[Milliways]

[mr_gaeta]

It's been barely over a day since Gaeta tumbled through the Milliways door for the last time, and somehow -- despite being dead -- he's already coming down with something.

He can't tell what; it's just a general malaise, a chill that made him ask for a blanket along with his dinner when he went to the bar. Everything just seems...too bright, he guesses. Too loud. And he's starting to ache in a way that means he might've spoke too soon about the pain being gone for good.

Maybe he'll go to the infirmary later. For now, he's going to enjoy his soup.

Comments

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta nods.

"They're kind of...all over," he says. "I mean, it's worse in my leg, but everything else hurts, too."

Which isn't exactly abnormal.

[simon_doctor]

Gently, he withdraws the needle and presses a folded square of gauze to the spot. "Okay, I need you to put pressure on this for just a moment.... How long has that been going on?"

[mr_gaeta]

"It just started this morning."

He untucks his left arm so he can press against the gauze.

[simon_doctor]

He reaches for the bandaid he left within easy reach, and carefully applies it over the gauze. "And same for the runny nose?"

The test unit clicks and chirps quietly to itself as it runs the blood through the first diagnostic.

[mr_gaeta]

"Mm-hm."

He studies the test unit with faint curiosity.

[simon_doctor]

There's a tiny chime as it displays the first results. Simon leans over to glance at its screen, and lets out a quiet sigh.

"All right. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but ..."

Half a beat. "Felix, you're showing a lot of the symptoms of opioid withdrawal."

[mr_gaeta]

A chill -- this one having nothing to do with the constant, shivering cold -- blooms somewhere in his gut. Gaeta stares.

"But," he tries, and can't think of how to end that sentence.

But I needed it.

But I couldn't have been taking that much.

But I'm dead, I shouldn't have to worry about --

[simon_doctor]

Simon meets his stare steadily, and waits a beat to see if he's going to continue.

[mr_gaeta]

He swallows.

Bewildered: "How can that be happening now?"

[simon_doctor]

"'Now' meaning because ...?"

He isn't sure whether it would be harder for Gaeta to say it himself or to hear it said. If they weren't speaking as doctor and patient, he might prefer err in the other direction; as it is, he finds himself unwilling to be the first to pronounce death.

[mr_gaeta]

"I'm, I'm sure I must have gone without it longer. Before now."

He clasps his hands tight, one thumb worrying at the center of his other palm.

"And -- " Gaeta can feel his shoulders drawing inward, pulling taut. "I guess if there's still...pain, and I didn't get my leg back when I came here, it could make sense, but -- how could this part carry over, too?"

[simon_doctor]

"I've never been able to understand how things carry over." There's real regret in his voice. "Or why. All I can do is treat them, and ... fortunately, in every case I've encountered so far, things respond to the same treatment regardless."

Fortunately because if death doesn't stop suffering, at least it doesn't stop healing either.

"If you've gone without it for longer before now ... was that since you began taking it this frequently?"

[mr_gaeta]

"It -- "

Gaeta stops. Struggles to think.

"I don't know," he says at last.

(He can't have been taking it this frequently. He can't.)

[simon_doctor]

"It can be hard to keep track," he says, still calm; there's no judgment in his tone.

"Under the circumstances, what I'd like to do," and he pauses just slightly to work out how best to frame the sentence, "is keep you here overnight for observation, and treat the withdrawal symptoms the best we can while shifting you to a different medication for the pain."

[mr_gaeta]

"But morpha's the only thing that's worked." A tinge of desperation works into his voice; he looks up at Simon. "Even the, the THC had to be combined with morphine -- "

[simon_doctor]

"I know." Steadily. "The trouble is, it's getting less effective. You're having to take more of it to achieve the same result. That's only going to get worse, and it's not safe to keep raising the dosage."

Half a beat. "There are other options we haven't tried yet. We'll find one that will work, or some combination."

[mr_gaeta]

"What if you don't?"

Very quiet, and very level.

(Not we, either. You.)

[simon_doctor]

"I think it's very unlikely," he says after a pause, "but if we can't find any other medication that's effective, we may need to look into some long-term application of the nerve block. Or that would be my suggestion. It's not ideal, though, and I'd want to consult with my colleagues here and at home for other alternatives."

Another short pause.

"I would ... advise in the strongest possible terms against resuming use of morpha, or any variation of it."

[mr_gaeta]

"But you're okay with basically paralyzing me from the waist down."

And that's much, much flatter, as the look he's given Simon begins to sharpen.

[simon_doctor]

"Of course I'm not." That's much quieter.

"But in the unlikely event --" the slightest stress on the word unlikely -- "that there's no other means of managing the pain until your leg heals ... then yes, it's what I would recommend. As the least bad of several bad alternatives."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta's jaw tightens. He looks down at his hands, visibly struggling to reign himself in.

Low: "Can't you just give me enough to alleviate the withdrawal symptoms?"

[simon_doctor]

"I could." Slowly. "But it would be a bad way to do it, both in terms of effectiveness in alleviating the symptoms and in terms of the dependency that's causing them. Treating them with morphine would ... well, it'd be counterproductive in the long run."

If the conversation were less charged with tension, he might try saying something like have you ever tried drinking more to cure a hangover? As it is ... lightness doesn't seem appropriate.

[mr_gaeta]

He can't bring himself to give in and say fine, okay. Instead, he shuts his eyes, rubbing his forehead.

Tiny and clear, in the back of his mind, he thinks, it was supposed to be over by now. This isn't fair.

But Gaeta's gotten rather used to unfairness lately; it's just one more frak-you from the universe to drag himself through.

[simon_doctor]

Some part of him wants to apologize.



Instead he says, quietly and a touch awkwardly: "You understand, you're under no requirement to take my advice. There are other medical personnel here, and we don't always agree on the best method of treatment. If you want to seek a second opinion ...."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta shakes his head mutely, still not looking up.

It's a little beyond his ability to articulate right now. The closest he can come to is obligation: Simon's spent so much time taking care of him in the past, and taking good care of him besides. To turn that down seems unnecessarily rude.

Especially when his own qualms just boil down to everything was supposed to be okay now, godsdammit.

(Maybe there's a better word he's looking for, and unable to find because of the horrors of the last few weeks: trust.)