CardboardMoon

Her very first meeting with Max, he's dead in a crater where a warehouse once stood. Or, he should be dead, he's not breathing, but there's enough TURBO energy in the air that she can touch it, so honestly who knows what's medically going on here. By some miracle, her and her team are able to extract Max and more importantly resuscitate him.

(She wishes she could just say he was unconscious, but she knew the moment she grabbed him. His eyes were still open.

...He's breathing now. That's good enough)

Their next meeting, he's conscious, albeit barely. She's to do a couple of final checks before Forge comes and... before Forge comes. She doesn't agree with what he intends to do with Max, but they fought about it for an hour already and couldn't come up with anything better. She tries to be kind as she asks Max how he's feeling, what he remembers. He deserves a little bit of kindness before entering Hell. She can't comfort him, though, can't risk getting attached, not if she wants to help.

(Is it more ethical to subject a child to constant, moderate pain or frequent, intense pain? How could his own uncle weigh those options so quickly?)

Relevant snippet as she's leaving Max to Forge:

“The report will be on your desk in an hour,” she promised. As she passed by the commander to leave, she lowered her voice and told him, “Jim would be furious about this." He paused millimeters away from grabbing her upper arm. He glowered at her and stated with conviction, “Jim would understand.” He pulled back with a jerk, then stepped forward, erasing her from his field of view. She stared daggers into his skull until the door shut.

On her subsequent meetings with Max she's much friendlier. Her biggest issue with the two is getting Max and Steel to actually come to her when Max gets injured or sick. She's their doctor, not their keeper, she can't help what she doesn't know about.

(It doesn't help that N-Tek rarely sends them to medical after a battle)

---

But yea! In general I tend to pull her out for "Max"-related medical stuff, while Berto handles things related to Steel/the Steel suit. Ie:

Max is having back pain after the Elementors nearly ripped a wing off? That's an Owens issue

Jim's back but badly malnourished? Owens.

Forge assuming Max is fine since he didn't turn into a Goopanoid like Molly? Owens for the examination, but the med staff in general would want to give him a lecture that he will not internalize

Steel fried his own logic circuits? Berto.

Steel got hit with Ultralink malware? Berto.

“Well, well, well. It looks like trouble’s blown in from the East!”

His mom embraces the man at the door. “Nice to see you too, Jefferson.”

Max makes his way down the stairs. He leans against the railing, smiling. “Are you here to yap or to lend a hand?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Then Jefferson gets a good look at him. “Damn, when’d you get so big, Sparky? Feels like only yesterday you came up to my hip!”

Max carefully scoots by his mom in the doorway and walks past Jefferson back toward their rental truck. “I’m looking to beat out Uncle Ferrus before I can drink.”

“Ha, dream on, kid!”

What’s left to unload? Some household appliances it’d be better to leave to someone else, boxes of dishware he can probably take, and…

Max grabs his dad’s telescope carefully, wrapping it tighter in the thick comforter they packed its case in. Probably won’t get much use out of it in the city, what with all the light pollution, but he remembers there being a pretty clear view of the stars by where the base is. Maybe mom will have time to drive them out to do some stargazing after they get settled in.

He wants to know if he can see the binary stars Takion used to orbit from here. It’s a little late in the year to be making an attempt, but it’s worth a shot.

With Jefferson’s help, they’re able to get the rest of the boxes into their new apartment and stacked in their respective rooms within the hour. They follow his car to the storage facility in town where his mom turns over the keys to the rental, then they go grab an early dinner.

“So, what’s new?” His mom asks. She pulls the toothpick from her sandwich. “Anything pressing we should know about before we walk in there?”

“For starters, we’ve had a few personnel shuffled around in preparation for your move.” Jefferson takes a big bite of his burger. “Mm. We got most of the Nebula team already on base, though a few are still in transit.”

“Man. Feels like it’s been forever since the whole band got together.” Max tears a strip off one of his chicken tenders. It looks fine, but his appetite’s been shot since they started the move. He opts to just get a box for it and grabs his milkshake instead. “Wasn’t Dr. Salazar retiring, though? Who’s she passing the mic to?”

Jefferson seems genuinely surprised. “You haven’t heard? It’s Berto, man.”

Max coughs so hard he jams the straw from his milkshake into the roof of his mouth. He ducks his head to wipe his mouth with another cough. “What?! How come no one told me?!”

Oh crud. He hasn’t had a chance to shower since the hotel. He’s probably such a mess right now. Did he get any stains on this shirt?

Well, Berto probably won’t care. He’s seen Max covered in soot from tons of fried electronics. Not to mention all the bedheads from having to stay at bases overnight for observation a fair few times. But still!

His mom, traitor that she is, pats him on the back with a smile. “Isn’t this a good thing, Max? You’ve always been awfully fond of Berto’s work.”

And awfully fond of him, she doesn’t say. Because teasing him too much in a public space like this would be asking for a suspiciously localized blackout. As it stands, the fluorescent light directly above them flickers loudly.

Max starts counting in his head as he catches his breath and loses track almost immediately. The light goes back to normal, though.

Still, Jefferson’s right here and he did see that. “S’there something I should know? I wasn’t told your status. You need me to call in a jump-jet?”

“No, it’s fine.” Max puts his elbows on the table and picks at his chicken tenders some more to avoid eye contact. “So, Berto’s here. Cool, cool. Who are the holdups?”

“You’d have to ask your Uncle Ferrus to be sure. I’m not fully in the loop with all that Project Nebula stuff.” Jefferson looks at him like he’s waiting for an answer still but, ultimately, leaves it be. He munches on a few of his fries. “No signs of any trouble yet, but we’re keeping our eyes peeled.”

Right. Because Max can’t exactly wear his Turbo dampeners while the extraction’s happening. It’d just fry them to bits. Usually they do it in special rooms with enough built-in shielding to mask the spike in energy levels, but it’s not foolproof. It’s hard to be when the amount Max needs to offload only ever gets higher.

Their tech people’s race to develop better dampeners is outpaced only by their need to make better storage. As it stands their current best bet is some fancy turbine setup that turns Turbo energy into normal electrical energy, which is a lot easier to repurpose on the downlow than barrels of Turbo energy.

Max isn’t too worried about that end of things. All of it’s above his pay grade of exactly zero dollars.

“Speaking of, did you guys get any new toys out of the last batch?” Max can’t help but ask.

Jefferson laughs. “Oh, did we? I’ll have to fill you in on the drive over. The kind of firepower we’re packing isn’t exactly diner-safe talk.”

“It’d probably be best to get a move on anyway.” His mom flags down a waitress. “Can we get a to-go box and the check, please? I think we’re done here.”

“Great… more driving.” Max drops his head into his hands. He feels his mom set a hand on his shoulder.

Jefferson has the decency to say, “You guys wait here. I’ll get the car.”

—

Apparently Max looked miserable enough that Jefferson called HQ when he went to bring the car around and asked if Max was clear to doze on the way to base. Miracle of miracles, they said yes.

“We’ve got ground support that’s going to rendezvous with us just outside the city limits. If you can hang in there for another fifteen, you’ll be able to catch some Z’s in one of the tanks.” Jefferson explains. Then comes the catch: “We will have to box you up, though. Just to be on the safe side.”

Max tries not to groan as he takes the backseat. His mom gives him a sympathetic look in the rear view mirror but she doesn’t argue against it. He knows why.

His regular dampeners have come a long way from what they used to be. They’re all clunky and uncomfortable, sure, but they’re designed for everyday use. They’re light, relatively small, and if he tries he can sometimes forget they’re there.

Getting his Turbo energy suppressed by that torture cube? Sucks. It sucks massively! It’s barely big enough to let him curl up on his side and completely opaque. There’s at least decent ventilation so he doesn’t die in there, but its main purpose is to keep him and his whole existence under a literal lock and key.

Max can feel that every time he climbs in.

Unfortunately, it’s still one of the only reliable ways they have to transport him without risking his Turbo energy frying their high tech ride. Max is still holding out hope that they’ll come up with a better method some day. One that won’t leave him stiff in a dozen different places by the time they get to HQ.

Sadly, that day is not today.

When they pull up to the many tanks that have been waiting for them, Max doesn’t even bother complaining. He pulls his jacket off to toss it on the floor of the cube as an attempt at cushioning. Leave it to the containment techs to think about efficiency and nothing else. Is comfort even a word in their databases?

His mom tries to reassure him before they seal him in. “Just a little longer, Max. We’ll be there before you know it!”

“Are we sure I can’t just be tranq’d for this?” Max asks flatly. He already feels like a zoo animal. Why not go the whole nine yards?

His mom’s pinched expression doesn’t make him feel any better. But he doesn’t take it back. He’s so tired.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetie.”

Then it’s dark.

It’s hard to know how long it takes, but it feels like seconds before Max feels all but a whisper of breath be crushed from his lungs. Every inhale is a challenge. Every exhale gets squeezed out of him. Over and over and over. His chest burns cold.

He’s hyperaware of what his body is doing, but his mind feels like it’s dropped a few too many inputs. He might as well be made of static.

Max does his best to doze the rest of the way despite all of that. It’s not anything new. If Max really couldn’t handle a tight space he wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere nowadays. Gone are the days where his output was small enough to stifle with a thick layer of lead alone.

He slides around a little in the box after a while of nothing. Max blinks, trying to make sense of the movement. Did he drift off? He can’t tell.

Then his prison cracks open along its seams and lets light in. His body takes huge gulps of air but his brain lags behind a little.

White and green. Dimmed overhead lights and a blurry figure overhead. There’s someone kneeling beside him. Bold, considering how his body’s leaking Turbo energy like nobody’s business right now. Heavy footsteps retreat. The lone figure stays.

“—you with me? Maxwell?” Every blink brings that face more into focus. “I’d appreciate a sign of life if you could manage one.”

“Ghh?”

“Close enough.”

Something soft and weighted gets set on his chest. Max brings up a hand and squishes it. He looks down (or is that up) at it. Feels the red wool beneath his fingers. He blinks at it slowly, still a little lost until its low familiar noises click in his head. All at once he’s present enough to remember what this is.

“I’m getting a little old for Coco, don’t you think?” Max asks even as he keeps squishing the little alien gator plushie’s soft snout. It’s splayed out starfish style on his chest and buzzing away like a phone on silent.

Coco has six legs, three button eyes, and a split in the end of her- its tail. It’s modeled after one of the creatures in the hand-drawn kids books his dad made for him once upon a time. A human’s take on a Takonian kid’s toy.

Max has loved this thing half to death over the years.

“If you’d rather I take her with me, that can be arranged.” Dr. Salazar stands up. Moves towards the far side of the room. There are cabinets filled with a little of everything they’ve ever needed to treat him. They don’t keep any medical machinery in here, so it feels kind of empty. “Though I can’t imagine her time would be better spent gathering dust on a shelf.”

Max crosses his arms over his chest and lets the warmth and weight of the plush ground him a little. He’s too tired to be embarrassed about how it must look. “Probably not.”

Dr. Salazar hums, patient. “Take all the time you need, then. They’re still setting up the chamber for you.”

That wakes him up from his stupor a little more. Max moves to sit up, though he struggles to manage that without anything to support himself with.

They opened his cube in the infirmary. Or, at least, the shielded offshoot room in the infirmary that’s meant for him. He’s pretty sure it didn’t exist before they had need of it because it’s not on any floorplans. Rooms for Project Nebula rarely are, Max has found.

Dr. Salazar pulls a blanket off the lone raised bed against the wall and draws it over his shoulders. Her knees pop when she kneels to do so. “Are you ready for our little pre-procedure questionnaire yet?”

“I’m confused.” Max gets up, shakily, and goes to sit on the bed. “I thought you said you were going to retire?”

“I did indeed. I actually came in today to talk to someone about my pension plan. Getting to talk to you again is just a bonus.” She explains. “Plus, I figured another night of care is the least I could give you since I’m already here. Clocking out has never meant I’ve stopped wanting to take care of you.”

“Yeah…” They’d already said their goodbyes in Wyoming a couple weeks before this move. Even still, it hurts to see her here again knowing it won’t last. He wants to be selfish. He shouldn’t be selfish.

Max hugs Coco tighter rather than risk doing something stupid like hugging Dr. Salazar while he’s this tired. This wired. Her pacemaker could—

Coco’s weighted beans shift with the extra pressure. Max takes a deep breath.

His shoulders relax enough for the blanket to slip some when he sighs. “I’m… I’m glad you came. It’s going to be weird not seeing you around anymore.”

“Likewise. Though I’ll be sure to keep in touch. You have my number, my new P.O. Box, and my email for when you want to chat. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” She smiles sadly and sits on the edge of the bed with him. “Taking a step back from the action gives me a lot more time to work on my methods. I’ll still advise your care team every now and then. And send you a couple care packages too.”

She boops Coco on her snout. “Unless, of course, you really are too old for these things.”

“Perish the thought.” Max smiles. “I can’t be the reason you’ve got idle hands. How will your grandkids ever survive?”

Dr. Salazar reaches out to ruffle his hair. Max is honestly surprised she doesn’t get shocked. He didn’t even notice when his output went flat and the plush in his arms went still. Looks like Coco’s still got it.

“Now that you’ve stabilized, we can run through the pre-offload checklist. I’ve been told you already ate?” She moves from her spot on the bed to pull a pen and paper clipboard off its place on the wall. In rooms like these it’s strictly old-school only for safety.

Max doesn’t want to bring up his loss of appetite. He’s got a feeling he knows what that’s about, anyway. “Yup. Jefferson got me sorted on the way here.”

“Not ideal but probably for the best. What about sleep?” Here, she does pay closer attention. Lapses in his control while he’s asleep have been a real problem on and off over the years.

“I managed five hours in a hotel last night. We got in late and left at dawn for an early start.” Max sets Coco down on the bed beside him. He doesn’t really need the assist right now. He does still fidget with the split end of her tail, though. The wool there is worn from years of absentminded petting. “We didn’t want to push our luck too much.”

“I’ll check and see if the Vault’s available yet. If it isn’t, you can rest here after your procedure. There’s no need to waste time you could spend recovering.” Dr. Salazar offers. She looks up from the clipboard, smiling thinly. “If the commander has an issue with it he can stand outside the door with a blaster himself. I won’t have you fainting in some hallway when there’s a perfectly good bed waiting for you already.”

Max gives a relieved smile. “Thanks, Doc! You’re a lifesaver.”

She’s technically not supposed to allow that because this room “isn’t defensible enough” or some nonsense. Like it’s not deep enough into the heart of the base that Max would struggle to find his way back to the hangar on a good day. Dr. Salazar’s all about bending regulations when they’re bad for his health, though. And she usually gets away with it because his health is her job.

Or, well, was. He’s known for weeks she was leaving and he still hasn’t quite come to terms with what that’s going to mean. She’s been in his life for longer than he’s known how to talk. He’d usually see more of her than his own mother during particularly bad times growing up.

Fevers that wouldn’t break for hours soothed by patient hands. Murmured comfort lulling him to sleep after backlash from failed extractions left him weak and bedridden. Nights where his mom would be so late to pick him up from a base that Dr. Salazar would tuck him into an infirmary bed and stay up to wait for her in his stead. Whole afternoons spent trying to refine his control that ended with him crying in her arms because he couldn’t do it. Hair swept away from his forehead to make room for a kiss and a promise that it’s alright, you’ll get there some day. We’ll all be here to help until you do, okay?

Coco starts to rumble quietly again. Max grips her torso in his fist tightly without even glancing at her.

Dr. Salazar notices. Of course she does. But before she can ask him what’s wrong—

The door to the room opens abruptly. “There you are! I forgot the intercom doesn’t reach this far back. I’ve been trying to call you two for ages now.”

“Uncle Ferrus!” Max’s smile only wobbles a little. He’s never gotten good at pivoting like that, but he tries anyway. “It’s good to see you!”

Max is a little excited to see his uncle again. It’s been how many years since they’ve talked face-to-face? At least four. It’s not often that he and his mom come back to the main base and Uncle Ferrus rarely leaves on cross-country missions himself these days.

“Same here, kid.” His uncle doesn’t come forward for a hug, which is probably wise. He instead turns to nod at Dr. Salazar. “Doctor.”

“Commander.” Dr. Salazar greets politely in turn. She kind of pointedly does not salute him. Though, to be fair, Max didn’t either and she doesn’t even work here anymore.

“I’m here to pick up Max for the extraction. They’re ready for ya.” He explains.

Max’s stomach drops. “Already? That’s a quick turnaround. It usually takes like an hour to prime, doesn’t it?”

“Not this new model. Didn’t your mother tell you? Berto and the other tech guys overhauled the whole thing. It runs smoother and faster. We can get it started in fifteen minutes.” Uncle Ferrus says. He sounds proud of them. Max probably should be too because that’s genuinely impressive engineering, but a new chamber when he’s already feeling like crap doesn’t get him as cheered up as his uncle probably hoped it would.

Better tech means more points of failure. Newer tech means it hasn’t been through its paces yet. Both have had a history of failing him.

Dr. Salazar, who’s been at this for a long time and knows that, asks the question for him. “Has the overhauled chamber been stress-tested yet?”

Uncle Ferrus waves a hand. “I’ve been assured it’s passed every safety check and the shielding can mask—”

“That wasn’t my question, Commander.” Dr. Salazar interrupts smoothly. “I’ll clarify. Has the overhauled chamber proven it can withstand Max’s previously recorded upper limit for a period of at least twenty minutes? Or have the techs gotten ahead of themselves with their optimizing, again?”

“Easy, Doc, the guys have been looking that thing over for days now. They’ve assured me that it’s all up to snuff.” Uncle Ferrus says confidently. “I’d love to smooth your feathers by having them run more tests, but I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of time right now.”

They really don’t, is the worst part. Coco’s weighted beans are damn near rattling with the force of her- its vibrations. Max tries to squish it into the mattress to muffle the noise but the movement draws his uncle’s eye anyway. Whatever heated back and forth he and the doctor were having when he stopped paying attention gets cut short.

Crud.

“He still has that thing?” Uncle Ferrus asks when he notices the plush, not unkindly but certainly not with much tact. “I thought you grew out of it, Max.”

Before Max can feel too embarrassed about that, Dr. Salazar is taking a casual step in front of him and drawing all the attention to herself. He’s seen the way she straightens up and squares her shoulders like that a thousand times. He relaxes without really thinking about it.

Max sits back and pulls Coco against his side for the wait. Neither he nor his uncle are about to be able to get a word in, he knows from experience. Uncle Ferrus clearly knows too, because he kind of slumps against the doorframe in preemptive defeat.

“You know very well, Commander, that the Crocheted Optimised-Control Object is a useful medical device for emotional support that aids in maintaining Max’s short-term energy-stability.” Dr. Salazar doesn’t even have to glance at his chart as she lays this all out again. Max faintly remembers a similar conversation taking place back when he was eleven. It’d been louder then because she hadn’t known he was in the room.

She keeps going. “The Turbo energy sensor within it that we pieced together from Jim’s notes can detect rapid and anomalous spikes of Turbo energy production. It also emits deep, soothing tones and vibrations that have been proven to mitigate Max’s Turbo energy emissions when he’s non-critical, as well as lower his heart rate back to acceptable levels.”

Translation: the alien gator plush purrs. It purrs big time. It’s purring right now and Max rubs his thumb over its button eyes. One of them is getting loose from how often he does so.

“You should know this, Commander, because you have read my many reports and the notes therein that state that Max’s overall improvements to his control have not diminished this tool’s effectiveness. And that, before such a stressful and uncomfortable procedure, it is perfectly acceptable to use whatever means are necessary to return to his baselines.” Dr. Salazar’s tone turns downright icy as she stares Uncle Ferrus down. “Baselines he needs a stability aid’s help to return to because someone authorized the use of that cramped Transport Cube without consulting his doctor.”

Ah, there it is! Max knew this wasn’t just about the Coco comment when it ran over the ten second mark. Uncle Ferrus might be screwed.

Because, if there’s anyone on earth who hates that stupid fucking box more than Max? It’s Dr. Salazar.

She’s proven with graphs and stuff that his energy production is more difficult to regulate if he’s upset and that box is very upsetting. Putting him in it too close to an extraction is just asking for an incident report. Max wonders if maybe Uncle Ferrus thought she’d left already when he gave the okay to use it.

For his sake, Max hopes Dr. Salazar never learns the truth of that one way or the other. He’s in enough hot water as is.

“I can explain.” Uncle Ferrus looks vaguely intimidated as he raises his hands in what feels like genuine surrender.

It’s stuff like this that reminds Max that Dr. Salazar used to be his dad’s doctor before he died and that’s why she’s his doctor now. He can only imagine the words she must’ve had with his uncle over the years, having seen him land two McGraths in the infirmary too many times to count.

Max shivers. He’s lucky she adores him.

“You can and you will.” Dr. Salazar says curtly. She taps her pen’s tip on the edge of her clipboard away from the actual documents on it. “After my patient and I have finished this checklist, which is standard procedure for a reason. You may wait in one of the infirmary chairs or out in the hall. I’ll send Max on his way when we’re done here.”

“I—”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Commander.” Dr. Salazar turns her back on him. Her smile when she looks at Max is warm and sure. “Have you experienced any dizziness or difficulty with your balance in the last twenty-four hours?”

“Uh…” Max looks over her shoulder to see Uncle Ferrus standing there gobsmacked. Like he’s somehow forgotten what Dr. Salazar was like in person after so long only getting this kind of treatment over emails and phone calls.

His uncle makes a gesture like he’s telling Max to come with him anyway. There is a moment where Max considers it.

Instead, Max makes eye contact with Dr. Salazar. “He’s still there.”

Uncle Ferrus hurriedly slams the door shut before she manages to turn around and catch him.

There’s a moment of silence. Then the sound of heavy boots actually walking away. Then another moment of silence for good measure.

It’s only then that Max asks her, “Aren’t there only like five more questions on that sheet?”

When Dr. Salazar looks at him again, it’s with the smile that he knows means he’s in for a treat.

“Of course. But, given this is going to be my last pre-check with you before my retirement, I would be doing the team that follows me a disservice by not being as thorough as possible.” She double-clicks her pen. “Would it be alright with you if I add in say, roughly, thirty minutes’ worth of follow-up questions?”

Oh, yeah. Max is going to miss her dearly.

“I’d love that.”