gʀɑɦɑɱ ɦɑʆɗɑʀ, ɛรquiʀɛ (businesslike) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-02-04 22:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, jonathan harker, victor frankenstein |
Who: Harkenstein
What: Visiting Victor in rehab~
Where: Cushy personal room
When: Recently? January sometime, I think?
Rating/Warnings: Talk of addiction, nothing too bad
Status: Complete
California was not without its shortage of rehabilitation centers. There were several with distinct specialities, too, and when you were the son of rather well-to-do parents, you could afford ones in the top tier of things. Of course his parents were keen to help, and Victor had suffered through their worry and lecturing for his short hospital stay. He could only blame the dreams so much. He liked to believe that, in reality, he’d never put himself in such a position. Regardless, the secret was out. And if he wanted to keep his residency then he had to go through this. By good fortune, the program is not all that long. His in-house treatment should last a month at most, and then he’d be subject to further check-ins as he adjusted to his regular life. It was stupid. He thought the whole thing was stupid but he knew petulance would get him nowhere. At this particular center allowed him the use of the internet. Victor would go crazy otherwise. The visiting policy wasn’t too shabby, either. It was the first time in Victor’s life where he found himself looking forward to having company. He’d only been there a few days, too. God help him when he’d been there three weeks or more. Still, he waited patiently in the cozy armchair near a window, absently watching the sun set. By this point, the worst of his withdrawal symptoms had passed. His heartbeat still had increases that left him feeling breathless and anxious. Even now he felt abnormally warm. No aches or nausea, though, so he would at least manage a sensible visit once Jonathan arrived. Victor had (not so kindly) requested as few visitors as possible while in the hospital, so had yet to see his friend. It was going to be terribly awkward. Already, 2016 wasn’t off to the best start. But Jonathan could be a little biased because of the debacle wherein Zelda was possessed (dream baggage, as per usual) and went on a rampage near Midna’s place of employment - only for him to have to resort to biting her to stop her. The burn marks on his arms from her magic still hurt, and they were in the shape of fingerprints, but he wore a sweater to cover them up, usually. Then there was Victor. Jonathan knew he shouldn’t, but in a way he blamed himself - he had suspected something was going on there, that his friend was caught in a trap that would end up destroying him, but you can’t just force a person into rehab. Besides, he wasn’t even entirely certain - Victor kept his secrets and skeletons locked firmly away - and couldn’t simply go off a whim, or enhanced senses picking up on something amiss. But the hospital stay confirmed it, Victor scaring the shit out of him confirmed it, because what if he’d died of an overdose? What if he was gone for good, no take-back’s? Jonathan couldn’t face that. It wasn’t right, wasn’t his time to go. There was still a lot to be done. He showed up as the sun sank below the horizon, eager to see Victor - it had been hard to respect his wishes to not go to the hospital, but he’d managed. In the doorway he stood, somewhat awkwardly. “Soap making offer’s still there. Mostly because this year is already fired.” “I’ll pack my bags once I’m out.” Victor let go of a sigh, a resigned sort of exhale. He prided himself on keeping things together, and here he was. Decidedly not keeping it together. He turned to look at Jonathan, glad he’d always looked a bit on the consumptive side so Jonathan couldn’t tell him he looked like shit. His hand motioned to the other empty chair. “I suppose I don’t need to ask how you are. We can skip the uncomfortable small talk and lapse right into the uncomfortable silence.” “It doesn’t matter how I am,” and yes, maybe he always looked somewhat dead (pale and dark forest eyes ringed with shadows beneath, no matter how much he slept) but he physically felt fine. If worried out of his gourd. Instead of sitting right away, he went over to Victor and, not too proud to hug him, gave him one - he didn’t know how long it had been since someone actually hugged the man, but Jonathan had known him awhile and it felt like they’d been to hell and back since dreaming. Living here would do that to you. “I know you might say I’m being dramatic or something, but can you please never scare me like that again?” he asked, holding him with a certain amount of strength - not bone crushing, of course, but looks were deceiving when it came to Meeeester Haaaarker’s tall, sleek form. The myth that vampires cried blood wasn’t exactly true with him, but they were a bit misty at the moment; it couldn’t be helped. Victor felt like he was drowning in hugs. His mother had all but smothered him before his father reminded her that Victor was ‘fragile’ and she should give him some space. He was getting quite good at just letting people get the hug out of their systems. For Jonathan, though, he even gave his friend a slight pat on the back. “In my incredibly minimal defense, it wasn’t because of something I had taken when I was awake. It may have been a slight addition to the cause, but I’m going to go against everything I stand for and say it was dream Victor’s doing. Not my own.” He shrugged. As far as Victor was concerned, he was fine, and didn’t belong there. Then again, he figured that was maybe how the majority of addicts thought. Each of the other patients most likely that the same thing, once. “In any case, the hope is that it won’t rather be a problem once I’m through with this, will it?” Minimal defense was right. But there was no need to re-hash all that - part of the reason why it was so difficult to get people into rehab willingly was that they had to acknowledge they had a problem, and acknowledge that they wanted to change. Which was never easy for anyone, but here, Victor had a lot to live for - a lot to fight for. Hopefully that would be enough. He’d never really be ‘cured,’ but addiction wasn’t about that anyway. There was no magical fix for it. Whatever happened though, he had a friend who would stick by him, that was a promise not so easily unwound. “I’d say the addition was more than slight, but you’re alive. That’s what matters. And no, of course it won’t be a problem.” Jonathan finally sat down, getting comfortable in one of the chairs. “I just want you around, that’s all. At my wedding. When it finally happens.” Victor bypassed any conversation regarding his own well being and focused in on that last statement. He snorted, eyebrows raising as he looked across at Jonathan. “Wedding?” The thought seemed funny to him, so he couldn’t help but laugh. “You and Vlad are going to get married? What would dream Jonathan have to say about that?” “Probably nothing good,” Jonathan laughed a little too. But it was another time, another place - things were different, and he was happy here. He didn’t know why this reality was shifted so drastically, such a stark contrast to the dreary existence he had come to remember - but he knew who he loved, there and here, and that was what mattered to him. He let out a sigh, relaxing a little in the chair. Or as much as he was able to - Victor’s well being would remain at the forefront of his mind, he could multi-focus. “It’s important to me, so it’s...important to him. That’s what you do when you love someone, or so I hear. What about you, would dream Victor make a face at you being with Ethan? Or remain impassive?” There would probably be a blink. Maybe a grimace. Hard to say for sure. Love. Victor had never given the idea of it much thought, beyond the poetry he took such joy in reading. Perhaps that’s why he liked it - love was a foreign topic to him, and the words unfolded like short mysteries of life waiting to be solved. Even in his dreams, the concept was unknown. It frightened him and he had given himself over to it, only to have it turn on him. What a fickle thing. Instead of speaking about any of that, Victor raised his eyebrows. There was a thoughtful hum, almost derisive in nature. “Oh, he would hardly be impassive. Perplexed and bothered, most likely. There were moments in these last dreams where we nearly decided we could be friends, but we refuse to see eye to eye. And given everything with Lily - Brona - it’s all rather complicated.” Too complicated. More complicated than reanimating a corpse out to be. “Right, that does seem complicated. At least here Ethan seems to be willing to leave what happened in the dreams, in the dreams,” Jonathan said. “It’s not as if we can really change what happened.” If anyone could, they’d be the richest person in all of Orange County. But the truth of the matter, stark and cold, was that ‘it is what it is’ - none of them had asked for this, they just had to figure out how to balance everything which was the tricky task. For him especially - multiple versions of the same story were irritating at best. He folded his hands in his lap, long fingers clasping and unclasping. “Do you need anything?” he asked Victor. “Besides all the business transactions for the new house, which I’m taking care of.” It was the least he could do. “I need to not be here,” was Victor’s cool reply. But he sighed once he said it and slumped in his chair, every bit as petulant and stubborn as he’d ever been. It was hard for him to be on the verge of scientific break through, but unable to follow through given his predicament. Rehab centres didn’t exactly facilitate reanimation of the dead. The only good thing about it - if anything good could happen from this endeavour - was that it kept Victor busy. His mind was fully preoccupied with equations and probabilities and notes that he scarcely thought about morphine. It was his sole motivation to push through his treatment and all the steps and counseling. If anyone thought otherwise, then clearly they had a very wrong impression about what sort of man Victor Frankenstein was. “Speaking of - Ethan wants to help, I think. I suspect he feels useless and if you could ask him to join you once or twice, it would be very much appreciated.” Jonathan smiled a little, fondly. “Besides that,” he allowed, because rehab wasn’t exactly the best place to be. It wasn’t really a vacation by any means. “But sure, I’ll give Ethan a call,” he promised. “He probably feels useless just because he cares about you so much..” And he liked Ethan, who reminded him so much of the elder Quincey - with his big heart, and even the accent, same southern twang to it. Besides, Jonathan thought that Victor could use a couple of people who were so caring in his life; in that regard, Ethan was very good for him. “Hopefully my undead stench won’t offend him too much.” Vampires and werewolves didn’t notoriously get along, but it didn’t seem to matter here. “He didn’t seem to have any problem with it. I do spend my entire days with dead people, if the stench of death was a problem I’d have known for some time.” Victor’s lips quirked up. A little bit. “But let’s maybe try to find something somewhat less grim and more socially acceptable to talk about.” “Fair enough,” he slung his chin in acknowledgment. A pleasant visit would be nice - there was already enough strife and hardship to weigh the atmosphere down already. Jonathan wouldn’t add to it, not with someone he considered a very close friend. |