Spilling Guts

Part 105 - Apology Attempt Number ???

Once he had finished with Megan and Teegan, and put away his fries and Will's tiramisu in the break room fridge with a giant note promising torture if it was touched by anyone else but him, Louis had a mission. He had a cup of hot tea, and a partner who needed it. As well as an apology.

The offer of sharing his fries with Will while in the elevator had been the closest he'd been to accomplishing that mission. He would not fail now.

I will make Balcuwitz proud of me. He'll give me a damn gold star for this.

That determination led him back to Med Tech, hot mug close to scalding his knuckles.

***

Balcuwitz left, reminding Will to call him if he needed to talk about anything else. Will mourned the second loss of his tiramisu and sucked on his cinnamon candy.

Rachel settled Will back into the Med Tech bed with a suspended desk so he could stay up to date with his own paperwork, and a tablet. Though weary and tired, Will tried his best of focus on data entry; doing everything he could to stave off sleeping again. He could see why Louis stayed caffeinated.

Oh, stars above, am I going to develop a taste for coffee now? Is that a thing when you suffer from insomnia and night terrors?

"Can I see the data?" asked Will as Rachel checked in again.

"Sure," said Rachel, puzzled as she took the bedside tablet and synced it up. "What are you hoping to see?"

"No idea. But I'd liked to look this monster in the face."

The monster ended up being two dozen squiggles on a graph. After a little research and reading through the procedural proposal Doctor Hayman attached to his file, Will got a vague idea of what the squiggles meant. And, apparently, the Sleepy Beanie had an official name; an electroencephalograph or EEG for short. Will liked Sleep Beanie better.

Each of those lines represent a part of my brain. Will traced the x and y axis, x being the amount of energy being used, and y axis being the time. And the spikes represent how much activity is being used by that part of my brain at that time. So much for the myth that people only use ten percent of their brains at a time.

Will scrolled back to earlier in the afternoon, when he had been going through his inbox.

This is my brain. This is my brain being put to sleep by patents. I'm surprised there's that much activity to do data entry. This is my brain having a nightmarish freak-out. And it looks it; those lines are everywhere. Will kept scrolling until he reached a the section of the graph still in progress. A live feed of his brain.

This is actually kinda of fun. What does my brain look like now?

The lines wiggled like sedate pencil lines, a prairie landscape. Boring.

I wonder what the Sleepy Beanie would pick up if it was on Beni or Reese after a dose of their caffeine and sugar monstrosity?

What does my brain look like when I think of Jacob? Will tried to keep his mind focused on the good memories he had made the past weekend, the hopes he'd once had with his former lover. But his fuzzy memories, on top of a cold, didn't make much of a difference on the graph.

Outside in the hallway, a shoe squeaked, someone stumbling, and then a splash, porcelain cracking on the floor.

"Hot!" yelled Louis.

Will jolted as Copperfield dashed into his room to hide under the bed. What was Copperfield doing out of his cage?

Louis stumbled to the doorway, peeling off a t-shirt soaked in still steaming liquid, and then fanned his bare chest and torso. He seemed more concerned with the red patches growing on his skin than modesty.

"Fuckin' hell that's hot!" hissed Louis, dabbing the rest of the tea off his chest with a dry part of his shirt.

"No kidding," said Will in a strangled whisper.

A few squiggles on the tablet peaked.