damned_institute | Day 46: Doctor's Office 6 (Dr. Wilson) [Fourth Shift]

And so it was his turn for a therapy session, was it? If the notes on the bulletin board were any indication, Rey shouldn't expect anything particularly productive from it. The doctors didn't seem to be too different from the nurses in terms of their roles in this place.

Briefly, he wondered if he should pretend to be what they wanted--to be Richard Matthews. However, that thought was quickly banished for a number of reasons, the main one being that it wouldn't work. His attempt to retrieve his file had failed miserably, after all. His past, their interpretation of his "sleep study," the excuse for his "condition" or current injuries--he knew nothing about them.

However, he did know exactly who he was and had no intention of letting anyone convince him otherwise. Calmly, he walked into the office, before taking a seat in the chair. His expression, while not exactly eager, didn't betray any suspicion he might've felt about this. He didn't say anything either, and instead decided to wait to see what the doctor would do.

It was only a matter of time before a teenage kid walked in. It was usually teenage boys, at that. He didn't know why there were so many more male patients here than female (it's not like the mental illness statistics matched the jailed criminal statistics), but he had started to learn that he could question a whole lot here and yet not get any rational answers from... anyone, really.

He watched the kid walk in and take a seat. Much like Lance from earlier, this new patient wasn't so resistant as to stand at the door like a trapped animal, but he wasn't exactly spilling his life story either.

Wilson was used to the taciturn sulky attitude of the patients here, though, and so he didn't let Richard's behavior deter him. He smiled, but not too widely, and then offered his hand so that they could shake. "Good afternoon, Mr. Matthews. I'm Dr. Wilson and I'll be your therapist for the duration of your stay here." In his experience, people didn't stay for very long, but he knew better than to say anything like that out loud. He didn't know why the institute seemed to have a revolver door installed in it, but he doubted it was because of any sort of top-notch treatment.

To be fair, Rey wasn't in the habit of "spilling his life story," to anyone, whether they be doctors he didn't even know or to his friends. Shinn had been the only instance, and that was under special circumstances. Either way, though, Rey didn't intend on giving this man too much information about himself. While he didn't know how much Wilson was already aware of, it wasn't safe to be reckless.

He shook the doctor's hand, firmly but not brimming with overconfidence. In a polite tone, he replied, "Good afternoon."

He was still wary, but he knew how to maintain a neutral facade, at least. Today seemed to be a day for them.

While Richard (or did he prefer Rick?) hadn't corrected him on the name Wilson had used, that wasn't necessarily a sign that he was on the mend. Chances were that he was just too polite to say anything about it, which was actually something that had seemed uncommon in Wilson's patients so far. Most of them were sarcastic and bitter with a hint of trauma, and while it was bad to generalize...

In any case, he needed to get the conversation going, seeing how Rick wasn't going to be much help there. That was all right, since Wilson could generally get the patients to talk about something; even if they didn't think it was relevant, every bit of information had the chance of being pertinent in some way.

"So, Rick -- would you prefer I call you that, or Rey? -- anyway, how long have you been here now? How have you been handling your time here so far?" They were basic questions, but considering how quiet the teen was being, there wasn't really any other way to start.

"I prefer Rey, but anything is fine," he answered, briefly reminded of his thoughts when talking with Lockon. In the end, a name was just a marker. It didn't change who he truly was. "Today is my sixth day here. It's been all right."

The first was basic information and by no means a secret, and the second was a lie. The undead and nearly getting killed, he could handle. But the experimentation, seeing Gil again when he was still trying to heal from his death--Rey couldn't honestly say he was okay after that. All he could do was keep a straight face and try to move on. However, the latter was easier said than done.

(then you're an obstacle that needs to be removed)

Anything was fine? A people pleaser, then. A pushover, House would have said. Wilson forced that thought out of his mind as he focused his attention on his patient. His answers were short and vague, making it quickly obvious that he had nothing that he wished to share. Even if he apparently didn't mind which name he was called by, he was doing all he could to keep his secrets to himself.

The fact that he had only been here six days meant that this was definitely Rick's first shot at therapy, though. He was obviously just going through the motions and trying to scrape by without any trouble, but Wilson couldn't let him go that easily.

"Well, there has to be more to it than that," he pointed out. "What's been going on with you these past six days? There has to be something there worth talking about."

"I'm afraid there isn't much that you likely haven't heard already," Rey said, his voice still calm. He had no doubt that patients before had talked about what this place was actually all about. If the doctors were doing nothing, then they obviously didn't believe them. Rey had nothing that would prove his words to be any truer, so he saw no reason to bother. If Wilson asked, he'd give him enough of the truth (his shoulder sling wasn't exactly inconspicuous), but otherwise he wasn't going to waste his breath.

Of course, Rey couldn't entirely blame him. If their positions had been reversed, he'd probably have been rather skeptical as well. Saying that a brainwashed patient had stabbed him with a sword did sound like a far-fetched story--though perhaps not so much to Rey, considering the science of his own world.

This one was a tough nut to crack, that was for sure. He was being nothing other than polite, but he was making sure that not even the smallest of details got through. Wilson pressed his lips together as he tried to look into the boy's face and determine what might make him talk. It was difficult to tell, though, when the kid was so closed off and traumatized. Wilson didn't deal with too many young people as an oncologist, and most of the cancer-ridden children that he saw were different from normal kids simply because of their unbelievable circumstances.

"Even if I've heard it already, that doesn't mean I don't want to hear it in your words," Wilson eventually said. Maybe all Rick needed was some sign that he was valued -- that his words, thoughts, and opinions meant something. Sometimes that was enough, and Wilson really hoped he wouldn't have to get too firm with someone who was still young. To be institutionalized while still a teenager had to be Hell.

Unfortunately, Rey was well aware of what Wilson was trying to do--and it wouldn't have worked even if he weren't. He wasn't the kind of person who fell prey to tricks like that, even if the doctor meant well. In any case, he had enough confidence in himself to not need respect from others.

Still, he supposed he could humour the man. Otherwise, they were at a stand-still, which would only make this even less productive. Besides, though he was a private person, he wasn't known for being especially difficult as well.

"Another patient attacked me a few days ago," Rey said. "That was how I received these wounds."

It wasn't something that the staff didn't already know about, so he had no problems with giving out that piece of information.

An explanation for his wounds was certainly a good start, and Wilson nodded soberly in response. That seemed like a fair enough reason for how the boy had gotten injured, though the doctor was distinctly troubled to hear that someone so young had gotten into what must have been a bad fight.

"What sparked the attack?" he asked with a frown. Now that he'd been given a taste, he wasn't going to just leave it at that. "Did you provoke him or her, or did they decide to come at you with no warning?"

Both options would be possible, but it would be interesting to try and tell whether Rick would lie, tell the truth, or admit to his own part in whatever had happened.

"He mistook me for someone he hated," Rey answered. That was vaguely what he'd gotten from the man's words the other night, at least--that Rey was a supporter of his enemy. Either way, he'd been more focused on trying to survive than listening at the time. One could argue that Rey did provoke him simply by entering a room that he shouldn't have, but such a thing was pointless now. How the fight started wasn't important anymore.

Though, on that note, he hadn't seen the man at all lately--perhaps he'd been "released." To be honest, that was probably a good thing for Rey. While he doubted that there had actually been any bad blood between the two of them, it was one possible nuisance out of the way.

That seemed like a reasonable enough answer considering that Rick and his attacker were both mental patients. Wilson nodded at first, taking a note about it before he glanced up at the blond again.

While he almost asked the quintessential therapist question ("and how did that make you feel?"), he was quick to catch himself. If House ever got wind of him speaking those words, Wilson would never hear the end of it. The doctor let out a sigh and revised his question. "How did you deal with that? It, uhh, looks like he gave you a real thrashing..."

It was worth finding out if Rick was the passive sort; whether or not he held a grudge; if he'd even fought back. Wilson watched the patient carefully, but also made sure his gaze wasn't too intense.

This really was a pointless thing to talk about--which was why Rey was fine with talking about it. The fight itself didn't have any real emotional impact on him, as the thought that he was going to die there did. As long as they stayed on this topic and away from what truly affected him, then it was fine. And, of course, the end of the fight, but that was one thing Rey definitely didn't care to mention.

"I fought back, though he ultimately won," he said. Rey might not have looked like much, but he still was a soldier. Unfortunately, a kitchen knife against a sword (in the hands of someone obviously trained to use it, no less) didn't work out too well.

It was only logical for someone to fight back when they were attacked, so Wilson was glad to hear that. It wasn't good that Rick had been assaulted in the first place, but if he'd just given in and taken the abuse, that would have had far worse implications. Wilson nodded slowly, trying to decide if there was anything else of interest that could be pulled from this particular subject.

"I'm sorry about that," the doctor said with a shake of his head. "If he ever bothers you again, I'm sure that the nurses could take measures to make sure he stays away." Considering how large most of the rooms were, it shouldn't be that hard to keep two hostile patients away from each other. Besides, these nurses seemed quite willing to fall back on the sedatives if things got out of hand. Which wasn't necessarily bad, but...

"What else have you been doing with your time here?" he continued. "Have you made any friends?" He was stealing a question he'd already used on Lance, but it was something worth asking.

Rey paused for a second, thinking the question over, before he replied. "A few."

A lie. They were acquaintances, not friends, which Rey was aware of--more than aware of. It'd crossed his mind several times over the past days that he didn't know too many people here, let alone be friends with them. It was as the doctor from nights ago had said: 'Now perhaps if you hadn't pulled that trigger, there'd still be someone who thought you were worth something. Here, though?'

Fortunately, Rey was able to look at it from a tactical perspective rather than an emotional one--being alone meant that he was on his own at night, which was the reason he'd gotten so badly injured in the first place. It meant his safety was threatened, with no one there to watch his back, like Shinn or Lunamaria.

(Though if one looked at it from an emotional perspective, it meant that no one honestly cared about him anymore.)

Talking with this kid was like pulling teeth, but Wilson realized he should have expected as much. If a teenager was so messed up that they landed themselves in a mental institution, then chances were that they either had attitude problems, socialization problems, or both.

All Wilson had to do was keep on Rick. No matter how few words the boy responded with, he just had to keep asking questions, and eventually something had to slip. Either that, or the patient would slowly become more comfortable around him, but that might take a while.

"How has that been?" he questioned. "Do you feel close to them? Are you glad to have them? Do you think you'll miss them when you get out of here?" He needed to know if Rick was making the sort of close bonds that indicated healthy human behavior, or if all of his relationships were as messed up as his mental state.

Therapy again. Somehow he always managed to get caught off guard by it, but it could have been worse. As therapists went, Wilson wasn't as unpleasant as his previous ones, although his Captain had told him that was a cultural thing. His Captain...

Either way, ZEX wasn't feeling too kindly towards the staff of the institute after what had happened to him two days ago. He remembered his experience talking with DAX... there was a mundane "explanation" for everything that happened here. What had happened to him, what he'd experienced in that room at that human's hands, it all only existed in his mind. Or so they'd have him believe.

And after yesterday, when his memories had been so firmly altered until he didn't even know himself anymore...

ZEX sat down and looked at Wilson with his one remaining eye. He touched his bald scalp near his stitches, and decided he might as well get to the point. Whatever explanation he had for his injuries would be "false" to Wilson, since he no doubt already knew the official "explanation". So...

"What happened to me?"

It was actually somewhat calming when Wilson saw Max walk in. He'd had two new patients so far today, so to now have someone he'd already seen to twice come back for a third session was rather heartening. They might actually get the chance to make some progress, rather than going through this infuriating pattern where he saw a patient once and then never heard from them again.

Unfortunately, Max was looking worse for the wear today. Wilson had been hoping the man would be in a better mood after being so down last week, but that wasn't going to be the case at all. The bandage over his eye stood out the most, but there were so many possibilities for how that could have happened.

Granted, Wilson hadn't expected the patient to sit down and then spit out what seemed to be an accusing question. He frowned across the table at Max, looking taken aback for a moment before he could find his voice.

"You'd have to tell me," he said quietly. "Your file notes a sleep study and that you had a lot of improvement yesterday" -- same as Lance -- "but I don't know much more than that."

It took Wilson some time to respond to his question. It was a shame that ZEX couldn't read human expressions any better. Perhaps he was considering what story to tell?

At his apparent ignorance though, ZEX blinked slowly, something that might have had more of an effect with his original large eye. ZEX was unamused at his playing dumb... surely he knew what happened here? ZEX had suffered under his colleague's hands. That sort of thing had to get around.

"A sleep study," he said, flatly. "You don't find it odd that my file wouldn't mention me stabbing my own eye out, or why, or when? If that's even how it was lost." At least ZEX was used to having one eye - the loss meant no more double vision. ZEX touched his forehead. "Did I cut my own head open and stitch it back together, or was it one of your compatriots? Does it not mention why they would have done something like that in that file? You'd think that'd be important."

There was a shape lurking in the corner behind Wilson, watching him. He stared at it, waiting for it to vanish as the others had, but instead it just... shifted. Like his eye was jerking rapidly back and forth, it made the thing impossible to clearly identify as any one thing or another, to pin down its mass or shape or species. Some blurry, strange thing but he could see its eyes. It was getting harder and harder to keep thinking of these things as just illusions.

When Max started talking about stabbing out his own eye and having his head cut into, Wilson straightened visibly in his seat. The man had always been further into the realm of insane than some of the others, if his thinking he was an alien (and that coughing up black hair was good sign) was any indication. It seemed that now he'd move on to severe bodily harm, whether self-inflicted or otherwise.

Still, Wilson doubted that Max's eye was actually gone under that patch. "You didn't really stab it out, did you? The file says your cornea was scratched," he spoke up. He doubted the patient was going to like that, but it was still the truth and he still had to face it.

"As for your head, I don't see much of anything about that," Wilson continued as he pored over the file in front of him. More stories, more sensationalism, and more pain for Max to deal with. Wilson wasn't sure what made the man so self-loathing, but maybe he would be able to piece it together after enough sessions. If Max opened up, that is.

Wilson reacted to his words, although it was hard to tell exactly what it meant. Startled, perhaps? Human body language was so confusing.

"I didn't stab it out, no," ZEX said, horrified at the very idea. Like he, or any sensible VUX, would do something like that to themselves without being mentally ill! "A doctor here took it from me." If only his cornea had just been scratched! He knew there was nothing there in the socket - it was just gone. Taken from him for no discernable reason. "I could take it off and show you if you want." He touched the edge of the bandage on his face for emphasis.

But it didn't take long for his threat to lose its edge. ZEX blinked at him, baffled. "What do you mean-" He ran his hand over his head - still had a bald spot, still felt stitches against his skin, it was all still there. Could Wilson not see that? How could he not? "You don't see anything, no missing hair, no stitches, nothing?"

If that was the case, if this place was altering Wilson's perceptions to make ZEX appear unharmed... then there was no point in all in trying to make his case. There'd be an excuse, a blind spot, something that'd prevent Wilson from actually seeing what his cohorts had done to him. At the realization, ZEX slumped down a bit with a sigh. No victory to be found here - fighting would just waste valuable resources.

"So if none of this really happened to me..." in your eye, ZEX mentally added, "Why would I pretend that they did? You're a therapist, aren't you?" A touch of bitterness entered his voice; this was reminding him too much of his experiences back home. "Tell me how I feel and why."

The idea of a doctor here actually removing Max's eye was not something Wilson could take seriously for even a second. While some of the staff here were on the odd side, he doubted that any of them would start removing important body parts just because they felt like it. It had to be Max's fear of medical practitioners that had caused him to warp a fairly benign injury into something else entirely.

"I see the missing hair," Wilson corrected when he saw the other man's stricken expression, "but there's no sign that you were cut into." If anything, Max had probably ripped a good chunk of his hair out during an episode. Either that or it had been yanked out in a fight with a fellow patient.

It looked like Max was starting to realize that he was making up some of this, then. Or he was at least open to the idea. That didn't mean he wasn't upset and lashing out at Wilson about it, though. Luckily, the doctor was accustomed to abuse.

"I can't just tell you how you feel," he responded, falling back on logic for the moment. "I'm not psychic." He technically wasn't even a therapist, but that was neither here nor there. "All I can do is keep talking to you and trying to get you to open up -- based on what you tell me, I can make educated guesses, but in the end the most important thing is that you come to terms with how you feel and why that is."

Hmm. The rules that defined what Wilson saw seemed as abitrary as the rest of this place, which seemed appropriate at least. Some damage, but not all... either way, trying to convince him of what happened would be pointless. He was supposed to open up to him, but Wilson wouldn't listen to the truth if he told it to him. He'd never believe his story of what had happened two nights ago.

Which meant there was little cause in telling it, as far as he was concerned.

"How I feel?" ZEX blinked. "About what, exactly? Myself, being here, my false life, my real life?" ZEX was about to continue when something caught his attention, stopping him mid-word. That thing that had been watching him was gone. He hadn't even seen it move, but it wasn't there anymore... but somehow he got the feeling that it was still somewhere nearby. He just couldn't see it, exactly...

Although, that did bring up something that he'd been meaning to ask about. "Yesterday, you said I had a lot of improvement, right? Remembered who I was, supposedly. Does my file mention that I started hallucinating yesterday?" ZEX would have tilted his head if he was more familiar with human gestures. "I've never hallucinated like that to the best of my recollection, and it only got worse as the day progressed. I'm still hallucinating right now as we speak, and it seems to again be getting worse as night comes nearer." ZEX paused, in thought, then his tone shifted from accusatory to something more conciliatory. "I don't suppose there's something you can do to make it stop?"

While Max went ahead and listed off a series of things as if there was just far too much to cover, Wilson wouldn't have minded going through each one-by-one, starting wherever Max felt most comfortable. All four of those things were important components that added up to the man's current mental state, so it seemed only right to touch on each.

Still, it sounded like the man had a far more pressing problem. The fact that he'd been hallucinating so badly while feeling more like Max than Zex was troubling, and that concern was worsened by the fact that the visions were continuing even as they spoke.

It was always somewhat unnerving to be in the same room as someone who was seeing things. Wilson had to resist the urge to glance around and wonder at what Max was imagining was there. Still, he managed to maintain his composure and keep his eyes firmly on Max.

"The file doesn't mention that, no," he responded with a shake of his head. "What are you seeing, exactly? I might be able to prescribe you some medication depending on the severity of the hallucinations."

ZEX tried to pin down something that was flickering in and out of existence nearby, his one eye darting back and forth but it refused to come into focus. It vanished, as if to spite him, and that feeling of something hovering over him, very close but not touching him, came back. Either these things were toying with him or just wanted him to know that they were still there. Neither situation was appealing.

"They're hard to describe..." ZEX tried to ignore that heavy oppressive feeling behind him. It made him want to turn and defend himself, but he knew there'd be nothing there. "I can't get a good look at them... they move too quickly, or keep shifting around, or disappear if I try to look at them directly. They're not any lifeform I'm familiar with... and I've seen a lot of different lifeforms. I can't place them."

He could almost feel the thing breathing on his neck. "They don't seem to like me... they feel hostile, and last night, they seemed so real that..." No, Wilson wouldn't believe him. ZEX himself actually still didn't quite believe it. Max must have been mistaken... they were just visions, nothing more. They couldn't hurt him. "They don't speak... or at least, I haven't heard them speak."

He looked around again, not seeing anything, and sighed a little. "It's getting somewhat tiresome." If there was some kind of human medicine to solve this problem, ZEX would be glad for it.

The descriptions that Max gave were certainly eerie -- the sort of thing that might make Wilson a little wary as he turned the lights off to go to sleep tonight. Still, how it affected him was hardly the issue here. The fact that the things Max was seeing didn't speak meant that it could have been a lot worse, but he also interpreted them as hostile, so it sounded serious enough to Wilson that medicine seemed necessary.

His first thought, of course, was schizophrenia. While he would have preferred to monitor Max more closely before just tossing medicine at him, he only got to see him once a week. It wasn't enough, and the visions could evolve in that space of time. It probably wasn't worth the risk -- not with someone who was already so unstable.

"All right. I'll try to arrange some medication for you. If I'm able to, I'll have a nurse deliver the pills to you later on today." At dinner, in other words. It might be good for the man to take the pills before night fell, since that seemed to be the worst time of day for all of the patients.

"You're going to have to promise me to be careful, though, and stop taking them if there's any adverse reaction." Hopefully the nurses would keep an eye on the man, but Wilson honestly didn't know how much he could trust them.

So there was a solution! If this was all in his mind, anyway, but what other explanation could there be? There was the thing that had been inserted into his head, but... that had no solution. There was almost no way he could remove that thing without possibly killing himself.

First, the possibility that might have an answer. If his human mind was hallucinating, which could very well have been possible since it had been severely tampered with to make him think he was Max the day before, then the pills Wilson talked about would hopefully solve the problem. If not...

"What kind of adverse reaction would I be looking for?" ZEX glanced to one side, then back to him. "I'm not familiar with human medication or how it affects the body..." Hopefully it wouldn't make the problem worse... but how bad could human medication be?

"So what does it mean that I'm seeing things like this?" Hopefully there was an explanation that did not involve whatever it was that had been put into his head. "Is this typical for humans? You've developed medication for it... presumably it can be controlled?"

If this was a problem with his human body and not his mind, that would be a great relief.

Having to call up the side effects of schizophrenia medication off the top of his head wasn't exactly the easiest thing, but Wilson was considered a good doctor for a reason. Maybe he wasn't as much of a genius as someone like House, but he knew the basics enough that he was aware of the adverse effects of medication that he rarely prescribed to any of his own patients.

"It can range from blurred vision to your mouth going dry to constipation," he responded, not bothering to be subtle about those less than savory bodily functions. He was used to speaking about unpleasant things with a straight face (cancer was an ugly disease no matter what happened), so this actually made him feel like he was in his element far more than the rest of the session had up until this point.

As for the other questions, Wilson first had to get past the fact that Max was still acting as if he was ignorant of human illnesses before he could respond. He'd met enough ignorant people that he was used to answering what might be considered stupid questions. "It's not typical," he said with a shake of his head. "Well, people do develop things like schizophrenia, which causes hallucinations and sometimes hearing voices, but it's relatively rare. It can be controlled, but sometimes it's difficult to find the type of medicine that works best for you. You might have to go through a few different brands before you find something that doesn't give you those side effects."

Two of those side-effects sounded familiar enough, although the last one was giving him some trouble. It vaguely sounded like something he was familiar with, although he wasn't sure how it would translate from his VUX body to his human one. He knew that the human body got rid of waste in its own particular way... perhaps it was something related to that? That was his best guess based on the root word itself. "Constipation... digestive problems, then? Or something along those lines?"

Well, ZEX didn't hear any voices, which ruled out this 'schizophrenia'. Not that that meant his hallucinations were harmless, or something he should ignore. "So, it varies from person to person then?" A side-effect of that uniqueness that he so loved in their species. Humans varied from each other wildly in so many ways... medication must have been difficult to measure accurately. It was impressive that they'd come so far with such a handicap, but the human race seemed to be very versatile. "I suppose that makes sense..."

ZEX paused, trying to ignore another not-quite-visible thing moving around on his left. "It's strange that these hallucinations came on so suddenly and so strongly yesterday, and without any warning. The same day that I 'remembered' who I really was." There was that faintly accusatory tone to his voice again; something had been done to him, to his mind, to make him think such a thing. He was sure of it. "An odd coincidence, don't you think?"

Did the man honestly not know what constipation was? Wilson had to fight the urge to dip his head into his hand when he heard that, and yet the confusion in Max's tone was genuine enough that he just ended up feeling bad for the guy. It was hard to imagine that the man was messing with him and just trying to get a more detailed explanation for kicks. "More or less, yeah. It makes it so it's difficult to have a bowel movement. It's harder to... get it out, in other words." Hopefully that would get the message across clearly enough.

Wilson only nodded in response to the other man's questions. Each human had slightly different hormone levels, so it was to be expected that they had varied reactions to medicines. Add in problems like allergies and there was a whole slew of possible outcomes. It did make doctoring that much harder, but most people knew that when they got into the profession.

The situation that Max described was definitely weird, but Wilson wasn't going to jump to any ridiculous conclusions. "It's strange, yes, but that might just be part of the process. Your subconscious is struggling to deal with whatever the hallucinations represent, and you'll have to work past them before you can really get better. The medicine will help, of course." Some of that was hastily put together guesstimates based on what little Wilson knew (BS, in other words), but he was doing his best here.

So mostly what he'd thought then, although humans did go about it in their own way. They really were such fragile creatures... which would fit nicely into his theory that these hallucinations could just be residual trauma from his previous experience. The human mind could be as fragile as the rest of it... whatever it was that had been put in there, or whatever it was that had been done to him to make him think he was Max, could have left him like this.

The staff here could be so sloppy sometimes.

"What the hallucinations represent?" ZEX said, somewhat incredulous. "What are shapeless, malevolent beings meant to represent? What aspect of my life are they, and why do they mean me harm? Why do they get worse at night? How am I supposed to work past them when I have no control over them?" ZEX scratched at his bald spot for a moment in thought. "I like strange and unusual things... I welcome almost any experience with any alien species. I don't know why these things seem so determined to harass me..."

The fact that Max was so puzzled by the things that he was seeing just seemed to be further indication that he had a long way to go with getting rid of them. Some of it was simply part of a chemical imbalance in his brain, true -- and the medicine would help with that. But if Max really wanted to feel healthy again after this was all said and done, Wilson was fairly certain that he was going to have to pick apart what he'd seen and make it make sense to him.

"Because you're so confused and still don't know what they are means that those are exactly the questions you need to keep asking yourself," Wilson pointed out as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn't sure what kind of medication the hospital had on-hand, but it had to be stocked with all possible kinds of schizophrenia meds.

"The idea is that you'll eventually figure out why you're seeing those specific things, and coming to terms with it should help them stop harassing you." Max seemed to see it as an annoyance more than anything else, which was probably better than being tormented by them.

Well that was certainly helpful. "Figure it out yourself!" as if ZEX hadn't been trying to do that all along. Weren't human therapists supposed to help him with this part? He could ask himself these questions all day - it got him no closer to getting any real answers.

ZEX frowned a bit, annoyed, and thought back to what had happened to him two nights ago. What the human had said... Wilson no doubt would not believe him if he coached the entire experience as reality, since he already seemed rather convinced that ZEX had hurt his own eye, but if he rephrased it...

"You know..." ZEX said slowly. "I had a dream the night before I woke up as Max. I was taken from my room that night and locked in a room with a doctor, one who tortured me and took my eye." The tone in his voice made it clear that ZEX did not think this was a dream at all. "They cut into my head here," pointing to his bald spot, "and put something in my brain. They told me it would let me see something new, open my eyes to new worlds. When I woke up the next day... I was Max, and I started hallucinating."

ZEX leaned back slightly, sorely missing his head feelers to adequately express how he felt. "What do you think that means?"

Getting into dream territory was always shaky (ever since Freud, a lot of people took them a little too seriously), but Wilson did his best to keep an open mind as Max described the gruesome event he'd been through while sleeping. It sounded like it had been a very vivid dream, especially if the patient had then gone ahead and tried to replicate what had happened in real life.

Or maybe he'd done it while sleeping. That was a creepy thought.

"It's hard to say," he responded with a sigh. "When people have strange dreams, it can mean that their subconscious is trying to tell them something. It could be that you want to see something, but you don't quite know how to." In that case, he might actually need to give his hallucinations a good, hard look rather than trying to ignore them.

"What else can you tell me about yesterday?" Wilson asked with a curious tilt of his head. "What was it like?"

"Something I want to see..." ZEX reached out for his trunk before remembering that he no longer had one. "Something I was unwilling to see, so thus had to have it forced on me, correct? By an outside force... that doctor."

Not that ZEX doubted what he was sure had happened... he had the physical proof. But there was no harm in a thought experiment, and perhaps Wilson might give him some helpful advice if he kept it up. "The things I see can't be identified... they lash out at me and vanish when I look at them too closely. Why would I need something to constantly attack me that I can't defend myself against? If anything that sounds like a step backward..."

ZEX sighed a little and thought back. His day as Max felt unreal, like a dream, but there were too many details to write it off completely. Like his body had been controlled by some foreign entity he couldn't stop... was that how Max felt when ZEX was in control? Assuming that Max even really existed to begin with, but... "When I woke up yesterday my head hurt... at the time it felt like I'd woken up from a long dream. I thought maybe the hallucinations then were side-effects of waking up as Max, although that seems to not be the case now. I felt like a completely different person... I was so childish." With some distaste. "Needy almost... nervous and confused."

There was something else odd about his brief time as Max... things hinted at in the journal entries he'd left and memories of why he'd cut himself off or things he'd avoided. "It's strange... Max seemed somewhat afraid of himself in some ways." Like he was talking about someone else entirely, which for him was mostly the case. "I've always considered myself very open-minded, willing to engage in relationships with others that are generally frowned upon. I don't like boundaries, or rules, or other societal limitations on the potential connection two species can make, but Max..." ZEX frowned at the thought. "I don't think Max felt the same way."

It looked like Max was starting to get the picture, but it was also clear that he still didn't understand why he was seeing those phantoms. Not that Wilson had the answer, either, but...

"Maybe they're a representation of something that you feel you can't defend yourself from. It could be a concept or an organization or a person, but it's embodied in these... things that assault you without you being able to do anything about it." Based on some of Max's ideas about his made up alien culture, Wilson could see how what he'd just described about his hallucinations might relate.

It was troubling that Max was describing himself as if he was a totally different person, but pretty much every patient here had identity issues. They wanted to be someone different (someone better?) than who they really were, probably because changing themselves seemed too difficult.

Waiting for Max to finish, Wilson leaned back further in his seat as he watched the man carefully. He let out a sigh, finally, and tried to get his point across. "So maybe you need to teach Max--" teach yourself "--to do what you do." Without all the aliens and VUX and whatever else Max had decided worked better than his actual life.

ZEX paused, his one eye narrowing in thought at the possibility. The monsters being a strange, unclear metaphor... for what, exactly? The easy answer would have been his countrymen, who felt free to defame him at every turn despite everything he'd done for them. But he'd put that behind him a long time ago; he paid no more attention to petty things like that. Why that would surface now, here, didn't have a ready explanation.

As a concept... hmm. That night, at that human's hand, he'd taken a huge blow to his pride, not to mention his body itself. The entire experience was meant to wear him down, to show him that there was no point in fighting, that they were in control, that they could do as they pleased with him. That he was a prisoner, not an adversary. That was a hard thing for any VUX to handle, even if ZEX wasn't as vain as some of his countrymen. That and losing an eye, an incredibly traumatic experience in itself, could have both combined to make some kind of vague, intangible, unfightable force in his mind, something that refused to let him rest.

Or so one theory could go. "I've been under a lot of stress lately..." The blows just kept coming one after another here. "It's been a long time since I've had to deal with this level of stress... perhaps it's a side effect of that. I'm older than I was when I first became a soldier..." Although he was sure that twenty years of peace hadn't dulled his combat skills one bit. "I don't know how well humans handle these extremes. Losing my Captain, my eye, being tortured, being Max... that all adds up. Maybe it's just a tired mind playing tricks on me." Which would be nice, since that meant that it would go away.

ZEX blinked at his suggestion, sincere and curious. "How can I teach him anything? There's only me, ZEX, now... I don't know where he is when I'm here, but..." He trailed off when he realized how ridiculous he sounded. Max might not even exist, and even if he did, this still sounded insane. He was Admiral ZEX, there was no question about that... even if he was in a human body, and had lost an eye to human hands, had lost. It didn't change anything.

If it was a matter of stress, then there was usually an easy cure, and Max even went so far as to hint at it. Wilson nodded emphatically. "You'd be surprised by how much damage stress can do. I'd suggest you get extra sleep and take it easy as much as you can." The patients here seemed to have the hardest time doing that, though, if their stories about a monster-filled night were anything to go by.

Still, maybe Max would make the attempt to listen to his advice now that he could see what happened when you deprived yourself of sleep and never took even a moment to just take a load off.

As for the patient's last question, Wilson couldn't help cracking an enigmatic smile. "I guess you'll just have to find him again."

It was the same advice he'd gotten yesterday from the bulletin board as Max... to rest and see if the hallucinations kept up. And they did. Then again, he hadn't really rested last night... he'd gone wandering and the hallucinations had gotten worse. Sometimes he was tempted to really just stay in all night, like he used to with Wally or his Captain.

It still hurt to think of him, and what had happened to him. In a way it was hard to believe he was really gone... like he'd simply gotten into that great ship of his and flown off to come back some undetermined day later, as before.

"It just feels like it never stops here." ZEX sighed and gingerly rested a hand over the scar on his head. "Every day there's some new problem to deal with and it never ends... like there's no way out. It's hard to rest under those circumstances." This was not the same kind of warfare he was used to, and ZEX sighed again, this time a sad and longing one. "I miss him terribly... my poor Captain. I wish he hadn't gone so quickly. This might have been easier with him here." Surely his Captain wouldn't have abandoned him two nights ago, as everyone else seemingly had.

Wilson was smiling at him, although he didn't know why. How was he supposed to find someone that may or may not even exist? And if they both saw things, it wouldn't solve his problem. Why should he even look? "I don't know where to start. Everything's hazy... it doesn't feel real. Things don't add up... Max came and went so suddenly, it was like a dream." ZEX shook his head slightly. "All of this is like a nightmare that won't end."

It was hard to tell just what Max meant when he talked about "new problems." What could really be going on that was making life so hard for him? True, the very fact that he was in this place was its own problem, but Max was making it sound like he was running into obstacles at every turn. If anything, he was probably making them up himself. It was counter-intuitive, but it was already obvious that the man's mind was not well.

"I'm sorry that he had to leave you, but that should just make you more determined to get better so that you can see him again," Wilson pointed out. If the man Max cared for so much was gone, then he had to be out in the world somewhere, trying to get his life back together. If Max worked at it, he could join him.

It didn't seem like Max was feeling any better than he had when he'd first walked in the door, but Wilson knew he couldn't feel too guilty about that. This sort of recovery was supposed to take time, and they were just going to have to take it slow and hope for the best. "It will end, if you really want it to. Let's start with getting you some medication, and we can go from there, all right?" It looked like their time was almost up, but the doctor didn't want to just shoo Max out until he was ready.

There was no way to see him again... ZEX had watched him die, after all. It was so easy to talk like he'd just left and would come back, but he knew that wasn't the case. Even if he did "get better" there'd be no Captain waiting for him outside. Still, there was some part of him that kept hoping that maybe he was wrong, maybe he really was insane and his Captain had simply left, and maybe if he did get out of here he could find him again.

It was preferable to the alternative, anyway. But he couldn't believe it. Things never worked out that easily for him.

"I suppose." Less than convinced. What would his human have said if he saw what had happened to him? Something charming, no doubt, as always. "It's hard to keep going without a true sense of direction." ZEX was referring to escaping the institute and going back home, but he was sure Wilson would interpret it as his quest towards wellness. "I hope the medication will help. That would leave me with at least one less thing to worry about."

If the medication was meant to interact or interfere with his brain chemicals, stop whatever it was that was malfunctioning and causing him to see these things, then taking it would cause some change, regardless of the implant. If there was no change at all... then the hallucinations weren't related to his brain chemistry, which would mean...

ZEX closed his one eye and took a deep breath. "And I really would like them to stop."

Right now, it seemed like getting Max on some medication would be the best thing for him. It wasn't going to magically solve all of his problems, but it would eliminate one component and then give them a better idea of what still needed work on through therapy.

"I don't blame you," he scoffed. He hadn't really found many people who enjoyed seeing things. Well, except for maybe House, but that was a whole other story.

"If they aren't given to you at dinner, then you'll definitely have them by tomorrow morning. If they even let me prescribe you anything, that is." Any self-respecting hospital would, but who really knew with this place? He didn't want to make empty promises, so it was best to leave it at that.

"Good luck, and I'll see you next week. I hope the meds work on the first try." It wasn't particularly likely, but it happened from time to time. From the sounds of it, Max was due for a lucky break.

ZEX thought about asking why Wilson wouldn't be allowed to prescribe him something (he was in the institute's employ, wasn't he?), but it seemed he'd run out of time. Well, he doubted he'd get a real answer anyway. This place didn't seem to specialize in them.

If nothing else, at least he'd gotten the medication out of this entire business, which was something. He stood up, wobbling slightly and rested a hand on his desk to steady himself. He could almost feel one of those creatures weaving near his legs, like it was trying to trip him.

"I hope they do as well." He wasn't quite sure he could bring himself to thank him just yet... Wilson worked for the institute after all, and that made him responsible for what had been done to him to a degree.

Now he just had to hope the visions wouldn't get worse tonight, as they had before...

Day 46: Doctor's Office 6 (Dr. Wilson) [Fourth Shift]

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