Chapter Text
Sick Freak
The Oxford English Dictionary defines sick (adj.) in 9 different ways, and currently there’s a solid case to be made for the significance of 6 of them, all captured within the Herbert currently sitting across from Dan in the lab.
The easiest and most obvious definition of sick is “suffering from an illness,” which Herbert certainly is. Dan is assuming Herbert has the flu, but time will tell. The symptoms had started yesterday; they’d been incredibly subtle, but it took just a single sneeze from Herbert to know what they were in for. It’s due to Dan’s status as a doctor in part, but it’s also because he’s been through this many times before; Dan doesn’t always enjoy the ways he’s tuned in to Herbert.
A sneeze because of kicked-up dust or bright lights is different from a sneeze that meant they were about to be very upset with each other for about a week, and Dan knows the difference. Herbert had sniffed loudly and continued on with what he was doing, while Dan heaved a heavy sigh.
The definition of sick being “a pale, sickly hue” can be included as well; Herbert is starting to look visibly unwell, especially under the harsh lighting of the lab. This doesn’t mean that he’ll acknowledge it, but rather that it’s going to piss Dan off even more that he won’t.
Sick can also be thought of in a moral sense; “corrupted through evil.” This point is raised more because it’d be deficient not to; Dan has no interest in being the guy who makes endless excuses for his villainous husband. If Dan’s talking to a cop, Herbert’s a saint. If there’s no danger, he’s fine letting Herbert be Herbert, and won’t pretend he’s anything else. No need to paint him any particular way, either; Herbert does not like being spoken for.
(Well, a villain in the eyes of others. Dan likes to see him more as an antihero, which probably speaks well to how time has tempered his judgement. Herbert might disagree with this, but at times he considers anything less than stars in Dan’s eyes as “judgement.”)
The definition concerning “morbid humor” is also included in Herbert. Dan doesn’t know if Herbert has gotten funnier over time, if he was initially funny and Dan’s more susceptible to it now, or if Dan just thinks he’s hot. Whatever the reason, Herbert needs to stop making him crack a smile during inopportune times at the hospital; Dan refuses to ever be in the same room as Herbert when there’s bad news to deliver.
There’s also sickness through being “deeply affected by strong emotion.” Herbert is the type of man who likes to think himself above those things, but he’s very much not. It’s often treated similarly to physical illness. Herbert often keeps himself controlled, but when he does feel, he feels deeply. It aches, and the emotion doesn’t matter. Dan has seen him so happy he looks pained.
The last definition of being sick is being “thoroughly tired of something.” Herbert certainly is, and the thing in question is Dan, because he has mentioned Herbert potentially being sick once. Once. And it’ll only get worse.
Because all of the forms of the adjective cannot be fully understood for Dan’s purposes when not applied to the noun.
There are technically 6 definitions of freak in the Oxford English Dictionary, but there should be just one thing there, and that’s a picture of Herbert West.
Strange, enthusiastic, obsessive, exceptional. Denoted by addiction, distress, spontaneity. Control freak, sex freak, whatever the polar opposite of a Jesus freak is while maintaining all of the intensity. A bolt from the blue. Not normal.
The term “sick freak” pinned on Herbert would probably make him give Dan a dark glare, and the sheer amount of thinking put into the complexities of the title that Herbert wears on a huge nametag every time he falls ill would only make him roll his eyes.
But it’s true that Herbert requires a different name when he becomes sick, because he turns from a husband and scientist into a resentful, sniffling creature that wanders around the house complaining and getting germs everywhere. By the time he’s at the peak of the illness that he let get wildly out of control, he’s rumpled beyond recognition and an absolutely bewildering conversationalist. It’s not Herbert, after all; it’s The Sick Freak (TSF).
The only reason that Dan’s had the time to think of a set title for this creature is because this is a somewhat annual occurrence, and it hits like a hurricane every time. It’d be strange to allow events and characters like this exist with nothing to refer to them as; having TSF visit once a year is still more often than anyone else.
Dan doesn’t tell Herbert any of this. Herbert would find the title stupid and insulting, and deny TSF’s existence. That, or he’d get jealous that Dan has a special name for a different version of him. It’s such a small thing that Dan would like to imagine Herbert could refrain from going green-eyed, but Dan would also like world peace and a sweater he can actually wear instead of being hoarded by Herbert.
(Of course Herbert would be jealous of himself, though. Who could be a more impossible competitor?)
Still, Dan thinks TSF is fitting. It’s more than a double-meaning; it’s potentially a decuple-meaning, halted by the fact that Dan doesn’t know any tuples higher than that.
Outside of comedy or sentiment, Dan finds his thinking to be fairly scientific. He might not be on the level of Herbert, but just because he’s not 100 on the scale doesn’t mean he’s 0. Dan likes his numbers and definitions, his occasional objectivity, especially in terms of his career.
It doesn’t matter, though; he gets painted as the dreamy one, as overemotional enough to fall off into the realm of corny. He’s the waster of words between the two of them. This is a Herbert observation, but Dan can agree on some fronts; when he wishes to apply it, Herbert has the sharp ability to cut right to the point, free from decoration or embellishment. Free from carelessness, as well. Free from ease, which Dan considers to be well earned at this point, if only by the sheer amount that Herbert speaks.
In their relationship, that was the idea at first. Herbert talks and Dan fills the space in between. Dan knows better now, but he does find that way of thinking allows him to waste even more words, with a comfortability he never could have imagined before.
He’d made a joke last week, some kind of double-meaning that he’d spent a moment or two piecing together, and received only a scowls from Herbert’s side of the room. Herbert loves wordplay, but he prefers to perform them; Dan doesn’t have a stellar track record with his own shows.
“I’d much rather you successfully give me one meaning than incompetently give two,” Herbert said coldly, and turned his attention back to his task.
It had stuck in his mind because relatively it was so tame for Herbert, but had that sharpness to it that used to bother Dan greatly. Even those little jabs stung slightly; he would have heard that and felt stupid, like he shouldn’t have spoken at all.
That was back when he thought Herbert might turn out to be a person someday. That was back when Dan was still holding himself to that standard. Once those standards were removed, so was a lot of needless hurt. Dan didn’t need to bother with non-issues, and Herbert was much more compelled to see a different way when it wasn’t packaged as “the way things are done.”
Because hearing that line these days just makes him laugh. He’s still prone to feeling stupid, useless, bothersome, but it’d take a lot more than such a small snap for it to touch him.
Often Dan feels as though he and Herbert grow more like each other all the time. Much of their differences are learned, where many core similarities feel deeply inherent. Still, they can’t combine too deeply, nor completely abandon personhood. Two separate bodies would be more convenient, and someone needs to be normal enough to answer the phone politely.
One of the pains that will never be removed, however, is irritation. No, it doesn’t weigh on Dan or follow him into the next day, but god damn, Herbert could be annoying. He expects full attention for his rants, and then tunes out Dan. Would it kill him to offer some back-and-forth in the lab when they work late on big projects, or let Dan put on music? If he’s so great, why can’t he multitask?
Dan annoys Herbert, too; this is another thing that once weighed on his confidence that he now finds freedom in. To buzz around, annoying Herbert, and not be squashed? Dan might stand alone, in that respect.
I’d much rather you successfully give me one meaning than incompetently give me two…
Dan had spun it in his mind for a moment, and then spoke.
“Oh, really?” he said, like Herbert was bringing up a fascinating point
This received no response which wasn’t surprising, but Dan knew Herbert was listening. He might think his intentional ignorance would bother Dan, but it doesn't.
“Interesting,” Dan adds, turning a page of his notes. “Pretty sure I successfully gave you two last night.”
There’s silence, but not the same silence as before, and when he looks up, Herbert is staring at him. Glowering, more like. Annoyed that Dan’s still bothering him, but more annoyed that Dan is factually correct. Herbert scowls.
“I’m going to move your box further away,” he says, motioning to the taped-out square on the floor.
“No you’re not.”
And they both went back to their work.
But Dan’s not sure why he’s associated with having words. Herbert talks more, and louder, at a baseline, but even when it moves from realms of science to romance, that standard is maintained. There’s an assumption that because Dan calls Herbert baby and says the correct three words at the right time, he’s the romantic. No; once they went off the grid, Dan couldn’t compare.
Anyone at all could say “I love you” to Dan, but who could match Herbert at 3 am, tucked into Dan’s shoulder with his fingers running down his arm, so close that he only has to murmur?
“I’ve been thinking…” Herbert paused, and sighed tiredly. He’d been up longer than Dan liked him to be, but it sometimes led to this specific scenario, so Dan selfishly allowed it.
“Not again.”
“Shut up. I’ve been thinking that you remind me of a waterfall I went to see at a park when I was a child.” Dan settled in for a lecture. “It was incredibly loud, and much taller than the photo made it seem.”
“Which waterfall was this?”
“That doesn’t matter. Stop interrupting me.”
“Sorry.”
“It was beautiful, admittedly,” Herbert said, and it was more begrudging than wistful. That’s very him; if Herbert truly likes sometimes, it usually deeply frustrates him as well. “At that age, I wasn’t one for nature. Not just for standing and looking at it, anyway.”
Dan would say Herbert isn’t one for nature now, either, considering the times they had tried to interact with it away from the context of science or crime, but the “standing and looking” is an important distinction. He knew Herbert had spent a large portion of his childhood, outside and alone, and most of that time wasn’t spent looking, or even poking with a stick. Herbert liked getting his hands in things.
“There was a low wooden gate to keep anyone from getting too close, so I jumped it, of course,” Herbert continued. “I waded in–it was shockingly cold–and put my hands in the water. It was so heavy, and it pushed my hands down instantly.”
He could imagine this, but somehow Dan was picturing himself in Herbert’s place; he’d never seen photos of Herbert as a child, and hardly heard descriptions. It’s the only time Dan hears Herbert speak negatively about himself in such a casual way. He has to hold his tongue, wanting to defend this kid he never knew, but knowing it’s much more complicated than that.
“I had to work to hold it, with constant effort,” Herbert said, and then groaned, as if the water was currently rushing through his fingers. “Even then, I found that I couldn’t hold it enough. I wanted wider palms and more articulated fingers, so no water would escape my grasp. Or perhaps the water might fall heavier still, and then pour right through me.”
He paused, and made another noise of discontent. Herbert pushed at Dan’s arm slightly, like he was the injustice to fight against, and then went still again. “That’s foolish, obviously. All of it. It made me so furious I never wanted to go back.”
Dan laughed softly, imagining himself with pants soaked to his knees with a deep scowl, all for lack of “holding a waterfall” which was very much impossible. He knows what Herbert means, though, and he pushes Herbert away, just enough to make out the curve of his face in the dark.
“Well, you’ve been standing under the waterfall for 6 years now,” Dan said quietly. “Are you any less furious?”
“No,” Herbert growled. “It gets worse every year. But, anywhere else is torture. It’s all very…” He pressed his hands against Dan’s chest, fingers trailing under his collarbones. “Frustrating.”
It’s so genuine, as Herbert is more apt to be than one might think.
Dan tilted Herbert’s face up, and kissed him, and moved his body to put more weight on Herbert. He slotted a leg into Herbert’s and pushed down into Herbert the best that he could. He feels the hands on his shoulders, and that growl again, vibrating into his chest. Herbert can’t hold him enough, so Dan will have to attempt to fall through him.
“It’d help,” Herbert said, with halting breath when Dan frees up his mouth by trailing down to his neck, “if the waterfall was way up in the mountains where no one could talk to it or look at it or touch it.”
Dan wanted to compliment him on how far this metaphor has extended, and in some ways, he was into the idea. Putting himself entirely in Herbert’s hands, and knowing no other connection than one of someone who wished to push the boundaries of nature and science both to keep him perfectly. But someone has to answer the phone.
“The waterfall is employed, hon,” Dan says against his skin. “The waterfall needs to take the car to the auto shop tomorrow.”
Herbert groaned, pushed Dan off him, and rolled away.
It’s now year 7 in the waterfall, to extend the metaphor past its breaking point and then some. Dan’s friends, if he had any, might say it’s weird that Herbert hasn’t said the words “I love you” in all this time, but Dan disagrees. He’s envious, actually. At times all he can offer is the factory default, when Herbert gives him something so fine-tuned and different. The way Herbert talks to him sometimes, it’s like he’s just as important as Herbert is. Like he’s special. He wants to love like that.
But it’s likely a good thing that he doesn’t, because there’s another shock; Herbert is the true romantic, and Dan is a much more practical lover. He keeps the bills paid, the house intact, and Herbert alive.
His efforts to keep Herbert alive come in many forms and Dan has plenty of experience; sometimes Herbert has the ego of a god with the self-preservation sense of a lemming, so Dan has his work cut out for him.
And that’s Herbert right now; he’s sitting on a tall stool, chin high as if he’s the ruling emperor, but he keeps sniffing loudly and pretending like he isn’t. He’ll have his parade in celebration of his scientific genius right off a cliff because he forgot he’s a human with a physical body.
Dan is willing to try something new this time, in part to see if all the ways Herbert has rubbed off on him can have any power over the ways he’s rubbed off on Herbert. It’s easier to picture this as a study, part experiment and part field journal; an overall exploration of TSF.
Dan making an attempt to manipulate would likely delight Herbert if it wasn’t being weaponized against him. Herbert is going to get a taste of his own medicine. And medicine in general, hopefully.
That’s not quite a double-meaning, but fortunately Dan doesn’t need to worry too much about the success of his wordplay, because the further the hands of the clock tick, his husband is less and less Herbert. Well, Herbert alone.
Which brings it all back to TSF. It sits across the table from Dan, pretending that it isn’t TSF, like a snake who thinks it’s unseen because its head is in the bushes despite its tail lying out. Herbert really doesn’t think he’s sick, and he thinks he’s no more of a freak than usual, but he absolutely knows he’s driving Dan up the wall.
TSF sniffs again. It knows Dan is staring at it intently, but doesn’t look up. It’s as if endless germs aren’t swirling around the lab, nor the heat of competition.
Game on.