take him through the breathing exercises I meant to at first – I have him focus on his breathing to the exclusion of all else. Not trying to control it, just pay attention to it. Shutting out not only the pain but also the grief he's lived in ever since losing Shale and the engineering that constantly runs through his mind. It's no easy task – it takes a couple of hours and a lot of swearing before he finally gets into it, and once he does he still takes almost an hour to sleep. It's an uneasy sleep and I know it won't last for a full eight hours, certainly not for the nineteen he has left before his bones are healed. But it will help.

Without a word, Howard offers me a cup of coffee.

"No thank you – I'm going to sleep while he sleeps," I say in response, and stretch out by Tony on the bed. I hope his vitals stay stable throughout the night. "Can you let Betty know I won't be home tonight? I'm sure he won't sleep through the night and I want to be here when he wakes up." When he does, if he can't go back to sleep, I can find something else technical to talk about.

"Of course – thank you Banner," he says.

"At least let me get you a blanket and a pillow of your own," Morgan says. "I can't thank you enough!" She hurries off to retrieve them for me.

"Thank you, and it's the least I could do," I say, unable to keep my eyes open any longer.

I drift off before she comes back.

Author's Note

And we're back folks! It looks like I'm not going to make my original "have this done in time for Mockingjay Part II" goal, but I'm still hoping to have it by the end of the year. I'm disciplining myself and making this my focus for the next two months in order to make that goal – let's hope I do! I'll be posting every Sunday evening, sometimes with multiple new chapters and sometimes with just one depending on how the week has gone.