revivalproject | No Doctors

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No Doctors

WHO: Dustin and Tae
WHERE: Temba Hospital
WHAT: (reluctantly) meeting with an actual medical professional about some biotech installs
WHEN: Backdated to early April
WARNINGS: Descriptions of surgery, self-surgery, medical narcotics use? Also your standard Dustin-related warnings, he's a rude boy.

This is necessary. We made a deal.

It's what Dustin keeps telling himself as Billy leads him around the Hospital's halls, as an attempt to tamp down the flares of anxiety that urge him to turn around and leave. He's already been pushing his personal limits when it comes to interacting with people that he's been, so far, deliberately avoiding, and only because he trusts Tommy to keep his brother accountable. Putting himself in Tae's care, though - a stranger that has made her interest in studying her patients clear over the network? Dustin's amazed that he's agreed to even go talk to her, let alone ask for her assistance. Maybe the painkillers Billy gave him were stronger than he expected them to be and they're fucking with his ability to reason.

But the rationale comes back to him every time he thinks about trying to just install the one interface node in his arm yesterday, on his own. Even if he could work around the implants in his back, there's no way he could do all of them himself. He can't imagine putting himself through that level of pain again when better options exist. His studies of the mystery suit in his workshop suggest that this will all be worth it in the end, but it's hard to think that far ahead when the door to Tae's office is right in front of him, and Billy's footsteps are getting fainter as he walks away.

Dustin takes a bracing breath through his nose, squares his shoulders, and puts on his best, unimpressed glare. Then he invites himself inside.

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Dustin's hardened expression falters and his face pales. He hadn't expected Tae to be able to draw that conclusion on her own, especially not so quickly; the fact that she has leaves him feeling even more nervous about her than he started. Too smart - she could figure out way more about him than he wants.

"S-Sort of," Dustin stammers, snatching the device off of Tae's desk. 'Sort of' because an interface this simple shouldn't work at all for a normal person. Dustin, however, is far from normal. "Two per arm, two per leg, the rest go in the back. I'll mark specific locations for you to reference."

Sorry Dustin, she's seen more than enough mecha anime, whether she wanted to or not, to come to the conclusion for what he's after.

"I'm certain I've seen an anime like this," she says with a chuckle and a shake of her head. "I'm just glad I'm not the one developing the tech. Those sorts always turn out to be the closet villains of the whole plot. Now let's talk about this. You're sure there are limiters in whatever is running this stuff to keep from frying your nervous system? I don't want to be dealing with someone rendered brain-dead."

Edited 2023-05-28 15:35 (UTC)

Dustin's face flushes bright red behind a flustered scowl. He's not sure what has him the most unbalanced - the fact that she keeps questioning his expertise (a bit of a pot calling the kettle black situation, but it doesn't irk him any less), the not-so-subtle implication that he's some kind of comic supervillain just because he likes making things, or the thought that maybe some future version of him got the idea for the exoskeleton suit and its direct interface from a mecha anime. His eyes flicker for a moment as he mentally runs through the plot for Advanced Warmech Oberon, the hue of his blush darkening when he catches the similarities.

Stop it. Dustin shakes his head once to clear it and braces his shoulders. She's doing this on purpose. Don't let her get to you.

"--Yes, I'm sure," he blurts. "The connection isn't--there's, um. Natural limiters. Physiologically inherent ones."

The fact that the suit is acting like a second set of limbs rather than a two-way interface, namely. Overworking a muscle isn't going to wreck his brain, but it's going to absolutely destroy his already taxed metabolism. Dustin's run the numbers on the required calories needed to sustain peak output and they aren't pretty. At least it won't be a constant draw like the ASIS, though - a good nap and a few loaves of bread and he'll get better.

Literally nothing he's suggesting here is her trying to do this on purpose. It's just genuine questions and thoughts. In fact, she's nodding approval at that.

"Alright then. Explain to me the locations and just what is involved in this surgery. And I'll let you know if I feel that I'm qualified to do the work."

Well, that's...surprisingly little pushback. Surely done to unsettle him further. Must be. Dustin falters for a moment, having to switch tracks suddenly from thinking about excuses and redirects to moving forward with the task.

"I--Right." Dustin sweeps a hand through his hair, furrowing his brow, then centers himself with a huff. "Let me just--"

He reaches for his satchel again, this time for his communicator, and - finally taking that seat so he can work better - sets it down on Tae's desk so he can one-handed draw a simple diagram of port locations on his body. Just an outline, but it still manages to be exactly to scale.

At the same time, Dustin answers Tae's other request. "It's simple, like I said," he explains, not bothering to look up from his sketching. "One inch deep incision at each location, insert each port between the muscles. Minimal suturing required, if any. Keep the interface above the skin to prevent it from healing over. That should be it."

There is only so much Tae can do with push back. ANd she is very intrigued.

"How does it interface into your system? Or is that a process that they do on their own?"

Yeah, this rather intriguing. Very anime, and metal at that.

"It's automatic," Dustin says, automatically. That had been a question he was expecting - and since the answer directly involves his abilities, he determined that it was best to keep his answer as vague as possible. Let her think that it's the weird tech doing the connecting and not his own body. He's fine with that outcome.

After another couple of seconds, Dustin straightens up and spins his tablet around, showing off his sketch on his custom communicator Paint program.

"Locations here," he explains. "Everything except the right forearm."

Okay, she'd like that paint program. In fact...

"Upload that program you're working with onto my communicator and, if you clear the initial bloodwork, then I will do this. But I'm not doing it all at once. I would want to start with the limbs."

Dustin just stares at Tae for a moment, looking vaguely puzzled. He knew there would be a trade involved at some point, but he'd gone into this expecting - dreading - that it would be a medical secret. Maybe she simply doesn't realize that he has any to give. Is that going to change once she sees the results of his bloodwork? Almost certainly. Until then, Dustin can't help but feel that he's getting off light.

"Fine," he says, blinking himself out of his thoughts. "I'll send you an executable before sundown."

There's barely a pause before Dustin abruptly changes tracks. "Define 'clearing' the initial bloodwork. What would make you reconsider?"

Medical secrets weren't very useful at the moment. She'd get those from him about his species in her own time.

"Sounds good," she says before moving to open a drawer in her desk. "I need to make sure that you've got proper clotting factors, that you won't suffer from being cut open, that you're not at enhanced risks for infection. The usual stuff we do with patients before surgery. It's going to be a bit looser because I don't know what your species' health standards are."

Dustin makes a point of never lying to people. Part of that is for personal, moral reasons, but another pretty critical reason is that he has an absolutely abysmal poker face. The look of befuddlement on his face is clearly visible as soon as Tae suggests that they might not be the same species, only to be roughly schooled in a few seconds later when he realizes that letting her continue to think that could play to his advantage. Different expectations equals more assumptions and fewer pointed questions - and an easier time for Dustin to dodge the ones that come at him.

The boy nods, clearing his throat and straightening slightly in his chair. "I want the samples back as soon as you're done with the standard panel," Dustin says, bluntly. "None kept in reserve, no extra tests run. Billy said this was doable."

Tae has turned her attention to getting supplies, so she misses his look of befuddlement.

"If that's what you'll insist, then I can't argue. But I'm the one that defines what necessary tests are," she points out as she looks back up at him. "I keep the samples until such time that I've determined the necessary testes to ensure I won't kill you are done. Then I'll have them destroyed."

Dustin frowns with consternation, some of his original stubbornness flashing back in his narrowed eyes.

"Itemized list," he says, deadpan. "Only those predetermined tests and nothing else. Who's holding you accountable to destroy the samples?"

Really? Tae now looks bored because she hated that she was negotiating over medical care.

"Itemized list I can do. And you can be here when I destroy them. However since I'm assuming you will only agree to the tests on the list that means that when I find I need additional tests just to be sure of another thing, I'm going to have to get you back here to get blood again. So basically taking longer and delaying the procedure."

Dustin will definitely take 'bored' over some of the other options floating around in his head, like 'curious' or 'belligerent.' Diverting that kind of attention away is something he strove for back home.

"Fine," he sniffs, folds his arms - or tries to, anyway. There's a wince of discomfort when he jostles his right arm. "If you need additional tests and if I agree to provide for them, I'm willing to wait. What's your estimate for baseline?"

Wonderful. How frustrating. The literal pirate who didn't know what a liver was for happened to be less of a headache than this was turning out to be.

"Three days."

"Acceptable," Dustin says, although the way his brow flattens says that this is far from the preferred answer. Beggars can't be choosers, though, and Dustin's already doing lots of choosing. "Anything else you need, or are you ready to write up the list so we can get on with it?"

Beggers can absolutely be choosers, can't they? They did so quite often.

"I'll start writing then. You going to sit there and fume?"

Dustin maintains a level, deadpan stare.

"Yes."

Of course he was. She sighs and grabs her comm to start writing out her list. The sooner this was done the sooner she could get grumpy pants out of here.

True to his word, Dustin does, in fact, sit there and fume for the entire time Tae builds the list. He's not even doing it to be petty; accountability is very important to him, especially with people he finds as implicitly untrustworthy as medical researchers. That way, if she does something with his samples he doesn't approve of, Dustin can do something about it and have evidence to defend his actions against anyone that gets in his way.

He does start to look steadily more uncomfortable, though, the longer this goes on. A heightened metabolism combined with the ASIS processing foreign material at a blistering pace means drugs - things like the painkillers Billy gave him - wear off very fast, and now his arm is starting to hurt pretty badly again.

She notices the fidgeting. Notices it enough to set the notes aside.

“What’s wrong? You’re clearly not the ADHD sort.”

"--I'm fine," Dustin answers a little too quickly. He doesn't look especially fine; he's gone pallid and tense, and he keeps trying to shift and cradle his arm in a more comfortable position, but nothing quite works. At least that undercurrent of panic from this morning is gone thanks to Billy's reassurances - everything is healing, probably no infection, this is fine, just. Hurts like a bastard in the meanwhile.

Trying to deflect her attention, Dustin follows up immediately. "Are you done with the list?"

No, he doesn't look fine at all. But she knows what to do with this. She knows those looks. She turns fully and leans in to look in his eyes.

"Are you in pain?"

Dustin stares directly back, gaze flattening and jaw setting like he might fight her for this. But he doesn't. She's called his bluff and he won't lie.

Goddammit.

"...Not an unexpected amount," Dustin mumbles, quickly looking away.

"That's not a yes or no. I'm trying to see if I can give you more pain medication," she says with a sigh.

"Of course you are," Dustin mutters, sounding not at all convinced. Pain medication laced with whatever other bullshit she thinks would be interesting to observe, more likely. He narrows his slightly unfocused eyes at the far wall. "I'll get more from Billy on the way out."

From a source that he knows can be held directly accountable by someone he trusts. Tommy's reliability is doing a lot of heavy lifting for his brother's reputation, at least in Dustin's eyes.

Tae sighs and shakes her head. She reaches into the desk she's at, pulls out a bottle, and hands it over.

"Billy will tell you these are likely the same he gave you. Good luck."

Dustin lets the bottle of pills sit on the table in front of him for a moment, eyeing them warily like a coiled snake. Then, to Tae, an arched eyebrow. She doesn't expect him to just take her word for it, right? That would be ridiculous.

But he can check with Billy on the way out. Even if the pills aren't what Tae says they are, he can probably get Billy to verify and change them into something more palatable with his bullshit reality-warping powers or something. Or he could simply not take them and go curl up in his blanket nest until the pain goes away. Both options seem preferable to doing something about it now.

With a tsk of annoyance, Dustin snatches away the bottle and stuffs it in a pocket. "Well?" he says tersely. "The list? Done?"

Yes, she would expect him to take her word for it. She's the actual physician here, genius.

"Yeah, done," she sighs. "Can I have the damn blood now?"

Dustin doesn't move to offer anything, keeping his stare as level as he can manage.

"Let me see it."

With an exasperated sigh she hands over the list.

"You're making this so much harder on us both."

Dustin's expression remains flat and implacable as he grabs the list away. Good, he thinks bitterly. It's worth the hassle to make sure he stays safe. If a nosy doctor is inconvenienced by consequence, that's a bonus.

He takes a moment to flick his eyes over the tests, then another moment to mentally catalogue and interpret them. The list is handed back.

"Acceptable," Dustin mutters. "Alright - let's get this over with."

The woman rises and moves over to a cabinet to get out supplies.

"I'll be glad to have it done."

Dustin grunts his agreement. The sooner this is done, the sooner he can get back to doing something useful - or, more likely, trying to get more sleep. He's so fucking tired.

As Tae rummages for her supplies, Dustin preps himself. Drawing blood from as close to the site of his existing implant as possible will probably provide the most informative results, so he gingerly rolls up the sleeves on his thin right forearm, places it stiffly on the arm of his chair. There are fresh bandages wrapped around midway between his elbow and lightly shaking hand.

Sleep was fair. She pulls out her kit and a few vials with colorful tops and thick materials in the bottom. Then some gloves, the cotton, tape, lots of other things.

"Have you had your blood drawn before? You know what you're in for?"

Dustin watches Tae with narrowed intensity from his seat, both because he wants to make sure that she doesn't do anything suspicious with her tools, and so that he can wrench his attention away from staring at his own wounded arm. Her question, though, breaks him with a scoff.

'Have I ever had my blood drawn,' he thinks ruefully. There were periods in his life where it was almost once a week. He thought it was weird when he read about people being afraid of needles - how did they function, with how common of a procedure this was? Like being afraid of a toothbrush. It wasn't until a few years ago that Dustin realized just how uncommon his situation was.

He doesn't explain any of this, of course. "Yeah," Dustin says instead, flatly. "I am."

Alright then. Tae offers a brief nod and reaches out to tie off the tourniquet.

"Then I won't explain it."

Dustin grunts his acceptance and lapses into silence for the actual blood-drawing process. His uncanny familiarity with the process shows; he doesn't flinch, doesn't tense, and although he is far from the picture of casual ease, Dustin keeps his attention flickering between the equipment and Tae to make sure she doesn't slip anything under the radar while she assumes he'll have his guard down.

That's the first step done. As soon as he can get away with it, Dustin rocks back to his feet. "Three days," he says, knees wobbling slightly under his weight. Need to make a stop at the Diner on the way back. "I'll update Billy on the way out."

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wrap this soon?

aye cap'n