Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.
Gratitude: Huge thanks to my excellent Beta Reader, and partner in crime, the lovely YvetteDel !
Notes: My first story. Not yet complete. This section, which isn't complete yet (Ch7 thru?) is Part 2…
I'm not a doctor, scientist, occupational therapist or alcohol expert… you'll see.
I love Charles. Therefore I challenge him.
Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;)
This story will likely have a slash plotline eventually, so if you don't dig that, well, you've been warned.
Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! Feedback = Love :-) Thank you!
(Also, thank you to whoever wrote a short review, listed as "guest"... I really appreciate it! I couldn't figure out how to reply directly, so you get a shout-out here. You know who you are!)
Standing by the sink in the Mordhaus "Recovery Suite", Charles gently toweled off his freshly washed face. He wondered if he looked any different after the surgery. He had been told there was no visible scarring, and he certainly couldn't feel any. It was amazing what they could do these days without leaving much of a mark. But they did leave something. As he often found himself doing since the surgery, he reached up to his lower-temples, just above the top of his jawbone, and gently felt the tiny, round, reception-plates that were now a part of him. To have even a small amount of technology integrated with ones biological system- it was something he found at once both fascinating and disturbing.
Feeling carefully on the shelf where he had left them, he picked up two small devices and placed them one by one just above his ears until he heard the soft click of magnetic locks connecting the devices to his body, and his nervous system. The devices were lightly curved to follow the contour of his ears, and sat just above them, allowing him to still slip on his glasses. Sensory information picked up by the sonar output would be routed directly to the visual cortex of his brain. While it wouldn't be like seeing with his own eyes, it would, in time and with much training, allow him to interpret the proximity and size of objects around him, including people. But for now, he had been instructed to wear the devices in order for his body to get used to them, but not to activate the sonar output until he was under the supervision of his occupational therapy team. He wondered what it would be like, learning to perceive with a sense all but unknown to him, or any human for that matter.
He ran a comb through his damp hair. He was just straightened his tie when he heard a heavy knock at the door. Calling out to enter, he turned to face his guest. He had been expecting Nathan.
"Hey Charles," Nathan called out. "How was brain surgery?"
"It was amazing. I highly recommend it," Charles replied dryly, but with a slight grin. He headed carefully towards the door.
Nathan gave a small laugh, but then asked seriously, "So are those…. The things?"
Charles reached up self-consciously to one of the apparatuses, while still keeping a hand out in front to help guide himself forward. Before he could reply, Nathan continued.
"That's pretty metal, actually. I mean, literally, you can't get much more metal than… metal. Do theyhurt?"
"No," Charles lied. He didn't need any more pity. And the doctors had told him that once his body adjusted to all this new hardware the dull ache he felt from temple to temple would likely dissipate.
"Are those things like… a part of you?"
"Not exactly," Charles answered, using the sound of Nathan's voice to judge his proximity. He removed one of the devices and held it out for Nathan to take a closer look at. It was important to him that the band was comfortable with all this, and that nothing about it be a mystery. Questions only lead to speculation, and, knowing where the minds of the band members could tread, he wanted to avoid speculation.
"You're like the Borg," Nathan said frankly.
Charles had to smile. "Resistance is futile," he replied. "I didn't realize you were a Star Trek fan… isn't that ah, un-metal?"
"Well, yeah kind of… just don't' tell the boys, okay…" Charles could hear that he was looking around as he said this. "But Star Trek can be seriously bad-ass!," he added, slightly defensively.
"Something we both agree on, it seems," Charles replied with a smile. "But don't worry; your secret is safe with me."
"Good, cause I would never hear the end of it, and I would seriously have to kick your ass."
"Really? You would hit a blind man?" Charles was finding the whole conversation very amusing.
"Oh, yeah, right..." Nathan was momentarily stumped. "I would find a way to get back at you though, you know I would…"
"Noted. Well since I hear from the medical receptionist that you've come to accompany me as I check out of here, I'll be sure not to spill your secret, or else I'm liable to wind up in the wolf-yard."
"Something like that." Charles could hear the smile in Nathan's voice.
"But you know, you really don't have to keep doing this for me. My entire staff checked out as far as security goes. Did you get the reports I had copied to you?" It was unorthodox but Charles thought this might make the singer feel better about his safety.
"Yeah, they all checked out. That's cool. But… I kinda like hanging out with you sometimes…"
This was the last thing Charles expected to hear.
"Oh… Well, thank you, Nathan…"
"You know, you're kinda cool to talk to. Skwissgaar and Toki can be so damn hard to understand. Pickles is good but he's always so fucking wasted. And Muderface can be such a douchebag." Then, as if no further explanation was needed he added "You must want to get the hell out of here, this place is like the size of a closet!"
"Well it may appear disproportionately small to someone who has a custom-made bed that could comfortably sleep 20."
"Not comfortably!"
Charles shook his head, smiling. He felt Nathan move out of his way as he brushed past on his way to the door. Feeling along the wall next to the door frame he located a hook where his cane and glasses hung. He slipped the glasses on and took hold of the cane. He wasn't great at using it yet, and still didn't love the idea, but he had been making steady improvements with the therapist's help.
"Shall we?" he asked, as he opened the door, allowing Nathan to exit ahead of him. He was relatively familiar with the layout of the suite, but not as much with the medical reception area that it opened out to. As he made his way out behind Nathan he instructed,
"I'd like to take hold of your arm until we get out of the medical wing- it can be quite chaotic in here. Then I'll see what I can do with this baby," he indicated the cane. "Your job then becomes, ah, just don't let me run into anything."
"It might be tempting, but I'll try not to," was Nathan's gravelly reply. Charles glanced up towards him, wishing he could see the man's expression. But the tone of their entire conversation told him that this was just one more playful jest. There was something about this vulnerable place he found himself in that made it easier for Charles to lighten up. For the first time in his adult life he was relying heavily on the support of others, and he only risked embarrassment if he took himself too seriously.
Once they were safely out in the halls of Mordhaus, Nathan gently relinquished his arm. "Alright, have at it. I'll be in the hot tub or something, if you need me."
Charles figured he let a look of panic flash across his face because Nathan quickly took back the comment. "I'm just kidding, relax! I'm not leaving. Uh, I guess that was not cool, so, uh, yeah. Seriously though, it's all you now, like you said, right? But I'll be right here…"
Charles marveled at the almost-apology. It was about as close as one got from Nathan. But no apology was necessary. He had insisted on doing this leg of the journey as independently as he could.
"Alright. I'm guessing from the layout of Mordhaus and where we just came from that I'm heading in the right direction… to my, ah, office?"
"Okay, I gotta ask… Do you live in your office? Cause that's pretty fucked up. I'm just sayin."
"No, not exactly. You'll see." Assuming the lack of answer meant he was on the right course, Charles walked boldly forward, lead by the gently tapping cane. The hallways of Mordhaus were wide and open, except for the occasional suit of armor or other decorative & brutal relic that was displayed along the wall. So Charles kept to what he felt was the middle of the hall. A passing Klokateer greeted them with "My Lords" and Charles nodded in reply. After walking in silence for a few minutes, while Charles found his stride with the cane, he then asked,
"Nathan, ah, how is the band doing with, ah, with all this?"
"You mean with you being kidnapped, coming back blind, and then leaving again to be assimilated into the Borg collective? They're actually doing pretty good with it. But then they don't know how brutal the fucking Borg are!"
"Oh my god," Charles sighed, though amused by the reply. "Do you know how hard it's going to be to avoid robot references now? Murderface is going to be seriously confused."
"Fuck Murderface." Nathan replied casually.
"He's not my type." Charles quipped.
"Huh?"
"Ah..." Charles stumbled on his reply, realizing that there were several ways to interpret what he probably should not have just said.
"I mean…," he continued, "Ah… Well, so, everyone is, ah, doing well, then?"
If Nathan was aware that the conversation was being blatantly re-directed, and Charles was almost certain that he was, he didn't protest. For this, Charles was grateful. He had never gotten into his personal life with the band, and now was not the right time to start.
"Yeah. Things were a bit weird until we heard you made it out of surgery safely. Brain surgery you know, it's kind of fucked up. Skwisgaar hasn't been talking a lot to anyone, except Toki, and Toki's been tagging along with anyone he can, doesn't matter what they're doing, he just wants to come. And he brings Deddy, everywhere! That bear nearly drowned in the hot tub the other day. Do you know how fucked up it feels to give mouth-to-mouth to a stuffed animal!? But it made Toki calm down. Pickles, well, he's Pickles. He might have cut back on the booze a little, it's hard to tell. Murderface is still doing his valiant bullshit, he talks like he's the only one looking out for you and we're all assholes. Where the fuck does he get off?"
Charles sighed again. "I know it can be, ah, hard to take his approach, but he's really just dealing with it the only way he knows how. I think that once he starts to feel that things are somewhat getting back to, ah, to normal, he'll be able to relax and get back to normal too. You all will."
"Wait, what do you mean? I'm still normal, aren't I?"
Your sudden interest in being my pal is not normal, Charles thought to himself. But replied only,
"Sure. Yes. Very normal," and then he addled slyly, "for a closet-Trekkie.."
"Oh really? You know, I don't think they've fed the wolves yet today... You're coming with me…" But Charles was impressed when Nathan stopped short of grabbing him to mockingly steer him away towards the "wolves". It showed a lot of sensitivity and restraint on the part of the singer, who usually followed things through to the end.
There were a few times where Charles would feel them arriving at a wall, and each time he tried to recall the layout of Mordhaus, and decide which way they needed to go. It was when he asked Nathan to confirm his choice, that he first learned that Nathan really didn't know where they were either. A fine guide he was! Nathan defended that he at least hadn't let Charles run into anything yet, which was true. So they found themselves making the necessary turns based on Charles' recollection and intuition. One of the turns must have been wrong because at one point Nathan stopped and said,
"This painting of a medieval battle… haven't we passed it before?"
"Oh, yes, I remember seeing that. What a great painting, the colors are so rich." Charles deadpanned.
"Seriously! We are going in circles!"
"Hmmm…" Charles was starting to get a little concerned. "Do you remember which way we turned at the end of this hall?"
"What? No, well, maybe… Uh… I think …"
"Nathan. Do you or don't you?" There was an edge to Charles's voice.
"Hey, don't blame me okay, you're the one deciding which way to turn and stuff."
"You're supposed to be here to help me make it back! If I'd known you didn't know this area of Mordhaus… Wait, haven't you gotten liver transplants in the medical wing before?"
"Oh, yeah, but I always just go… wait, okay, hold on, I know where to go now." Charles could feel him stride confidently forward.
"Follow me."
Continued...
