capeandcowllogs | and the day has come where I have died

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and the day has come where I have died

WHO: BOB REYNOLDS and YOU! Visitors or patients or staff.
WHERE: Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychiatric Evaluation
WHEN: Monday (21st) - Friday (25th)
WARNINGS: Not much; expected mental illness mentions.
SUMMARY: Bob has left Avengers Mansion to take a break in a hospital, cold turkey.
FORMAT: Whatever.

It had been several days, now. Bob wasn't keeping track, really, they passed all the same, quiet and lonely and peaceful. Only Samson had been given forewarning for his "leave of absence" but since Bob had come here he had felt a cool weight lifted from him. The building that had created such anxiety within him before was just a building, and now that Samson was here Bob didn't worry that this building might hurt him. He didn't have to leave his room if he didn't want; he got a bed and a bookshelf and a glass wall that outlooked the hallway, which unsettled his sense of privacy but felt better, maybe, than being boxed in completely. He read newspapers and books and did jigsaw puzzles, adjusting to what it felt like again to sleep and eat and reside in an average, nothing special body.

He was just Robert Reynolds, here. Not the Sentry; his costume was gone in favor of something baggy and white, his muscles and shoulder length hair gone with it. Just Robert. Yes; a break, maybe, was exactly what he needed to feel like himself again.

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Working at the hospital had been Leonard's temporary solution, only intended for as long as having his own practice was unfeasible. He had become unaccustomed to the hospital side of medicine; the bureaucracy and the institutional approach to patients, and the necessity of having to seek approval for anything he wanted to do--but now that Bob was there, his work took on new importance. Bob's situation was perhaps as critical as Bruce's, and the similarities were impossible to ignore.

So far, everything seemed to be fine, which was encouraging--but it wasn't necessarily progress. Len knocked on the glass, out of courtesy.

Edited 2012-05-21 23:51 (UTC)

Bob glanced up from the book he was reading -- something he had found on the rec room's shelf, not anything he was attached to yet -- when he heard the knock, and for a moment wondered if he'd lost track of time. No; it was Dr. Samson. Seeing him there was Bob's chief relief at this hospital.

He waved. "Hi, doctor. Come on in."

"Actually, I was wondering--" Len paused to unlock the door, but stayed where he was-- "if you wouldn't mind walking with me." He gestured to the hall, back the way he came. He didn't mind the glass walls on principle (although the precaution didn't seem strictly necessary for Bob), but they weren't exactly ideal for therapy.

"Oh." Bob blinked at him, but stood slowly, putting his open book down on his bed. "Okay. Walking where?"

Not that the where really mattered, but asking questions sometimes helped ease Bob's mind. Leaving his room was hard even on his better days; being in semi-control -- or rather in semi-awareness -- of his environment made it easier.

"Just to my office," said Len, smiling over Bob's hesitation. It was important to make sure he was comfortable, but he couldn't stay in his room forever.

He started down the hall. "So how are you feeling?"

Bob nodded a little slowly, following Samson a step or two behind. Especially now, in his skinnier more human-like body, Bob was much smaller than him.

"I'm feeling all right," he said, a little simply. "I underestimated how much time I'd have alone with my thoughts. It's strange."

"I'm sure it's a huge adjustment after living in the mansion," Len glanced back at him. "Would you rather have less time?"

"I don't know. It isn't as bad, here. I think the medication is helping a little. I don't feel as... vulnerable," he said, hesitating a moment on the word he wanted to use.

"How is it working here so far?"

It always surprised Len when people asked him questions: not a classic of sarcasm like how does it make you feel, but something genuine. Even if it was just politeness, or a lack of anything else to say (which he suspected this was).

"It's great." He flashed a smile over his shoulder, albeit after a second's hesitation. "It's-- not what I'd choose to do if I had less limited resources, but given the circumstances, it's perfect."

Bob smiled back, feeling mildly comforted by that answer. He folded his arms behind his back, cupping each elbow with his palms, following Len quietly. He'd heard some bad things about this place -- some of the doctors that had been but no longer were -- but so far everything had been fine. All that bothered him so far was the clawing anxiety that came from abandoning the Sentry, however temporarily.

"I think that's how I feel about it too."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Len, and he meant it.

His office was fairly small, and everything in it gave the impression of having been settled for, or cobbled together, rather than chosen specifically: a plain bookcase, shelves empty but for a stack of notebooks and a metronome; a mismatched sofa and armchair; an empty end table; and plain, hospital-white blinds over the sole window.

"I feel like I'm just out of college, with a room like this," he joked, "but it could be worse. I've seen some of the other offices." He took the armchair for himself and gestured to the sofa. "I want to talk about your memory. What you don't remember, specifically. Would that be all right?"

Edited 2012-05-24 01:54 (UTC)

"You have plenty of time to decorate," Bob said, looking around the sparse room. He imagined soon at least the bookshelf would get filled, maybe some pictures would get put on the table or walls. He touched the metronome with one finger, not to stimulate it but just to unconsciously assure himself it was there -- it was a nice familiar touch to the office, a reminder he was here for help -- before he sat down on the sofa, hands folded together on his knees.

He nodded. "Do you mean -- do you mean here? Or in general?"

"Here." Len leaned over the arm of his chair to pull a notebook off the shelf. "You said before that you've woken up flying. Could you pick the most vivid instance of that and tell me everything you remember? Even if it doesn't seem important, like the weather."

Bob nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to remember. "It was about a year ago, I think. I was over the ocean... I'm not sure which one, and I didn't know what direction I was coming from. There was ash on my hands and it was dark."

He shook his head. "That's all I remember."

Well, that wasn't making it easy. Len nodded, quiet for a second. "When you got back, did you tell anyone? Or did anyone ask where you'd been?"

"No, I didn't." Bob shook his head quickly. "And no one did. I don't really talk to the Avengers much about... they get worried, and it's my problem. Only mine."

Or it should be. It wasn't always that simple, but he liked to imagine it was.

[ Jake had caught word of where Bob had ended up when he tried to contact him about the cat -- about Kottur -- and got a big ol' nothing in reply. He knew the Sentry could hear for miles, and the fact that he wasn't answering was nothing good.

And then he was here.

Jake covered himself up a little, hat pulled low down on his head and his posture hunched. He didn't want to be recognized, even if he knew Osborn didn't actively lurk the halls of this place, and even if he knew his face wasn't one that stood out.

Jake was led into the visiting area, finding Bob hunched over a puzzle -- if it was indeed Bob he was looking at. The hair was right, but Jake wasn't used to seeing him so small. ]

Bob. That you...?

[ Bob glanced up, brushing his bangs from his eyes as he did and smushing a corner-piece in place. He smiled slowly. ]

It is me -- hi. Thanks for visiting.

[ Jake couldn't share the smile, he dropped himself onto the chair opposite Bob, forearms resting on the table. ]

What are you doin' here, Bob?

I'm doing a puzzle. [ He pauses, realizing that was evasive, and puts another piece in. ] Taking a break, actually. Dr. Samson said it might be a good idea.

[ Jake sighed, reaching for a bit of the puzzle himself and idly toying with it. ] May be a good idea, but this ain't the place for it.

Why? [ He distracts himself with another puzzle piece, pushing the finished portions a little closer to Jake for ease; he turns the picture on the box cover a little as well. ] Everyone says this is the only one out there for [ He pauses. ] people like us.

I wanted some place strong enough to hold me.

[ Jake's brows tighten a little but he can't deny the implication, and he busies himself with trying to find a match to the puzzle piece he plucked up. ] That's the thing, they can hold you, and God knows what else.

That's a good thing, isn't it?

It could turn to a bad thing real fast.

I'm not sure I see how. I need a place that can hold me.

You have no idea what else they could do to you.

Maybe. I'm not sure, I think...

[ Okay are we doin' this? I think we're doing this. ]

Hey, man, I'm alive,
I'm taking each day and night at a time,
I'm feeling like a Monday but someday I'll be Saturday night.

[ Jake goes very still, gawking at Bob for a moment, and he intends to speak (to ask Bob if he was feeling okay) and what comes out instead makes his face even more pale ]

Hey, my name is Jake, where did I go wrong?
My life's a bargain basement, all the good shit's gone,
I just can't hold a job, where do I belong?
I'm sleeping in my car, my dreams move on.

[ oh. ]

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and the day has come where I have died

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reply in prose, almost immediately get down to one line anyway hehhhh

we do what we want

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I am seriously on hiatus after this THE SIREN'S SONG OF THE MUSICAL PLOT

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