driftfleet | [Closed-ish] and here's the flipside

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max rockatansky

[Closed-ish] and here's the flipside

Who: Max Rockatansky (still 22... for a bit...) and you.
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Iskaulit, Starstruck, etc.
When: the days before the 8th. Follow-up to his first post. It may also involve threads after Max reverts back, to keep things all together.

Max slowly reverts back to his old ways -- and it's terrifying.

Warnings for mental illness, PTSD, and the situations that may arise from them! There will be top comments for different people inside; if you're interested in tagging into this with Max as he reverts back to older!Max, hit me up via PP on plurk or PM, and we can flesh something out!)

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[No, everything is not alright.

But he tries to play it off a little anyway, because otherwise he'd be a bit more afraid on the outside. And he can't allow that.]

Just some... odd things. I've been having some trouble sleeping.

Weird dreams. Bad ones. Among other things.

Was wondering if it was worthy of a doctor's appointment.

[Damn. There's a telling pause before she answers.]

Yes, I think that would be a good idea.

... Alright. Alright, sounds like a good idea.

[And wow, he doesn't feel any less wigged out.]

I'll come to your ship?

I'll be here, in the lab. Let me know if you have any trouble finding it.

[And this time around, Max won't have to wait outside the cargo bay doors for someone to let him in. Though they are still present, the locks are disabled, now that Azula has gone. As soon as he comes into sickbay, Beverly stands to greet him, gesturing towards a nearby chair.]

Please, take a seat.

[He smiles, but it's a weak one, gone as quickly as it'd come.

He's really in no mood to be jovial and social, today. Feels all wrong.

Not like himself.

He takes a seat, hands on his knees.]

... Hey, doc. Hope I'm not bothering.

[She shakes her head, her expression carefully neutral.]

Of course not. It's what I'm hear for.

So why don't you tell me exactly what's been going on?

[Ah. Hmm. How to explain.

He's has a hard time opening up, but you already know that.

And... at least it's easier at this age, huh?]

Well. It's -- It just started recently, but it's been getting worse, s'far as I can tell.

I've been having... these dreams. Feels more like... memories, really. They've been very -- real. Very graphic. And afterward, I've had a hard time sleeping. Been paranoid, but I don't know what I'm even paranoid for. Just a general... unease.

[She frowns. Sounds like exactly what she was worried about. Well, no more beating around the bush.]

Look, I'm still going to scan you, to make absolutely sure there's nothing physically wrong with you but.... I'm almost certain I know why this is happening.

[He looks at her, trepidation -- confusion -- hidden in his stare.]

... You do?

[That easy, is it?]

[That easy and that hard. Still, she runs a scan, which only confirms that it's not a physical ailment troubling him.]

How much do you know about the augments?

... Enough, I guess. They're crazy sci-fi thingamabobs that filter information into my brain. Which is insane, but I'm on a ship and I... feel like I'm going mad anyway, so. [He itches the back of his head, looking at the floor.] Anyway, uh, they help you know how to perform your 'job' on the fleet.

That’s about the gist of it. However, the augments can sometimes malfunction. Whether that’s truly by accident or whether such glitches are caused by Atroma is up for debate but either way, it causes trouble for us. I believe that has what has happened to you: an augment glitch.

[She takes a deep breath.]

I already know you. And you already know me. Or, rather, you will. A future version of yourself was brought to the fleet and I think… I think the augment glitched in such a way that he reverted to a younger version of himself. You. And now you’re starting to get his memories back. I didn’t say anything to you earlier because well… I was hoping the situation would resolve itself on its own without me confusing matters. Evidently, that’s not the case. I’m sorry, and I realize now I should have said something before.

[He stares for a long moment, momentarily stunned.

He was here before, he knew that. But a future version? Getting his memories back? It just couldn't be. No way. Those memories are his own? His stomach flops and he feels sick for a moment; connecting those dreams, those memories, with him as real, it's... It's bad. He grips his knees a bit tightly.]

Those couldn'ta been memories. No way.

They're...

[He shakes his head, paling.]

No way. I saw a woman and her little girl get ran down; wasn't fast enough to save them. I buried them, and I just... I took... [He stops, eyes trailing down to the bracelet on his wrist with quiet horror. This belonged to that child; he remembers. It belongs to that child.] But that world, it was empty. It was dead.

[After a moment's hesitation, Beverly reaches out and gently lays a hand on his shoulder. It's something she'd never do with the Max she knows, the older Max, but he's so young now and so scared.]

I'm so sorry. I don't... You ought to talk to Furiosa. She's from your world too and knows you. She'll be able to help.

[He nods slowly, still a bit stunned.]

... I don't... That can't be me.

I can't be that.

[He's supposed to help protect people. He's supposed to try to make the country a little bit better. He's supposed to be someone more capable and worthy of the badge. Instead he's...]

I wish there was something I could do, some medicine we could use, but... I can't fix everything, no matter how much I want to.

[She gives his shoulder a squeeze.]

But I'm always here to listen, and you can stay as long as you want.

[He nods, the reply stuck in his throat for a long moment. What can he even say to that? To any of this? This very strange place is not only so different from home it's staggering, but now it's closing in on him, same as these choking memories of a madman. Memories that are actually his.]

... You're telling me there's nothing that can be done.

I'll be some loon soon.

No, Max, you're not some loon. You've...experienced a lot of trauma and that's going to take its toll on anyone. Do you know what PTSD is?

[PTSD. It's something perhaps heard in passing — it's hardly something anyone really paid much attention to, even at the tipping point towards the end of the world. Max would never in a million years apply anything to himself like that. He shifts uncomfortably.]

Guessing the T stands for trauma.

What, because I'm a cop? I've seen shit before, doctor. I've seen victims with glazed-over eyes, barely themselves. But that's not me. [The D is for Denial, Beverly. Or Desperate. Or both. He pats a hand to himself.] I'm supposed to be able to handle it. It's what I'm trained for!

It's not a moral reflection on you or your training or anything like that. Cops, soldiers, medics - it can happen to anyone. I've seen it happen to fellow officers of mine - doesn't change the fact that they are good and strong people.

[He runs his hand over his chin and mouth, distraught tension running through him. He feels helpless. Hopeless. This is so much to take in — this idea that he's already happened, and that someone else usually takes his place here.

Someone who sounds miserable, who sounds like someone he would pity for being so mucked up. And what does this mean for his home? His family? He's terrified to ask. Suddenly, the future is a dark and gnarled place, and there's no escaping it.]

What am I supposed to do?

[WIth a sympathetic sigh, Beverly pulls up another chair to sit next to Max.]

There are some medications and therapy that might help, if you're willing to try them but I can't promise anything. All my experience with treating PTSD before has been In conjunction with a psychologist and we don't have any here.

[He scoffs humorlessly.]

Sounds pretty hopeless. Not much of a wound to treat.

Will I be dangerous?

No, Max, no. [Beverly shakes her head emphatically.] Never hopeless. I would do - and have done - anything in my power to help you. None of this is meant as discouragement, but I'm simply not going to sugarcoat the situation either. That'd be unfair to you.

[He breathes out softly, stare downcast.]

I... uh. I need - some time. To think about this.

[This is a hell of a thing to process, doc.]

(no subject)

dancingmd - 2016-07-11 01:27 (UTC) - Expand

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