[open, backdated to May] like i'm losing my mind

[superposition]

Who: Qubit, open
What: Belated amnesia shenanigans! Watch Qubit steadily grow more and more frustrated-
When: month of May 2020
Where: around Anchor
Warnings: TBD

01 | try { qubit = new Identity(); }

[ So, Qubit's behavior has taken a turn for the weird.

For one thing, residents get to see a lot more of him over the month of May, because he's started living out of an actual dorm instead of his lab. The more astute may notice what he's not doing. He's not performing maintenance, or doing lab experiments... or showing up for meals reliably.

His ability to sit still already wasn't stellar, but now it's more pronounced. You might catch him coming and going at odd hours, or pacing the halls muttering to himself, or taking notes on a pad of paper with a pen.

He even looks slightly different. His hair, for one - there was already some variation in his signature quiff from day to day, but now they're not as tall, the styling is a little more experimental, and whatever kind of product he's using doesn't hold quite as well.

But perhaps the most obvious indicator something's wrong: he's occasionally wearing colors other than green. ]

02 | while (true) { read(); }

[ One place he ends up pretty regularly, though, is the library. He's found he hates the feeling of not knowing things, and this leads him to devour pretty much any book he can find that has to do with science. Physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy, anything. He piles them high and reads them quickly, impatient to get to the next one.

They're somewhat advanced texts - university level, certainly - but not advanced enough that they'd be useful to him under normal circumstances. Even then, he's not finding it easy to focus. It's like his mind wants to absorb information faster than his eyes can serve it up, and because of that, it's latching on to every distraction it can find. Even if you think you're being quiet, anyone who dawdles more than a minute or two will be getting an irritated glare and a stern reprimand. ]

Would it kill you to keep it down?

03 | catch GatewayFailedException e { Gateway.lockdown(); }

[ Inevitably, though, he eventually finds his way back to R&D. He may poke around in unlocked areas to get a feel for the place, but his primary target is one lab in particular: the one that he's determined is his.

He thought it would be relatively simple. Sure, he can't remember any of his passcodes, but his biometrics haven't changed. Of course, nothing can ever be that easy - the thumbprint scanner works, but the keypad locks him out after a few random passcode attempts, prompting a sigh and some more self-directed muttering. ]

Suppose I should've expected that. Fine, Plan B it is.

[ It's an electronic lock, after all. He may not be clear on how to create anything with this power of his, but he's remarkably good at breaking shit, and for once that may actually come in handy. A moment's concentration, a wave of his hand, a brief cascade of blue light, and the mechanism comes away from the door in pieces, which clatter onto the floor as he releases them.

Did it work? He actually looks hopeful for a second... until the door emits a quick series of loud ker-thunks, and he realizes with sudden dismay that that's the sound of more locks engaging. ]

A fail-safe...?!

[ He might need some help. ]

[ OR: PM or hit me up on Discord (Kae#6067) for plotting or another prompt! ]

Comments

[abheirrant]

[Qubit does have a point there. He follows Qubit's gaze to the rows of plants, each one neatly trimmed and well-kept. They look far livelier than the man who tends to them. He hesitates, feeling guilty for his avoidance.]

You are currently more in need than I am, but... I appreciate your concern. It's—

[His expression falters with a tinge of uncertainty.]

It's... nice to be asked. [He says that as though he's only just now realizing it himself.] I think there were times before you cared more about solving the dilemma I present, as though that were all I needed. And maybe you were right, smart as you are. Maybe that would have made everything suddenly fine, but—

[He shakes his head, unsure of how to vocalize exactly what he's feeling. It's more difficult these days, as are so many things, but in all fairness, he's never been that good at expressing how he feels when it comes to himself.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit looks up at him, pensive. That frustration - having it on the tip of your tongue, yet not being able to verbalize it - is one he's become very familiar with lately. ]

- but the point is, I never asked.

[ He still isn't sure what the dilemma is, but from context he's starting to piece together an outline. It's related to Carlisle's magic, but also has a psychological dimension. At some point, maybe more than once, it's caused him to lash out violently at Qubit. This is what Carlisle needs his help with. And whatever it is, it's probably had him stumped for close to a year.

And if there's anything Qubit knows about himself, it's that he doesn't handle frustration well. The rest, he can extrapolate. He fixated on the parts of the problem he did understand, because he couldn't just do nothing. But in doing so, he ignored anything he couldn't quantify. Such as, say, magic. Or emotion. ]

I never asked you what you needed. Just acted like I had all the answers.

[abheirrant]

[He pushes a sigh through his nose.]

You once did ask me what I needed, but admittedly, it may have been a question born of desperation rather than concern. We were both out of our element, drawn into a red shift, and it was made clear that for all your quick thinking, even you hadn't all the answers. You snapped at me in a way I hadn't seen before, and it was evident that with my tenuous grasp on my energies, I was more a danger to you than anything else. You would have preferred me to remain quiet while you thought of a solution to our predicament rather than allowing me the agency to choose for myself.

[So much had come to the light that day in the shift, but they still hadn't bothered to address it all after the fact. Qubit hadn't even wanted to talk about the painting, the place, the skeletons and the person who'd brought them there — he'd only done so when it was evident he couldn't get away without acknowledging his connection to them, and perhaps even then, it was only because he felt he owed Carlisle an explanation of some sort. As for the clergyman himself, he hadn't pressed further after that. He didn't feel he had the right to, as Qubit had never done so regarding Carlisle's frustration with his own undead state. When it came to their individual quandaries, they'd touch on them, and then move onto the next problem, not delving any further than surface level at any given time. They would never talk about the deep-seated roots of said issues after the moment had passed — not like this. It wasn't the immediate dilemma, and if it didn't threaten Anchor at large, it didn't matter if they put it off, did it?

One would think after a lifetime of that exact practice — of burying his insecurities, hiding them behind a mask for the sake of his lineage, letting them fester in his heart until they poisoned him even beyond death — Carlisle would know better.]

You didn't trust me that day, and I cannot say I blame you for that. Even now, I wonder why it was you agreed to help me with a magical problem so beyond your scope. Magic was unquantifiable, unverifiable, frustrating for you, and yet you insisted you could and would help me. I was grateful, but I never thought to ask you why you felt you could. Maybe you saw me as a challenge. Maybe you saw me as a problem needing to be fixed for the good of everyone else rather than an individual. I think that's how I've been seeing myself for far too long.

[Perhaps they are both insecure, worried what the other would think, only allowing themselves that honest expression when they've lost their composure. Maybe they haven't wanted to face the truth themselves: that they don't like seeing their own weaknesses laid bare. Qubit is — was — better at hiding his, whether it's because he's better practiced or not constantly at odds with an undead nature that colors his perception of everything around him. How much of the Qubit he used to be was the mask, and how much did Carlisle really know about him?

With whatever experiences that so tempered his pride lost to him, Qubit has now had to ask for help. He's vulnerable, and Carlisle cares too much for the man — his friend — to simply let him be. Ignoring their own problems and focusing on others has done little to help either of them. They may not be able to help anyone until they help themselves.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit's quiet for a while, pressing his fingers to his mouth, looking over the garden without really seeing it. This all tracks, that's what gets to him. He asked for Carlisle's input only when he had no other option. He wanted to fix everything himself, even if it meant robbing Carlisle of agency in his own life.

Like everything else, it doesn't paint the Qubit-that-was in a very flattering light. He wants to believe he genuinely cared about Carlisle, but what evidence is there to support that? Admittedly, he was having similar doubts last night - Does Carlisle actually care about me, or does he just need something from me? But whatever Carlisle needs, it's not something he can get from Qubit, that's become abundantly clear.

What about the reverse, though? Did Qubit actually care, or did he just need something from Carlisle? ]

... Well, I can't tell you for certain what was in my head. Obviously. But I know how I see you now. [ He pauses, then shrugs helplessly. ] Maybe that's still useful? I mean, it's the same head.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's head tilts in Qubit's direction, his eyes trailing back to him as he ponders if he actually wants to hear Qubit's opinion of him. Granted, as Qubit said, it wouldn't be the same was what it once was, when he knew — or thought he knew — everything, but maybe it is still useful. For all he knows, this opinion may vanish the moment Qubit regains his memory, left unsaid and never to be spoken.

If nothing else, Carlisle finds himself undeniably curious.]

It is the same head. A little less kempt, but the same head nonetheless.

[A beat as he allows his contemplation to come to a decision.]

You once asked me what sort of man I would say you are. I meant every word I said that day. Perhaps what you think of me will change when you once again know who you are, but... tell me, if you would.

[superposition]

[ Qubit glances up at the bird's nest on his head, but doesn't comment. Okay, sure, taking potshots at his hair, that doesn't surprise him much.

What does surprise him is Carlisle reaffirming what he said before, because that's a puzzle piece he can't slot neatly into place. The glowing assessment of his character doesn't even mesh with his behavior in the past twenty-four hours, much less in the months before all this. He's been trying to work out an explanation, without success. It's not that Carlisle's delusional, or that he's been fooled by Qubit's persona. He's not lying or sucking up. Somehow, in spite of everything he's found out about Qubit, in spite of how badly Qubit's treated him - that's still Carlisle's honest opinion.

It's absolutely baffling. He can't explain it, any more than he explain how Carlisle heats his tea.

He'll have to table that for now, though - at least some of it. It has reminded him of something he ought to address. ]

... I think you mean, "when I know who you are."

[ He's wording it carefully, keeping his tone even, nonjudgmental. But unlike other times he's used that tone of voice, it's not to handle Carlisle with kid gloves - he just wants to be sure he doesn't misspeak, and as he elaborates, it soon goes back to his normal cadence. ]

It's like you said, back then. This is just my opinion, based on what I've seen, and what you've chosen to show me. I know there's a lot you don't want to tell me about yourself - and that's fine! That's your right.

[ He's particularly emphatic about that. Unlike last night, he has zero intention of holding Carlisle upside-down and shaking him until tragic backstory comes out. Boundaries mean something. ]

But it's information I used to know. And I treated you differently then. Is that fair to say?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle nods. He can tell Qubit is careful with his words, like someone actually concerned for how he might take them. It's not about fear or mitigating a bad reaction that could set off his necrotic energies so much as... invested in his feelings. It's not a tone he thought he'd ever hear from Qubit in earnest.]

That's fair, yes. Not- not that you treated me entirely different, mind you, but—

[He sighs again, trying to figure out what it is he's wanting to say.]

It... wasn't like this. We could sit and have tea, and talk for hours, but we'd discuss magic and machines. Aspects of our individual worlds. People we once knew rather than ourselves. And no matter what, you always knew more about me than I did you.

[And as someone who spent his whole life like that, with people knowing who he was and what he'd done and what he'd failed to do, it was equal parts familiar and frustrating. He was in an entirely different world, and still he was occasionally treated like the threat he'd always thought he was in life, like the monster he truly is in undeath beneath all his layers. If he couldn't see himself as any better than that, then why should anyone else?]

The very first time I met you, you figured out something about me that even I did not yet know. That seemed to be the case so often — that anything I had to hide, you'd figure it out soon enough anyway. We never needed to talk about it. Maybe that's why you never felt you ought to reciprocate. It was fine that you knew all about me, but me knowing about you was unacceptable, as though I would use it against you.

[superposition]

[ In short, Qubit had his secrets, but Carlisle wasn't allowed his. Anything Qubit wanted to know, he could deduce on his own, but not vice versa. ]

That's hardly fair.

[ Understating the obvious, of course. It means their relationship was fundamentally unequal, and apparently Qubit had been fine with that. What need was he using Carlisle to fulfill? It didn't have to be tangible. Mental stimulation, maybe? A problem to solve, a curiosity to explore?

(A sinner to redeem? A pawn to manipulate? A lackey to control?)

For some reason, that last detail sticks in his mind. "As though I would use it against you." He does have enemies here, though he's so far managed to avoid any run-ins. Because of that, he's been trying to keep his condition quiet, to hide his weakness from people who would take advantage of it. But why treat your allies the same way? Is he that paranoid? Or... is there actually a reason?

Table that, too. Stay on topic. It's not all about you. ]

For what it's worth, I'm sorry. [ A beat, then a short, voiceless chuckle through his nose. ] Suppose this levels the playing field a bit, though.

[abheirrant]

A bit, yes.

[Though that very thought makes Carlisle uncomfortable, his proclivity for guilt weighing on him. He shouldn't be grateful for the chance to see Qubit in such a vulnerable, humanizing state — to connect with him on a more personal level, to actually see behind that mask he wears. And yet, Carlisle cannot fully deny that's exactly what he is: glad Qubit comes for tea, glad Qubit needs his assistance for a change, glad for the opportunity to help Qubit as though it'd somehow erase some of his transgressions.

He sets his eyes on the field, watching as one of the cows in the far distance makes her way underneath the ribs of the Thing in the Fields, scratching her sides on the splintered bones.]

Well? Are you going to tell me what you think of me, or not?

[superposition]

[ defensively - ] I'm getting to it!

[ IT'S HARD, OKAY? He just wants to be as clear and precise and unambiguous as possible. He wants to be sure Carlisle won't misunderstand, or read his fears into it, or -

- oh. He's doing it again, isn't he.

He takes a deep breath. Just be honest, Qubit. Say what you mean. He'll believe you, or he won't, but the choice is up to him, not you. ]

You have shown me... so much kindness, these past few weeks. You've opened your home to me. Whenever I show up unannounced, you drop what you're doing and give me your undivided attention. And you never ask for anything in return. I... without your support all this time, I don't know what I'd have done. [ Something reckless, probably. ]

I think you are... a man who carries a great deal of sorrow. A great deal of pain. [ Physical and otherwise. ] I think you doubt yourself, and don't give yourself enough credit for your strengths. And - and I don't just mean your intellect or your skills, I mean - that kindness, that compassion. You're weighted down by your own burdens, yet you've chosen to help me shoulder mine. That takes a kind of strength that... [ he's not sure he has himself. ] It takes enormous strength.

[ Qubit looks up, finally making eye contact, his voice earnest. ]

You're a good friend, Carlisle. Probably better than I deserve. I trust you with my life. Whatever I may have thought of you before... the way I've treated you...

[ He sighs, running a hand through his tangled hair. ]

It was wrong. You deserve so much better.

[abheirrant]

[That was far more than Carlisle was expecting; it's far more than he thinks he deserves, and far more than he thinks he's ever deserved. He wants to doubt it immediately, as not only is it in his nature to do so, but this is Qubit, a man who knows better, who has so many secrets of his own —

A man who used to have so many secrets. He's a man who now knows none of those, his own or otherwise. He has no preconceptions of what Carlisle ought to be — only what he's witnessed and experienced in the past weeks. None of what he said is untrue: Carlisle has opened his home to him at all times, dropped everything he was doing to help Qubit in any way. He carries his sorrows and the pains of sins he cannot forget at all times, as though he could find redemption for them at any given moment; he doubts himself, and always has. It's hard not to when one comes from his world, enduring a lifetime of the taboos and superstitions surrounding his affliction. He's watched them tarnish his family's reputation, been rendered incapable of restoring it on his own. As the last of his line, he let them all down. People trusted him in a professional capacity, but never a personal one. After all, why would anyone trust him when he so often didn't trust himself?

He's wondered about that in Anchor, too. Some trust him because they knew another Carlisle, a man from another world and time so divorced from the abomination he is now that it's nigh impossible to think of as having ever been the same person. Others trust him because they know what he is beneath his layers, but they don't know the true extent of the horrors of which he's capable. It must be pity, he assumes. That doubt creeps in about Qubit before him: if Qubit knew, he wouldn't trust him, either. The old Qubit didn't for a reason.

... But he did. Perhaps not in the capacity Carlisle would have liked, but he must have in some way. The only reason this Qubit before him trusted him in the first place, before he even knew his name, was that the old Qubit told Carlisle he'd return within a day. He deliberately made sure Carlisle knew that, and would expect him to call so that if the worst were to happen, someone would know — someone who would care.

No, perhaps they weren't honest-to-goodness friends in the way someone else might think, but that had to mean something. It certainly does to Carlisle. They were friends enough. He doesn't have the heart to think otherwise when such a gesture has come to mean so much to him, much like the friendship of this Qubit he never knew before. This Qubit came to him for help, looks to him not just as clergy or a Longinmouth or as someone who will keep his secrets the way Qubit has kept his, but as someone he undeniably trusts with his very being.

Carlisle removes his glasses, pawing at his eyes. It's a reflexive gesture as he's not crying, but he certainly looks as though he ought to be.]

I— [A laugh escapes him, one uncertain, but genuine, as though he's not sure how to process what he's feeling.] I cannot say I expected all of that. Or any of it.

[He shakes his head, the bitterness that animates him seeping into his veins. Qubit wouldn't think so highly of him if he knew. Qubit wouldn't see him so charitably then. He couldn't possibly—]

I- I honestly don't know if I deserved better from you. Not with what you knew of me. I feel as- I feel as though I've deceived you in some way, that you only believe me strong because you have not seen me at my weakest. Such weaknesses defined my life, what I am now, and I—

[His brow knits, his eyes squeezing shut as a tremor runs through him. Stop that. Qubit doesn't deserve his doubt — he has enough of that for himself to deal with these days. Carlisle lets out another single, rueful laugh as he returns his gaze to his friend.]

Forgive me. That would be the doubt you mentioned. As always, your assessments are accurate.

[He returns his glasses to his face, feeling more human with them on. He's certain for a moment that he feels his heart beat, but that must just be the intensity of emotion riling his energies, pooling in his chest. It's warm against the chill of undeath, and for a moment, he feels alive.]

I know not if I will ever see myself how you see me, but... I will try. To hear such sentiments from you means more to me than I can put into words. Thank you.

[superposition]

[ The strength of Carlisle's reaction is surprising. He'd just wanted it to reach him, he didn't mean to bring him (almost) to tears. Did he overdo it? Did he say too much? But - it's all true, though. It's what he feels. If anything, words don't express it strongly enough. He cares about Carlisle now, and he'll be damned if he lets regaining his memory strip him of that.

It's a huge relief to see Carlisle accept it. Catches on his self-doubt on the way down, of course, but - he accepts that it's Qubit's honest opinion of him. More than that, though, it's touching that it means so much - as much, it seems, as Carlisle's high esteem means to him.

In the end, Qubit's only response is to smile. It's a kind of smile Carlisle probably hasn't seen often - not the wild grin of the mad scientist, or the knowing smirk of the silver-tongued schemer, or even the melancholy, nostalgic smile he's worn, once or twice, reminiscing about old friends. It's a sincere, wholehearted smile, warmed from within by something he recognizes at once, even though it's a rare visitor.

Hope.

Not just in himself, either. He sees it in Carlisle, too, for the first time he can remember. (Maybe the first time, period.) And that... that feels right, somehow. As if, just maybe, it's what he should have been going for all along.

It can't really be that easy?

It often is when you find your true calling.

... Well, maybe that's a bit melodramatic. He pats Carlisle gently on the shoulder, then stands and stretches out his back. A bit stiff, for some inexplicable reason! ]

I'd better snag something to eat. Do you want anything?

[ The answer is always no, Qubit, why do you keep asking. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle shakes his head, still wearing a smile of his own; it reaches above his mask, pushing at the skin around his glowing eyes, making itself known despite how little of him is visible.]

No, no thank you.

[Just as Qubit expected. Carlisle does like to be asked, though.]

I will come with you though, if you don't mind. The walk would be good for me, as is the company.

[He tucks his journal and pen into the satchel sitting on the ground, hoisting the strap over his shoulder as he straightens up. He may have moved to the barn to get away from people, but sometimes, maybe people is what he actually needs. Maybe they could all use someone sometimes — the trick is allowing themselves to have that, to let people in, and to trust not only each other, but themselves.

It's a process, one they'll take day by day, as they are with many things. For the time being, they can focus on food — and making sure Qubit gets enough sleep from now on.]