ysabetwordsmith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ysabetwordsmith) wrote2022-01-13 04:31 pm
ysabetwordsmith) wrote2022-01-13 04:31 pm
Poem: "When in a Dark Place"
This poem came out of the November 2, 2021 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from chanter1944 and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rix_scaedu. It also fills the "Therapist" square in my 11-1-21 card for the NCIS Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, janetmiles, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Trichromatic Attachments thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It follows "The Things You Do," "Never Accept an Apology," "Spiraling Out of Control," and "The Fourth for My Enemies," so read those first or this won't make much sense.
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes problem drinking, drunkenness, vomiting, anxiety and suspicion due to past bad experiences, skittish supervillain is skittish, frenemies, awkward conversations, consent issues, trust issues, various medical details, staggering, hangover while still drunk, sponge bath, superpower control issues while drunk, metabolic differences, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"When in a Dark Place"
[Friday, September 27, 2013]
Tarnish was well and truly miserable.
Even throwing up a few times hadn't
brought relief, only more embarrassment.
The Riverton Sobering Center made him
cringe at the thought of the grilling he
was surely going to get, but he knew
better than to impose on Cavalier and
Princessa more than he already had.
Inside it was all shades of soothing blue,
cream, and warm tan. It smelled faintly
like lemon instead of like strong chemicals.
His frenemies handed him off to a male nurse,
who helped Tarnish settle into a chair. Then
the younger man crouched down so that
they were closer to the same level.
"Hi, I'm Roy and I'd like to take care
of you," he said. "Is that okay with you?"
"Thash fine. I'm Tarnish," he mumbled.
"M'jush drunk, nothin' mush to do about it."
Well, there were Sober-Up patches, but
Tarnish hated those things. They always
left him feeling both wired and exhausted.
"Here we offer sobering care with a variety
of therapies for your safety and comfort,"
Roy said. "If you need more advanced care,
we'll give you a lift to the hospital. If you want
to detox completely, we can transfer you to
your choice of rehabilitation centers. It's
all completely voluntary, free choice."
"Yeah, right," Tarnish muttered.
"Heard all that shit before."
"Do you have another provider
you'd like to transfer to?" Roy said.
Tarnish winced. It was hard to find
anyone who was willing to take care
of supervillains, and their own medics
tended to be, well, nannyhammers.
"I'd rather not pull that shtring,"
he said. "Too mush fussh."
Roy sighed. "If you don't
consent to care, you're free
to leave. We'd feel much
better if you had someone
to keep an eye on you, though."
Tarnish looked at Cavalier and
Princessa, who were talking
to a female nurse. His heart
cringed at the thought of asking
Cavalier to sit up with him.
"If you don't have anyone else
in mind, I can offer you good care
and a quiet place to sleep it off,"
Roy offered. "Does any of that
sound helpful to you tonight?"
Tarnish hesitated. There were
ups and downs whatever he did,
and he really was too smashed
to sort through them properly.
"It's your choice," Roy said.
"What do you choose to do?"
"Shtay here," Tarnish said. He
didn't want to go anywhere that he
might need to rot his way back out of,
and he didn't want to be alone either.
"Okay, let me run a quick health check
to make sure this isn't an emergency,
and then we can talk more about
your options," Roy said. "All right?"
"Go 'head," Tarnish said, then
frowned. "Why d'you keep asking?"
"First, we're very careful about
consent here, because lots of
our clients have a rough past,"
said Roy. "Second, it gives
you practice making choices,
which is an important skill."
"M'kay," said Tarnish, and
let Roy take a look at him.
The nurse was gentle and
careful, more than most people
had been. Tarnish soon found
himself listing toward Roy,
who didn't seem to mind.
They hadn't even finished
the health check when
Cavalier came over.
"We're going to head out
now that you're in a safe place,"
Cavalier said, patting Tarnish. "You
stay here and feel better, yeah."
"Yeah, thash fine," Tarnish said.
He wouldn't cling. He would not.
Well, he was clutching Roy a bit,
but that was okay, because he
was a nurse and a stranger.
"Are you up to answering
a few questions?" Roy said.
"They'll help me offer options."
"Yeah, hit me," said Tarnish.
"Do you remember how many
drinks you had?" asked Roy.
Tarnish counted on his fingers.
"Four ... doubles," he said.
Roy frowned. "That's a lot,"
he said. "How fast did
you put those away?"
"Coupla hours, maybe
a little longer?" Tarnish said.
"At least you've probably burned
through the first two standard drinks
already," Roy said. "Do you do this
often, or is it unusual for you?"
"Not thish mush," said Tarnish.
"It's been a tough month." He
looked away. Remembering
why he had done it made him
queasy again. "I'm not a drunk."
"It doesn't sound like you are,"
said Roy. "You're just going
through a rough patch. That's
a lot easier to fix than when
it's a big, chronic problem."
Tarnish's stomach lurched.
"M'gonna throw up again."
Roy got a bucket under him
and held him so that Tarnish
wouldn't faceplant into it.
As soon as the heaving
stopped, Roy was there
with a paper cup. "Here,
rinse your mouth out."
Tarnish obeyed, but
he was feeling worse.
"You don't look too good,"
Roy said. "Since you're
staying, let's move this
to another room now."
"Yeah, okay," Tarnish said,
although he didn't have
much energy for moving.
"Would you rather ride,
or can you walk?" Roy said,
tapping a nearby wheelchair.
"I can walk." Tarnish pushed
himself to his feet, swayed,
then braced a hand on the wall.
"If I have shomething to lean on."
"Sure, you can lean on me,"
Roy said, offering him a hand.
The nurse was warm and solid,
and Tarnish appreciated it.
When they came to the dottie,
Roy said, "Need a pit stop? I
can give you a hand if you want."
"I can handle myself," Tarnish said
as he stumbled through the door.
"If you need to sit down, open
your knees, push the pointer
down, then close your knees,"
Roy said. "It works, really."
Tarnish tried it, and yeah,
it worked. That was easier
than hugging the walls,
even with grab bars.
He wobbled his way
back out of the dottie,
and Roy led him onward.
The hall was lined with
nature pictures. They
passed a nurses station
along with its attached office,
then reached the exam room.
"Here we go," Roy said as
he helped Tarnish sit down.
"I'll check what you need, and
our doctor will peek in on you
to confirm medication options."
"Then what?" Tarnish said.
The chair was comfortable, and
he didn't really want to leave it.
"Then you can either stay here
if you want privacy and a chair,
or move to our recovery room if
you want company and a cot."
Tarnish clutched the chair.
"Here," he said. "Lying down
makes me feel even worshe."
"Okay, let me make a note
of that," Roy said as he
picked up a tablet computer.
"What for?" Tarnish wondered.
"I'll keep a record of what helps,
doesn't work, or makes you feel
worse," said Roy. "Then you
don't have to try to remember it."
"Thash usheful," Tarnish said.
He rarely lost time when drunk,
but as smashed as he was tonight,
he couldn't count on his recall.
"I'm glad to hear it," said Roy.
"Let me run a few tests to see
what your body's doing, okay?"
"Sure," said Tarnish. He put up
with more pressing here and there,
holding up the computer tablet at
arm's length, and blowing in a tube.
But when Roy came at him with
an unfamiliar object the size of
a pencil case, Tarnish shied away.
He was too much a supervillain
to let someone near him with
a random piece of equipment.
That could go so very wrong.
You had to suspect trouble if
you wanted to survive that life.
"Relax, this thing is awesome,"
Roy said. "It reads a bunch of
stuff -- blood sugar, vitamin levels --
to help us figure out the right therapies."
"Really? How's it work?" Tarnish said.
"I touch it to your forearm. It sprays on
some antiseptic, pokes a tiny hole, takes
a sample, and sprays on skin sealant. It
doesn't hurt, it just feels cold," Roy said.
"Then it runs the analysis and sends
all of the data to my tablet computer."
"Ffffine," Tarnish said. He'd put up
with it if it got him some of the good stuff.
Roy was right. Tarnish couldn't feel
anything but a cold spot. Then again,
he already felt so awful, nothing else was
likely to make much impression. His body
ached and his head was just killing him.
One drawback to the slightly faster speed
of soup metabolism was that the hangover
could hit before you'd even finished drinking.
Roy was frowning over his tablet. "Yeah,
this is going to take a while to treat, but
we've got you covered," he said. "I'll
ping the doc to come and confirm it."
"How bad's it?" Tarnish asked.
"Cause I already feel like crap."
He knew from experience that
it was never a good thing when
the medic was worrying about you.
"You're low on a lot of vitamins,
and blood sugar," said Roy. "I've
got short-term solutions here. We
can talk about longer-term options
tomorrow when you can think straight."
"Yeah, I can't think mush now, not with
my head banging like thish," Tarnish said.
"That's what you've got me for," said Roy.
"I'll take care of tracking. All you have
to do is answer questions and then
decide what options you want."
A soft knock announced the doctor,
who was a little older with a kind face.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Heyborne," he said. "May
I take a look at the data so far, and
then check a few more things?"
Tarnish flogged his brain into gear
enough to make a real assessment,
because as a supervillain he had
to be more careful about doctors.
Something about this one seemed
almost familiar, not in a personal way,
more like body language. Safe-ish.
"Yeah, go ahead," Tarnish said,
and Roy handed over the tablet.
Dr. Heyborne read it, asked
Tarnish a few more questions
about allergies and prescriptions,
and patted over him with warm hands.
Then the sleeves of the white coat
rode up, flashing a glimpse of ink.
"What the -- are thoshe shpiderwebs?"
Tarnish said, staring at the tattoos.
"Yes they are, and they mean
the usual," said Dr. Heyborne.
"I had a history of drug abuse
before I worked my way out.
Is that a problem for you?"
"Uh, no," said Tarnish. "I run
with a rough crowd myshelf, I don'
care if you've been to prison. I jusht
wasn't expecting to shee that here."
Dr. Heyborne smiled. "That's why
I'm here, actually. Some people
feel more at ease with me since
I share a similar background."
"How'dya manage that?"
Tarnish said. "I mean, how
did you get from there to here?"
"Through the Way Back Program,"
Dr. Heyborne said. "I started out
with first aid and Narcan classes.
When my advisors saw how good
I was getting, then they helped me
to get more medical training."
"Thash usheful," Tarnish said,
thinking about how supervillains
had started their own medical care.
Partly it was because most medics
wouldn't touch them, but another part
was because most supervillains had
a deep -- and justified -- distrust of
the conventional health system.
"Thank you," said Dr. Heyborne.
"All right, all standard treatments are
approved. Give those half an hour
to work, and if they don't, call me back.
Sorry I can't stay, there's an issue in
the recovery room needing close watch."
"Go, I've got this," Roy said, waving
him off. "Tarnish and I are getting along
great. I'll let you know if we need you."
"We are?" Tarnish said, startled.
Dr. Heyborne slipped out while
Tarnish was still trying to process
why on Earth Roy had said that.
"Well, yeah," said Roy. "You've
decided to stay. You're letting
me help. You haven't sworn at
or threatened me even once."
"Whoa, no, of courshe not,"
Tarnish said. "Only an idiot
threatens medics. Anyone who
knows how to put you together
knows how to take you apart."
Roy chuckled. "Guess I can't
argue with that one," he said.
"Okay, let's talk options. Do you
want a shower and a change of
clothes before this gets involved?"
Tarnish looked down. He had puke
all down the front of his costume.
"I know I'm a messh, but I couldn't
manage a shower," he said. "Got
nothing else to wear, either."
"Understandable," said Roy.
"How about a quick wipedown?
We have a clothing bank and
a laundry to handle the rest."
"Wipedown and clean clothes,
yeah," said Tarnish. "But some
of my outfit needs special care."
There were laundries that handled
capes, if you knew where to look.
Nobody picked a fight there either.
There weren't always enough
to separate, so in many areas,
all cape colors had to share.
You minded your manners or
you washed your own clothes.
"No problem, we have bags for
that," said Roy. "Sometimes folks
come in here wearing suits."
He sent a text message,
then opened a cabinet
and produced a bag.
Roy helped Tarnish
undress, then stuffed
the smelly costume into
the bag and zipped it.
Tarnish slouched in
the comfy exam chair
wearing only undershorts
while Roy blotted sweat
and worse off his skin.
It should have been
humiliating. It was
comforting instead.
Tarnish had rarely had
anyone take care of him.
Well, one time Princessa
tapped out of a fight because
Tarnish was sneezing so badly,
and dragged him to a drugstore
so she could send him home
with a proper set of cold meds.
That had been ... sort of nice.
Tapping at the door startled him,
but Roy pushed him back down.
"Don't worry, it's just a volunteer
bringing your clothes," said Roy.
Tarnish had been expecting
one of those bare-ass gowns.
Instead, he got his choice
of sleep pants and tops in
three slightly different sizes.
They were black and soft,
and he didn't care that he
needed help getting into them,
just that they felt so soothing.
"Okay, let's log your symptoms,"
Roy said, offering him the tablet.
"Check the ones you have, and
if it's not listed, type it in. Then
the program will give you scales
so you can mark how bad you feel.
If you can't focus, I'll read to you."
"I can read," Tarnish said, and
poked at the computer screen.
Thinking about how he felt
made him feel even worse.
He was feeling less drunk
and more hungover already.
"Fuck," he said, handing it back.
"It will be okay," said Roy. "I
know you feel awful now, but I'll
take care of that as quick as I can."
Tarnish gave him a bleary look.
"You really got a hangover cure?"
"I have hangover treatments,"
Roy said. "Everything from
Chuckies and Sober-Up to
heavy-duty medications."
"Yeah, hit me," Tarnish said.
"S'not like you'll make it worshe."
"You marked nausea high and
you've already thrown up," said Roy.
"Are you feeling better enough that
you could keep down water or tea?"
"Ugh, no," Tarnish groaned. "It'll
be hours before it'll shtay down."
"Okay, the gold standard care
for cases like this is IV therapy,"
Roy said. "That replenishes fluids
and allows better, faster meds."
"And get bitched out because I'm
showing punctures? No thanks,"
Tarnish said, shaking his head.
"No, it's okay, we provide
confirmation of medical care,"
Roy assured him. "If anyone
bothers you, all you have to do
is refer them to us with consent
to share information, and we will."
"Thash ... different," Tarnish said.
He wasn't used to people actually
offering to protect him in any way.
Well, except for that time Sundew
had hit someone with a frying pan
for picking on him about cape issues
when he just trying to eat breakfast.
"Here's a menu," Roy said, and it
was so tempting that Tarnish could
actually feel it with his superpower.
"Painkillers. Anti-nausea meds.
Vitamin supplements, which you
definitely need. If that's not enough,
I've got anti-inflammatories and
some sweet muscle relaxants."
Tarnish let his fingers drift over
the menu. "What's the difference?"
"They're listed in order of strength,
and dingbats show the delivery mode,"
said Roy. "Remember the IV meds will
work faster than anything else, plus you
don't have to swallow them and hope they
stay down. But almost all of it does have
non-invasive options like Chuckies,
if you don't want me poking you."
It was like trying to think through
sludge. "Yeah, fashter's better,"
Tarnish finally decided, pointing
to the ones he wanted. "Go on."
So much sludge, he forgot
something critical until Roy
was bringing out the supplies.
"No metal!" Tarnish yelped.
Roy dropped a package on
the side table. "Okay, no metal,"
he agreed. "Can you say why not?"
Tarnish sighed. Roy had been
easygoing, but without seeing why,
he might not keep with the plan.
"My control's shot to hell,"
he confessed. "I ruin
everything I touch."
Tarnish pressed
a shaky fingertip to
some metal doodad
lying on the side table.
Instantly it rusted away.
"Wow!" Roy said. "Now I
see why not. Thank you
for sharing that. I'll keep it
private. Is there anything else
you would like me to know?"
"I run a little high," said Tarnish.
"I have to eat a bit more, not much,
but I burn through some stuff faster
than average. I usually double up
on things like aspirin at home."
"Okay, I'll keep a close eye on
your blood sugar," said Roy. "You
tell me how well the meds are working,
and if it's not enough, I'll boost the dose.
If necessary, I'll call the doc back here
to do some fancy-dancy drug math."
Tarnish started laughing at that
for some reason, then couldn't stop
until he felt like his head would explode.
"That's why you're already hungover
while you're still drunk, isn't it?" said Roy.
"You're burning through the alcohol
faster, and hitting the aftermath."
"Yeah," said Tarnish. "Doesn't
usually hit me thish hard, but I
don't usually drink thish mush."
"I can help with that," said Roy.
"I have all-plastic supplies, but I
don't have the fancy glass ones.
The catch is, plastic just can't
get as sharp as metal can."
"Sho what's that mean?"
Tarnish said as he looked up.
"We've got two options," Roy said.
"One, I slap a numbing patch on you
and we wait five-ten minutes for that
to soak in as much as it can through
unbroken skin. Two, I can stick
you now and it hurts like heck."
"Just do it now. Everything
already hurts," Tarnish muttered.
"Can do," Roy said. "Try to calm
yourself as best you can and
think of something pleasant."
The sharp stab made Tarnish
flinch, but it promptly faded into
the overall background of misery.
"You okay?" Roy asked, and
Tarnish nodded. "Good, let me
get some numbing gel on this
and tape it for you. Then we
can get to the goodies."
"M'kay," Tarnish said
as he listened to the nurse
putter around the exam room.
"We start with basic fluid therapy,"
Roy said, showing him the bag.
"This is just water, salt, sugar, and
minerals to replace what you lost.
Do you want me to read the label?"
"Nah, I'm not that shushpicioush,"
Tarnish said. "Hook me up."
"Just relax and hold still, you
won't feel anything," Roy said.
Tarnish had his eyes closed, and
didn't feel anything. The chair was
comfortable and he was tired.
"Do you want the painkiller and
anti-nausea meds?" Roy said.
"Oh god yesh," Tarnish whimpered.
"Coming up," said Roy. "What
about the vitamin supplement?"
"Yeah, you said ish low when
you checked," Tarnish replied.
"Okay, that's everything for now,"
Roy said. "I'm setting a timer
for five-minute progress checks.
You should start feeling better
within about ten minutes."
"You keep shaying okay to
everything," Tarnish said.
"Whash going on with that?"
"Sobering care nurses get
extra training in agreeableness,
regarding ourselves and clients,"
said Roy. "It keeps things smooth."
Tarnish could appreciate the value
of someone not arguing with him.
"Good training," he agreed.
"Wish more people had it."
"You and me both, brother,"
said Roy. "I need to sit with
you while the first bag runs,
but I can be quiet or we can
talk. That part's your decision."
"Talk about what, the weather?"
Tarnish said. "I hardly know you."
"Anything you like," said Roy.
"I'm happy to help if you want
to discuss why you decided
to get so smashed, but we can
talk about sports, or movies,
or whether it might rain."
It wasn't like Tarnish had
many other people to talk with,
at least for anything serious,
and Roy was someone he
never had to see again if
it all went sour as usual.
"There's thish guy," he said.
"I thought we were jusht friends,
but lasht month he shaid that he's
falling in love with me. I don't
know -- what the fuck, even."
"That's a big revelation,"
said Roy. "Does he know
how you feel about him?"
"Hell, I don't know how I
feel about him," said Tarnish.
"He knows I'm gay. I know
he's bi. We've been up and
down a while, but now there's
this girl, and -- ah, fuck it."
"I'm bisexual," Roy said.
"If that's awkward for you
right now, I could see if any
of our gay nurses are here."
"No!" Tarnish said, grabbing
at him. "Ish always a crapshoot
whether anyone's decent to me.
I'm not giving you up jusht 'cause
you like pusshy as well as dick."
Roy put a gentle hand on
his forearm, and Tarnish
melted a little. It wasn't
sexual, just comforting.
"Pressure helps?" Roy said.
"It does for some people, but
not everyone is really into
holding hands with strangers."
"Makes the room sheem like
it's shpinning lessh," said Tarnish.
"I'll get you a blanket and see if
that works," said Roy. "We don't
want to put weight on your stomach,
but I can drape it over your legs."
Tarnish heard a cabinet door
open and close, then something
warm and slightly heavy landed
on him from the hips down.
"S'nice," he said. "Thanks."
His free hand petted it.
Then the timer went off.
"Five minutes," said Roy.
"How are you feeling?"
Tarnish felt slightly less
like he had been hit by
a truck. More like a car.
"Maybe a little better?"
said Tarnish. "But I can't
tell if it's the treatment
or just the sympathy."
"Whatever I do that
makes you feel better
is good," said Roy. "I'll
check again later, and
maybe you can tell then."
"Hope sho," Tarnish said.
"You're good at talking. I
wish Cavalier was thish good."
"Have you tried talking with
him about anything important?"
Roy said. "Some folks are shy."
"We're guy friends, or were,"
said Tarnish. "We don't really
talk like that." He flinched.
"Until I ... shorta made him.
God, I'm such a shit. I really
should not have done that."
"You're feeling guilty about it,"
Roy said. "Did you apologize?"
"Couldn't face him," Tarnish said.
"S'why I been running around
up and down the mountains."
"Granted I don't know the details,
but it's hard to go wrong with
an apology," Roy suggested.
"I know, I know," said Tarnish.
"I should oughta ... do something.
Let them catch me. Say sorry."
His shoulders twitched. "It's hard."
"Relationships often are, but if
they're good, they're worth it,"
said Roy. "Believe in yourself."
Tarnish snorted. "If they're good,
they don't deserve the likesh of me."
"I disagree," said Roy. "I believe
everyone deserves love, if that
is something that they want."
Sex? Sure. Love? Didn't matter.
Tarnish knew damn well that he
ruined everything he touched.
The timer sounded again.
"Okay, table relationships
for now," Roy said. "How
are you feeling at present?"
The headache had gone
from jackhammer to throb.
His stomach had gone from
seasick to merely queasy.
His tongue was no longer trying
to glue itself to the inside of his mouth,
and his eyelids felt less like they had
been lined with coarse sandpaper.
"Better," Tarnish said firmly.
"Lessh shore and lessh shick."
"Good, then you're responding
to standard doses," said Roy.
"Update your symptoms log."
Tarnish struggled to focus on
the tablet computer, but he
managed to mark how he felt.
Then he wriggled in the chair,
trying to get more comfortable.
"Problem?" Roy asked. "If you
tell me, maybe I can fix that."
"Ah, my feet and legs shtill hurt
more'n my head," Tarnish said.
"I was out hiking earlier, trying
to wear myself out enough
sho I didn't have to think."
"Want me to rub your feet?"
Roy offered. "I've done
a bunch of workshops on
alternative ways of relief,
if you want to see my certs."
"Nah, I'm good," said Tarnish.
"Go ahead and give it a try."
Roy got up to get a bottle
of lotion, then peeled off
the socks and started
rubbing Tarnish's feet.
What little was left of
his brain promptly melted.
Roy's hands were warm
and gentle. The pressure
helped take Tarnish's mind
off the nagging of his body.
That helped him relax more,
which eased the muscle aches.
Then Roy's hands moved lower,
and a twinge made Tarnish yelp.
"Sorry," said Roy. "Did you step on
something that could leave a bruise?"
"Don't think sho," Tarnish said. "Ow."
"Let me check something," Roy said.
He consulted the tablet computer.
"According to reflexology, that's
your liver. Sometimes the spot
gets tender when someone has
indulged in substances. Shall
I check your kidneys too?"
"I guessh," said Tarnish.
"Did'n know that worked."
"It seems to work great for
some people, less or not at all
for others," Roy said, and then
touched a new spot. "Kidneys."
"Ow," Tarnish confirmed. "S'not
as bad as before, jusht tender."
"I'll make a note," said Roy.
"Meanwhile, if you want me
to keep rubbing your feet, I'll
use flat hands so I don't bump
any of the tender places."
"Yeah," Tarnish said as he
wriggled his toes hopefully.
He hadn't gotten a foot rub
since ... gosh, that time when
he and Cavalier had gotten into
a hiking challenge, and Cavalier
had won. He'd given Tarnish
a foot rub in consolation.
Tarnish missed him,
missed the camaraderie
and roughhousing and chaos.
"It's okay to cry," Roy said quietly.
"You don't have to hide it from me."
"Habit," Tarnish muttered. "I've
never been very loud about it."
Better not to reveal weakness.
Periodically Roy responded
to the timer going off and asked
Tarnish to make another update.
By the time the bag was empty,
Tarnish felt considerably better.
His stomach was barely off, and
the pain was down to a dull ache.
"Still a bit sore?" Roy asked, and
Tarnish nodded. "Okay, I can hang
another bag and up the dose of
painkiller a little. We want you
comfortable, not still achy."
"Thanks," said Tarnish.
"You're gonna shpoil me."
"If it helps you feel better,
then it's worth it," said Roy.
"Do you want a pit stop?"
"Yeah, I need to return shome
of what I drank," Tarnish said.
Roy helped him to the door of
the dottie, then back to the room.
It was easier this time than before.
"You are feeling better," Roy said
as he hooked up the new bag.
"Do you think that you could
keep something down yet?"
"Yeah, probably," said Tarnish.
"If it's not shpicy or fatty or anything."
"I have peppermint or ginger tea,
saltines or applesauce," said Roy.
"Oh, ginger," Tarnish said, brightening.
"That always makes me feel better.
Shundew hit on that. But it tastes awful
with willowbark. Shaltines, please."
"Coming right up," said Roy. "I'll
make a note of ginger helping you."
The ginger tea came in a paper cup
the size that usually held mouthwash.
There were two saltines in the packet.
"Sherioushly?" Tarnish glared at him. "I
messhed up enough you're shtarving me?"
"You need to be gentle with your tummy
right now," said Roy. "So start out with
small sips and nibbles. If it stays put,
you can have more. There's plenty."
That made sense. Tarnish followed
the instructions, and it stayed down.
"Tarnish, I know that you feel like
you messed up tonight, but that's
no reason to mistreat yourself now,"
said Roy. "Be gentle with your body,
even if you've done stupid stuff."
"In alcohol's defenshe, I've done
shome pretty shtupid shtuff while
completely shober," Tarnish said.
"Hasn't everyone?" said Roy.
"I know I have. I think that
it's part of being human."
"It's not quite the shame for
a shupervillain," said Tarnish.
"That can ... that can go to ...
shome pretty dark places, man."
"Sometimes when in a dark place
you think you’ve been buried,
when actually you’ve been
planted," Roy said quietly.
Tarnish squeezed his eyes
closed, trying not to cry.
"Maybe I'll just lie here for
a while and try not to get into
any more trouble," he said.
"Okay," said Roy. "Do you
mind if I pick up my knitting,
or would that bother you?"
"Knitting?" Tarnish said.
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah, it keeps me
occupied," said Roy.
"You can ask me to stay
with you even if you fall
asleep, or you can shoo
me away and then I'll just
check in on you periodically."
The company was soothing,
and Tarnish didn't really want
to be in a building of strangers
with no way to lock the door
and nobody standing guard.
"Knitting's fine," said Tarnish.
"I know shome folksh who knit."
"Thanks," said Roy. "Let me pop
next door to the nurses' office
and I'll get my knitting things."
He was only gone for a minute,
returning with a gray bag that
read Stitch Happy on the side,
with knitting needles in the pockets.
"Intereshting bag," said Tarnish.
"So it can't be mistaken for
a first aid kit," Roy explained,
tapping a finger on the label.
He pulled out a scarf of
multicolored yarn that
looked almost done.
"Thash pretty bright,"
Tarnish said, staring at it.
"It's a coming-out gift for
a friend of mine," said Roy.
"A little subtler than a rainbow.
What are your favorite colors?"
"Black and gray," said Tarnish.
"Shometimes white, a little blue."
"That sounds soothing," said Roy.
"I got into fibercrafts because I
needed a way to relax, then it
turned out useful for work when
clients here want quiet company."
"If you were any more relaxed,
you'd be liquid," said Tarnish.
Roy chuckled. "True now, but
you're seeing me after years of
hard work," he said. "My family
has issues -- Dad's a veteran with
PTSD and alcoholism. My brother
got into narcotics in high school."
"That shucks," said Tarnish.
"Family can be shuch a tarpit."
"I love them anyway," said Roy.
"It's what inspired my career. I
wanted to do more for the people
with problems like my family has."
"Sho knitting," Tarnish said.
"Cute hobby, I guessh."
"Cheaper than therapy,
plus you get warm things,"
Roy said cheerfully. "Though
I can be a therapist if you need it.
I've had counseling classes."
"Ugh, no, can't think shtraight
right now," Tarnish grumbled.
"Okay," Roy said. "I can also
babble about fibercrafts for
hours, if you just want to hear
a friendly voice on a safe topic."
"Mmm...yeah," Tarnish said.
"Shafe topic's a good idea."
The higher dose of painkiller
had wiped away the headache
and body aches. His stomach
grumbled a complaint, though.
"There's an encouraging sound,"
said Roy. "Here, let me get you
another snack before I have
my hands full with knitting."
This time Tarnish got
a whole cup of ginger tea,
a cinnamon breakfast biscuit
sandwiched with almond butter,
and a small sprig of grapes.
To his surprise, they actually
tasted good, without the funk
that often tended to come with
being drunk or hungover.
Roy's knitting needles were
almost silent in the yarn, and
his voice was so soothing
as he chattered about
his favorite yarn store,
Nana's Knitting Corner.
"Think I'm fallin' ashleep,"
Tarnish finally admitted.
"Between the alcohol and
the meds, I'm not surprised,"
said Roy. "Do you want me
to lean the chair back for you?"
"Yeah, 'bout halfway, maybe?"
Tarnish said. "Not too flat."
"How about this?" Roy said,
working the controls until
Tarnish gave him thumbs up.
"Get some rest. I will have
to wake you occasionally,
just make sure that you
haven't passed out on me."
"Wh'happens if I pash out?"
Tarnish said with a frown.
It was getting harder to think.
"Then I call the doc back to see
whether we can rouse you or
you need a hospital," said Roy.
Dr. Heyborne seemed to know
what he was doing, and Tarnish
was in no shape to bicker over it.
"M'kay then," he said, snuggling
deeper into the comfy chair. "Night."
"Good night," said Roy. "I'll dim
the lights a little more. This is
self-striping yarn, so I don't need
too much light to keep working."
"Heh," said Tarnish. "I've done
shome darkwork too." Even
with his eyes closed, he could
tell when the lights dimmed
from their already-low level.
The room was warm and quiet
except for the faint, soothing sound
of knitting needles working the yarn.
Tarnish fell asleep listening to it.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its content notes and intoxication questionnaire will appear separately.
chanter1944 and rix_scaedu. It also fills the "Therapist" square in my 11-1-21 card for the NCIS Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred, ng_moonmoth, janetmiles, and edorfaus. It belongs to the Trichromatic Attachments thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It follows "The Things You Do," "Never Accept an Apology," "Spiraling Out of Control," and "The Fourth for My Enemies," so read those first or this won't make much sense.Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes problem drinking, drunkenness, vomiting, anxiety and suspicion due to past bad experiences, skittish supervillain is skittish, frenemies, awkward conversations, consent issues, trust issues, various medical details, staggering, hangover while still drunk, sponge bath, superpower control issues while drunk, metabolic differences, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"When in a Dark Place"
[Friday, September 27, 2013]
Tarnish was well and truly miserable.
Even throwing up a few times hadn't
brought relief, only more embarrassment.
The Riverton Sobering Center made him
cringe at the thought of the grilling he
was surely going to get, but he knew
better than to impose on Cavalier and
Princessa more than he already had.
Inside it was all shades of soothing blue,
cream, and warm tan. It smelled faintly
like lemon instead of like strong chemicals.
His frenemies handed him off to a male nurse,
who helped Tarnish settle into a chair. Then
the younger man crouched down so that
they were closer to the same level.
"Hi, I'm Roy and I'd like to take care
of you," he said. "Is that okay with you?"
"Thash fine. I'm Tarnish," he mumbled.
"M'jush drunk, nothin' mush to do about it."
Well, there were Sober-Up patches, but
Tarnish hated those things. They always
left him feeling both wired and exhausted.
"Here we offer sobering care with a variety
of therapies for your safety and comfort,"
Roy said. "If you need more advanced care,
we'll give you a lift to the hospital. If you want
to detox completely, we can transfer you to
your choice of rehabilitation centers. It's
all completely voluntary, free choice."
"Yeah, right," Tarnish muttered.
"Heard all that shit before."
"Do you have another provider
you'd like to transfer to?" Roy said.
Tarnish winced. It was hard to find
anyone who was willing to take care
of supervillains, and their own medics
tended to be, well, nannyhammers.
"I'd rather not pull that shtring,"
he said. "Too mush fussh."
Roy sighed. "If you don't
consent to care, you're free
to leave. We'd feel much
better if you had someone
to keep an eye on you, though."
Tarnish looked at Cavalier and
Princessa, who were talking
to a female nurse. His heart
cringed at the thought of asking
Cavalier to sit up with him.
"If you don't have anyone else
in mind, I can offer you good care
and a quiet place to sleep it off,"
Roy offered. "Does any of that
sound helpful to you tonight?"
Tarnish hesitated. There were
ups and downs whatever he did,
and he really was too smashed
to sort through them properly.
"It's your choice," Roy said.
"What do you choose to do?"
"Shtay here," Tarnish said. He
didn't want to go anywhere that he
might need to rot his way back out of,
and he didn't want to be alone either.
"Okay, let me run a quick health check
to make sure this isn't an emergency,
and then we can talk more about
your options," Roy said. "All right?"
"Go 'head," Tarnish said, then
frowned. "Why d'you keep asking?"
"First, we're very careful about
consent here, because lots of
our clients have a rough past,"
said Roy. "Second, it gives
you practice making choices,
which is an important skill."
"M'kay," said Tarnish, and
let Roy take a look at him.
The nurse was gentle and
careful, more than most people
had been. Tarnish soon found
himself listing toward Roy,
who didn't seem to mind.
They hadn't even finished
the health check when
Cavalier came over.
"We're going to head out
now that you're in a safe place,"
Cavalier said, patting Tarnish. "You
stay here and feel better, yeah."
"Yeah, thash fine," Tarnish said.
He wouldn't cling. He would not.
Well, he was clutching Roy a bit,
but that was okay, because he
was a nurse and a stranger.
"Are you up to answering
a few questions?" Roy said.
"They'll help me offer options."
"Yeah, hit me," said Tarnish.
"Do you remember how many
drinks you had?" asked Roy.
Tarnish counted on his fingers.
"Four ... doubles," he said.
Roy frowned. "That's a lot,"
he said. "How fast did
you put those away?"
"Coupla hours, maybe
a little longer?" Tarnish said.
"At least you've probably burned
through the first two standard drinks
already," Roy said. "Do you do this
often, or is it unusual for you?"
"Not thish mush," said Tarnish.
"It's been a tough month." He
looked away. Remembering
why he had done it made him
queasy again. "I'm not a drunk."
"It doesn't sound like you are,"
said Roy. "You're just going
through a rough patch. That's
a lot easier to fix than when
it's a big, chronic problem."
Tarnish's stomach lurched.
"M'gonna throw up again."
Roy got a bucket under him
and held him so that Tarnish
wouldn't faceplant into it.
As soon as the heaving
stopped, Roy was there
with a paper cup. "Here,
rinse your mouth out."
Tarnish obeyed, but
he was feeling worse.
"You don't look too good,"
Roy said. "Since you're
staying, let's move this
to another room now."
"Yeah, okay," Tarnish said,
although he didn't have
much energy for moving.
"Would you rather ride,
or can you walk?" Roy said,
tapping a nearby wheelchair.
"I can walk." Tarnish pushed
himself to his feet, swayed,
then braced a hand on the wall.
"If I have shomething to lean on."
"Sure, you can lean on me,"
Roy said, offering him a hand.
The nurse was warm and solid,
and Tarnish appreciated it.
When they came to the dottie,
Roy said, "Need a pit stop? I
can give you a hand if you want."
"I can handle myself," Tarnish said
as he stumbled through the door.
"If you need to sit down, open
your knees, push the pointer
down, then close your knees,"
Roy said. "It works, really."
Tarnish tried it, and yeah,
it worked. That was easier
than hugging the walls,
even with grab bars.
He wobbled his way
back out of the dottie,
and Roy led him onward.
The hall was lined with
nature pictures. They
passed a nurses station
along with its attached office,
then reached the exam room.
"Here we go," Roy said as
he helped Tarnish sit down.
"I'll check what you need, and
our doctor will peek in on you
to confirm medication options."
"Then what?" Tarnish said.
The chair was comfortable, and
he didn't really want to leave it.
"Then you can either stay here
if you want privacy and a chair,
or move to our recovery room if
you want company and a cot."
Tarnish clutched the chair.
"Here," he said. "Lying down
makes me feel even worshe."
"Okay, let me make a note
of that," Roy said as he
picked up a tablet computer.
"What for?" Tarnish wondered.
"I'll keep a record of what helps,
doesn't work, or makes you feel
worse," said Roy. "Then you
don't have to try to remember it."
"Thash usheful," Tarnish said.
He rarely lost time when drunk,
but as smashed as he was tonight,
he couldn't count on his recall.
"I'm glad to hear it," said Roy.
"Let me run a few tests to see
what your body's doing, okay?"
"Sure," said Tarnish. He put up
with more pressing here and there,
holding up the computer tablet at
arm's length, and blowing in a tube.
But when Roy came at him with
an unfamiliar object the size of
a pencil case, Tarnish shied away.
He was too much a supervillain
to let someone near him with
a random piece of equipment.
That could go so very wrong.
You had to suspect trouble if
you wanted to survive that life.
"Relax, this thing is awesome,"
Roy said. "It reads a bunch of
stuff -- blood sugar, vitamin levels --
to help us figure out the right therapies."
"Really? How's it work?" Tarnish said.
"I touch it to your forearm. It sprays on
some antiseptic, pokes a tiny hole, takes
a sample, and sprays on skin sealant. It
doesn't hurt, it just feels cold," Roy said.
"Then it runs the analysis and sends
all of the data to my tablet computer."
"Ffffine," Tarnish said. He'd put up
with it if it got him some of the good stuff.
Roy was right. Tarnish couldn't feel
anything but a cold spot. Then again,
he already felt so awful, nothing else was
likely to make much impression. His body
ached and his head was just killing him.
One drawback to the slightly faster speed
of soup metabolism was that the hangover
could hit before you'd even finished drinking.
Roy was frowning over his tablet. "Yeah,
this is going to take a while to treat, but
we've got you covered," he said. "I'll
ping the doc to come and confirm it."
"How bad's it?" Tarnish asked.
"Cause I already feel like crap."
He knew from experience that
it was never a good thing when
the medic was worrying about you.
"You're low on a lot of vitamins,
and blood sugar," said Roy. "I've
got short-term solutions here. We
can talk about longer-term options
tomorrow when you can think straight."
"Yeah, I can't think mush now, not with
my head banging like thish," Tarnish said.
"That's what you've got me for," said Roy.
"I'll take care of tracking. All you have
to do is answer questions and then
decide what options you want."
A soft knock announced the doctor,
who was a little older with a kind face.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Heyborne," he said. "May
I take a look at the data so far, and
then check a few more things?"
Tarnish flogged his brain into gear
enough to make a real assessment,
because as a supervillain he had
to be more careful about doctors.
Something about this one seemed
almost familiar, not in a personal way,
more like body language. Safe-ish.
"Yeah, go ahead," Tarnish said,
and Roy handed over the tablet.
Dr. Heyborne read it, asked
Tarnish a few more questions
about allergies and prescriptions,
and patted over him with warm hands.
Then the sleeves of the white coat
rode up, flashing a glimpse of ink.
"What the -- are thoshe shpiderwebs?"
Tarnish said, staring at the tattoos.
"Yes they are, and they mean
the usual," said Dr. Heyborne.
"I had a history of drug abuse
before I worked my way out.
Is that a problem for you?"
"Uh, no," said Tarnish. "I run
with a rough crowd myshelf, I don'
care if you've been to prison. I jusht
wasn't expecting to shee that here."
Dr. Heyborne smiled. "That's why
I'm here, actually. Some people
feel more at ease with me since
I share a similar background."
"How'dya manage that?"
Tarnish said. "I mean, how
did you get from there to here?"
"Through the Way Back Program,"
Dr. Heyborne said. "I started out
with first aid and Narcan classes.
When my advisors saw how good
I was getting, then they helped me
to get more medical training."
"Thash usheful," Tarnish said,
thinking about how supervillains
had started their own medical care.
Partly it was because most medics
wouldn't touch them, but another part
was because most supervillains had
a deep -- and justified -- distrust of
the conventional health system.
"Thank you," said Dr. Heyborne.
"All right, all standard treatments are
approved. Give those half an hour
to work, and if they don't, call me back.
Sorry I can't stay, there's an issue in
the recovery room needing close watch."
"Go, I've got this," Roy said, waving
him off. "Tarnish and I are getting along
great. I'll let you know if we need you."
"We are?" Tarnish said, startled.
Dr. Heyborne slipped out while
Tarnish was still trying to process
why on Earth Roy had said that.
"Well, yeah," said Roy. "You've
decided to stay. You're letting
me help. You haven't sworn at
or threatened me even once."
"Whoa, no, of courshe not,"
Tarnish said. "Only an idiot
threatens medics. Anyone who
knows how to put you together
knows how to take you apart."
Roy chuckled. "Guess I can't
argue with that one," he said.
"Okay, let's talk options. Do you
want a shower and a change of
clothes before this gets involved?"
Tarnish looked down. He had puke
all down the front of his costume.
"I know I'm a messh, but I couldn't
manage a shower," he said. "Got
nothing else to wear, either."
"Understandable," said Roy.
"How about a quick wipedown?
We have a clothing bank and
a laundry to handle the rest."
"Wipedown and clean clothes,
yeah," said Tarnish. "But some
of my outfit needs special care."
There were laundries that handled
capes, if you knew where to look.
Nobody picked a fight there either.
There weren't always enough
to separate, so in many areas,
all cape colors had to share.
You minded your manners or
you washed your own clothes.
"No problem, we have bags for
that," said Roy. "Sometimes folks
come in here wearing suits."
He sent a text message,
then opened a cabinet
and produced a bag.
Roy helped Tarnish
undress, then stuffed
the smelly costume into
the bag and zipped it.
Tarnish slouched in
the comfy exam chair
wearing only undershorts
while Roy blotted sweat
and worse off his skin.
It should have been
humiliating. It was
comforting instead.
Tarnish had rarely had
anyone take care of him.
Well, one time Princessa
tapped out of a fight because
Tarnish was sneezing so badly,
and dragged him to a drugstore
so she could send him home
with a proper set of cold meds.
That had been ... sort of nice.
Tapping at the door startled him,
but Roy pushed him back down.
"Don't worry, it's just a volunteer
bringing your clothes," said Roy.
Tarnish had been expecting
one of those bare-ass gowns.
Instead, he got his choice
of sleep pants and tops in
three slightly different sizes.
They were black and soft,
and he didn't care that he
needed help getting into them,
just that they felt so soothing.
"Okay, let's log your symptoms,"
Roy said, offering him the tablet.
"Check the ones you have, and
if it's not listed, type it in. Then
the program will give you scales
so you can mark how bad you feel.
If you can't focus, I'll read to you."
"I can read," Tarnish said, and
poked at the computer screen.
Thinking about how he felt
made him feel even worse.
He was feeling less drunk
and more hungover already.
"Fuck," he said, handing it back.
"It will be okay," said Roy. "I
know you feel awful now, but I'll
take care of that as quick as I can."
Tarnish gave him a bleary look.
"You really got a hangover cure?"
"I have hangover treatments,"
Roy said. "Everything from
Chuckies and Sober-Up to
heavy-duty medications."
"Yeah, hit me," Tarnish said.
"S'not like you'll make it worshe."
"You marked nausea high and
you've already thrown up," said Roy.
"Are you feeling better enough that
you could keep down water or tea?"
"Ugh, no," Tarnish groaned. "It'll
be hours before it'll shtay down."
"Okay, the gold standard care
for cases like this is IV therapy,"
Roy said. "That replenishes fluids
and allows better, faster meds."
"And get bitched out because I'm
showing punctures? No thanks,"
Tarnish said, shaking his head.
"No, it's okay, we provide
confirmation of medical care,"
Roy assured him. "If anyone
bothers you, all you have to do
is refer them to us with consent
to share information, and we will."
"Thash ... different," Tarnish said.
He wasn't used to people actually
offering to protect him in any way.
Well, except for that time Sundew
had hit someone with a frying pan
for picking on him about cape issues
when he just trying to eat breakfast.
"Here's a menu," Roy said, and it
was so tempting that Tarnish could
actually feel it with his superpower.
"Painkillers. Anti-nausea meds.
Vitamin supplements, which you
definitely need. If that's not enough,
I've got anti-inflammatories and
some sweet muscle relaxants."
Tarnish let his fingers drift over
the menu. "What's the difference?"
"They're listed in order of strength,
and dingbats show the delivery mode,"
said Roy. "Remember the IV meds will
work faster than anything else, plus you
don't have to swallow them and hope they
stay down. But almost all of it does have
non-invasive options like Chuckies,
if you don't want me poking you."
It was like trying to think through
sludge. "Yeah, fashter's better,"
Tarnish finally decided, pointing
to the ones he wanted. "Go on."
So much sludge, he forgot
something critical until Roy
was bringing out the supplies.
"No metal!" Tarnish yelped.
Roy dropped a package on
the side table. "Okay, no metal,"
he agreed. "Can you say why not?"
Tarnish sighed. Roy had been
easygoing, but without seeing why,
he might not keep with the plan.
"My control's shot to hell,"
he confessed. "I ruin
everything I touch."
Tarnish pressed
a shaky fingertip to
some metal doodad
lying on the side table.
Instantly it rusted away.
"Wow!" Roy said. "Now I
see why not. Thank you
for sharing that. I'll keep it
private. Is there anything else
you would like me to know?"
"I run a little high," said Tarnish.
"I have to eat a bit more, not much,
but I burn through some stuff faster
than average. I usually double up
on things like aspirin at home."
"Okay, I'll keep a close eye on
your blood sugar," said Roy. "You
tell me how well the meds are working,
and if it's not enough, I'll boost the dose.
If necessary, I'll call the doc back here
to do some fancy-dancy drug math."
Tarnish started laughing at that
for some reason, then couldn't stop
until he felt like his head would explode.
"That's why you're already hungover
while you're still drunk, isn't it?" said Roy.
"You're burning through the alcohol
faster, and hitting the aftermath."
"Yeah," said Tarnish. "Doesn't
usually hit me thish hard, but I
don't usually drink thish mush."
"I can help with that," said Roy.
"I have all-plastic supplies, but I
don't have the fancy glass ones.
The catch is, plastic just can't
get as sharp as metal can."
"Sho what's that mean?"
Tarnish said as he looked up.
"We've got two options," Roy said.
"One, I slap a numbing patch on you
and we wait five-ten minutes for that
to soak in as much as it can through
unbroken skin. Two, I can stick
you now and it hurts like heck."
"Just do it now. Everything
already hurts," Tarnish muttered.
"Can do," Roy said. "Try to calm
yourself as best you can and
think of something pleasant."
The sharp stab made Tarnish
flinch, but it promptly faded into
the overall background of misery.
"You okay?" Roy asked, and
Tarnish nodded. "Good, let me
get some numbing gel on this
and tape it for you. Then we
can get to the goodies."
"M'kay," Tarnish said
as he listened to the nurse
putter around the exam room.
"We start with basic fluid therapy,"
Roy said, showing him the bag.
"This is just water, salt, sugar, and
minerals to replace what you lost.
Do you want me to read the label?"
"Nah, I'm not that shushpicioush,"
Tarnish said. "Hook me up."
"Just relax and hold still, you
won't feel anything," Roy said.
Tarnish had his eyes closed, and
didn't feel anything. The chair was
comfortable and he was tired.
"Do you want the painkiller and
anti-nausea meds?" Roy said.
"Oh god yesh," Tarnish whimpered.
"Coming up," said Roy. "What
about the vitamin supplement?"
"Yeah, you said ish low when
you checked," Tarnish replied.
"Okay, that's everything for now,"
Roy said. "I'm setting a timer
for five-minute progress checks.
You should start feeling better
within about ten minutes."
"You keep shaying okay to
everything," Tarnish said.
"Whash going on with that?"
"Sobering care nurses get
extra training in agreeableness,
regarding ourselves and clients,"
said Roy. "It keeps things smooth."
Tarnish could appreciate the value
of someone not arguing with him.
"Good training," he agreed.
"Wish more people had it."
"You and me both, brother,"
said Roy. "I need to sit with
you while the first bag runs,
but I can be quiet or we can
talk. That part's your decision."
"Talk about what, the weather?"
Tarnish said. "I hardly know you."
"Anything you like," said Roy.
"I'm happy to help if you want
to discuss why you decided
to get so smashed, but we can
talk about sports, or movies,
or whether it might rain."
It wasn't like Tarnish had
many other people to talk with,
at least for anything serious,
and Roy was someone he
never had to see again if
it all went sour as usual.
"There's thish guy," he said.
"I thought we were jusht friends,
but lasht month he shaid that he's
falling in love with me. I don't
know -- what the fuck, even."
"That's a big revelation,"
said Roy. "Does he know
how you feel about him?"
"Hell, I don't know how I
feel about him," said Tarnish.
"He knows I'm gay. I know
he's bi. We've been up and
down a while, but now there's
this girl, and -- ah, fuck it."
"I'm bisexual," Roy said.
"If that's awkward for you
right now, I could see if any
of our gay nurses are here."
"No!" Tarnish said, grabbing
at him. "Ish always a crapshoot
whether anyone's decent to me.
I'm not giving you up jusht 'cause
you like pusshy as well as dick."
Roy put a gentle hand on
his forearm, and Tarnish
melted a little. It wasn't
sexual, just comforting.
"Pressure helps?" Roy said.
"It does for some people, but
not everyone is really into
holding hands with strangers."
"Makes the room sheem like
it's shpinning lessh," said Tarnish.
"I'll get you a blanket and see if
that works," said Roy. "We don't
want to put weight on your stomach,
but I can drape it over your legs."
Tarnish heard a cabinet door
open and close, then something
warm and slightly heavy landed
on him from the hips down.
"S'nice," he said. "Thanks."
His free hand petted it.
Then the timer went off.
"Five minutes," said Roy.
"How are you feeling?"
Tarnish felt slightly less
like he had been hit by
a truck. More like a car.
"Maybe a little better?"
said Tarnish. "But I can't
tell if it's the treatment
or just the sympathy."
"Whatever I do that
makes you feel better
is good," said Roy. "I'll
check again later, and
maybe you can tell then."
"Hope sho," Tarnish said.
"You're good at talking. I
wish Cavalier was thish good."
"Have you tried talking with
him about anything important?"
Roy said. "Some folks are shy."
"We're guy friends, or were,"
said Tarnish. "We don't really
talk like that." He flinched.
"Until I ... shorta made him.
God, I'm such a shit. I really
should not have done that."
"You're feeling guilty about it,"
Roy said. "Did you apologize?"
"Couldn't face him," Tarnish said.
"S'why I been running around
up and down the mountains."
"Granted I don't know the details,
but it's hard to go wrong with
an apology," Roy suggested.
"I know, I know," said Tarnish.
"I should oughta ... do something.
Let them catch me. Say sorry."
His shoulders twitched. "It's hard."
"Relationships often are, but if
they're good, they're worth it,"
said Roy. "Believe in yourself."
Tarnish snorted. "If they're good,
they don't deserve the likesh of me."
"I disagree," said Roy. "I believe
everyone deserves love, if that
is something that they want."
Sex? Sure. Love? Didn't matter.
Tarnish knew damn well that he
ruined everything he touched.
The timer sounded again.
"Okay, table relationships
for now," Roy said. "How
are you feeling at present?"
The headache had gone
from jackhammer to throb.
His stomach had gone from
seasick to merely queasy.
His tongue was no longer trying
to glue itself to the inside of his mouth,
and his eyelids felt less like they had
been lined with coarse sandpaper.
"Better," Tarnish said firmly.
"Lessh shore and lessh shick."
"Good, then you're responding
to standard doses," said Roy.
"Update your symptoms log."
Tarnish struggled to focus on
the tablet computer, but he
managed to mark how he felt.
Then he wriggled in the chair,
trying to get more comfortable.
"Problem?" Roy asked. "If you
tell me, maybe I can fix that."
"Ah, my feet and legs shtill hurt
more'n my head," Tarnish said.
"I was out hiking earlier, trying
to wear myself out enough
sho I didn't have to think."
"Want me to rub your feet?"
Roy offered. "I've done
a bunch of workshops on
alternative ways of relief,
if you want to see my certs."
"Nah, I'm good," said Tarnish.
"Go ahead and give it a try."
Roy got up to get a bottle
of lotion, then peeled off
the socks and started
rubbing Tarnish's feet.
What little was left of
his brain promptly melted.
Roy's hands were warm
and gentle. The pressure
helped take Tarnish's mind
off the nagging of his body.
That helped him relax more,
which eased the muscle aches.
Then Roy's hands moved lower,
and a twinge made Tarnish yelp.
"Sorry," said Roy. "Did you step on
something that could leave a bruise?"
"Don't think sho," Tarnish said. "Ow."
"Let me check something," Roy said.
He consulted the tablet computer.
"According to reflexology, that's
your liver. Sometimes the spot
gets tender when someone has
indulged in substances. Shall
I check your kidneys too?"
"I guessh," said Tarnish.
"Did'n know that worked."
"It seems to work great for
some people, less or not at all
for others," Roy said, and then
touched a new spot. "Kidneys."
"Ow," Tarnish confirmed. "S'not
as bad as before, jusht tender."
"I'll make a note," said Roy.
"Meanwhile, if you want me
to keep rubbing your feet, I'll
use flat hands so I don't bump
any of the tender places."
"Yeah," Tarnish said as he
wriggled his toes hopefully.
He hadn't gotten a foot rub
since ... gosh, that time when
he and Cavalier had gotten into
a hiking challenge, and Cavalier
had won. He'd given Tarnish
a foot rub in consolation.
Tarnish missed him,
missed the camaraderie
and roughhousing and chaos.
"It's okay to cry," Roy said quietly.
"You don't have to hide it from me."
"Habit," Tarnish muttered. "I've
never been very loud about it."
Better not to reveal weakness.
Periodically Roy responded
to the timer going off and asked
Tarnish to make another update.
By the time the bag was empty,
Tarnish felt considerably better.
His stomach was barely off, and
the pain was down to a dull ache.
"Still a bit sore?" Roy asked, and
Tarnish nodded. "Okay, I can hang
another bag and up the dose of
painkiller a little. We want you
comfortable, not still achy."
"Thanks," said Tarnish.
"You're gonna shpoil me."
"If it helps you feel better,
then it's worth it," said Roy.
"Do you want a pit stop?"
"Yeah, I need to return shome
of what I drank," Tarnish said.
Roy helped him to the door of
the dottie, then back to the room.
It was easier this time than before.
"You are feeling better," Roy said
as he hooked up the new bag.
"Do you think that you could
keep something down yet?"
"Yeah, probably," said Tarnish.
"If it's not shpicy or fatty or anything."
"I have peppermint or ginger tea,
saltines or applesauce," said Roy.
"Oh, ginger," Tarnish said, brightening.
"That always makes me feel better.
Shundew hit on that. But it tastes awful
with willowbark. Shaltines, please."
"Coming right up," said Roy. "I'll
make a note of ginger helping you."
The ginger tea came in a paper cup
the size that usually held mouthwash.
There were two saltines in the packet.
"Sherioushly?" Tarnish glared at him. "I
messhed up enough you're shtarving me?"
"You need to be gentle with your tummy
right now," said Roy. "So start out with
small sips and nibbles. If it stays put,
you can have more. There's plenty."
That made sense. Tarnish followed
the instructions, and it stayed down.
"Tarnish, I know that you feel like
you messed up tonight, but that's
no reason to mistreat yourself now,"
said Roy. "Be gentle with your body,
even if you've done stupid stuff."
"In alcohol's defenshe, I've done
shome pretty shtupid shtuff while
completely shober," Tarnish said.
"Hasn't everyone?" said Roy.
"I know I have. I think that
it's part of being human."
"It's not quite the shame for
a shupervillain," said Tarnish.
"That can ... that can go to ...
shome pretty dark places, man."
"Sometimes when in a dark place
you think you’ve been buried,
when actually you’ve been
planted," Roy said quietly.
Tarnish squeezed his eyes
closed, trying not to cry.
"Maybe I'll just lie here for
a while and try not to get into
any more trouble," he said.
"Okay," said Roy. "Do you
mind if I pick up my knitting,
or would that bother you?"
"Knitting?" Tarnish said.
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah, it keeps me
occupied," said Roy.
"You can ask me to stay
with you even if you fall
asleep, or you can shoo
me away and then I'll just
check in on you periodically."
The company was soothing,
and Tarnish didn't really want
to be in a building of strangers
with no way to lock the door
and nobody standing guard.
"Knitting's fine," said Tarnish.
"I know shome folksh who knit."
"Thanks," said Roy. "Let me pop
next door to the nurses' office
and I'll get my knitting things."
He was only gone for a minute,
returning with a gray bag that
read Stitch Happy on the side,
with knitting needles in the pockets.
"Intereshting bag," said Tarnish.
"So it can't be mistaken for
a first aid kit," Roy explained,
tapping a finger on the label.
He pulled out a scarf of
multicolored yarn that
looked almost done.
"Thash pretty bright,"
Tarnish said, staring at it.
"It's a coming-out gift for
a friend of mine," said Roy.
"A little subtler than a rainbow.
What are your favorite colors?"
"Black and gray," said Tarnish.
"Shometimes white, a little blue."
"That sounds soothing," said Roy.
"I got into fibercrafts because I
needed a way to relax, then it
turned out useful for work when
clients here want quiet company."
"If you were any more relaxed,
you'd be liquid," said Tarnish.
Roy chuckled. "True now, but
you're seeing me after years of
hard work," he said. "My family
has issues -- Dad's a veteran with
PTSD and alcoholism. My brother
got into narcotics in high school."
"That shucks," said Tarnish.
"Family can be shuch a tarpit."
"I love them anyway," said Roy.
"It's what inspired my career. I
wanted to do more for the people
with problems like my family has."
"Sho knitting," Tarnish said.
"Cute hobby, I guessh."
"Cheaper than therapy,
plus you get warm things,"
Roy said cheerfully. "Though
I can be a therapist if you need it.
I've had counseling classes."
"Ugh, no, can't think shtraight
right now," Tarnish grumbled.
"Okay," Roy said. "I can also
babble about fibercrafts for
hours, if you just want to hear
a friendly voice on a safe topic."
"Mmm...yeah," Tarnish said.
"Shafe topic's a good idea."
The higher dose of painkiller
had wiped away the headache
and body aches. His stomach
grumbled a complaint, though.
"There's an encouraging sound,"
said Roy. "Here, let me get you
another snack before I have
my hands full with knitting."
This time Tarnish got
a whole cup of ginger tea,
a cinnamon breakfast biscuit
sandwiched with almond butter,
and a small sprig of grapes.
To his surprise, they actually
tasted good, without the funk
that often tended to come with
being drunk or hungover.
Roy's knitting needles were
almost silent in the yarn, and
his voice was so soothing
as he chattered about
his favorite yarn store,
Nana's Knitting Corner.
"Think I'm fallin' ashleep,"
Tarnish finally admitted.
"Between the alcohol and
the meds, I'm not surprised,"
said Roy. "Do you want me
to lean the chair back for you?"
"Yeah, 'bout halfway, maybe?"
Tarnish said. "Not too flat."
"How about this?" Roy said,
working the controls until
Tarnish gave him thumbs up.
"Get some rest. I will have
to wake you occasionally,
just make sure that you
haven't passed out on me."
"Wh'happens if I pash out?"
Tarnish said with a frown.
It was getting harder to think.
"Then I call the doc back to see
whether we can rouse you or
you need a hospital," said Roy.
Dr. Heyborne seemed to know
what he was doing, and Tarnish
was in no shape to bicker over it.
"M'kay then," he said, snuggling
deeper into the comfy chair. "Night."
"Good night," said Roy. "I'll dim
the lights a little more. This is
self-striping yarn, so I don't need
too much light to keep working."
"Heh," said Tarnish. "I've done
shome darkwork too." Even
with his eyes closed, he could
tell when the lights dimmed
from their already-low level.
The room was warm and quiet
except for the faint, soothing sound
of knitting needles working the yarn.
Tarnish fell asleep listening to it.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its content notes and intoxication questionnaire will appear separately.
no subject
Fixed!
no subject
Yes ...
He really does. Tarnish is a wreck, and while he did part of it to himself (and poor Cavalier) a lot it stems from childhood damage.
>> Good nurse! <<
Roy is made of 100% solid chocolate, gold-plated win.
no subject
And Roy is, indeed, a solid chocolate gold plated awesome of a human being.
Thoughts
*hankie*
>> He's had the whump, and now he's having the comfort. <<
Yep. Sometimes I write a piece that is all hurt, followed by a piece that is all comfort, in cases where the story is too big to fit inside a single one.
T-America has sobering centers and substance care nurses to take care of people. They provide health care but also social support. It often takes a while to sink in, but they have a much higher rate of success than nagging.
>>Only he barely believes he deserves the comfort, does he?<<
Exactly. Tarnish has a terrible self-image. That messes with his self-care and his relationships. It is slowly getting better, though.
>> And Roy is, indeed, a solid chocolate gold plated awesome of a human being.<<
So. Much. This.
Can you imagine how he's going to flip the first time one of his supervillain clients calls him a superhero?
Roy: "I'm not a superhero. I don't have any special powers. I'm just an ordinary guy."
Supervillain: "You have Super-Compassion."
Roy: "What? No I don't. Anyone could do what I do."
Supervillain: "Yeah, but they don't. All in favor of Roy having Super-Compassion?"
Every other supervillain in the room: "AYE!"
I don't think Roy realizes how much like a Buddhist monk he is in this regard, or how rare that is even in Terramagne. Sure the average level is higher, but still not a lot of people want all beings to be free from suffering.
Re: Thoughts
Definitely nominate Roy!!
Re: Thoughts