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There's an energy thrumming beneath X's skin that he can't explain, and it irritates him because it's getting in the way of his experiments. His skin itches, his hands tremble, and the machines he builds fail more than they succeed and while he's no stranger to failure, even he has his limits. And he's reached his.
He swipes at his workstation, sending the latest failure crashing to the ground and flinches at the loud noise it creates. At this point he's just wasting his time, falling behind while everyone else bounds forward with their own research. He feels the urge to rip out his hair so he grabs it and pulls, but stops short of actually tearing any out. It helps a little, to soothe the energy that feels seconds away from exploding out of him, but he knows he can't stay like this forever. He needs to make the machine work before Enigma comes to bother him again about producing something to show the Foundation so he can get more funding for X. Apparently they're not happy with his progress—with Laplace's actually, but he knows it's mostly him, and so he kneels on the floor and begins to pick up the machine that's lying broken on the floor. But his hands are trembling too much and he gives up quickly. He'll just build something else, something better.
The next one is a failure, as is its successor, and then the one after that.
X feels close to tears, can feel them rimming his eyes and he scrubs his face. Crying is for children, not genius' like him. He's just having a bad day is all and decides to take a break and come back to it after getting something to eat. So he leaves his lab behind, making hjs way towards the cafeteria on the ground floor. A few researchers linger in the hall, and he slows as they look up and stare at him. Is that pity on their faces? Or delight? Perhaps word of his most recent failures has made the rounds around Laplace.
"I guess even geniuses can crash and burn," one of them mutters, not meant for X's ears, but overheard all the same, and he scowls. With the twirl of a finger, he sends the researchers mug of coffee careening into their face. "Hey! What the hell?"
He ignores the outcry and keeps walking.
The itching energy thrums even stronger.
The cafeteria is loud and grates on his ears, and for a moment he considers just returning to his lab, but then his stomach cramps to let him know he hasn't eaten in… he's lost track of whether it's been two days or three, and so he forces himself to accept the noise and step inside. It seems as if everyone's come down to get food now, and a quick glance at his watch shows that it's the lunch hour. The one that they're all supposed to use but never do because experiments don't care to wait until one comes back from lunch to fail. But since all he's done is fail lately, he's not worried.
A few people try to catch his attention, questioning what's going on in his lab because they've been hearing the failures from their own—and isn't that just wonderful?—but X ignores them, pushes past them like Medicine Pocket would and just focuses on getting some food. He gets there, and his stomach churns at the thought of an actual meal, so he grabs an apple and makes his way towards an empty seat in the corner of the cafeteria. He sits and starts to nibble at his apple.
Someone approaches the table.
X spares them a glance and scowls. It's one of the researchers that shares the floor with him, but he doesn't recall their name. They seem rather unhappy though as they say, "how much longer are you going to keep exploding things?"
"As long as it takes to achieve success, as is the nature of science," X says, smiling sweetly even though his insides are churning, his skin itching.
"Maybe you should focus on something else, you're bothering the rest of us."
X takes a small bite of his apple, "if you can't concentrate over a few explosions, then perhaps you just aren't meant to be a researcher."
Their eye twitches angrily, fists clenching at their side. "Or maybe you could build something actually useful that'll help us instead of another of your useless inventions!"
X goes very still, but the researcher is gone, storming back to their companion before he can even formulate an answer. Useless? His inventions aren't useless, they're fun, they're unique, and he's well earnt the right to build whatever he wants with everything he's given to Laplace and the Foundation over the years.
The next bite of apple leaves a sour taste in his mouth so he gets up and discards it, preparing to head back to his lab when he can hear whispers from behind him, feel eyes on his back and the judgement they give him. His skin burns underneath their stares, and the words he hears—failure and falling from grace—are the final straw and he changes his destination. He strides over towards the far wall and without hesitation, pulls the fire alarm.
Immediately, the warning announcement goes off, followed by the sprinklers and he smiles at seeing everyone yelling and fleeing to escape the drenching that X has brought down upon them. A quick twirl of a finger is enough to keep the water off his own self, and he takes his time in leaving the cafeteria, smiling wide at the chaos he's brought upon them. A failure? He thinks not.
In hindsight, pulling the fire alarm in the view of so many people probably wasn't the smartest decision he's ever made, but what's done is done, and he enters his lab again feeling more invigorated then when he left.
It doesn't last.
He tries to build something new using all the failures scattered about the lab, and at first it goes well, it does what it's supposed to, nothing explodes—until it does. X drops down just before it does, and materials fly over the top of his head as a loud bang echoes through the lab, and probably the entire floor. A silence follows in which the energy within X claws at his insides, desperate for a way out, but all he can do is crouch there and curl his fingers into the edge of the workstation and breathe.
Minutes pass, or maybe hours, he doesn't know, where he just stays where he is and tries not to explode alongside every single failure he's had. Maybe the other researchers are right. Maybe he's finally hit his limit and is crashing down to burn and fade away. He wouldn't be the first researcher to do so, but he's still young, he's still got plenty left to give, so why can't he accomplish anything?
A hand touches his shoulder and X flies to his feet, banging his hip into his workstation and stumbles. That same hand grabs his elbow to stop him from falling and X finds himself staring up at Enigma's blurry face. Realising too late what that means, he pulls away and wipes at his face, but not before the man's face softens.
"Let's take a walk." Enigma says, and X knows it's not a suggestion, it's an order.
X drops his head, also realising that the only reason that Enigma is even here, is because of his stunt in the cafeteria. He nods and follows the man out of his lab, recognising the path they take to Enigma's own office. Thankfully, they pass no other researchers so there's no one to see his miserable self as they walk. They reach Enigma's office and he holds the door open, allowing X to step in first.
Enigma gestures towards the chair in front of his cluttered desk, "take a seat."
X does, and watches as Enigma sits on the edge of his desk, and waits to be scolded.
But instead, Enigma asks him, "why did you pull the fire alarm?"
It takes a moment for X to find the words. He contemplates lying, or telling only a half-truth, but the skin underneath his gloves begins to itch again and he scratches at his hands to alleviate it. It doesn't help and he swallows, deciding that not answering at all would be best.
Enigma sighs and the itching gives way to the shaking; X shoves his hands between his knees to still them.
A protein bar appears in his peripheral vision and X lifts his head, leaning away from it. "I already—"
"You didn't," Enigma interrupts, "eat a little bit at least."
X takes the bar and peels the wrapper, nibbling at it. It doesn't taste half-bad, but it settles like lead in his stomach and he only manages a mouthful before he leans back in the chair and lets his hand fall to his lap.
"Why did you pull the fire alarm?" Enigma asks again.
And this time, X speaks, "they were mocking me."
"Who?"
"Everyone." That one word is strained, frustration bleeding into it, and X slips his fingers beneath one glove, scratching the back of his hand again, leg bouncing as the energy within bubbles and boils, threatening—ever threatening. It's made even worse when Enigma sits there, silent, waiting patiently for him to elaborate.
He scratches until it hurts, and his eyes begin to burn when he finally snaps, "I'm not a failure."
Enigma sounds surprised as he says, "no, you aren't."
X's breath stutters and he lifts his head. His leg stills but he keeps scratching. Faster and faster, his nails dig into the back of his hand, the energy beneath thrumming louder and louder, urging him to let it free and he scratches harder until—
A hand stops him, pulling his hands away from each other. Without a word, Enigma tugs off his gloves, brows furrowing as he surveys the damage that X has done to his hands. X too, looks, and sees reddened skin where he's scratched it raw. He hasn't drawn blood but it is near enough and he curls his fingers around Enigma's hands, grip tight. If it hurts the man, he doesn't say anything, just continues to stop X from trying to get rid himself of the itch.
"X." Enigma says, and it sounds like the man is uncertain of himself which means they're heading towards territory that neither of them are willing to set foot in around others. But the man sighs and let's go of his hands, rising from the desk to disappear into a side room. He returns with something in hand and holds it out to him. "For your hands."
It's a cream used to soothe irritated skin, and even though the itchiness he feels is certainly more psychological than physiological at this point, it would probably still help. He takes it and wordlessly starts to rub some into the scratch marks. It does help… a little.
"Thank you." X murmurs.
Enigma hums and sits back on the edge of his desk. "What do you need, X?"
"What do I need?" X echoes, confused. His head tilts a little as he ponders what Enigma means.
The man nods and says, bluntly, "I have a mountain of complaints from other researchers about you from the past few days alone, and I'm sure many more will come after the you pulled the fire alarm—"
X ducks his head, not ashamed of what he did—they did deserve it after all—but he's never been one for being scolded. But then Enigma continues and everything stops.
"—you are clearly not doing well, so what do you need to get back on track?"
What does he need? He needs people to stop looking at him like he's a car wreck, like he's seconds away from throwing himself off the nearest rooftop. He needs his experiments to do as he wants them to and actually work, rather than failing and exploding all the time beyond what he expects. He needs more funding, but without anything to show, there's little hope of getting some. He needs more hours in a day to keep trying until he figures out what's going on, why there's been so many failures.
X opens his mouth to tell Enigma as such, but what comes out is none of that. Instead, what comes out is the quietest, weakest thing he's ever said. "A hug."
It registers what he's just said at the same time that Enigma translates and comprehends the request, and he tries to backtrack before the embarrassment has a chance to set in.
"I—I just need—" he doesn't get very far before warm, heavy arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into an embrace. X stops, body tensing instinctively. He can't remember the last time he was held like this, firmly, like he's being protected from the world around him. The orphanage? Before? He doesn't know how to feel about it, but Enigma is warm and smells like paper and some strong scent that's probably to cover up his drinking problem that he's trying to deal with on his own, and the hug he gives is like the one an older sibling gives to a younger. Which is enough to crack the careful mask that X has cultivated over the years.
His eyes start to burn, and this time the tears escape, trailing down his cheeks in slow rivulets. X refuses to break completely and tries to stop himself from crying because he's not a child, but his body betrays him with a quiet sob.
And Enigma holds him gently, one hand coming to cup the back of his head.
The mask shatters then.
It's a quiet breaking, but he buries his face into Enigma's shoulder and trembles as he cries. The energy thrumming within his veins flows with his tears like an appliance draining the battery it's connected to. The occasional sob breaks free, muffled and quick, but mostly his breath just shudders as he tries to regain control of himself. To think he's been reduced to this, a mess of a genius, crying into the shoulder of Enigma like he's nothing more than a child. It's pathetic and yet, he can't stop, his emotions rolling over the walls he tries to build.
The only mercy he has is that the tears slow after a couple of minutes, but that's still minutes too long in his opinion and he mutters a quiet apology into Enigma's coat.
"Unless you are apologising for the fire alarm, I don't want to hear it," Enigma says.
X scoffs and turns his head away. For some reason he can't bring himself to pull away from the embrace and Enigma lets him stay. "I cried like a child."
There's a few seconds of silence and then, "X, you are a child."
He pulls away then, fixes Enigma with a look, "no I'm not."
"Okay, not a child child, but you are a teenager, and that is still a child." Enigma says and then crouches before him, "do you feel better?"
X hesitates and then nods, and wipes his eyes when he feels fresh tears forming. He feels more embarrassed now than whatever he was feeling earlier, but it did help.
"And your hands? Are they still bothering you?"
He looks down at his hands, realising that for the first time in days, they aren't itchy. That realisation is followed by the one that he doesn't feel like he's buzzing anymore either. He feels… like himself again. X frowns, confused by what this means.
"X?" Enigma places a hand on his shoulder and he realises he never answered the man.
"They aren't itching, no."
"Good, but keep using that cream until the scratches heal, just in case." Enigma says and stands, "come on, I'll walk you to your room."
X looks up at that and knows he's wearing his confusion openly now but couldn't care less. "Why?"
Enigma raises a brow at him, "because you have hit a wall in your research, and if you keep banging against that wall, you are not going to make any progress. Trust me, I know. Besides, you need to rest and eat something more than half a protein bar before you throw yourself back into work."
"But you need—"
"What I need is my researchers in top form," Enigma interrupts him, forever blunt in how he speaks. "I have some time tomorrow, come see me before you return to work. I may not understand mechanics like you do, but perhaps you just need to talk at someone to figure out what the problem is."
"Like what Medicine Pocket does?"
Enigma gives him a wry smile and opens the door to let him go first. "Exactly like what Medicine Pocket does."
Two days later—because as it turned out, not sleeping alongside not eating was a poor mix and X slept an entire day away—he stands in his lab, chattering away at Enigma as the man sits in a chair and watches him build the newest invention he's come up with. The man looks like he doesn't have a clue what X is talking about, but he listens and asks questions that X answers as simply as he can, pausing sometimes when his answers also answer questions of his own, and before long, he's ready to test his machine. Part of him worries it'll be like every other time these past weeks, but as he flicks the switch and activates the arcane skill that'll help bring it to life, it works, and he smiles widely at the first success in weeks.
And the energy that'd thrummed beneath his skin, is gone.