Title: The Death March
Part: Fourteen - The Doctor
Previously:
Prologue |
One |
Two |
Three|
Four |
Five |
Six |
Seven |
Eight |
Nine |
Ten |
Eleven |
Twelve |
ThirteenRP: with
red_eyed_sinNote:
doug_ramsey and
tm_northstar used with permission. (Hope this works for you wonderful ladies.) Many thanks to Sinister!mun for the RP! It was rather fun to yell "Tag!" across the room at each other. :D
The weekend...
Nathaniel had been surprised when JP called him shortly after their outing for tea in New York, asking if he could come back to New York and take a look at John Allerdyce, who was apparently suffering from a mysterious disease which was slowly killing him. Nathaniel had not seen John--Magneto's former lieutenant--in a very long time. John was the reason why Magneto went to jail, as far as Nathaniel knew, but the circumstances surrounding that and anything that had transpired after Magneto had disappeared, Nathaniel did not know.
Which was, honestly, how he preferred it. And he intended it to stay that way, because while he was fond of JP Beaubier, he had no loyalty whatsoever to John Allerdyce. He did, however, have it in spades for one certain redhead, who had all but insist he go. Nathaniel, who would kill anyone for pointing out the obvious that he was inclined to do things Rachel asked of him, dressed in his usual austere suit and prepared to teleport to New York.
Isobel, who had always been friendly with John, was also anxious that he go. She badgered him while he was fixing himself some tea, insisting that he find out everything he could and they could both work on a cure when he returned.
"We have all that equipment, you know," Isobel said, munching on the English muffin Nathaniel had insisted she eat with her morning coffee. "Might as well use it for something important."
"Curing a mutant terrorist is important?" Nathaniel asked her, sipping his tea.
"Former mutant terrorist, and yes. He's a nice guy, and besides, he left the Brotherhood. Wizened up, or whatever." Isobel pointed a finger at him warningly, which made her one of the only few people who had ever actually threatened Nathaniel Essex in a similar fashion. "Are you questioning my priorities?"
"I would never," Nathaniel said, putting his hand on his heart. "You are talking to me, here. I shall go and report back to you and Rachel both." Nathaniel sighed. "Women. I can't possibly imagine why i decided to live with two of you."
"Because we're awesome," Isobel said, waving at him. "Go. You don't want to be late."
"I shall arrive in less than one second," Nathaniel reminded her, but she just scowled at him. "You have raspberry jam on your face," he told her, and teleported away before she could say anything back.
* * *
"What the fucking shit?" John Allerdyce exclaimed, sitting up with a start.
He had been laying out on the couch in the hotel suite, having just recently woken up from a nap, and had been surfing mindlessly through stupid television channels. Both Doug and JP were out at the moment - John had insisted they get out and do something that wasn't watching him sleep, and John had been too tired to do anything right then. He'd maybe go out with them later, but they needed to just get out and get some fresh air or something.
But then, all of a sudden, there was Dr. Essex - Sinister - standing right in front of the television.
John reached over to the coffee table and grabbed his baseball cap, putting it on backwards as he stood up, a little bit on guard but mostly surprised. "Um. Hi? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Ah, Mr. Allerdyce." Nathaniel had his hands clasped behind his back. He inclined his head slightly. "My apologies for the rather abrupt appearance. Your friend Jean-Paul contacted me, and ask that I have a look at you. He says you are very ill." Which, as Nathaniel could see, was not an exaggeration. He remembered John as a healthy young man, but the figure before him was anything but. "He wondered if perhaps I may have some medical expertise that might give some hint as to a possible cure."
John frowned, and one hand went up to the back to his neck, scratching it. "I... JP is going to fucking get it," John muttered under his breath. "Look, I get you're all into science and stuff, but this thing happening to me? Isn't science. It's, like. Magic. Or whatever. I don't think there's a cure you can find for me, Dr. Essex."
"Yes, well, I was not given a lot of information about your condition. However, I--" Nathaniel stopped, his eyes narrowing. He looked down at John curiously. As was his usual custom with those he did not particularly trust (which was most people), Nathaniel had been attempting a mental scan of John's thoughts, attempting to get the full picture of the young man's illness.
There was nothing there. It was as if he were attempting a mental scan of metal sculpture. Even an alien, or a clone, would have some sort of mental signature. But there was nothing there, not a hint, not a stray thought. "What has happened to you? This is no ordinary illness."
"Ah, no, it's not," John agreed. "It's this, um. Like, virus thing? I don't know. It makes my body seem dead to everyone else. No one can hear my heartbeat. No one can hear my thoughts." John, had he been feeling better, would probably have given a cocky smirk or something, because he knew that Sinister couldn't get inside his head and it probably pissed him off or something. But he didn't feel up to it anymore. "I can feel my own heartbeat, and of course I have thoughts and stuff. Anyway, so I was supposed to do this journey, or pilgrimage to get the cure, but it didn't work. There isn't a cure out there for me. So I don't know how you could possibly help. There's nothing left to do."
Nathaniel nodded. John's eyes looked shadowed, dark, and his skin was pale. He'd obviously lost weight. He looked, somewhat, like Nathaniel's son in the weeks before his death. The memory was over a hundred years old, but Nathaniel could recall it in perfect detail. Nathaniel began to pace, his voice perfectly composed, perfectly professional. "Have you had the full gamut of blood tests, then?" John nodded, and Nathaniel continued firing medical questions until it was very clear that there was, in fact, very little clue as to what, physically, was wrong with John Allerdyce.
Nathaniel leaned against a wall and crossed his arms. "Does Jean-Paul know that you have had all these tests, and that there is nothing they can do to halt the progress of your disease?"
John nodded. "Yeah, he knows. He and Doug are refusing to accept the fact I'm dead. Dying. Whatever. They don't want to believe I can't be cured." John shrugged, trying to act nonchalantly about it. He was accepting this was going on, whether or not his lover and friends were as such. "The Freedom Force did testing on me when it first happened. They couldn't find a cure."
"One wonders why Jean-Paul called me, then." Nathaniel, who was never possessed of a surfeit of compassion, did not say a word to John about his impending demise. Nathaniel was a doctor, and besides all that, it was not his way--nor was it his place. Nathaniel arched a brow. "I do hope he does not wish me to make a clone of you. I have been threatened within an inch of my immortal life by SHIELD if I do that. Negative zone imprisonment, and all of that."
"You kidding me? There's only one one John Fucking Allerdyce, and that's me. No one wants there to be a clone," John said, and added on a humourless chuckle. "He probably called you because he wants you to, I don't know. Check me out? Do your medical thing? Tests? I don't know what he was thinking," John said shrugging. "But whatever you want to do, I'm cool with it. He wants it done."
"Lad, no one ever really wants a clone," Nathaniel said, a tad wryly. "Believe me, they are far more trouble than they are worth." He walked over to John and put his hand on the young man's shoulder, and concentrated. A few moments later, they were in a SHIELD lab in Manhattan, state-of-the-art and with sixteen other people who would have been very, very nervous had Nathaniel not waved his hand and sent them from the room, all suddenly remembering somewhere else they were supposed to be. When the last of the six scientists left the room, Nathaniel put a mental ward up to keep anyone from entering.
"If you could please sit here," Nathaniel said, pointing to the stainless steel lab table. He raised a brow at John. "Do not worry, I only torture patients when they fail to cooperate. Otherwise, I assure you, I shall do my best not to cause you undo pain."
John raised his own eyebrow, and wondered if Dr. Essex was trying to make a joke or something. "I have enough pain," John said, shrugging. But he went over to the table and hoped up, and took off his baseball cap, revealing his paled, shaggy hair. "So exactly what sort of of non-torture are you going to do here?"
Nathaniel busied himself for a moment with supplies, then walked over to where John was sitting. "The basic sort," he said, and pushed up John's sleeve. The young man's arm was pale--not quite as pale as Nathaniel's skin, but frighteningly close--and riddled with bruises. Nathaniel held John's arm firmly. "Please excuse me, my hands are very cold." Nathaniel expertly slid the needle beneath John's skin, managing to find a vein despite the condition of John's arm.
The needle didn't hurt as much as it probably should. Nor did the cold of Dr. Essex's hands affect him the way the should. John was starting to feel colder himself, losing that heat he usually radiated. He wondered if Doug noticed it when they slept side by side, but he hadn't brought it up to him yet.
He watched the blood go up into the vile, and figured that it would look much the same it did under a microscope for Essex as it had for the Freedom Force - dead. But maybe Essex would be able to find something that they hadn't.
Don't, John thought to himself. Don't get any hopes up.
"So, how's Iz?" he asks, distracting himself from such thoughts.
Nathaniel continued working, running a variety of tests and making notes as he did so. "Isobel is quite well. She was haranguing me before I left about finding a cure for what ails you." Nathaniel met John's eyes calmly. "I assume you are putting your affairs in order?"
John nodded. "Yeah, everything is pretty much settled. I mean, not so much with the people, not all of them. But I guess the people who want it. And, like, my will and stuff is all done." He couldn't believe he was making this small talk with Sinister, but hey, things have been out of the ordinary lately. "It's really fucking weird, you know? But Doug and JP... they've been awesome. How's the heartbeat?" he asks, after Sinister had pulled out the stethoscope. He knew Sinister wouldn't find one.
"Absent," Nathaniel said, making a few notes. "For all intents and purposes, you are clinically dead." Nathaniel looked up from the paper upon which he was making notes. "I have never seen any known physical disease manifest these particularly symptoms. I shall run a few tests on your blood sample, but I do not know if there is anything medical that can be done for you." He did not apologize. It was not his way. "Are you in any pain, particularly?"
He wasn't surprised by Dr. Essex's diagnoses of his condition. He wasn't going to be disappointed if nothing was found, but he was worried about how Doug and JP - especially JP, in this case - were going to take it.
"Sometimes I get these... attacks?" John didn't really know how to explain it. "Like, really bad internal cramps and I can't breath right and my heart and head hurts. They make me double over and stuff. They don't last very long, but it happens once or twice a day. It hurts, but it passes."
"Did you wish for anything to take the edge of the pain? I know of a few drugs--one a more reputable physician would not give you--" (here, Nathaniel smirked, looking more like Sinister than anything) "--that I would be willing to pass along, if you wish. Though I will warn you that they would make you rather comatose, your mental faculties somewhat blurred. I do believe you wish to remain lucid, but I know of a few things I could try." Nathaniel met his eyes calmly. "I will run the blood tests for you, but I do not think there is much that can be done, medically, at this stage."
John nodded again. Nothing that Sinister was saying was anything that surprised him. "Yeah, fine. And I don't want drugs like that, so just fucking forget it," he said. He wasn't going to spend what time he had with being doped up and not understanding what was going on around him, not being conscious of being with Doug and JP and any other friends that might happen by. "But, you know." He shrugged, feeling sort of weird and unsure what to say to Sinister. "Thanks for checking me out or whatever."
He looked around the lab. "Um. Can you get me back to the hotel if we're done here?"
***
Today...
"Tabernac!"
"See?" John said, completely unphased with the pale, tall immortal that now stood before their television. "I told you he did that."
John was sitting on the couch next to Doug, and JP was sitting on one of the chairs. They had been playing video games, just passing the time, as they did every day, when none other then Dr. Essex appeared out of thin air right in front of the television.
"Erm. Hi, Dr. Essex," Doug offered, trying to be cheerful. "What brings you here?"
They all knew why he would be here. John filled them in on the tests.
John threw the controller down on the coffee table in front of him, and leaned back in the couch, completely at ease. Doug sat beside him, a little more tense and alert, and grabbed one of John's hands, squeezing. Within a second and with a slight whoosh of wind, JP was sitting right next to John too, hand clasped on John's knee.
"So?" JP asked. "What's the news?"
Nathaniel cleared his throat. He looked directly at John and said quietly, "Physically, you appear dead. There is no sign of actual biological life occurring in your body. I have, quite honestly, no earthly clue why the rest of you has not followed suit. I do not know why you are still able to breathe or speak, considering your brain is clinically without response and your lungs are not working. Based on your tests, I would imagine that you have only several weeks before whatever mystical agent is keeping you upright and speaking eventually leaves your body, and then you shall be dead."
"Well, then, colour me surprised," John said dryly. Doug gave his hand another squeeze. He saw JP's head drop, sorrowfully. John's tone took on a more polite tone. "Well, Dr. Essex, thanks for checking and stuff. We appreciate it."
Nathaniel gave a polite half-bow, and then took a bottle of pills out of his coat pocket. He placed them on the table next to him. "These are experimental drugs, courtesy of SHIELD's research division." He coughed. "Please, do not mention that you have them. I do not believe they have yet been approved for human use, but I assure you, I have tested them exhaustively and they are quite safe. They will keep you from pain, but they shan't cloud your mind or make you unaware of your surroundings. It is a small comfort, I am aware, but perhaps they will be of some consolation to you." He paused. "Isobel is...she is quite distraught, and wishes to come and visit you, if you are amenable to such."
John nodded. "Yeah, it'd be cool to see Iz. Tell her to give me a call, we'll work something out. Thanks for the pills." John reached over and picked them up, gave the bottle a shake. It felt as if the sound echoed through the room. "I'll give them a try, see how they work. We'll keep it quiet." Doug and JP nodded in agreement. He put them back down on the table, and leaned back into the couch. One hand remained in Doug's, and the other clasped JP's shoulder. "So. Um. Yeah. Thanks."
Nathaniel simply nodded. "If I can be of further service, please do not hesitate to contact me." With that, he vanished, teleporting back home. He had left Isobel sobbing in the kitchen, having refused her request to come along with him, and he would have to attend to her. That took most of the small reserves of sympathy which Nathaniel possessed.
After Dr. Essex disappeared, the boys just stared at the space he was previously standing at, none of them saying anything. Finally, John leaned over and grabbed the bottle of pills again. "Okay. I'll take some of these fuckers, then let's go out."
"Out?"
John nodded. "Yeah. Let's just... go out. Okay?"
No one put up an argument to that.