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The forms had been sent to them a week in advance.
It was a good thing, too, because it was midnight and their appointment was in the morning and they still had not filled them out.
It had taken two days for Steven to find the forms online and then print them. He had then pinned them to the task board and then waited.
Now he sat at his desk staring down at the forms and feeling the anxiety settling in. Not just into him, but spreading slowly across the three of them for wildly different reasons.
Steven stared down at the very first question on the paper and kept his pen hovering just above the line.
It had seemed so easy at first glance. He could have filled this thing out in minutes. How many had he filled out before all of this?
His vision blurred. How many had he filled out? He didn’t know. He had no memory of filling out forms. Things had just come and he had just accepted them by the grace of Marc and his connections.
He started to feel a pang of panic. He read the question again. Three words. He didn’t so much as read them as he recognized the words and they processed somewhere in his brain with a meaning and answer.
“First name. Middle name. Last name.” He licked his lips and stabbed the pen on the paper, prepared to sweep it down into the familiar curve of an ‘S’.
His hand stuttered and he pulled the pen back, leaving behind a spatter of ink. He rubbed his finger over the ink frantically, smudging it into a blur in an effort to extract it back from the paper.
“What are you doing?” Marc muttered, tired and grumpy. He had been grumpy all week since they had made the appointment.
“They want a name.” Steven looked at the ink on his fingers and rubbed them together till the ink dissipated into a faint darkness on his fingers.
“Yeah.” Marc sighed. “So put down a name.”
“What name?” Steven sighed loudly. “Legally, everything is in your name.”
Marc made a sound that reminded Steven of an upset cat. “You have all the paperwork. You exist legally.”
“Legally.” Steven huffed. “So long as they don’t look into it. I don’t exactly have anything backing the name. What if they look me up?”
“Fine!” Marc grumbled. “Put my name down.”
Steven put the pen back on the paper and was about to slant the pen into a firm ‘M’ when he paused. “Are you still on some sort of international criminal list?”
There was a moment of silence and Steven wondered if Marc had heard him. “Marc?”
“Give them your name.” Marc sounded tired.
“But what if-” He started.
“Then give them Jake’s name!” Marc snapped.
There was a very sharp and quick wave of dizziness that washed over Steven, a sign that Jake was not only listening but that he was deeply displeased by this suggestion.
Jake had also been in a mood all week. Not nearly as grumpy as Marc had been, but he had kept his distance, not even taking his usual morning cup of coffee like he had grown accustomed to doing in the past few months.
“Right.” Steven swept the pen back up and quickly wrote his name in full across the top before he could think of any other reasons not to.
Next question. Birthday. Steven stared at the line and drew a blank. “Uh….”
“March ninth of eighty seven.” Marc answered quickly before Steven could start to distress over if they had the same birthday or not. “It’s when the body was born. Let’s just keep it simple.”
Steven nodded. He liked simple. He wrote it down and moved to the next few questions. Easy. Address. He knew that one. Hair and eye color? Easy. Height? There was some disagreement there between the three on that one, but it was mostly because of their different postures. He wrote down a number, ignoring the way Marc made sounds of disapproval at him.
Ethnicity. Steven paused and stared at the little tick boxes. He knew what he would have marked before. Now he had an angry American in his head that lied on all his forms and someone else in his head that cursed people out in spanish.
He marked yes to the ‘Hispanic/Latino’ box. He hesitated then moved on to the next question. If it came up, he’d make sure proper direction was given on the rest of his ethnicity, but there was still some internal contention and disagreements about it that wasn’t worth the fight.
“Okay. Not that bad. I think this is going well.” He turned the page and froze, pen mid twirl in his fingers.
Medical history. Steven had thought the simple act of writing his name was difficult. He was suddenly faced with the fact that he didn’t know their medical history. If someone asked him personally, he’d say he was fit as a fiddle aside from his slight insomnia.
Never hospitalized, never broke a bone in his body, and never suffered from depression or mental breaks.
Now he stared into the blank void that was his memory and felt the gaps creeping in. The time that had passed in the blink of an eye suddenly stretched out into years and the aches and pains of his body pulled up questions he didn’t know the answers to.
He blinked hard and felt himself start to grow fuzzy as he slipped up and away into himself.
“Fuck.” Marc felt Steven dissociate so hard that he came to the front with a killer headache. “Hey, buddy. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. I got this part. Mostly.”
Marc was able to tick off the family medical history parts easily enough. He had vague memories of his grandparents, but he was fairly certain he knew how they had eventually died.
When it came time for his own medical history he breezed through the questions of current ailments. No transplants, no cancers, no diabetes, no chronic illnesses. No allergies despite what Steven claimed.
He decided he wouldn’t count anything supernatural so any injuries during his Khonshu days were brushed aside, including his death and near death experiences.
He paused when it came to other issues. Broken bones? Yes. More than a few. He paused as he remembered his broken arm, broken rib, broken nose, broken finger… He felt the blows, the bullets, the snap, the fall, the fear.
He shook his head and focused back in on the questions. No clotting disorders, no liver issues despite his best efforts, no kidney disease, no heart problems if he overlooked the many times it had stopped.
Next was the fun part. The part where he got to decide how much was truly needed. Did they really need to know about his mental health? Did the questions apply to him personally or to the whole system or do the body as a whole?
‘Do you drink and if so, how many drinks a day?’ Marc did drink. He drank a lot. But only in binges. He was not a casual drinker. He could go months without a drop of alcohol and then the darkness would swallow him whole and he would down a whole bottle of whiskey.
Did that qualify him as an alcoholic or something else? Steven called it self destruction. Marc ticked off the ‘no’ line. This wasn’t that sort of visit.
‘Do you smoke?’ Steven certainly didn’t. Marc had enjoyed a casual cigar now and then in his mercenary days. In the military he had been known to suck down a cigarette in the hopes that he might seem normal to the other men or that it might bring him some calm. He didn’t smoke anymore.
Jake did. About once a week Jake would casually nurse a cigarette through the night. Something he marked as his own, and perhaps he needed it. Did it affect the body? None of them seemed to have an addiction.
Steven hated it. He deeply disliked the smell and the way the taste lingered. He had been not so subtly leaving nicotine patches out in the hopes to get Jake to stop. When he found the cigarettes he would immediately toss them in the trash. Jake was hardly deterred. He had been hiding things far longer than Marc and always seemed to have spares.
He marked yes. He could claim to be quitting if asked.
‘Do you take recreational drugs?’ That one was at least easy enough to answer. Steven would never touch the stuff, Jake wouldn’t touch it either. Marc could remember one severely bad experience back in the day when he had tried to find another way to escape and it was enough to assure he never tried it again.
Now for the list of mental health issues. Marc hated that list. How truthful did he need to be? If he marked depression did that mean that they would have to talk about it? It wasn’t a problem that he felt needed to be talked about. At least not in this capacity. He certainly didn’t want to take any medications.
So what would happen? “Oh hey, I see you marked depression. Do you want drugs? No? Okay.” And then move on? Would they think him a danger to himself? Would they recommend he see someone? Would they-
“Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fuuuck.” Marc scrunched his eyes closed as he fought off the flashbacks. He didn’t want to deal with this. He could just mark no. No depression. No anxiety. No PTSD. No ‘other’ where he wouldn’t be forced to write down D.I.D on the little blank line. No no no no no.
“What the hell is this, Hermano?” Jake stared at the form. He shoved it aside for a moment and tapped the pen on the desktop. “I’m not going.” He dropped the pen and crossed his arms. “We don’t need to go. There is nothing wrong. Why the hell does any of this matter? We aren’t dying.”
“Jake, please.” Steven’s voice whispered up to him. “We have to go. I’ll go. Neither of you have to do anything. I just… I don’t know how to fill this out. Please?”
Jake glared down at the form. “What does it matter? They don’t need this stuff. They probably don’t even know what D.I.D is! They’ll just call us liars. Think we’re making it up. Just mark no on everything.”
He picked up the pen and quickly drew a line down the ‘no’ column angrily. He looked back up at some of the things Marc had filled in. He scoffed and debated on changing some of the answers.
Allergies? Yes. Of course they had allergies. Hay Fever was a real issue for them. Steven couldn’t see half the spring because his eyes were so swollen. Not to mention medication allergies. If they took a sulfa they might die. Probably something he should remind Marc about and alert Steven to. It just had not come up.
He changed the allergies and wrote in the appropriate information. Steven argued about the food allergies but Jake waved a dismissive hand. He had yet to have any issues with milk despite what Steven claimed. Steven could keep his oatmilk to himself.
Medication list? Allergy meds were written out neatly. So were the pain medications that they all slammed back when the headaches hit. Antacids when the anxiety caused the stomach upset to hit. Steven slammed the tums like they were candy.
He was tempted to write in caffeine considering how much he drank, but he didn’t want to give Steven another reason to get after him. He was going to enjoy his single cigarette on occasion. It made him feel like the body was his for just a little while.
Alcohol? Yes. Marc’s denial was likely to show up on the bloodwork eventually. Might as well get it out there in the open. At least he could mark occasional in that line, since it was nearly impossible to track when Marc would melt down and stumble into the nearest bar to drink it dry.
Jake also didn’t want to let Steven know that he took in an occasional drink when he slipped out to his own favorite activities.
“There.” Jake sat back and tapped the corrected form.
Steven fumbled the twirling pen and looked the form over. “Oh wow. Good to know about the medications.”
He stared at the mental health part and sighed. “Jake…” He muttered and moved to correct it.
“What?” Jake grumbled. “Is it important? No. It will cause more trouble than needed. We aren’t going there to look for help on these issues. Who cares if it’s wrong?”
“What if we do want help? Or what if we go for help later?” Steven marked yes to the depression.
“Are you depressed?” Jake countered.
“No… I suppose I’m not.” He frowned.
“I’m not depressed.” Jake continued. “The body isn’t depressed. The body feels just fine.”
Steven sighed loudly. “What about Marc?”
“What about me?” Marc growled. “I’m not going. They don’t need to know about my depression. I feel fine.”
Steven crossed out his correction and left it as ‘no.’
“We have anxiety.” He marked yes.
“No we don’t.” Marc and Jake argued.
“I could sit here and argue with you two and give you examples all day and night. You don’t get to correct me on this one.” He scowled and marked a dark ‘yes’ check mark.
Steven continued to correct the lies. He wrote in PTSD. Perhaps he was not affected, he wasn’t really sure, but he had done enough research to know that PTSD and D.I.D tended to walk hand in hand. Marc certainly was affected by it enough to ripple out to all three of them at the very least. Jake denied it, but Steven knew better. As the emotional protector, Steven had been forced to front in far more random situations than was normal.
Autism? It was not confirmed. Not as far as he was aware. He suspected that Jake knew something he didn’t know on the matter. Perhaps one day he would find a way to get his early medical records from Chicago. Marc and Jake would be unhappy about it, but Steven was tired of situations like this. Situations where he didn’t know what medications might kill him.
He left it alone. He was exhausted and getting into that argument with Jake and Marc right now was not worth it.
Their appointment was early enough that Steven decided the form was filled in enough. He got up and stretched, his back popping and snapping in ways that made him eye the ‘broken bone’ section of the form again suspiciously.
“I’m not going.” Jake reaffirmed.
“You don’t have to go further than the parking lot.” Steven shrugged. “Just get us there.”
They got ready for bed, the nightly routine coming easy to them as they each took care of their own chosen task.
It wasn’t needed to share tasks like this, but it was something Steven had come up with to help each of them feel more like the body belonged to them.
The dreams that night were filled with long hallways and swinging doors. A sense of dread and sadness drifted around them until Steven woke up, sweat beaded across his forehead.
“Whose dream was that?” He sighed and got dressed. He pulled on his usual clothes, planning for his own comfort considering that the visit was going to be handled by him.
Marc was lurking just to the back, doing his best to convince Steven to stay home. “We really don’t need this. It’s fine. We’ve gone how long without this? I mean, nothing’s wrong. We feel fine.”
“Nope.” Steven pulled on his coat and headed down to the car. “You can hide if you like. We’re going. I’ll tell you how it went when it’s over.” Steven let Jake slip into the driver’s seat.
“Not past the parking lot.” Jake pulled his cap on and started the car. Normally relaxed and carefree when he drove, Jake kept his grip on the wheel tight and he drove five under the speed limit.
He pulled his cap down low over his eyes and kept the radio quiet. His mind wandered, slipping down a tile hall with white walls and swinging doors. A time when security and safety felt too far away.
He parked and got out of the car. There was no safety or comfort in places like this. Places that did not listen to you. They did not have the time to care. They had preconceived notions on your standing and sorted you into a corner that you were expected to stay in.
“Jake?” Steven felt their heart rate flutter to a pounding race. “That’s good, mate. I’ll take it from here.”
Jake clenched his fist and tried to will away the memory. To close the door on the sensation of helplessness.
“Yeah. I just… Give me a second.” He took off his cap and tossed it back into the car in an effort to step out of the body. He could feel Steven’s sweater hanging down around him, heavy and blanketing over them. It felt suffocating and far too heavy against his skin.
“Jake. Switch out with me.” Steven reached and found the normal position of front and center shifting away from him.
Jake felt the papers that they had filled out folded up in his pocket. He could even hear the ticking of his watch, advancing them closer and closer to their check in time.
“I’m stuck.” Jake started to breathe hard as he realized that he was front stuck. He had never been stuck before. That didn’t happen to him. He was the gatekeeper, for crying out loud. He was the one that got the other two unstuck when needed. He could kick them out of the front seat at any time. It was part of his job.
“Hey, it’s okay!” Steven tried to calm him. “I’m sure I’ll take over when it’s time. Just go in and we’ll get through this. Okay?”
Jake stared up at the building. It was brick brown and looming. The many windows solid and glaring at him. He could see the automatic doors, larger than normal and equipped with emergency buttons and other features not normally found on your everyday door.
The building looked nothing like the one from his memory. He had been in hospitals since then. This wasn’t even a hospital. It was a glorified office building turned into a ‘specialty center’. The sign out front spoke of physical therapy, dentists, dermatologists, and gastrology.
“What floor?” Jake hunched his shoulders, missing his usual coat and collar, as he walked inside.
“If it’s too much we can reschedule. Tell them we had car trouble or have a fever or something.” Steven could feel their heart rate still racing and pounding.
“What floor?” Jake snapped and walked up to the directory sign, trying to remember the name he had seen on the forms last night.
“Fourth.” Steven sighed as he continued to try to take back the body. “412. They said it was to the right of the elevator.”
“Am I supposed to be British?” Jake got in the elevator and jabbed his finger into the button harder than needed. “You gave them your name, right?”
“I don’t think they will care what you sound like.” Steven did not want to hear Jake imitate an English accent. Jake could pull off a very good Marc voice, but it was close enough to his own rough grumble. “Just give them my name and the papers.”
Steven felt Marc shift and peek out at the world around them. “Uh, Steven? What’s Jake doing? I thought this was your rodeo?”
Jake jammed his hands in his pockets and tapped his foot, not keeping pace with the melancholy elevator music in the slightest as they went up one floor at a time.
“He’s having a bloody panic attack is what he’s doing.” Steven sighed.
“I’m fine.” Jake shifted as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slowly opened. “Just get this over with.”
They all watched as Jake navigated to the correct door and walked into the office. He glanced around, taking in the old lumpy chairs, the coffee tables with frayed magazines, the water cooler in the corner with paper cups shaped so that you couldn’t set them down without spilling, and a sliding glass window at the front counter.
“Oh my god, is he going to fight the doctor? Marc? We’re supposed to get our blood done today. Is he going to punch the doctor?” Steven started to panic, struggling harder to take back the body.
Steven had been front stuck before. It didn’t bother him. He was out most of the time and only felt terrible that he was taking up someone else’s time. It had never been a problem.
Marc had gotten front stuck more than a few times. He had smiled awkwardly as he went to work and avoided talking at all costs. He had been in charge of the body for so long. It was only annoying to him.
Jake was not used to holding front for longer than needed. Jake didn’t like holding front. Jake did what needed to be done then tossed it back to one of them.
The stress was building as the glass window slid open and a lady in scrubs smiled up at them expectantly.
“No…” Marc tried to reassure Steven. “He’ll be fine. We’ll just uh… Maybe I can try to take the body. Jake, give me the body.”
Jake stared at the woman from across the room. “Shut up. Just fucking shut up.” He hissed under his voice and put on what he hoped was a confident smile.
“I have an appointment.” Jake walked to the counter and pulled out the folded papers, slapping them down on the counter. “Grant. Steven.”
She looked down at the papers then up at Jake before taking the papers, unfolding them. “Right.” She flipped through them then nodded and handed him a clipboard with more papers and a pen. “Consent forms to fill out. They’ll call you back in just a moment.”
Jake stiffly walked to a chair and sat down, glancing down at the papers. He didn’t read them. They were blocks and blocks of text with lines highlighted now and then to show where to initial and sign.
He stiffly wrote SG in all the small lines then scratched a signature on each page. It looked nothing like Steven’s neat handwriting and had the situation been different, Steven would have said something.
“Jake? Please don’t fight the doctor. They’re going to take blood today. Are you okay with needles?” Steven tried to sound patient and like everything was fine.
“I can tell you right now that I would not be sitting there.” Marc mumbled. “If I was out there, I’d be climbing out the window. No one’s getting blood from me unless I bleed on them.”
“Not helping!” Steven snapped. “Try relaxing. Just close your eyes and breathe with me. Okay? In and out. Nice and slow.”
Jake closed his eyes and took a deep slow breath in. He held it a moment then pushed it out forcefully.
They wouldn’t listen. They never listened. Even as an adult. He saw the horrible puke green and brown fatigues as the military doctor looked at the clipboard then up at him with a frown. “You’re being discharged.”
“Steven Grant?” A voice called. “Mr. Grant?”
Jake jolted back to the present and stared up at the woman for a moment before he jumped up and held up the clipboard. “Here.”
She smiled and held out a hand for the clipboard. She was in light lilac colored scrubs. Far from the horrible grays and white of his childhood.
Jake lingered for a moment, suddenly feeling more comfortable out in the waiting room than the prospect of seeing what lay hidden behind the door.
“Right this way please.” She held the door open for him.
“Steven?” Jake called out internally. He was met with silence. His panic started to rise. He had shut them out.
Jake swallowed hard and tried to pretend it was a mission. He was doing this for Steven. He had to pretend to be Steven. He wasn’t Jake Lockley, a man terrified and lost in a memory. He was Steven Grant, a man with no rational fear.
“Right.” Jake stepped through the door and glanced around. There was a scale immediately to his right and he stepped onto it, watching as the nurse balanced the metal bar.
He was next ushered into an exam room and sat down while she pulled up his chart and started to type. “Name and birthday? Just to confirm things.” She smiled at him again.
“Uh… Steven Grant. Steven with a V.” Jake knew how to play the part. It was easy to get lost in Steven. It was like a well polished script. “March ninth, nineteen eighty seven.”
She nodded then looked at his chart. “You aren’t on any medications?”
He knew what she was talking about. She had gotten to the anxiety and depression part of the form.
“None. Just what’s listed there.” He tapped a finger on his knee and tried to hold onto the imagination of being Steven. Steven doing his everyday things. Steven chatting and answering questions.
She pulled out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. “Roll up your sleeve and relax your arm, please.”
He looked down at his arm then at the cuff. He fumbled with the sleeves for a moment, struggling to get the stretched material to stay in place.
He flinched as she put the cuff on then looked away. He didn’t want to be here. She would find something wrong. She’d sense something was off. It was only a matter of time before she looked at him with that look.
He closed his eyes as she pumped up the cuff. He felt a pull and realized that he was starting to dissociate. Normally he would lean into it and hope that Steven or Marc stepped in.
But the wall was up. They were locked out. It was just him and this situation. Even if they managed to switch out now, the wall was there and that meant any communication about the situation was shut down. Whoever slipped in now would not know what was going on.
Jake felt a jolt like he was falling and he jolted back to the present. The cuff was off and the nurse was typing at the computer again. She was saying something….
“Good numbers. The doctor should be in to do their exam in just a minute.” She stood up and went to the door, giving him a smile before walking out.
Jake sank back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. A stained drop tile that looked like it had seen better days stared back at him. There was an exam table to the side with what looked like white butcher paper on it. He wondered if he was supposed to sit on it. He hated the sound it made. How it bunched under him. How he felt like he would tear it if he moved wrong.
Jake felt himself starting to slip. Maybe Steven was hacking away at the barrier. He had never been happier to feel anyone pulling control from him.
There was a fuzzy moment then he came to, sitting on the table with crinkle paper and staring at an older man with glasses and a white coat who had a stethoscope pressed to his back.
“Breathe normally now.” The man commanded.
Jake sucked in a breath and tried to focus, searching for any trail of communication left behind. Someone was switching in and out with him. He really hoped it was Steven and not Marc. Marc was not going to handle this any better than he was. If it was at least Steven, maybe they would get through this without looking like they needed to be locked up.
“You can breathe normally.” The man repeated and Jake realized he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly, struggling to slow his heartbeat.
The man moved the device around a bit then sat back. “Nervous?”
Jake managed to nod. “I don’t like doctors.”
“A common issue.” The man held up a finger. “Follow the tip of my finger with your eyes please.” He moved his finger, watching Jake’s reaction closely.
Jake locked onto the finger like it was the only thing in the world and followed it despite his disorientation.
“You have nothing to worry about.” The doctor felt Jake’s neck, checking his lymph nodes. “So far everything is looking pretty good. Stick out your tongue.”
The world blurred and Jake felt a slip again. He blinked in time to feel a reflex hammer jolt his left knee into a kick. “Fuck.” He clenched his hands and hoped he wasn’t fucking up anything.
“Good reflexes.” The doctor moved to the computer and typed rapidly. “You wrote in PTSD under concerns. Have you seen anyone about your PTSD?”
“No.” Jake mumbled.
“Were you properly diagnosed?” Now that was a loaded question and Jake looked up at the doctor suspiciously for a moment before he realized the doctor was asking about medical history and not for details.
“Yes. Military doctor.” It wasn’t really a lie, so much as an embellishment. It was also a good way to shut down the line of questions. Military induced PTSD was expected, after all.
“I see. Would you like some recommendations? I can have the front staff print you out a list of therapists and psychiatrists in the area.” He typed away, not looking up.
“No.” Jake crossed his arms. He hoped that was the right answer. If it wasn’t, Steven could figure it out. He would schedule it just like he did this appointment. Despite the protests and arguments, it would happen. Jake just hoped that if it did happen that he wouldn’t be the one forced into it.
“Do you feel like it is affecting your normal daily activities?” A fishing question. Jake glared at the doctor, on high alert now.
“No. We manage it just fine.” He winced at the wrong use of identification. Steven was getting to him with his inclusion tactics. “My wife and I, I mean. I have support.” That was the correct answer. He wasn’t alone. He had support. It was no longer the problem of the medical provider.
The doctor nodded. “Good. Good. It’s important to talk to someone.”
“Yup.” Jake looked away. “Before you ask, I’m working on the smoking too. Down to one a week.” It wasn’t an outright lie. After this little incident he was probably going to cut back to one every other week for a while.
The answer seemed to please the doctor who nodded. “Excellent. I like to hear it.”
Jake felt the familiar pull and slip start to happen. Just take it. Take it Steven. Get us out of here.
Blinking back in, he felt utterly frustrated and disoriented. They were standing now and walking down a hall. He put the brakes on and looked around frantically. They were not walking towards the waiting room. They were going further into the den of the beast.
A memory stirred and Jake fought it off, angry now at the whole situation.
“Just to your right.” The nurse from before urged him to keep going.
Jake looked back at her quickly then looked at the room to his right. It didn’t look like the kind of room that you put the trouble makers in to lock up.
In fact, there was a simple chair with an armrest in it and a lot of lab equipment and tubes all over the counters.
“Oh fuck no.” Jake froze in the doorway. “No no. I’m not doing that. I don’t…. This wasn’t what I agreed to.”
“I know, not everyone likes needles.” The nurse tried to sound comforting. “The phlebotomist is really good. You’ll barely feel a thing.”
STEVEN. Jake didn’t move. His panic started to swirl as he stared at the chair.
He started to feel dizzy. For a split second he wondered if it was Marc. Was he forcing Marc into his worst nightmare? Marc sitting in the chair, strapped down as they poked him with a needle?
Marc clenching his fists as he sank into a flashback of being drugged and tied down? Nightmares waiting to surface for the next three weeks?
Jake reluctantly took a slow breath and shook his head to clear it before he sat down in the chair, moving an arm to lay across the armrest.
The nurse stepped out of the way as another person entered the room. “Hello. Looks like I’ll be getting a few tubes of blood from you. Should be real quick. Are you alright with needles?”
Jake looked up at them, unable to focus on any part of the person. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to point them out in a line up later. Jake shook his head firmly.
“Are you likely to pass out?” The person was collecting some supplies and sat down across from him.
Jake stared blankly, trying to process the question. “I don’t… think so?”
“Alright. We’ll take this as it comes. If you think you’re going to pass out, tell me or try to lean back. I’d rather you not hit the floor if we can avoid it.” The person was now tying a tourniquet around Jake’s arm and checking his veins.
Jake nodded slightly and looked away, clenching his free fist in his lap tightly. He wasn’t going to let Marc have the option of slipping into their chair. He could do this. He wasn’t afraid of needles. At least he didn’t think so. He couldn’t recall if their blood had ever been taken before.
He did recall IV lines. Being hooked up to cold saline drips and drugs that made him sleepy and nauseous. He felt a pinch then the tight band around his arm released. There was pressure and some fidgeting as the person switched out some tubes.
The pinch shifted and was gone, replaced by a gentle pressure of a cotton ball then the tight pull of pressure wrap.
“All done!” The person proclaimed. “We should have the results back by the end of the week.”
Jake nodded and looked down at the dark blue wrap around his arm now. He still felt vulnerable and like his arm was now compromised. He bent his arm and held it protectively as he rolled the sleeve back down.
So this was why Steven wore these sleeves. The comfort of them over his arm was a little soothing now. Warm and sheltering.
“Exit is just down the hall back the way you came. Wave to the front desk on your way out and you’re all good to go!” The person was labeling the tubes, putting them on rockers that gently tilted and mixed the blood in the tubes.
Jake nodded and stood up, backing out into the hall. “Thanks.” He managed to mumble before looking up and seeing an exit sign with an arrow.
He turned a corner and saw the familiar door he had come through from the waiting room. If he had been alone he would be running now as he quickly stepped to the door and pried it open, hurrying through.
He paused to wave at the front desk woman. She smiled and waved back, saying something he didn’t catch.
Jake threw open the front door and rushed out towards the elevator. The ride down was a blank and he was certain someone else had moved them through the building back to the parking lot because he had a missing space where the memory should have been.
Keys fumbled in his hand as he unlocked his car with the push of a button. Sliding into the driver seat, he sat there for a moment and stared at the steering wheel. He didn’t bother trying to ground himself.
It took a moment before Steven made himself known again. “I think that went well.”
“Are you kidding me?” Marc snapped from the dark. “I’m shocked my blood pressure wasn’t through the roof after I switched in.”
Jake stared at the wheel and slowly slid a finger across it. So Marc had slipped in. They would be having nightmares tonight.
As much as he didn’t want to be there, desperate to slip to the back where he didn’t have to deal with the body or the world around them, he needed to get them home. He needed to make sure they were safe in familiar territory.
He started the car and waved a hand as if brushing away any conversation that might take place. They had a strict rule about fronting while driving that was enforced after one nearly disastrous accidental switch out.
“Hey Jake?” Steven gently spoke up from the back. It was easy to pretend that it was a passenger behind him making casual conversation in this role.
“Hmm?” He pulled the car out of the parking lot and out onto the street a little faster than needed. He wanted distance between them and the medical building behind them .
“You don’t have to protect us from things like this. I know it’s a trigger for both of you, but this isn’t life or death. It’s stress. You can let me handle it. Let me do my job, okay? Let me protect you too. Not just Marc.” He was gentle and soft. It was truth and hard to hear. Sometimes truth needed to be whispered softly.
“You think I wanted to do that?” Jake snapped, angry at everything and nothing all at once. He sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry. I fucked it up.”
“You did really well.” Steven assured. “No one freaked out. No one punched anyone in the face and made a run for it. Marc didn’t even dissociate much!” He sounded proud.
“I should have had better control. This was your thing.” Jake angrily flicked on the blinker as he merged lanes. “That is my job. Make sure the right person is where they are supposed to be. How the fuck do I get front stuck in moments like this?”
They were silent for a moment and Jake longed to be home where he could give back the body and slip back to where he was most comfortable. If he could. Could he? He had never been stuck like that before.
His fingers clenched on the steering wheel. What if he got stuck again? What if he put up the wall and couldn’t get it back down? What if-
“Jake?” Steven’s voice filtered through the haze. “Relax. You’re freaking out a bit. I can’t drive. I mean, I think I did rather well when under pressure of a bullet and death, but that’s different from busy street driving.”
Jake shook his head, trying to clear it. He was getting fuzzy. It was what he wanted but not now. Driving was his grounding thing. Even when Marc tried to go somewhere, Jake was always lingering around the front, ready to jump behind the wheel.
The idea that he was losing everything suddenly popped into his head. He was hindering them. They wouldn’t be able to rely on him for anything.
Hands clenched on the wheel and Marc was suddenly there, taking a quick glance around to get his bearings.
Jake sank back, rushing past Steven’s worried gaze and away from Marc’s own emotions. Steven could take care of Marc now. It was Steven’s job. He handled the emotions. He handled the problems. He took care of the body, the spirit, and the general well being.
The nightmares came. They all knew they would. They had warned Steven weeks ago. They were used to nightmares.
When Steven had nightmares, they were filled with sadness and feelings of being lost and alone. He would wake with tears in his eyes and a half hearted chuckle as he wiped them away and called out to Marc. He always called out to Marc in these times. Reassurance that he was there. That he wasn’t alone. That he had a friend to rely on.
Marc had them the worst. Dreams that could make them wake up screaming and crying. Dreams that were pretty solid representations of stress, grief, and violence. When Marc woke from his dreams, he would clench his fists and breathe like a drowning man pulled from an ocean. Steven would be there to sooth him. To reassure him that he was safe.
Jake tried not to dream. HIs dreams were so strange that neither Marc nor Steven understood what they were seeing. Only Jake knew the memories for what they were. He hid his feelings, taking calm and deep breaths in the dark as Steven mumbled about how weird that one was.
He couldn’t let them know. He couldn’t let them see. This was his job. If they did see, he would wipe it away immediately, leaving just a fog of what was almost there.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed. Like he had left them down. He was supposed to be better than that. He needed to let them run the life. His purpose was internal. He had no need to be out anymore, did he?
It was a solid two weeks before Jake found himself sitting in front again. He had occasionally peaked above the surface to see what was going on, and on seeing a normal average life spanning out, he had ducked back below.
Now, he sat blinking in the light and staring down at a cup of coffee. There had been no trigger. No threat or stress. The body was in good condition and as far as he could tell, there were no injuries.
Just him and a cup of fresh coffee in a diner at a booth towards the back.
“If you don’t want to front, that’s fine.” Marc’s voice reached up to him. “But you don’t get to go silent on us.”
Jake sighed and sipped the coffee. It was done just how he liked it. “You don’t need me fucking things up.” He muttered and looked up as a waitress set down a plate of eggs and hash. He offered a thankful nod to her as she walked off.
“You aren’t fucking things up.” Marc gave an irritated sigh and nudged the fork with their hand, indicating he wanted Jake to start eating.
“Where’s Steven?” Jake hated when Marc tried to use passive influence on them. He moved his hand away from the fork and grabbed the hot sauce instead, dumping it across the plate.
“He’s tired. I gave him the day off.” Marc watched as things were mixed up and piled onto a slice of toast. “He’s been fronting for two weeks since you decided to take a vacation.”
“Why aren’t you taking a turn?” Jake took a bite and felt a familiar twinge as the body recognized how hungry it was. He struggled not to start shoveling food in and instead took a long sip of the coffee.
“Because I’m having panic attacks.” Marc shrugged.
“From the doctor visit?” Jake looked down at the plate. If he had just done what he was supposed to do then Steven could have handled it all and Marc wouldn’t have been forced to deal with it at all.
“No.” Marc sounded tired. “Cause of a lot of things, but mostly you giving us the cold shoulder.”
“I’m not giving you the cold shoulder. You’ve both done just fine without me up till now and after what happened, you might do just fine without me again.” Jake took another bite.
Marc made a snorting laugh sound. “We did not do fine without you. From what I gather, I’ve never been without you. Just because I didn’t know you were there doesn’t mean that you weren’t there.” It sounded suspiciously like something Steven might have said to Marc at one point.
“Our lives aren’t like that anymore.” Jake muttered. “You don’t need me to jump in and save us.”
Marc was silent for a moment while Jake drank his coffee. The waitress stopped by with a pot and topped his mug off before shuffling off to other tables.
“Saving someone isn't always about battles and fights.”
“You have Steven for the bad days.” Jake added a packet of sugar and stirred the coffee slowly.
“I’m only going to say this once, so listen up.” Marc sighed. “No one understands like you do, Jake. Steven wasn’t there. Even if we tell him, even if you show him the memories… Everything we went through, you were there… You don’t just fight to protect us from outside harm. After everything, you deserve some happiness. You deserve a turn at life… If you want it.”
Jake looked down at the plate. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, buddy, it’s okay. We’re sharing this existence, right? Sometimes things happen and you just gotta let the shit happen and hope Steven’s there later to drag us out of it.” Marc grinned and would have patted him on the shoulder if he could.
“So did we get the results from the doctor back yet?” Jake reached up to brush the hair out of his face. “Are we going to live?”
“Yeah. ‘Fraid so. Cholesterol is a little high, though. Steven hasn’t let me hear the end of that. There’s a lot more carrots in the house than I ever thought possible. Uh… Don’t tell Steven what we had for breakfast.” Marc moved their hand and scooped up the last bite of the eggs quickly. “If he asks, we got oatmeal.”
Jake smirked and pushed the empty plate aside. “Now and then isn’t bad. Gotta enjoy life a little. I’ll talk to him.”
“See? Saving us already.” Marc settled back, happy to let Jake take the front fully.
Jake sipped the coffee and slowly smiled. Maybe it was time to consider opening up communication more.
“Steven’s right, you know.” Jake reached for the creamer and sugar, sweetening up the coffee.
“Annoyingly.” Marc grumbled. “I try not to let him know that. Takes it to his head. What’s he right about this time?”
“He should know about our medical history. It’s his history too. Maybe if he knows it, he can handle it better when we need to do things like routine check ups and things.”
“Jake-” Marc started to protest.
“You can tell someone things without them knowing things.” Jake leaned back and stirred the coffee slowly, watching the cream swirl into the black till it mixed into a lighter brown. “How can he save us if he doesn’t know what he’s saving us from?”
Marc was quiet for a moment. “I’m having panic attacks again.” He cleared his throat, uncomfortable and nervous. He didn’t want to talk but he did all at the same time. There were some things he could never say aloud. Things that made him feel too vulnerable, weak, or damaged. Things he didn’t want Steven to see and things he struggled to keep inside.
Jake nodded and let Marc drift close enough to the front to feel comfortable enough to take the body if he wanted. “Merc times?”
“Yeah.” Marc was tense then slowly relaxed. “Yeah…”
“Wanna talk about it?” Jake tapped the spoon on the side of the mug then let his hands cup the mug, soaking in the heat till the body relaxed.
“It’s complicated… But… Yeah. Let’s talk.” Marc relaxed and talked.
Talking never came easy to him. It never came easy to Jake either. From an outsider’s view, a man sat silently alone in a booth with his cup of coffee and a far off look on his face.
Inside, words flowed in images, memories, emotions, and a hope that settled like a feather delicately in the wind.