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Medicine Pocket was a great many things; a genius, a menace, an asshole, and many other things their fellow researchers labelled them as. Some were in awe, some were meant to be derogatory—they cared nothing for either. Labels were stupid, unnecessary and they didn't understand everyone's obsession with the damn things. There was one label that they weren't able to ignore and that was because they agreed with it—unfortunately.
Fragile.
They couldn't help that their body was just as temperamental and unpredictable as they were, and they certainly couldn't control when it would decide to shit itself. If they were lucky, it would just be a minor spell that they could slink away and deal with themself, but of course, their luck wasn't that great and most of the time, they would collapse into a heap at someone's feet.
If only they could just make themselves a new body like the Awakeneds, then things might get easier for him.
But hey, having a shitty body just made it the perfect vessel to experiment on… when it didn't almost kill them of course.
Medicine Pocket groaned, eyes cracking open slowly. The world spun and weaved around them, but even so, they recognised the ceiling of their laboratory. They shifted, hearing the sound of broken glass be moved, and pain shot through every joint in their body. So it's one of those days, huh? Medicine Pocket gritted their teeth and slowly twisted onto their stomach, wincing as shards of glass pricked their hands. Just doing that left them exhausted, and they dropped their head onto the arm, contemplating whether they could spend the next few days here until this latest episode passed. But then a fresh wave of pain washed over them and they decided that they didn't want to deal with that.
It took several tries, and a lot more pain, but Medicine Pocket managed to stand, slumping against the surface of their desk, sending paperwork and other things scattering across it. They ignored the mess, reaching for the communicator lying just within reach and pressed the button that would connect them to Enigma's office. It rang and rang, and just as it connected and Enigma's grumpy tone echoed through, Medicine Pocket's legs gave up supporting them, and they collapsed for the second time that day.
He could vaguely hear Enigma's voice asking a question, but they couldn't muster the strength to form an answer. A click followed shortly after and they sighed. Either the man would ignore what could've been a prank call—since they were fond of pulling those—or he'd come down and investigate it for himself.
They really hoped it was the latter this time round.
Medicine Pocket wasn't sure when they closed their eyes, but they opened them when a hand gently squeezed their shoulder and found themself staring into Enigma's tired eyes.
"Did you take something?" Enigma asked him urgently.
They shook their head and croaked, "the usual problem."
Usual. Because this wasn't the first time that they'd collapsed like this, and the first time it'd happened in front of Enigma, the man had thought him overdosing on something and made it worse.
"Can you handle it if I get you off the floor, or do you need medical this time?"
"Medical." Medicine Pocket said. Considering they could barely lift a finger, they doubted that they'd be able to treat the condition without aid this time.
Enigma nodded, and moved to get his arms around Medicine Pocket's limp body, lifting them up with ease. If this were any other day, they'd complain about being carried this way; it was embarrassing and people always stared whenever it happened, but right now, as Enigma stalked from their lab, arms warm where their body was cold, they could care less, and dropped their head to rest against the man's shoulder.
They arrive at the medical wing and Medicine Pocket was quickly whisked to one of the treatment rooms. They watch the staff move about as Enigma rotated one shoulder after putting them on the bed.
"No, not that! What the fuck do you think that's gonna do?" Medicine Pocket snapped at seeing one of them grab a line. It's their joints causing problems this time, not their internal organs. The staff member stared at them, wide eyed and Medicine Pocket sighed. "The fast acting painkillers in an IV, and learn my treatment plans next time, got it?"
"Please calm down, Medicine Pocket," Enigma said, trying to go for a placating tone and failing terribly.
"No, I won't thank you very much," Medicine Pocket huffed, but voiced no complaints as they extended an arm for the IV to be inserted. The pain was making them angry, they knew that, but that wasn't going to stop them from making sure the problem was handled correctly.
And soon it was, because the pain washed away as the medication was injected and they melted into the bed.
Another staff member moved to attach them to the vital monitor and Medicine Pocket couldn't help but scowl as it began to beep rapidly, his heart still racing to combat pain that was no longer there. After a few seconds, it began to calm, and the machine quieted.
"We'll leave you to rest, Medicine Pocket, but call on us if you need anything." The staff member said, inclining his head before he turned and walked out.
The moment the door shut, Enigma sighed, "will you be fine if I go back to work?"
Medicine Pocket took a second to assess themself before they nodded. "Got the good drugs going, just need to sleep it off now."
Enigma nodded and left the room, leaving them on their own.
Stupid body, they thought as the door shut behind the director. Sighing, they closed their eyes. Stupid, stupid body.
Being labelled as unpredictable in both mind and body presented its own challenges, Medicine Pocket found. Mostly because it meant the other researchers didnt know how to interact with them which was infuriating, but also on the rare… slightly more common, unpredictability that their body sometimes partook in.
Like refusing to accept what he ate, even if they'd eaten that very same meal the previous day.
Having lunch with X of all people wasn't that uncommon, and it often proved entertaining sometimes as his fellow researcher rambled on about whatever invention they'd just made to terrorise the other Laplace employees with. On the odd occasion, the teen actually brought his inventions to lunch and that was fun.
But right now, they were too busy trying to keep themselves from throwing up as X chattered on about something, some kind of electromagnetic device that could be used to play music—Regulus' idea apparently. The nausea was such an old friend that Medicine Pocket could only glare at the meal that had betrayed them and will themselves into keeping their meal down long enough to get back to their lab.
Then the pain starts.
Medicine Pocket swallowed thickly then, interrupting X with a quiet, "I'd move if I were you."
Anyone else would've picked up their meaning instantly, but X was as socially inept as Medicine Pocket was so he just tilted his head in confusion, "what?"
That was when their stomach chose to rebel, and they threw up—all over X.
X froze, hands hovering uncertainly as Medicine Pocket fought to stay upright and not make more of a mess. They managed the latter, but not so much the former, and half collapsed against the table. They felt a little but guilty and gave X a wry smile. "I did tell you to move."
"You could've mentioned you were about to lose your lunch." X snapped and reached for a napkin. He quickly called for a garbage can, shoving it under Medicine Pocket's head when they gagged again.
Medicine Pocket reached for their hair and pulled it out of the way, muttering a quiet thanks when X did it for them. "I was trying not to."
"Well, you failed, so what do we do now?"
"Kill me?" Medicine Pocket suggested.
X just stared at them, face carefully blank. "No, I won't be doing that. Should I call for Enigma? Or do you have some other plan in place when your body does this?"
The last thing Medicine Pocket wanted was Enigma being dragged down to deal with their sorry ass, but they also didn't want to stay here where everyone was staring at them.
"I'll lend you the shower in my lab if you help me there." They offered.
X sighed, but without a word, he stepped over and helped them to their feet, supporting most of their weight as they left the cafeteria and slowly made their way back to Medicine Pocket's lab. It was a long slow process, and their stomach rebelled once more along the way, but they made it.
Shoving themselves away from X, they gestured towards the bathroom attached to the lab, "all yours," and staggered over towards their desk. They saw X hesitate before disappearing past the door and turned their attention back to dealing with their problem.
It was easy enough to stick themselves with the IV, but if it continued, they would have to venture down to medical and get a line put in and they were hoping to avoid that. But right now, all Medicine Pocket cared about was dealing with the nausea—and the pain. The concoction of drugs they hooked to themself was something of their own creation, created after pulling two all-nighters just to avoid dragging their ass down to medical.
Was it approved? Not at all.
Did it help? Absolutely.
Immediately the symptoms began to ease, and Medicine Pocket sighed, stumbling over to the couch to collapse before remembering they needed to get something for X to wear. But now that they'd laid down, they couldn't move, and settled for just lending their own coat if X needed it.
It was another few minutes before X emerged, peering through the door. "You owe me a new uniform too."
"Whatever," Medicine Pocket grunted, and held out their coat, "you can borrow this."
X walked over and took the coat, slipping it on over his head. He was wearing just his boxers now, and not at all as pretty and proper as he usually did. "Thanks. I called Eagle and asked her to bring me something to wear, but this will have to do for now."
Medicine Pocket nodded and shifted their legs over, giving him space on the couch to sit down. "I'm sleeping so try not to bother me."
There was a moment of silence before X asked quietly, "do you want a garbage can…?"
"Probably should." Medicine Pocket grumbled and listened as said can was dragged within reach if they needed it.
When Medicine Pocket woke up on the floor of the meeting room, they registered two things; one, that there were far too many people than they were comfortable with, and two, that their legs were being held off the ground. Make that three things, as they registered a pleasantly cold hand against their forehead. Hissabeth peered down at him before looking up, "Enigma, they're conscious."
Enigma slipped into view and Medicine Pocket slowly focused their eyes on the man—well, they tried to, but they were already drifting away again, eyes falling shut.
They couldn't have been unconscious for very long, because when they opened their eyes again, they were still in the meeting room, on the floor, but there were less people now. Someone was still holding their legs, and Hissabeth's hand was dragging through their hair. But while her touch was cold and pleasant, the one on their wrist was warm and unwelcome. They tried to jerk their arm free, but the grip tightened.
"Checking vitals," Enigma said, "bear with it."
Medicine Pocket found their voice and rasped, "I don't want to."
"You fainted," Hissabeth explained gently, looking down at them, "do you remember?"
Medicine Pocket blinked and tried to do just that. It was hard, their head still foggy and trying to understand what was happening around them now. But then they noticed that X was the one holding their legs and that their was a distinct lack of fish bowl in the room when they distinctly remembered Ulrich being—
Ah, so that was what happened.
"I was arguing with Ulrich." Medicine Pocket said, and relief crossed Hissabeth's face.
"Indeed you were. Although, we weren't expecting you to just collapse mid-sentence." Hissabeth said. "I don't think Ulrich was either, it's the first time I've seen him speechless."
"Good, fish bowl needs to shut up more." Medicine Pocket let their eyes slip shut, but a gentle pinch forced them into opening them again. They glared up at Hissabeth, "I'm tired."
"And we need to get you off this floor." Enigma said, finally letting go of their wrist. "X, you can put their legs down now."
"Are we sure getting them off the floor is the wisest idea?" X asked.
"If I pass out again, just dump me in my lab," Medicine Pocket said, "there's nothing medical can do about this problem."
"There's no pain or any other symptoms?" Hissabeth asked.
Medicine Pocket shook their head. "My body's being merciful for a change. Which is kind of it."
There was a quiet laugh from X's direction, and Hissabeth cracked a smile. Enigma, naturally, just sighed and remained unimpressed.
"I'd rather you under observation considering you just passed out twice."
Medicine Pocket lifted a hand and waved it, "do what you want, I don't care, you'll be wasting their time though."
"I can stay with them in their lab," Hissabeth offered, "I'm at a point in my work where I have to wait for results."
"Fine," Enigma sighed, "let's get them off the floor."
To Medicine Pocket's credit, they managed to stay conscious for seven whole seconds before the change in position caught up with them and unconsciousness slammed into them like a tidal wave.
The next time they open their eyes—and really, this better be the last time they pass out—there is a different ceiling above them, and something much softer underneath their back. It's their couch, in their lab, and their legs have been raised on pillows they don't know the origin of, and there's one under their head. And a blanket, a soft one they knew came from their room and Medicine Pocket frowned. Who had gone into their room?
He got his answer a minute later when a snake slithered into view and peered down at him.
"They're awake." The snake hissed and Medicine Pocket glared at it.
A hand reached down and plucked the snake off their chest and they look up to see Hissabeth standing above them. She was smiling, and sat down on the couch next to their head, "how are you feeling?"
Medicine Pocket took a moment to consider that question. How did they feel? Right now or on a general basis? Because the answer was like shit every time. But if she was asking how he felt now compared to before, well that was an easier question to answer. They shrugged, "better."
"Good." Hissabeth's hand grazed their forehead, "medical sent through your care plan by the way, apparently all we can do when you faint is make you rest and stay hydrated."
"I wrote the god damn care plan," Medicine Pocket snapped, "I know what it says!"
To their annoyance, Hissabeth just smiled and patted his head, which was… nice, "I know you did, don't worry, I just haven't read it before. Do you need anything?"
"Don't you have work to do?"
"Pointer's managing it and besides, it's mostly paperwork right now and I'm more than happy to get out of that if all I need to do is sit beside you and get water." Hissabeth said. "But if you want me to leave, I can do that to."
Medicine Pocket sighed. "Do whatever you want, just don't touch anything."
Hissabeth hummed, and Medicine Pocket dozed off to the feeling of her fingers in their hair.
Maybe next week, their body would be more agreeable.