PLUSH ONE vii
(By NeuroFabulous)
The room feels alien, the
walls closing in around Karen.
Plankton's autism has painted
a new reality, one filled with
sounds too loud, lights too bright,
and emotions too intense.
Plankton then sniffles as tears
start to trickle down his cheeks.
"Karen," he says, his voice
desperate. "Plankton... Karen
upset? Plankton not meant to
upset Karen."
Karen's screen swells with love
and pity. She can't bear to see
his pain, his confusion.
"It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't do
anything wrong." She takes a deep
breath, trying to keep her voice
steady. "I'm just learning,
sweetie. We both are."
Plankton sniffles, his eye
searching hers. "Love Karen," he says,
his voice a tremble. "Yes; Karen
Plankton." "I love you, too,"
she whispers. "Always."
Plankton's gaze lingers on
the envelope, his antennae
quivering. "Loving Karen even
when wanting space."
Karen nods, her eyes
filling with understanding.
"We'll figure this out," she says,
her voice a balm to his fear.
Plankton's hand opens, the
envelope slipping onto the bed.
"Plankton memorized formula.
Plankton need put back, in Krabs
safety vault."
Karen's eyes widen with shock.
"You... you remember each and
every detail; how?"
Plankton's eye twitches, a
flurry of thoughts racing across
his face. "Patterns," he whispers.
"Everything in patterns. Krabby
Patty, Krabs, all patterns."
Karen nods, her mind racing. "So,
you're saying you'll return it, so Krabs
won't know you got it. Ok, sweets."
Plankton nods vigorously, his antennae
bobbing. "Yes." He goes and does so
before hurrying back. "Plankton did it!
And not caught!"
Karen swells with pride,
despite the circumstances. "Good job,"
she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Now,
let's focus on you. How do you feel?"
Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae
waving in contemplation. "Different,"
he murmurs. "Everything's so... much."
He looks around the room, his gaze
landing on their wedding photo. "But
Karen, always. Love."
Karen smiles through her tears,
touched by his words. "I know,
sweetie. I love you, too."
The room feels smaller,
the air thick with their shared
understanding. Plankton's autism
has become a part of them, a third
entity in their relationship.
They'll have to navigate this
new reality together, a dance
of patience and empathy.
Karen watches him, his movements
now a symphony of tics and rituals,
each gesture a clue to his inner world.
"What do you need, Plankton?" she asks,
her voice a soft whisper in the cacophony
of his thoughts.
He looks at her, his
eye searching hers.
"Does," he says. "Do
Plankton."
Karen nods. "What
does my Plankton
need?"
He looks at her, his
eye swiveling in his
newly autistic way, trying
to find the words. "Karen,"
he says, his voice a gentle
wave of comfort. "Safe Karen."
Karen's eyes well with
tears, understanding his
need for familiarity. She nods,
her hand reaching out to stroke
his antennae gently. "Yes,
Plankton. You're safe with
me."
The contact sends a rush
of comfort through him, his
body relaxing slightly. He
closes his eye, leaning into her
touch. "Good Karen," he whispers.
Karen continues
stroking his antennae, her hand
trembling with emotion. "What
else can I do for you?" she asks,
her voice low and soothing.
Plankton's eye opens slightly,
his focus on her touch. "Love Karen,"
he murmurs, his voice filled with
longing. "Always, love." "I know, Plankton.
We're in this together."
He nods, his antennae twitching
slightly. "Together," he echoes. Karen
can see the fear in his
eye, the way it searches hers
for reassurance. She nods,
her hand moving to gently stroke
his arm.
But the moment her hand makes
contact with his skin, Plankton's
body stiffens. He jerks away,
his eye wide with terror. "NO!"
he shouts, the sound piercing
the quiet room.
Karen's hand freezes in midair, her
thoughts racing. "I'm sorry," she
whispers, her voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to—"
But Plankton's already retreated
to the corner of the room, his body
curled into a protective ball. "Not now,"
he murmurs, his voice shaking.
"No touch." She'd hurt him
without meaning to, crossed a line
he hadn't even drawn yet. She takes
a step back, her hand hovering in the
air. "Okay," she says, her voice
barely a whisper. Then an idea forms in her
head. Carefully, she picks up a plushie,
her movements slow and deliberate.
"Look, Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and even. "It's your plush.."
But Plankton's eye remains wide
with fear, his antennae rigid. "NO!"
he shouts, the word echoing in
the room. Karen's hand
freezes, the plushie dropping to the
floor forgotten.
"I'm sorry," she
says, her voice
soft and trembling.
"I di-"
But Plankton's
eye is
locked on
her screen,
his body
shaking. "NO!"
he screams, his
autism
surging.
This is new,
this raw fear.
He's never reacted
so strongly before.
"I didn't know."
Karen aches for him,
but she knows she can't
force her way in.
Plankton's breaths come
quick and shallow, his
body trembling. She
wants to comfort him,
to tell him it's okay,
but she knows it's not. Not
right now.
Instead, she sits down
on the bed, giving him
the space he needs. Her eyes
on him, watching his
every move.
The plushie lies on
the floor, which he
tentatively reaches
with his shaky hand.
He then clutches it
as he remains in the
corner of the room
on the floor.
Karen watches him.
The man she loves
is lost in his own
sensory overload,
and she feels powerless.
"Would you like me
to sing..."
Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his face a mask of terror.
"No!" he shouts, his voice
sharp as a knife.
The room falls silent,
the air charged with his fear.
Karen's seen this look before, but never
with such intensity. His
autism has painted their lives
with new colors, vivid and overwhelming.
She takes a step back, her hand
raised in a peaceful gesture.
"Okay," she whispers, her voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry."
Plankton's eye doesn't leave
the plushie, embracing it.
"MINE," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear.
Karen nods, her voice calm.
"Yes, Plankton. It's your plushie.
You're safe." She doesn't move,
knowing any sudden action could
send him spiraling again.
The silence is heavy,
punctuated by Plankton's
quick, shallow breaths.
Karen's mind races, trying
to understand his new rules,
his new reality.
Plankton clutches the plushie
to his chest, his eye squeezed
shut.
Karen's seen his fear before,
but never like this. The autism has
unlocked a new intensity in him,
his emotions a maelstrom she can't
begin to navigate.
"Plankton," she whispers, her voice
soothing. "You're okay. I'm here."
Her hand reaches out, but she stops
short, not wanting to invade his
space. His grip on the plushie
loosens slightly, his breathing
evening out.
Karen's eyes never leave
his face, watching for any sign
of distress. "Would you like
me to sit w---"
But Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his voice firm. "No please," he says.
The words hang in the air,
a stark reminder of their
new normal.
Karen nods, her hand falling to her
side. She knows he's trying to
control his environment, to find
comfort in the chaos. "Okay," she
says softly. "I'll be right here."
The room is silent but for the occasional
whisper of his voice, recounting the
formula to himself. She watches him
from afar. But she's also in awe of
his ability to process the patterns
and remember every detail.
Karen sighs. She observes
his every move, the way his antennae
twitch to the rhythm of his thoughts.
This isn't the exact same Plankton
she knew, but this is the Plankton she
still loves. She watches him, his
eye still closed, his body slowly
relaxing as he clutches the plushie.