OTA: First, I'm gonna drink this, and then I'm gonna throw up.

[st_illfleshandblood]

CW: severe alcoholism.

Jackson had not, for lack of a more colorful expression, been doing well lately. Not since his stint as an android. At first he'd turned to sex, and Corbie. It was about reconnecting, he had told himself. About feeling again. Being returned to his original self was a goddamn gift, no two ways about it.

But maybe it wasn't all good and rosy, because he kept reaching for knowledge that his mind could no longer hold onto, and his frustration was growing with each passing day. So of course, he'd started drinking even harder than he usually did. Drunken hazes anesthetized his brain, smoothed everything over until nothing mattered but the next swill of liquor down his throat. And there was only one way to get through his increasingly terrible hangovers, and it wasn't Reid's god-awful concoction. Good old hair of the dog, of course.

By the time Jackson found himself suturing his own temple with trembling hands, after passing out and knocking his head against a table corner, he had to admit that he might have taken this too far.

So he'd gone the only stupid way he could: cold turkey. Treated himself through the shakes, and now he was finally on the other side of that. His mind was clearer than it had been in a while, but it still wasn't enough to be half the man he'd been when he had been changed. Perhaps not man, exactly - definitely not man, exactly. Doctor, absolutely. He had managed to retain it all, all the knowledge in all of his books, and it had all made sense. He had been able to apply it. To help. Clarity, precision, efficiency. The speed of his thoughts, the acuteness of his senses.

Now he was left floundering again, caught between what he had learned in his lifetime and what he was trying to make sense of from his books. He refused to think that he was too old or too stupid to learn as much as he needed, now matter how sluggishly he thought, how fuzzy the world seemed. He was too stubborn, by far, and his obstinacy would see him through.

That was how Jackson ended up taking a rather radical route to understanding and memorization. Some markers, the clinic walls, and his books. Drawing anatomical schemes, outlining the steps in one surgery after another, listing drugs and their posology. Laying that information out, actively rephrasing and rearranging it in a way that would hopefully help it all stick with him.

He fully expected the Inn to do its thing and wipe the clinic walls clean during the night, but that wasn't an issue, on the contrary. It meant that he could start over in the morning. But for now, the clinic looked an awful lot like a madman's den, with Jackson ready to play the part, his hair mussed up, his clothes rumpled, and exhaustion darkening circles under his eyes. The smell of tobacco lingered in the air, and the ashtray on Jackson's desk overflowed with cigarette butts, when he was usually so good about stepping outside for a smoke. He hadn't wanted to step away today, and they so rarely got patients anyway.

Comments

[st_everybodylives]

She was no, strictly speaking, a patient. River was pretty much always in rude good health, her respiratory system was in fact a bit of a miracle. But she hadn't seen her friend more than in passing in quite some time, so when he wasn't in the bar or his room she decided to try the clinic.

She had not expected to find it quite so... colorfully decorated.

"Have you taken leave of your senses or is this therapeutic?" She asked from the doorway. "It's not a deal breaker either way, some of my favorite people are as mad as a box of frogs."

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson whirled around at the sound of River's voice, then looked around the room, only just realizing what it must look like to somebody who hadn't been involved in his special brand of redecorating. He shrugged, capping the marker he'd been using and pulling a cigarette out of the pack in his waistcoat pocket. "Tryin' somethin' new."

[st_everybodylives]

"Schizophrenia?" She was teasing, as she walked further in the room and inspected one of the walls. "I like it, though some of your other patients might be a bit apprehensive of the art."

[st_illfleshandblood]

A light flickered, and he pocketed the lighter after inhaling deeply. 'Other patients', huh? He looked at River more carefully now, clearly taking her in. "Somethin' ailin' ya?"

[st_everybodylives]

"Boredom, mostly." She moved into the room, surveying the walls with interested (though not critical) eyes. "Bit of a headache, and.."

She held up one finger, which even from a distance looked a bit red and inflamed. "A splinter."

The little bugger was in deep too.

Jackson & Sunny

[st_igmatized]

A madman's den. Or a witch's lair.

Sunny normally stayed out of Jackson's business, even when his drinking had so obviously spiraled that she was sure even the pets had noticed. But his issues were not her problem. Not at least until Corbie started finding other places to be when Jackson was nearby and then started crying at the circulation desk. Even so, what was she supposed to do? She couldn't fix the man. She couldn't talk Corbie out of caring about him.

But it was one thing when it was just negatively affecting the younger witch and another when she saw... this. This was an obvious cry for help of a completely different, teetering on the edge of madness nature. Enough that while she winced at the heavy scent of cigarette smoke, she stepped across the threshold and looked at the walls covered in notes and diagrams and colors and a man who looked like he hadn't slept in days. It looked a little like her room, when she'd made her last desperate plan to get the hell out of here, and that she couldn't easily turn away from. "Wetin do you? You dey craze or you dey winch now, o?"

Re: Jackson & Sunny

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson had been standing at his desk, inspecting a diagram in his book, getting ready to reproduce it on the wall. He had a cigarette in one hand, and he was smoking it absent-mindedly enough that ash was only miraculously hanging on to its end. When Sunny's arrival pulled him out of his study, he shifted, and the ash fell on the desktop, unheeded.

He watched her, and frowned at her words. Whatever they were supposed to mean. "Wait, I know this." He stuck the cigarette between his lips as he abandoned the book about general surgery to find the one about neurology. "Traumatic brain injury can lead to language impairment. Patients have been known to lose an entire language." Wait, traumatic brain injury. He looked back up at Sunny, frowning. "What happened to you?"

Re: Jackson & Sunny

[st_igmatized]

One of Sunny's translucent eyebrows arched up. "Or maybe I speak more than one language and you're being a racist asshole. But I got your attention, which was the point."

Re: Jackson & Sunny

[st_illfleshandblood]

Well, listen to that. She still had her English. Jackson deflated, and closed up the neurology book, took a drag on his cigarette. "English works just as well for that," he remarked, watching her warily. "What can I do for ya?"

Re: Jackson & Sunny

[st_igmatized]

Normally Sunny would have considered skinning him, but for the moment at least she sighed and the annoyance and hardness faded from her face. "I'm worried about you."

Jackson & Mildmay

[st_onecoldfox]

Somebody'd been using up supplies from the kitchen first aid kit again without refilling it. Which was why Mildmay made a point of checking it every decad, so's nobody ended up needing one of the sticky bandages or burn cream with none to be found. All it needed was a quick trip to the clinic, and he was puzzling through how so many damn people couldn't seem to think ahead the littlest bit, when he opened the door and just... stopped.

"Fuck. Me. Sideways," muttered under his breath as he took it all in. The walls, covered in anatomy drawings – another time, Mildmay's instincts might go to what he knew about those parts and how easy they were to leave a person lying dead – and words he didn't have no chance of understanding even if he could sound 'em out. And at the center, Jackson, looking...

"You gone batfuck?"

Re: Jackson & Mildmay

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson looked over at Mildmay, apparently pained at the notion. "No, thank you. To both. I'm fine. I'm - workin' on things." He paused, and frowned at the other man, now checking him for injury, or any sign of illness. "What are you doin' here?"

Re: Jackson & Mildmay

[st_onecoldfox]

"Came by for supplies," he explained as flatly as ever, pulling one of the first aid kit's inserts out of some hidden fold or pocket of his jacket. The only signs of injury were the same indictions' old scars, and nothing to be done about them.

"But now, not believin' you."

Re: Jackson & Mildmay

[st_illfleshandblood]

That was well and good, but Jackson had about as much to do with Mildmay's skepticism as he would with his faith. "Shout up if you can't locate something," he said, completely bypassing that last remark. "I moved some things around."

Some of the shelves had been in the way.

Re: Jackson & Mildmay

[st_onecoldfox]

Corbie tried to keep stuff separate when it came to the guys she was fucking, and Mildmay appreciated that. But he hadn't missed her crying more, or her avoiding Jackson some. And since, from what she'd said, she hadn't avoided Jackson after he went and got himself killed when one of those doors to another world opened, or when he had to run from the Dogs 'cause he stole a bus full of flashie tourists in another of those worlds, whatever was going on this time was serious.

Not that Mildmay'd done or said nothing about it, telling himself she'd ask for his help if she wanted it, and wondering if maybe she was afraid of what he'd do to Jackson if she did.

So when Jackson acted like Mildmay was just gonna go about his business, Mildmay added that to the list of arguments for 'this guy is batfuck'. 'Cause he was, if he thought Mildmay was gonna just drop it.

"You ain't planning her to see you like this." It might have been a question. It might have been a threat. With Mildmay's scar and his Lower City accent, who could tell?

[st_udieshard]

Samirah had yet to truly visit the infirmary as she had still be grappling with Loki as her father and Loki as the one at the Inn. However, she had a splitting headache and she needed some help as she was unable to take Advil due to Ramadan. She cautiously stepped inside of the infirmary and her eyes moved around. She tightened the hijab around her head as she approached the man from a distance. "Are you one of the doctor's here?"

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson looked away from the procedure he had been writing on the wall - kidney transplant - and turned around to take in the woman. He'd seen her around, of course - she stood out, after all - but they'd never talked, and if somebody had told him her name, he'd forgotten it. "So they say," he confirmed, and recapped the marker he'd been using. "Captain Jackson, at your service. What can I do for ya, darlin'?"

[st_udieshard]

Samirah raised an eyebrow slightly at him calling her 'darling', but simply offered a small, friendly smile."I was hoping you might have some pain killers for my headache. Something by way of an injection."

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson tilted his head with a curious frown. "Usually people ask not to get an injection."

Jackson/Connor: The Sequel

[st_abilitylost]

Oddly enough, Connor's stint as a "spider-person" had done something to bring him out of his meandering and slothful routine. Even if it was simply routine checks to make sure every ounce of the surroundings he'd broken had indeed repaired themselves, it was something external to hone his focus on. If he was much for metaphor, he'd call himself starved for something to focus his fine mental capabilities on.

Now he was back into his rightful physiology, he embraced his renewed senses. Particles floating in the air could be seen, magnified, explored--in today's case, the bountiful volatile hydrocarbons that signified secondhand smoke wafting through the halls. Following them to their concentrated source at the clinic, he stopped.

The pieces easily came together.

"Captain?" The android passed the threshold and the change in decor (charitable description) was almost overwhelming to process.

Re: Jackson/Connor: The Sequel

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson was about done for the day, at this stage. He'd need to wait until the Inn did its thing and wiped his canvas clean, since the walls were all full, at this stage. He could technically keep going on the floor, but that seemed a bit out there. ...perhaps if he took this to his room.

He looked over at the door when someone said his name, and frowned at the sight of the android. "What can I do for ya? Wait, don't tell me. I'm dehydrated." He probably was; he wasn't sure when he had last drunk. He headed for the sink, filled a glass of water, and downed it. "Happy now?"

There was a definite undertone of unwelcome to his voice, which hadn't been there at all in his previous interactions with Connor.

Re: Jackson/Connor: The Sequel

[st_abilitylost]

The hostility was nothing that Connor wasn't used to, but somewhat surprising. Their interactions, while clumsy, were at least genial.

"I apologize for any overbearing behavior on my part." The android watched him closely and kept still, not venturing further into the doctor's territory. The diplomatic approach seemed wisest.

Re: Jackson/Connor: The Sequel

[st_illfleshandblood]

Jackson pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his shirt and fingered one of them out of it. He lit it, inhaled deeply, breathed out happily, and watched the android for a few, long seconds, unfazed by the silence stretching between them. Eventually, he asked, "What was it like?"

Sam & Jackson

[st_andingtall]

Sam had more scars than he had bones, and he healed well enough that he didn't spend much time near the clinic. But he'd strained something trying to move a refrigerator in the kitchen to get at a shorted out socket behind it when his super-strength had vanished without him realizing it and it was the sort of thing that got pulled over and over. He'd also started having migraines and precog dreams again, but he doubted there was anything anyone in the clinic could do about that. In all honesty, Steph would probably be a bigger help for the muscle pull, but he decided to start with some anti-inflammatories.

What he found in the clinic looked...unsanitary to say the least. "What's this, a murder wall for Jack the Ripper?"

Re: Sam & Jackson

[st_illfleshandblood]

"Leave that to old Freddie," Jackson muttered, and looked around at the fellow. Right, Dean's brother. Bo's... somethin' or other. Jackson didn't really know him much. He slid a bookmark into the textbook he'd been studying and closed it. "What can I help you with?"