To Cure Deception

by LegionPothIX

Act 2 | l’Hôpital's Rule

Author's Note:

What is shame?

A form growing all too familiar to Lacus, such that he couldn't see himself without it, could be seen in his reflection outside Ponyville Hospital. With the colors of the Everfree Forest and a sharply defined cutiemark of two interlocking gears in a speech bubble, he was once again Lucas Greymane. He had paused to inspect this reflection in the glass windows outside of the non-emergency entrance. Noting how he looked so different from the brackish brown-black tone of the partial transformation that he had been admitted with yesterday morning, and he was certain no one would recognize him from his previous escapade. After a deep breath, he walked into the lobby and made his approach to the front desk.

The sinuous voice of Nurse Redheart resonated through the lobby, “Ah, Mr. Greymane, are you here to reschedule your follow-up?” The greeting to the changeling made him wonder how bad of a changeling must he be that everyone already knew who he was.

“A follow-up?” Lacus queried as he assessed the situation.

The nurse could evidently detect the confusion in his voice as she herself voiced: “For the poison?” Lacus allowed a brief pause to pass before she added somewhat hesitantly, “When we couldn't get ahold of you we feared the worst...”

He was unsure what she was implying, since his most recent death threats had been by lasers and gravity, but began to suspect that the drowning was no coincidence either, so poison didn't seem too far fetched. His lack of input left Nurse Redheart to ramble uncomfortably. At least that was something that he could use to find out just what was going on.

“You were quite insistent that it was an accident, but we pumped over a pint of it out of your stomach…” she said uneasily, as she pulled his file for review.

Poison joke, memory loss, confusion, and the ingestion of large quantities of unknown toxins. Wait! he stopped himself and read the diagnosis again, Two cases of poison joke related amnesia, that’s what the doctor said yesterday, right? He couldn't help but wonder how he got out of the hospital afterward, instead of ending up as committed as his blue friend, before remembering exactly what floor he awoke on.

He also wasn't sure whether an implication of suspected suicide made what he came to ask easier or harder. That was because he knew that he was admitted yesterday after being found by himself, drowned, and could see how they might see a pattern building. But there was no way that she could know that was also him.

“Yes, I remember now,” Lacus lied, whilst looking up to the nurse with a heart-freezing stare. “There was a labeling mix-up in our lab.” It was a fabrication that he felt would have been the most obvious to use at the original time that the event occurred, a suspicion that was instantly confirmed by the nurse’s facial expression. “Habré has since been reassigned by the Institute, but I'm still having trouble with my memory,” he added dryly, showing a lack of appreciation for her empathy as it was growing inconvenient.

Nurse Redheart sighed in relief at the news, almost as if she had met the illustrious Habré Kadabré. “Oh, well yes, let’s see what we can do.” Redheart’s voice was filled with a bevy of emotions that reflected the range of her relief in seeing him return alive, to the frustration inherent to having her concerns so casually dismissed. As she rooted through the schedule Lacus heard a familiar voice that drew away his attention.

***

“Get your fucking plot-holes over here!” The shale-fracked voice spewing poison was more than enough to put some gas in the emergency room attendants’ tanks. Several nurses and a caramel-coated doctor met the call and rushed to the duo’s aid. Lacus had fallen from her back and collapsed on the ground in a crippled heap and, as Habré grilled Redheart with all of her most intense vernacular, there was a genuine concern in her voice as Lacus was being lifted onto a stretcher.

It was the sincerity of her fear that allowed fear to creep into his heart as well. He had not seen such a look since she had nearly disintegrated herself. If this was something that she was afraid of, then what chance did he really stand? He wanted to call out to her but, before he could will a reaction from his body, the isolation doors slammed shut and he was carted off to the operating room.

***

The voice of the doctor called Lacus back to the present, “Mr. Greymane. I was the attending physician on your case.”

A bit of shock could be seen on Lacus’s face. No kidding, he thought to himself, this guy treated me twice? The doctor from yesterday morning seemed ambivalent to the connection the changeling had just made.

“Nurse Redheart tells me that foul mouthed monster has been removed from your lab,” he said with a note of superiority before adding, “I’m happy to hear it. There's no place for the likes of her in science.”

Lacus could feel a sprocket break in his mind as his mettle gears came grinding to a full stop. His neck twisted as mechanically as the hands of time, till they were face-to-face. “That foul-mouthed monster is my partner…” Lacus began in a tone of iniquitous absolution, “and if you ever talk about her like that again…” he paused while eyeing the doctor’s implements, “I will shove that stethoscope so far up your butt, that you will literally be able to hear your own shriveled heart call out for the same level of care that she has shown me.”

It was an impulsive moment for him, and by the looks he was getting, an effective one for communicating his dissatisfaction with the situation. On Nurse Redheart’s face alone was an expression that suggested the doctor was, at this moment, levitating himself with all four hooves, a restraining order and a lawsuit for slander stuffed in his mouth. Even the doctor himself was taken aback by the sudden outburst of the incognito Lacus Sceleratus.

“I… I didn't mean to offend,” he offered as he stumbled over his own proverbial hooves. “Perhaps we could move to the subject at hoof, then?” the doctor deflected. He was slowly regaining his composure at a rate equal to that of the post eruption Lucas Greymane. Moments of silent contemplation passed allowing the tension in the air to release normally from the environment, thereby facilitating the natural winding down of all parties involved.

“I came to talk to you about the present, so let’s leave the past in the past.” This statement felt a bit ironic to Lacus, even while making it, as the exact problem he was having was that the past was not content to remain where it belonged.

The doctor nodded and motioned to the halls. “Of course, let’s speak in my office.”

As they moved in that direction, Lacus couldn't help but wonder, of the two of them, which felt more that a knife was at their backs. The professional who was the target of his outburst, or himself, for having such hitherto undiscovered darkness hiding inside that he had to work diligently to keep in check. A darkness not present when his mind was still bound by Poison Joke.

After a short walk down a long hall, Lacus and his attending physician took seats across a desk from one another in a small, private office. “Tell me what seems to be bothering you.” Lacus was asked, and he took a moment to consider how to respond.

He wanted to start slowly, so he warmed up with: “My chart indicated that I had many things wrong with me when I was admitted, is that right?” The medical practitioner nodded but did not interject. “And the nurse said that a bunch of poison was pumped out of my body, but did you get it all?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow before answering in layman’s legalese, “Any toxin metabolized by your system before you were admitted would have been beyond the reach of, and liability of, this institution. Without being able to properly identify it, we could offer no course of treatment for it.” He swiveled the file around so that Lacus could read it clearly. “I'm sorry, we did the best we could, but the symptoms you displayed could be derived from a toxin entering your blood and brain. It is possible for any such damage to be permanent.” This explanation was delivered with a tap on the chart. “We couldn't identify all of the components, but there were several breeds of floral compounds. Pedals, pollens, et cetera.” The doctor continued after sliding the chart to Lacus’s edge of the desk, “The effect on your muscles was consistent with a massive dose of an all natural herbicide.” With the explanation concluded he leaned forward in his chair.

Lacus nodded in acknowledgement of the doctor's precarious position, as a representative of an institution with a behind to cover, but also as a caregiver who genuinely wanted to provide assistance. As he inspected the file in greater detail he found a complex range of emotions bubbling inside of him. Confusion, suspicion, and betrayal were among the top to surface.

Zecora!

He considered how it only made sense. She had admitted to treating him, and even knew his name, but Lacus couldn't afford to let himself be distracted just now. If he was to find out the truth about her he needed to be in the now, to get more information, and his anger would have to wait. So with a concerted effort Lacus pushed those feelings back deep down inside before returning his attention to the present situation.

He also knew there was no way that Doctor Horse didn't see it, and tried not to direct it at the good doctor as he asked, “So... if I were still having some of these symptoms, what could be done?”

The stallion furrowed his brow in concern. “Still having symptoms? What type of symptoms?” he queried.

Lacus spun the chart back around, and pushed it back to the good doctor, before tapping confusion and memory loss with his hoof. “I think that my memories have been coming back to me in a strange way,” Lacus said before regaling the story of this morning’s confusing interactions with Habré Kadabré, all while carefully controlling which details the professional was privy to. Nothing interpersonal, and definitely nothing relating to his changeling nature. Though he did explain that he had been in a fog for all of yesterday, just in-case that wasn't entirely the fault of the Poison Joke. It was a matter-of-factual exposition about reliving memories rather than recalling them, while still omitting the one that just occurred in the lobby.

Doctor Horse nodded, confirming Lacus’s own self-diagnosis, and gave careful consideration to his response before speaking, “Without a proper diagnosis I couldn't really say, but I suppose that if you were re-dosed with a smaller quantity of the toxin, then it could have caused a relapse," there was a slight pause from the medical professional, "But, really, that would have been impossible, because it would have landed you right back out there.” The doctor ended with a hoof pointed to the lobby, that drew Lacus’s gaze, before returning to a more comfortable position for considering alternatives.

Lacus had come for a second opinion and wasn't about to interrupt when it was offered, so he let the doctor explain: “Or, it could simply be wearing off normally, and your mind may be trying to reconstruct events. As it confuses present stimuli with past experiences, the memories you relive may be recollected with such vibrancy that they feel like the present.” The doctor shrugged as he offered the conclusion, “Since we don’t really know anything about the toxin, it could be anything. I’m sorry we can’t be of more help.”

Lacus nodded and offered his gratitude for the information that was able to be provided to him. His mind returned to the only pony in Ponyville with the skill to mix up suck a drink before asking a final question: “How long should it last?”

To which the doctor frowned, and responded: “There’s no way to know for certain, but my estimate would be at longest three days or so, and, if you'll recall, you were admitted five days ago.” The supposition certainly narrowed his options, and Lacus offered a second thanks as he turned to leave.

On his way back to the lobby, he spied the familiar barking-mad mare queuing up to receive her medications.

***

“Oh, you’re awake!” the attending physician excitedly uttered with a sigh of relief.

A bark in the hall and the rattle of pills indicated the time, while the changeling questioned the date. Lacus found himself in a medical bed looking up to a caramel-coated doctor standing over him, and outside his room a blue mare walked away with a stomach full of chemical corrections. Not unlike what had just been taken out of him.

"You should thank your lucky stars—and the mare who moves them—that you have an assistant as attentive as the one who brought you in," the doctor said as he amended his patient's status on a chart, then placed it at the hoof of the bed.

“No,” Lacus said as his eyes drifted heavenward, "I will not."

Though his gaze was locked onto the ceiling, through his peripherals Lacus could still see the doctor nod to the nurse, who dismissed herself, only to return moments later.

"Oh?" the doctor asked before acknowledging his own assistant, "Regardless of her demeanor, without her you certainly would not be here right now. Alive."

The more he struggled against his fate, the more it enveloped him. Weighed him down. It was for this reason he soldiered on. "No," he repeated to the implied advice, "I've far to many plans to waste another moment here."

The doctor glanced at his guest before offering his own humble dismissal. "Ordinarily," he began, "we'd refer your case to a specialist, but it seems there may only be one mare who can reason with you."

"The fuck were you thinking!?" The outburst made its way in from the hall before the staff had even left, and motivated them to move faster, as to not cross the jaded unicorn. A heavy-hoofed kick to the door threatened to slam across their backsides should they dawdle any longer. "...playing with my fucking toys like that."

"I was thinking how improbable it all is," Lacus offered with a vain attempt to sit up to meet Habré Kadabré's condescending gaze.

A crack appeared in the mare whom could break any stallion. "Impossible. It's fucking impossible!" Habré shouted in Lacus's face. Her horn flickered erratically before snuffing itself out. The violent response normal for this situation was conspicuously absent and, as the pressure built beneath the surface, the waterworks threatened to spring a leak when she finally found the nerve to speak. "Your heart stopped."

As if to heighten the vulnerability the statement engendered in Lacus, she stepped out of sight and rested her head on the plate-glass window. "Your heart gave out, D. It took all of my magic—all of your juice with me—just to keep you alive. Long enough to get you here, anyway."

Too weak to move his head, the changeling demonstrated a strength of will that was his defining characteristic. "If my heart hasn't the strength to match my will, then what good is it?" The thinly veiled euphemism epitomized all Lacus knew of loyalty and drew the fullness of nature's wrath from the learned unicorn.

A singular calamitous crash befell the room in which two helpless changelings were locked as everything not bolted down, and much of what was, was magically rent asunder.

"Fuck you." Habré’s whispers grew into a cacophony of mixed emotions, where the source of each was indistinguishable from the next. "Fuck your dreams!" The tirade was interrupted by an irreducible conclusion. "And fuck hers too."

***

Lacus shuddered as he returned to the front desk to sign out. If that was the past, he pensively considered, I best not repeat it. He shook his head. The volatility of this mare was turning out to be a pattern. One that he questioned what the nature of their relationship must be to earn such heightened emotions. Her toys... the grave implications stuck to him like the grave he had one hoof in to begin with, I'll need to ask her about that.

With past and future so occupying his mind, stealing his peace thereof, Lacus stopped cold in search of a solitary moment; of now. It was again, or rather still, feeding time at the medicine cart and, as if a moment of stolen time had been returned to him, he thought it wise to make the best of this gift called the present.

Among the participants, one blue mare with a solid steel cutiemark recognized him through his disguise. Her hooves scrambled on the linoleum as she rushed forward to tackle him. Her nose had been everywhere by the time the orderlies were able to pull her off of him. He could feel the animal’s unconditional love turn to disappointed heart-ache when she discovered that he, in fact, did not have a treat for her that he had promised.

The nurse in charge of the pills gasped in shock at the behavior of this crazy pony. Her purple coat flushed a dark red up to the roots of her two toned hair as she apologized, “I’m so sorry sir, she thinks she’s a dog!”

Lacus smiled to the blue-on-blue mare as he rose up. “Really, what breed?” he quizzically inquired. It was a bittersweet distraction he was happy to have after the news he had been given.

Nurse Sweetheart seemed confused only offering a simple: "What?”

Lacus glanced at her then back to the mad mare, then back to the large nurse once more. “There are a lot of kinds of dogs. What kind is she?”

The question did not seem to clear up anything, rather, it served only to further confound. Her response marked her opinion as a medical professional. “But she’s not a dog. She’s a pony. A very sick pony that needs help.”

Lacus motioned to the orderlies that restraining her was unnecessary, that he had no fear from her, and that she would bring him no harm. In doing so he approached her to get a good look into her eyes for the spark of recognition that lie therein intrigued him. “Have you ever wonder what it’s like?” he asked those present without directing the question to any one pony in particular, “To have everypony else be so insistent that you’re something that you’re not.” Turning his attention to the nurse on staff, he added: “I couldn't imagine how painful it must be... to be so wronged.”

It was with vindication that Lacus returned to the lobby. Nurse Redheart was still at the front desk when he reached for the quill to sign out and, as he did so, she sweetly asked: “So, were you able to get everything sorted out?”

Lacus nodded before looking back over his shoulder. “I think so. When I am well, would it be possible to visit that mare?”

Redheart matched Lacus’s gaze before inquiring, “Screwy?”

It was true that her cutiemark was a screw, and that even he thought that she was a bit screwy when he met her yesterday, but he wondered how they didn't get her real name. “Is that her name?” he inquired while looking down at his own flank. “That’d be like calling me Sawtooth Speakeasy.”

Redheart blushed in embarrassment, or was visibly frustrated, it was difficult to distinguish the two emotions as both were present in her voice when she spoke, “We didn't get admittance paperwork. She was left outside as a filly.”

All Lacus could do was nod; realizing that he brought out the worst in other ponies. The shame in his voice carried through clearly as he apologized: “I’m sorry. Perhaps we should discuss this at other time.”

***

As the hospital faded from his rear-view, Lacus gave consideration to confronting Zecora directly about the herbicide. However, with no evidence to substantiate his claims he would only alienate a potential asset. To carefully plan his next move would be the more prudent option. With that in mind he knew it would be best to feed now, before he became as dangerously unstable as yesterday. The advantage of a full time cover identity was that it reduced the number of required shifts, and thus wasted energy. However it did not eliminate the need entirely, and inaction now would lead to disaster later.