I Promise You'll Get Better

Seventeen // Interlude 2

Captain Barnacles had insisted that Shellington leave the MedBay and take some time to look after himself, so in theory, that was what Shellington was doing. He backed up this theory with three points of evidence:

One: he was not in the MedBay. He was, in fact, in his laboratory. Yes, it was across from the MedBay, but it wasn't in it, and so Shellington theorised that he was a suitable distance from it to be considered as having "left" it.

Two: he was looking after himself. He was eating three regular meals a day, he was showering every evening, he'd even - during his free time - taken up rereading some of his old marine biology books.

Three: he was socialising with the crew. A gloomy atmosphere hung over the Octopod, but Dashi's cousins had taken it upon themselves to be the chief sources of comic relief, which helped to clear the clouds a little. Shellington, despite the urge to hang around in his laboratory at all times, had been forcefully persuaded by the army of dachshunds to join them in table tennis matches, baking competitions, karaoke and the like - and to his utmost surprise, he found that he was actually having fun. Those moments helped to lift the weight off his shoulders a little, even if it was only for a few hours.

So if asked by the Captain, he could present these points of evidence, and they would be considered substantial enough for Barnacles to agree that yes, he was looking after himself.

On the contrary, Shellington hadn't mentioned what he was doing in his laboratory.

A great pile of books teetered precariously on one end of the work bench, ranging from books borrowed from the library to books "borrowed" from Peso's medical collection to his own beloved marine biology books. Scattered across the table were a number of experiment set ups of all sorts of colours, each with their own data collecting device to make comparing results a lot easier. A battered notebook sat in the centre, filled with pages and pages of Shellington's untidy scrawl, noting down figures, statistics, results, times, anything he could pull from his experiments.

Stored safely in a locked container was a vial of cone snail poison.

He'd risked far too much going out to collect it - and the Captain would've been horrified if he'd found out - but it was crucial for his research.

And it wasn't nearly as risky as what he was planning to do with it.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Peso - the medic had years and years of knowledge and experience, and the medications and antibiotics he'd been keeping Dashi on were, for the most part, doing their job.

But Shellington couldn't bear simply waiting for the aftereffects to wear off, and he knew Dashi couldn't either. They were rapidly approaching the two month marker and she'd shown no signs of improvement. It was just the same old, same old every day, and it was sapping her of any energy she clung onto. She'd barely been able to leave the MedBay since her sudden downwards spiral after their date night.

It was a vicious battle, and Shellington hated the mere thought of the outcome, but it was an unspoken fact that Dashi was losing the fight.

Hence the vial of cone snail poison. Hence the hours and hours of research being poured into finding an ultimate cure, because it was his duty to do so. As an Octonaut, as a scientist, and - most importantly - as Dashi's partner.

One night, Shellington was chewing his lip, considering the next stage of the plan with a growing sense of apprehension, when the laboratory doors slid open.

He glanced up. The pen fell out of his hand.

"Jumping jellyfish," he murmured, scrubbing his eyes. "T-Tweak?"