weathertop | darling it's better down where it's wetter

darling it's better down where it's wetter

It's been a day, it's been a day, it's been a whole damn day -- as near as it's possible to tell in this soggy excuse for a city. It's been a day since he killed Fontaine. And Jack is no closer to getting out. He's still down here. He did everything he was supposed to do and he's still down here.

All he's found is locked-down bathyspheres. Broken submarines. Even the goddamn boats are out of service. Where's Tenenbaum? Where's his fucking rescue?

Jack stares about into the greenish gloom, checks the ammo in his pistol, and then kicks and yanks off the rusting panel of a vending machine. His hands are soon full of little wires and pipes. A few seconds later, he straightens up with a grunt, and the machine gives him a tidy discount on a couple glowing hypos of EVE.

With his visit extended indefinitely, he's begun to wonder how many of them are left.

Now arbitrarily divided into chapters!
Part One: A Scene at the Rapture Adoption Agency ~or~ You Found [Pot of Ham]!
Part Two: Come On-A My House, I'm Gonna Give-A You Candy ~or~ Sinclair? More Like Sin Pantalones!
Part Three: Dream Sequences are a Fresh New Concept in Fiction ~or~ It's My Existential Trauma and I'll Cry if I Want To
Part Four: Southern Education Jokes ~or~ Engineer, Engifar, Engiwherever You Are ~or~ The Grave Escape
Part Five: Golfing Accident Memoirs ~or~ Mom... Dad... I'm Immortal ~or~ How To Make Friends And Immolate People
Part Six: Is It A Pie? Is It A Plane?? ~or~ Two's Company, Three's a Row
Part Seven: Escort Missions! In Rapture! Council's In An Uproar ~or~ Bioshock: Cheesecake Edition
Part Eight: Bread, Milk, BATTLE! ~or~ Pleasant Conversations, How They Bore Me
Part Nine: Choices, Schmoices ~or~ Baby's First Moral Philosophy ~or~ Go Away I Want To Take A Damn Bath
Part Ten: A Man Snoozes; A Slave Delays ~or~ The Four Second Rule Applies To Drugs
Part Eleven: A Hearty Meal ~or~ Skeletons In The-- That's Not A Closet
Part Twelve: We All Live in a Secret Submarine ~or~ Plasmids: Not Even Once
Part Thirteen: Paging Dr Tenenbaum To Surgery ~or~ Bribery And Deduction
Part Fourteen: The Prodigal Son Returns

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"What was I supposed to do?" Sinclair nearly snaps, but reels his tone back in just in time. "The kid was shaking like a leaf, looked about ready to fall over any second. He needed the boost, I couldn't have kept him here if I wanted to."

He stops, exhales.

"Please, Doc. I...found out a few things I probably ought to've left well enough alone. Some things I need to ask you about. Both of us could use your help right about now, I will make it up to you."

"I will help, but I must know his symptoms."

She's already trying to help, if he'd actually give her anything specific to work with, jesus christmas. Tenenbaum is 300% done and rising.

"And then you will tell me what 'few things' you mean." Because that. Sounds bad. Quite, quite bad.

Sinclair breathes out in relief. She said she'll help, that's a step in the right direction.

"Well there's the shaking," he says, focusing on a spot on the carpet as he tries to recollect everything he can. "The shaking gets pretty bad. He gets quiet and irritable. Well." Ha. "Quieter and more irritable," he laughs.

Oh and the highlight of all of it-- "We were on our way back in just this afternoon and he nearly collapsed on a wall, turned white as a sheet, slow reaction time, seemed like everything was taking him a whole lot of effort."

There, are you happy?

Not particularly, no.

Lots of things could cause tremors, from ADAM withdrawal to the absolutely abysmal diet and hydration Jack partakes of. Quiet and irritable... hah. But a worry, if it's beyond the norm. Collapsing and poor responses... oh lord. Again, a few possibilities, some less innocent than others.

"What did he seem? Ah..." for example "tired? He had nausea? Or he was distracted, maybe?"

"I can't speak to the nausea," he tells her, "he didn't mention any of that. He seemed, uh... far away, I suppose you could say. Distant. Unfocused. But when we had to get up and move again he seemed alright. Not tip top shape, but he was moving."

He's not really sure what the question here is. Jack needs ADAM. Tenenbaum said it herself, these are withdrawals. The answer to that is ADAM. It's that simple.

Well Sinclair can just suck it up, because Tenenbaum's questions haven't finished yet.

"And the shaking, this is the only physical sign?"

"You mean..." Sinclair starts, but shakes his head. That's something he doesn't particularly care to think about, that's the stuff he's trying to prevent here. The physical signs that you can't turn back from.

"...Yes, that's everything. Listen, all he needs is just a little more ADAM now and again to make up for what he doesn't get from your girls anymore. He'll be fine if he can just get a little extra."

Yes, she does mean. Don't pussy out, Sinclair, it's just a bit of hideous mutation.

And it's good. It's good that there's no mutation. At worst Jack is in early stages and will eventually mutate, fall into insanity and die; at best he may get no worse than he is now. But that's a pretty huge range of possibilities. Tenenbaum wishes it weren't all so theoretical.

Although that would've meant even more human guinea pigs back in the day, so she tries not to wish it too hard.

Meanwhile, her doneness reaches 400% and keeps going.

"Which of us is called 'doctor', Mr Sinclair?" she says sharply. "I will tell you what he needs, and you will stop to be impatient. I am a small bit familiar with the working of ADAM."

Wow, cool it there Frau Doktor.

Sinclair takes a moment to recompose himself, aware that his tone was beginning to border desperate. It's not that he's frustrated with Tenenbaum, but if Jack doesn't get the ADAM he needs, he'll... change. Irreversibly. And they're too late in the game to start dealing with that. They need to stop it now.

"I'm aware of that, Doctor. ...I would very much prefer not to have this conversation over a radio."

And the near-desperation is strange. Is Jack really that vital to Sinclair's escape plan, to make him care so much?

Whatever's going on, Tenenbaum is very interested in helping for her own reasons. It's not every day you accidentally doom your estranged not-really-son to a chance at turning into Toasty.

"Then I will come in person. You are--"

"Mama Tenenbaum!" They've been interrupted by a squeaking door and a squeakinger voice. "Mama Tenenbaum, Mary won't give me back my--"

"One moment, child." Tenenbaum fakes patience, although she's pretty sure she deserves a medal for not yelling at anyone who steps in the room at this point. "You are in your home?" she repeats to the radio.

"Mama Tenen--"

"Shush."

"I'm here," he confirms. "For the rest of the evening most likely, although the sooner the better. I'm not sure how much of this stuff the kid will appreciate us discussing."

Good to know you have his best interests at heart, or something.

"Expect me soon, then. I will leave--"

"Mama Tenenbaaaaaaaaum!"

"--the moment I can."

And then they can discuss... whatever this is. Pretty much everything about the way Sinclair references it puts a weight of foreboding in Tenenbaum's chest.

Sinclair cuts off the transmission, laughing. She definitely has her hands full over there, he's not envious of that at all.

He puts on a fresh pot of coffee and washes up the dishes in the sink to kill time until Tenenbaum arrives. It'll be easier to talk to her in person, when he can read her face, when he has more of a reason to keep his own expression in check.

It takes some time and diplomatic ability to sort out the girls' quarrel, neither of which Tenenbaum has very much of. And she has two new children to check on, mercifully both still sleeping -- it pains her to leave them, because the first day or two after being cured is always rough, but this is an emergency. And then she also has to locate her shoes, which have found their way into the sparse dress-up box again, and make the children promise faithfully to do their schoolwork while she's out (maybe half of them will), before she finally gets out of the door.

P A R E N T H O O D

Maybe twenty minutes after the call ended, she hits Sinclair's doorbell. It's not been so long -- probably Jack won't have returned. But she still can't help looking over her shoulder.

C'mon, hurry up and answer before a splicer tries to eat her or something.

He's at the door in seconds, not having much else to do once he's finished with the few tasks he had set himself to.

The door swings open and he sweepingly invites her in, quickly shutting it behind her. He doesn't want the splicers to eat him either.

"Thanks again, doc," he says. "Would you care for some coffee?"

They've finally found something they can agree on!

"I would very much."

Not that looking after 74384358 young children on her own is tiring or anything ha ha ha...

"He is still out?"

Sinclair nods, wandering back into the kitchen. "I think after everything, he could probably do with some time to himself. It's been...a rough day. Cream and sugar?"

Yeah, between the withdrawal and Sinclair's unwelcome discovery it sounds like it has. Tenenbaum nods solemnly and fully intends to find out every detail.

And braces herself for an equally rough evening, because really, there are only so many terrible secrets to find out about Jack Ryan. And Sinclair's right. He should leave them well enough alone.

"Please. A little of both."

Living in the lap of luxury here, aren't you, Sinclair. Having fewer hungry mouths and freer trade access probably doesn't hurt.

She doesn't say anything else straight away, still going over the symptoms in her head. Shaking, collapse and lack of focus, and more... she's going to have to have a look at him in person as soon as possible. God, of all the things that might have failed, the safeguards against splicing degeneration...

A little of both it is, and Sinclair hands her her cup, silently leading them both back to the study again. If Jack walks in, he doesn't want to risk being overheard from the door.

Where to begin?

"...Do you think you'll be able to afford him the extra ADAM?"

"Perhaps yes."

She sits, warms her hands on the coffee mug.

"I will first examine him."

There's no way to adequately explain this to Sinclair, but she's not yet convinced that more ADAM is what he needs. And if he does... well, that gives her yet another reason to feel sick with the knowledge that he's out there looking for it.

That's fair enough, he supposes, even if he doesn't understand her reasoning very well at all.

But who knows when Jack will return, and they can't just sit in silence forever. And wow, does Sinclair ever have some questions.

"We, um--"

Okay, awkward take-off, if you're going to talk about this you need to commit. Come on, Sinclair.

"We were out today, the kid and I were," he gestures vaguely at the door as if Jack were about to come through at any second. "It was something of a learning experience for me."

He laughs, trying to keep the conversation genial, but. He remembers Jack's fury, finding him in that room, the look on his face. How much he wished that hadn't happened. And Sinclair's own expression drops a little.

"He didn't want me to know," he says to his coffee. "Can't really say I blame him, if it were me."

He looks up again, making direct eye contact with Tenenbaum. He keeps his tone unaccusing, more on the curious-sounding side, but he needs to know.

"...Why did you do it?"

She looks at him as he begins to speak, keeps her expression as neutral as she can, waits for him to elaborate.

...He doesn't exactly, but he says enough.

Tenenbaum tries to keep her face steady. But dismay registers there, and her fingers tighten around the coffee mug--

"Ah."

--So it is that, then.

No wonder the man wanted to speak to her in person.

At least Sinclair, protector candidate purveyor extraordinaire, isn't really in a position to judge her. But, actually, no. No, that doesn't help one bit.

She drops her gaze guiltily, debates not answering at all.

"For the sake of things I am not proud of," she says at last, her voice low and stained through with disgust. Then she meets Sinclair's eye again and asks, at a loss, "But you-- how in the world did you learn of this?"

There's no judgment here. At least not for his own sake. Rapture breeds poor decisions, he knows that just as well as Tenenbaum does. But Jack's words are splinter somewhere in Sinclair's cold, dead heart, too small to just find and pluck out but uncomfortable enough that he can't ignore it. An experiment, a nothing. It really has no right to bother him like it does, but he chalks it up to the lack of information surrounding the subject. Maybe now he can mend that.

"Ryan," he says. "When Jack got to Rapture, it looked like ol' Andy was trying to put the pieces together. Trying to figure out who the kid was, I suppose. Didn't know it was his own flesh and blood. But he must've done a hell of a lot of digging to pull up what he found."

He shakes his head, like he's laughing to himself about something.

"Looked like he drove himself mad trying to get all the research together. I've never seen anything like it."

Tenenbaum is having trouble with her expression. She's already dealing with being tired and worried and guilty and god knows what else; she didn't really need the stress of this bad a secret coming out. And okay, maybe she deserves it, but that doesn't mean Jack does.

Sinclair's private little laugh kind of makes her hate him.

"And the child, he... he knows you have learned it all?"

She's not even sure how exactly how much Jack knows, beyond a certain point. She'd ask, or tell him if he wants to know, but... they haven't talked very much, outside of what to do and where it must be done. When he woke up in her safehouse, he only said a little, and left quickly. And when she saw the faces of her girls she didn't try to keep him there.

Sinclair nods slowly, trying to decide on his phrasing.

"I found it all by accident, stumbled upon Ryan's research by pure chance, and the kid caught me red handed. He was not happy," he says with a laugh, actually out loud this time. "Looked about ready to put me out. But we talked for a minute, he's alright."

Well. More alright than he was, anyway.

Actually.

Let him amend that statement.

"He's...better. He's still pretty shook up, but I don't reckon that's changed since he got here."

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