Archive of Our Own

Day one of Herbert's rehabilitation doesn't technically begin as such. In fact, it's not until fairly late in the afternoon that Herbert's shaking hands and the resulting shattered flask prompt an argument between him and Dan that snowballs quickly from irritated, sleep-deprived snapping to the issuing of an ultimatum.

Convincing Herbert to even attempt to untangle himself from his chemical dependence is not a topic Dan hasn't actually broached before. Every time, as Herbert had needled his evidence into smaller and smaller pieces, Dan had ended up begrudgingly admitting that no, there hadn't been any negative side effects yet, and maybe Dan's entire preoccupation with the topic was "rooted in a disappointingly cavemannish fear of the unknown."

This time, however, Dan had followed the rules, played the game. He'd cataloged his evidence, made mental notes until he had what he considered a solid case for consideration. Evidence and documentation; that’s the only thing that had a chance at standing up to Herbert’s reticent dismissals.

This particular evening, hearing the shatter of glass and turning around to see his labmate with bedraggled frustration written across his face, Dan feels two things almost simultaneously. The first is, of course, the instant instinctual reaction to help. He is still a doctor, after all. Still Herbert's friend. He lurches forward without thinking, a hand up and splayed in a gesture of warning.

"Don't move."

Herbert shoots him an annoyed look.

"It’s one beaker, Dan. And I’m wearing shoes."

"Did anything get on you? What was in there?"

"Nothing. It was empty." Herbert sighs, his shoulders drooping slightly, and he peels off one pale latex glove to rub at his brows. "I just… lost my grip, I suppose."

At the assurance that Herbert is not studded with glass shrapnel or rapidly losing layers of skin to some acidic compound, Dan's second reaction takes precedence.

This is an opportunity.

He’d been waiting for this. For the next time Herbert had made a mistake, slipped up in some way that was irrefutably attributable to the effects of withdrawal. If it hadn’t happened, Dan had been willing to start the fight regardless, but he knew Herbert well enough to be sure that his best chance would be in the aftermath of a mistake.

"Okay. Well. I'm glad you're okay, but maybe we should call it a night. You look like you could use a rest."

"I'm fine," Herbert mumbles, crouching in place to begin reaching for the largest shards and gathering them in his other hand. "It's replaceable."

"Maybe, but you aren't. I think you need a break. I’m not worried about the equipment.”

"I'd rather you worried about the equipment than me." Herbert straightens up, dumping his gathered glass onto the workbench surface. "I can take care of myself."

"Why don't you try doing it for once, then?"

Herbert turns halfway to him, shooting him a glance that speaks volumes about how instantly tired of this argument he is. It’s not going to be enough to make Dan back down.

"Maybe you need to go to bed, Dan. You're clearly in a mood."

"I'm serious." As he talks, Dan retrieves the broom that hangs from a hook driven into the brick wall by the last owner of this place. He approaches Herbert, holding it out for him to take. "I mean it this time."

Herbert cocks an eyebrow at him.

"You haven't meant it the other times? I assumed your constant baseless worrying was a byproduct of your terminally bleeding heart."

"I mean it every time,” Dan amends, “but this time is the one where you listen to me."

Herbert snorts as he sweeps the remaining glass into a pile, and Dan resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"When was the last time you weighed yourself?"

Herbert pauses to hold a hand to his chest, fingers splayed in a charade of affront.

"Insulting my weight, Dan? I never would've thought you would resort to petty schoolyard bullying."

His attempt to weaken Dan's assertive mood with humor falls flat, and Dan allows a normally concealed concern to creep into his expression.

"You've lost weight,” he tells him flatly. “I don't know how much. Enough for me to notice."

Herbert shakes his head, the gesture casually dismissive.

"Not enough for me to notice, so I'm inclined to think you might be catastrophizing. Again."

"You wouldn't notice until you cut yourself on your cheekbones shaving," Dan snaps, abruptly striding towards him. He reaches for Herbert's shirt and reflexively, Herbert's hands come up in a protective gesture, his body curling in on itself slightly like he expects violence.

Dan takes a fistful of the stiff cotton at Herbert's waist and sharply pulls it untucked from his belt and up until the fabric is rucked just below and slightly diagonal to his sternum.

His skin is so pale that it only seems to show color by virtue of the white shirt juxtaposing it. That in itself is not something Dan is happy with, but it’s barely worth noticing in comparison to the shallow dips banding his upper chest. He'd known they would be there, could make an assumption based on the overall thinning of Herbert's frame he'd observed, but to actually see them brings a nauseating flash of weakness to Dan's stomach.

"Look at your ribs, Herbert."

Slowly, Herbert lowers his hands and looks to where Dan indicates, his face carefully blank. After a moment, Dan loosens his grip, and the shirt falls awkwardly back in place. Herbert smoothes it down and tucks it back in, squaring his shoulders.

“Do you recall how many meals you’ve had in the past week?” Dan asks. “Actual meals, not just a piece of fruit or a slice of toast.”

Herbert pauses, and Dan has no idea if he’s just taking the time to choose something scathing to say or if he truly needs to wrack his brain for the answer.

“You made gnocchi yesterday,” he finally says, confidently declarative, and Dan’s heart falls that much further.

“That was three days ago.”

Stiffly, Herbert turns away, waving a dismissive hand.

“Still. Very recently.”

“How can you think that’s okay? Mistaking three days for one? Have you even slept since then?”

“Why does it matter? Are you going to ask me if I keep a dream journal, too? These kinds of things are mundane, Dan. Progress is measured in outcomes, not merely time spent.”

“So what good is progress if it comes at the expense of deterioration?”

He reaches for one of Herbert’s wrists, and Herbert doesn't resist as he circles his fingers around it. It’s thinner than his own, not quite small enough to be called frail but not that far off it if Herbert doesn’t make a change.

“You care about the equipment, right? You’re the equipment. Your body is your greatest tool. How are you supposed to maintain precision when your hands are shaking? How do you expect to be able to move the subjects when they weigh more than you? How are you going to protect yourself the next time it goes wrong?”

He’s hit a nerve. He can see it in Herbert’s face. He doesn’t like it, dehumanizing Herbert for the sake of the argument, but he knew it would be far more effective than any heartfelt appeal to his humanity. Gently, Herbert twists his wrist out of Dan's grip and straightens the cuff of his shirt.

"Alright,” he says, his tone level. “You’ve made your point, and I respect it. I will pay closer attention to my nutritional needs."

Dan shakes his head.

"No, you won't."

"You're giving me quite contradictory orders," Herbert hums, raising an eyebrow.

"I just know you won't. You get a dose of that stuff and it's like everything else in the world falls out of your head. You could look me in the eye right now and tell me you're gonna go to bed, sleep eight hours, and wake up to eat an actual breakfast, and it wouldn't mean shit."

Herbert's eyes harden.

"I'm a man of my word, Dan, and if you don't know that I'm truly disappointed."

"I would love to be able to know that." He takes a deep breath. "Herbert… I want you off it."

"Off what?"

"The reagent. Weak or not, it's running you six feet into the ground and you don't even know what other potential long term side effects you're setting yourself up for."

Exasperated, Herbert uses the broom to shove the pile of remaining shards to the side, abandoning them to some nebulous to-do-later list.

"You know the components, Dan. None of them are particularly dangerous."

"Neither is vinegar until you mix it with household bleach."

"Well, it's a good thing there's no bleach in my reagent."

"Cut the jokes," Dan snaps, his hands balling into fists at his side, and Herbert's eyes dart to them for a moment, clearly perturbed.

"I can see this is… deeply troubling to you. Maybe we can reach some kind of compromise. I could create a schedule-"

Dan cuts him off.

"You're not listening to me, West. I'm giving you a choice. Show some self preservation or I'm done."

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Herbert looks at him.

"Done?"

"Out. Quitting. Finished. I'll move out, I'll transfer my residency, whatever I have to do. You can kill yourself down here, if that's what you want. But I'm not sticking around to watch it. I can't."

He watches Herbert's face as he digests the seriousness behind Dan's words. A crease appears between his stern brows, his mouth opening just a fraction the way it always does when his thoughts are catching like the flickering end of a film reel. He clears his throat.

"This is quite an arbitrary hill you've chosen to die on… Cain."

Dan doesn't miss the mild jab at the use of his last name, but that's just the level of the playing field at the moment.

"If I don't, you'll be the one dying on it."

Herbert rolls his eyes, sucking a frustrated noise through the side of his teeth.

"We're making so much progress. I can't slow down now. As I said, I'm willing to discuss compromise, but don't you think this is going a bit far?"

"You were doing this before the reagent. You didn't need it then," Dan points out, and Herbert shakes his head.

"But I did. I wasted years of my life pulling a thread that wasn't going anywhere," he snaps, and Dan can practically see his hackles rising already. "I can't do that again. I'm already so behind!"

Dan takes a step closer to him, lifting his hands slightly in a soothing, complacent gesture like he's approaching a stray cat.

"There's no schedule, Herbert. No deadline. We have our whole lives ahead of us to get this right, but what do you think you're going to get done if you work yourself into an early grave before the reagent's completely ready? I couldn't do this without you. And I know you could do this without me, but I'm…" he hesitates. "I guess I'm just hoping you don't want to. Enough to take me seriously."

Herbert groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub at them.

"Dan…"

After a long moment, Dan's nerves stretching with the seconds, Herbert drops his hands, and Dan could swear his face is somehow even paler.

"You're serious? If I don't… stop. You'll really just leave? Throw away everything we're working for, just like that?"

"I will," Dan says, although everything in his being is hoping Herbert isn't willing to put that claim to the test because as strongly as he feels right now, he has no idea if he can go through with that. The very thought of cutting this entire part of his life away is distressing, but… still nowhere near as distressing as the recent gauntness to Herbert's face. He'd pictured it, pictured Herbert working down here alone in this lab until his own body wasted away from under him and this basement became an ersatz tomb. Maybe it was dramatic and overly paranoid, but Herbert was the only person Dan had ever met to be so consumed by anything.

Herbert fidgets with the ends of his shirtsleeves, unrolling them both back down to the wrist with exaggerated carefulness.

"I… suppose you made some valid points," he mumbles. "About the long term effects. I could maybe find a live subject and set up a long-standing study as a… safety measure."

It’s not what Dan would prefer, but the fact that Herbert’s even willing to consider compromise is an incredible start.

"Alright. We can figure something out."

"But…" he looks so unsure. Almost afraid. It's unnerving, if Dan's honest. He's seen Herbert terrified for his very life before, but this vulnerability, it's… new. "If I stop, and our progress suffers… I can't let that happen, I- I won't accept it."

"It won't suffer. You don't need it," Dan insists, gesturing to the notebooks scattered on every countertop with a sweeping motion of his arm. "Every breakthrough in medical science before now has been made without it, and you and I both know you're twice as brilliant as any old Edward Jenner."

At this, one side of Herbert's mouth twists into a wry smirk.

"Easily."

"Easily," Dan echoes, mirroring Herbert with a smile of his own. Something in his chest feels light, like a bunch of balloons full to bursting with helium slipping into the atmosphere after escaping some poor child's grip. It feels like hope, tentative though it is. This time. This time, they just might get somewhere. "So what do we have to do first?"

Herbert raises an eyebrow at him.

"I would have assumed you had a whole rehabilitation planned out, with how insistent you've been."

"Well, I don't think there's any existing guidelines for a detox like this. I can't imagine it'll be that much different, though, especially if we use amphetamine protocol. Reduce the dose under close observation-"

Herbert cuts him off. "That'll take too long. If this is going to set us back, I'd rather minimize our losses. If I start now and cut the reagent entirely, I should be able to get back to functional by…" he stops, his gaze unfocusing as he runs scenarios in his head, calculates whatever he's calculating. "Hmm. Let's say a week, but I could possibly accept two, at the maximum.”

"Is that safe? Going cold turkey?"

Herbert nods.

"I believe so."

"You believe so or you know so?"

Herbert breaks into a grin.

"Is there a difference?"

Setting his hands on his hips, Dan snorts.

"Well, at least we know you haven't lost your ego."

Herbert strides over to the closest workbench, snagging a piece of paper and pulling a pen from one of his pockets.

"At the very least, this will be an interesting experiment on the dependency," he says as he writes something down. "So perhaps not a complete waste of my time. I'll need you to pass by the hospital pharmacy and collect some things, though."

He hands Dan the scrap of paper, and Dan scans the list written on it. It's fairly generic, a handful of standard drugs for treating a range of symptoms. Nausea, pain, fevers, even… severe muscle cramping. And respiratory suppression. A flash of nerves cuts through the warm feeling in his chest like a freshly sharpened knife, and he looks up.

"I want to do this, but I want to do it safe. Are you sure we can't just wean you off it?"

Herbert waves him off. "Don't be so intimidated by a few painkillers. These are simply to cover all the worst case scenarios. It's highly unlikely we'll even use most of them."

"Mm." Dan stuffs the list in his pocket. "I do need to go put in leave for the both of us, I guess, so I might as well drop by now. I'll be back soon."

Herbert gives him a half hearted wave goodbye, already too absorbed in his thoughts to bother looking up.

#

The first cravings set in by the next day, shortly after noon. Dan can see it, because he's seen it before, the warning signs that Herbert's past due for another dose. His mood takes a dive from sarcastic at worst to snappy at best. His hands begin to shake, and every time it interferes with whatever he's doing, it's accompanied with irritated grunts and hisses from behind Herbert's teeth.

It only takes a few more hours for him to apparently abandon the entire idea of integrity. In the space of a single moment where Dan's particularly absorbed in the book he’s reading, Herbert slips away. The only reason Dan even notices is because of the creaking hinge to the basement door that he, thank god, never got around to fixing. He scrambles up from the couch to follow him, tossing his book aside and ripping open the door to run down the stairs. He almost stumbles on the turn, but the bannister catches him, and he makes it to the bottom in one piece, his heart pounding. He stops short. Across the room, Herbert stands in front of one of the handful of refrigerators they’ve accumulated. The door is open, that familiar sickly green glow throwing his shadow across the room. There’s an empty hypodermic syringe already in his hand.

"Herbert."

Herbert goes still and then, slowly, sets the syringe down on the refrigerator shelf beside the reagent. He closes the door. He does not look up, nor turn to face him.

"Yes, Dan?"

"Come back upstairs."

"Very shortly. I just had… I realized something that I'd been trying to solve in my head. I wanted to put it to the test."

"Okay." Dan takes careful efforts not to sound accusatory, not when he's already in such a volatile mood. "Why don't you tell me what it is, and I can do it with you. Or for you."

Herbert looks down and away, the bitter acknowledgement of being caught written all over what Dan can see of his face.

"No. No need. I'll- I'll test it another time."

He brushes past Dan, disappearing back up the stairs as quickly as he had come, and Dan sighs. He can't have thought it was going to be that easy. He can't have been thinking much at all. That's the addiction, though, it's not him. Dan knows that. He can't rely on willpower alone to keep Herbert under control. They’d already moved all the reagent Herbert kept in his own room downstairs, although not without a considerable amount of silent irritation emanating from Herbert's body language. Dan had hoped the separation of a floor would be enough for Herbert to resist it, which was obviously idiotic optimism on his part, he now recognizes.

He finds his old half-equipped tool box shoved into a corner of the attic and digs through it for something he can use. He's almost ready to resign himself to just nailing the door shut and dealing with the loss of his security deposit but then, tangled in an oil-stained scrap of canvas, he finds his prize; a large brass padlock and the accompanying keys. He bought it not long after moving in here, during a tense disagreement with a former roommate about the concept of personal property. Fortunately, that particular roommate had decided to jettison on the lease before he'd ever had to use this. He locks the door to the basement with it and attaches the keys to his work lanyard.

It doesn't take long for Herbert to notice the addition in passing.

"What is this?"

Dan doesn't need to turn his head to see what Herbert's referring to. He flicks through a few more TV channels.

"It's a lock."

"Yes, Dan. It's a lock. On my door."

"Your bedroom is across the hall."

The door rattles as Herbert drops the padlock with perhaps more force than necessary, stalking towards the couch.

"My workspace," he seethes, and Dan finally looks up. "I'm not even allowed to research? Isn't that what this whole thing was about?"

Dan shrugs.

"You can work. You just can't do it without me there."

"Oh, wonderful. Having to ask permission to use the lab; how did you know just what I missed most about my youth?"

"You're a lot more sarcastic when you're tired," Dan notes glibly.

Herbert opens his mouth to say something but then promptly shuts it, shaking his head with a sigh. He takes a seat on the other end of the couch. His shoulders slump as he sinks into the worn cushion.

"Is this the only restriction, or will there be more?"

Dan lowers the volume of the TV by a few notches and turns his head to face him.

"Honestly? I don't know. I can't think of anything specific, but if you figure out any other ways to get your fix, you know I'm gonna need to step in."

"Of course," Herbert mutters, rubbing at his temples gently. Dan looks at him, and then nudges him gently with his foot from across the couch.

"You okay?"

"Headache. It's getting worse."

"Maybe you should take some tylenol and head to bed before it's too bad. See if you can sleep off the worst of it."

Sluggishly, Herbert nods.

"Highly unlikely, but it's the only option I've got."

Sitting up, Dan stretches and yawns.
"You go get ready, I'll bring you some meds."

"Thank you."

Herbert pushes off the couch gingerly, trudging to his room like a freshman with their first hangover.

Dan considers the veritable pharmacy laid out on their kitchen counter. He has no idea what to expect. Neither of them do. The worst he's ever seen it get is the first time, when he found out; when Herbert was too shaky to even hold the needle. Herbert’s careful, usually, too careful to let it get that bad. He knows Dan knows- obviously, he helped him- but still, he made the effort to sequester himself somewhere private when he was using. Out of sight, out of mind, in theory.

Without an idea of what to expect, Dan covers as many bases as he can without going too overboard. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen for the pain, low-strength diazepam to help him sleep, and for good measure, he snags a few triptan to keep on hand in case Herbert's headache develops into a migraine overnight.

He starts to rattle this info off when he brings the meds and a glass of water into Herbert's room, but Herbert plucks the little paper pill cup from his hand and peers inside for all of a moment before tossing the entire mix to the back of his throat and chasing it with half the water in one go.

Dan blinks.

"You didn't…"

"I know what they were."

"What about the triptan? I was just gonna leave them in case you got a migraine."

"I'm already getting one," Herbert mumbles, climbing into his flimsy cot bed.

"Oh. I'm sorry, that… sucks." Dan curses internally. Some bedside manner he's got. "I mean, I hope it helps. If you need anything else tonight just let me know, okay? I'll be up for a while, but you can wake me if anything's wrong."

"I know," Herbert says, as if it's a simple fact.

Dan moves to leave, pausing one more time at the doorway.

"Night, Herb."

Herbert mutters something, half buried under wrinkled blankets and facing the wall.

"Didn't catch that."

Tipping his head back over just enough to be heard, Herbert grunts.

"Nicknames."

Dan laughs.

"Not even once, huh? Alright. Worth a shot."

He shuts the door softly behind him and returns to the couch, where he keeps a close ear out until he has no choice but to drag himself to bed as well.

#

Dan doesn't actually see Herbert for most of the next day. He stays in his room, the door shut tight. Every few hours, Dan knocks and asks through the door how he's feeling, if he needs anything. Time and time again, Herbert answers in the negative. It’s unsettling, calling back and forth between a door, trying to treat a patient he can’t even see. It’s different when it’s their own home. A patient’s hospital room is their room, on a surface level, but it’s never truly a private place, not when nurses and doctors and physiotherapists and dieticians and whoever else can walk freely in and out. That freedom doesn’t feel available to Dan now. He wants to walk in and see him, check his vitals, feel his pulse and his resp rate and his temperature and whatever else he can use to flag decline. But Herbert's a doctor, too. One who’s prickly about his personal space at the best of times.

Dan feels on edge all day, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, for Herbert to come stumbling out in the throes of a seizure or cry out with the death rattle of a missed deterioration. Nothing so dramatic happens, beyond Herbert snapping at him to stop waking him up after the nth time Dan knocks.

The rattle of the water heater pipes in the wall wake him sometime well past midnight. Across the house he can hear the distant rumble of the shower, and he considers getting up to check on Herbert. Before he can gather the willpower to actually untangle himself from his covers, the shower cuts off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door shuts as Herbert moves back to his room. Dan can picture the path in his mind purely from the creaks in the hallway as Herbert walks, an audible map owing to the age of the house or just the shoddy woodworking. Finally, he rolls out of bed, pulling a pair of pajama pants on so he's not just bursting into Herbert's room in his underwear at three in the morning.

Rapping his knuckles gently on the wood, Dan opens Herbert's door a crack.

"Herbert? I heard you up. Just wanted to see how you're going."

Somewhere in the dark, Herbert responds with a low groan, and Dan shuffles to the bedside in the dark.

"That bad?"

When Herbert speaks, his voice is tremulous, almost hoarse from misery.

"I can't do it."

Dan reaches for the lamp and finds the switch to turn it on.

Laying on the bed, curled on his side facing the wall with wet hair plastered to his scalp, Herbert flinches at the light. He's only wearing his underwear and a plain cotton undershirt, and abruptly Dan wonders if he even owns pajamas. He's certainly never seen him in any. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, near Herbert's hip.

"You look rough."

Herbert holds his arms close, shivering so violently the bed trembles along with him.

"I feel- awful. It's awful, it's like hell. I'm exhausted and I can't sleep, I'm starving but everything I eat comes right back up." Screwing his eyes shut, Herbert groans again. "I can't do this, Dan. I need it to stop. Please."

"It will."

"I can't take it. I need this to be over."

"It will be," Dan repeats, reaching his hand out towards him. He hesitates a moment before resting it on Herbert's back, just between his shoulder blades. "It'll be over before you know it."

He can feel the rise and fall of Herbrt’s labored breathing. His skin is far too warm, and the wet hair can't be helping the shivering. If they don't break this fever, Dan doubts he's going to get any sleep. He slides his hand up to the side of Herbert's throat, touching two fingertips to the carotid pulse with the barest pressure. It’s rapid, moreso than it should be at rest, but not quite tachycardic. Herbert makes a noise, barely audible but unmistakable in its distress.

"Wait here."

He slips out, making a beeline for the kitchen to collect another dose of everything he can think of to help. He brings it all back to Herbert with a fresh glass of water and waits patiently as he slowly sits up on his elbows to take the pills. Dan takes the opportunity to snag Herbert's towel off the floor and throw it across his pillow, to try and mitigate some of the wet hair chill.
Herbert doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he can't find the strength to comment as he collapses back onto it.

Dan sits down again, returning his hand to where it was on Herbert's back. It's not that he expects the fever to break instantly, but he just feels… helpless. Like he should be able to do something else to make this easier. The only reason Herbert's putting himself through this is because of him, and as much as he knows it's for the better, guilt sits heavily in Dan's stomach. With no other ideas on how to help, he rubs small, gentle circles onto Herbert's back. It's a little odd, doing something this- Dan doesn't know what to call it, parental?- for someone like Herbert, but he has to do something. Herbert doesn't seem to mind, anyway, and Dan's sure he'd let him know if he did, withdrawal be damned.

Slowly, Herbert's breathing settles into something softer. When he's sure he's asleep deeply enough to stay that way, Dan slows his hand to a pause with his fingertips just above the neckline of Herbert's undershirt, resting on the nape of his neck. His skin feels cooler, the fever finally broken for now. Carefully, he withdraws his hand and tugs a thick woolen blanket over Herbert's body.

On his way back to bed, he thinks about the argument that started this.

A by-product of your terminally bleeding heart.

He breathes out a soft laugh. Maybe Herbert does know him pretty well.

#

A day passes in similar fashion as the first, and then another, and if it weren’t for the reliable schedules of the television news stations and Dan’s eye for detail in regards to the sun and whether or not it’s up, time would begin to blur. He hardly even sees Herbert, or at least not during daylight hours. He barely leaves his room, and when he does it’s in a protective cocoon of blankets that drag along the floor behind him. He doesn’t seem particularly in the mood for conversation at the best of times.

Until, apparently, he is.

"Dan?"

The call is already quiet, muffled further by the distance and the door.

It takes Dan a second to actually realize what he’s heard. He sits up, snapping the book in his hand shut and tossing it onto the couch. Within seconds, he's at Herbert's bedroom door.

"Yeah?" He says, already pushing it open. "I'm right here. Everything okay?"

Herbert doesn't look okay. Not in the slightest. He's barely dressed, still; underwear, another cotton undershirt, dark dress socks making a valiant effort to stay up. He looks sick. His face is gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. At complete odds with this is the way he's sitting on the side of the bed; straight backed, head held high, hands folded neatly in his lap like he's attending a lecture back at Miskatonic U.

"Um…"

"I just wanted to talk to you," he says, and smiles, patting the bed beside him. "Sit?"

"Oh. Oh, sure, yeah, I-" Dan takes a seat, crossing his ankles slightly. "Yeah."

Herbert looks at him, turns his entire upper body to face him.

"I've been reconsidering this."

Instantly, Dan's guard goes up, his stomach sinking.

"Uh huh."

Herbert holds up a hand, a gesture of pause.

"Don't misunderstand, I still- I will still do this. For you," he adds. "But I've just been thinking that we might be going about this the wrong way."

"Alright." Dan slaps both hands onto his knees with a sigh, moving to stand up. "I see where this is going."

"No," Herbert yelps, one of his hands darting forward to snag Dan's wrist before he can get to his feet. "Please, just listen."

Dan shakes his head, leveling Herbert with a stern gaze.

"We made a deal. I'm not letting you back out of it now."

"I'm not, I'm not," Herbert says, and his facade of composure is rapidly decaying right in front of Dan's eyes. "I don't want a whole dose. I promise."

Dan tries gingerly to twist his arm out of Herbert's fingers, but Herbert only holds tighter, his other hand coming up to grab a fistful of Dan's shirt.

"Let me go, Herbert."

"I was wrong," Herbert blurts. "I was wrong, when I said it would be fine. I- I don't know what I was thinking, we have no idea what sudden withdrawal could do to me. Please, Dan, This could kill me. I think it's going to."

He's miserable. He's pathetic and tired and pale, his hair a knotted mess and deep, dark bags under his eyes. His eyes themselves could not be more the opposite. They're bright, feverish. Herbert's pinprick pupils bore into Dan's with an intensity like the heat that rolls off a burning building. He can almost feel it. He… can feel it.

That's not-

That's not right.

There's something else wrong, something more than just the discomfort that comes part and parcel with empathy. Like it's a sickness, like it's catching, like just being near Herbert is enough to make Dan febrile, symptomatic of something.

Herbert makes a noise, a whine of mingled frustration and fear.

"Dan."

"I-" Dan closes his hand around Herbert's wrist but stops short, unable to will himself to tear it away. "I'm sorry. You know I can't. I can't."

Herbert's grip tightens and he pulls at Dan like he can somehow brute-force a change of heart.

"Please. Please, understand, you have to understand, I can't- I can't go on with it like this. I'll take anything, a- a half the usual dose, even a quarter, that's all. I just need something. You can even do it for me, you can make sure I don't try to take too much, okay? Do it for me. Please."

Dan's stomach twists, sharp and so sudden that he draws an involuntary breath. Herbert’s asked him for things before; petty things, mundane favors like passing him something from across the table, picking up something to eat on his way home from a shift. Even with those kinds of requests, though, he was never one to say please. He asks in every other way. If you would, Dan? Would you mind? Can you do this for me?

Never please.

"I can't."

He doesn't know if he's talking to Herbert or himself.

"I can't… do that."

I can’t be feeling that.

Herbert crawls closer on the bed until he's halfway climbing onto him, and Dan tenses. If Herbert notices, he doesn’t seem to care.

"You know, you were right,” he says. Too close. “Remember, Dan? A few days ago, when you said it'd be safer to reduce the dosage incrementally. You were right, I should've listened to you. I should listen to you more."

God, he wishes those words meant anything. He wishes they weren't just empty platitudes, a clumsy attempt at getting on his good side.

He wishes they weren’t still so fucking effective.

Weakly, Dan tries for a laugh. His heart is racing. He needs to wrap this up.

"I've been trying to get you to say that since forever."

"I'll say it more, if you like."

"You sound…" Dan shakes his head. "This isn't you."

"Right!" Herbert grins at him, genuinely grins, and that alone would already be unnerving. "I'd be back to normal!"

"Normal? No, I'm not giving-" he cuts himself off, making a conscious effort to push down the irritation that wants to make fuel of his fear. He sets both hands firmly on Herbert's shoulders.
"Come on, you've made it this far, okay? You can go a little longer."

Herbert's grin falters, crumbling away to reveal that vulnerable, terrified look that was always underneath.

He moves forward, and suddenly his hand is on Dan's leg. Dan jumps a mile in the air, pulling his hands back. It's not- it's not anything, it's nothing more than Herbert thoughtlessly stabilizing himself as he shifts. That's all it is. Herbert looks at him, eyes bright and imploring. His face is pale, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead where a faint layer of sweat is just visible in the lamplight as he leans forward.

There's a look on his face that reminds Dan of the Herbert he knows, of every time Herbert weaponised that face to get what he needed. The closing gap between them, the hand on his arm every time, but it always comes down to the way he'll look Dan in the eyes with every ounce of focus he has and then… all he says, every time, is Dan's name. It's the only thing he has to say to tip the scales. It's hard not to get swept up in it. Always has been.

That sick feeling in the pit of his stomach screams at him to get out of here before-
Well, he doesn't know exactly. It feels like a sixth sense, like there's a timer counting down the seconds until a trap springs, some faceless monster of consequence drawing closer out of Dan's field of view.

"Please… Dan. Please."

It's worse than a punch, worse than being doused in cold water, even worse than the time he touched a live electric fence on a dare in highschool. Dan doesn't move, because he can't. He can't move, he can't breathe, can't do anything until the cascade of hormones saturating his brain, soaking his entire nervous system- until it's through. It takes seconds, maybe less, for the whole thing to wash through him. It's unreasonably stupid that the brain should perceive it as an eternity.
He can almost feel his own blood, pulsing in his carotid hard enough to make his skull shake, abandoning his brain in favor of the gathering heat low in his stomach.

He feels himself twitch, and then it's a whole new cascade.

Adrenaline, norepinephrine, cortisol, they all hit him at once and then time is twice as fast and Dan pushes Herbert off of him to scramble to his feet.

"You don't even know what you're saying anymore."

He's rambling, shifting in place, looking back and forth as if movement can hide the wretched heat on his face, draw attention away from the state he's in.

"I can't stay in here for this. Okay? It's - it's bad for both of us. I'm not leaving, I'm not going anywhere, I just- I can't be around you like this."

He doesn't have to think to find the doorway. His feet take him there, and suddenly he's outside, in the hall, and it feels like getting free of quicksand or something. The sweat on his skin chills abruptly; it’s cooler out here, the air less stagnant. He sharply pulls the door shut behind him, wincing at the loud slam as it rattles the wall.

Herbert calls out after him but as the seconds begin to accumulate it's clear he's not going to chase after him. When he remembers how to move again, Dan practically sprints to his room. He shuts his own door just as forcefully.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking-"

He drags a chair under the doorknob, feeling paranoid as hell and all the more stupid for it. Even if Herbert tried to follow him in here, it wouldn't be to rip him to shreds on moral grounds. He's only focused on one thing right now. It's completely unlikely he even noticed anything, anything beyond the general discomfort any reasonable person would expect from someone seeing their best friend suffering. It's not that he wants Herbert to be in pain. He's seen that plenty of times and it's never been… this. Maybe he is coming down with something. Maybe it's just been too long since he's bothered trying to chat up a girl for long enough to bring her over. Maybe he really is a horrible person, and he's only just finding out now.

Another wave of guilt cramps Dan's stomach and he leans his forearm against the wall, taking measured breaths until it passes. It's a good fucking thing he doesn't believe in hell, because he'd be first on the devil's list for this.

“What is wrong with you,” he hisses to himself, curling his hands into fists, purposely digging his nails into his palms.

This is unnerving. More than anything Dan's put up with in this house, more than every roaring corpse or godless amalgamation crawling around behind the couch. It's gotta be a fluke.
He flops down onto his bed, exhausted in spite of a day spent doing basically nothing.
It has to be a fluke, he thinks again. It doesn't make sense otherwise. If it was Herbert, wouldn't Dan have realized ages ago?

Of course Dan likes his company, to a degree that he honestly thought was pretty normal. They're friends, roommates, research partners. They work together. They spend almost all their time coexisting, and it's never been a problem, not like this. Yeah, okay, seeing him like that is new, but it's not… Dan's not like that. He likes normal stuff. Normal girls.

He waits for his heart rate to get its shit together until he's almost ready to try thinking about it again. Just to see.

He takes a breath.

So, there he is, in his head. Standing in Herbert's room. No, sitting, he was sitting. Herbert's hands were on him. Both? He can only remember the one that touched his leg. Whatever. He's there, he's looking at him, they're looking at each other. It wasn't a problem yet. Not really. So, then… then he said...

Please… Dan.

"Ugh."

Pressing the pillow harder over his face, Dan grimaces and waits for the butterflies twisting in his stomach to go away. There's so many things wrong with this that Dan wouldn't even know where to begin untangling it. He's a man, he's his friend, he's- he's not in his right mind. What kind of doctor would be turned on by a patient so clearly in dire need of help? It's a betrayal of his profession, on top of everything else.

You’re sick.

It’s his own voice, and it’s Herbert's, and it's Meg's, and it’s everyone who's ever been tricked into thinking he’s a good person.

You’re sick, aren’t you?

He can- he can fix this. He has to be able to. He needs to get out of the house. Spend some time with someone who isn't Herbert. His wires are a little crossed, that's all. If he just went out for once, met a nice girl, even a not-so-nice one, maybe he could… clear his head. He will, as soon as he can, he swears it. As soon as Herbert's stable.

He spends the rest of the night alternating between laying on his bed staring at the ceiling and pacing the house in the dark, jumping at every tiny creak of the house. He spirals quickly, perilously into the darker corners of his thoughts.

He tries more than once to distract himself with a book, or the television with the volume set low. He just can't seem to focus long enough to get through a single page, to track the plot of a single fifteen minute sitcom episode. Herbert's door is just down the hall, unlocked but unopened. Dan doesn't understand how something silent, something visual can be so deafeningly loud. It dominates the house like the hum of something too low in register to be heard but instead felt on a cellular level. Herbert's door. Herbert's room. Herbert, inside, both awake and asleep until Dan looks. It decays his thoughts like radiation poisoning, images of Herbert kneeling on that cot, on that tangled mess of blankets. Barely dressed, exposed skin dotted with sweat and prickling goosebumps. Dan can see Herbert's fiery, pinprick gaze focused on him, burned into the back of his retinas like the afterimage of a searing light.

Sometime just past sunrise, exhaustion has worn him down so badly that his shoulder hits the doorframe of his bedroom as he stumbles through it once again, desperately hoping that this time he’ll be able to sleep. He really tries, and still, he can’t get his thoughts to quiet. He drags a pillow over his face to try and stifle them, and all it does is make him feel like an idiot being half-heartedly suffocated.

He needs an outlet. Maybe… Maybe it’s like listening to a song to get it out of your head. That makes sense, doesn’t it? There’s only two ways he’s going to get rid of this, and he’s already tried waiting it out.

He just needs to sleep. Anything to let him sleep.

He draws his knees up under the covers, raises his hips enough to push his pajama pants halfway down his thighs.

He wishes he had something to look at. A magazine or something, anything.

Just stare at the wall. Don’t think about anything.

Yeah, it’s a nice idea, but it doesn’t work. Herbert’s in his head, creeping into every neuron like an incurable disease. There’s nothing he can do about it. He just has to get this over with.
It has to be quick, rough to the point of almost painful. It’s the only thing he deserves right now.
He comes into his fist, biting at the knuckles of his other hand both to keep quiet and as some kind of gratifyingly twisted self-punishment.

He crawls out of bed and opens his door halfway just before he succumbs to fatigue, because whatever personal torments he's wallowing in aside, if Herbert calls out, he'll go. He's not going to abandon him.

#

He wants, very, very badly, to pretend nothing is different. He wants to genuinely believe it. He's trying to do both, and neither is really working. He's finding it… difficult to look at Herbert. Eye contact is pretty much right out. It's exhausting, trying to keep up the whole detox carer thing while feeling like he's walking on eggshells every single time he even hovers at the door to Herbert's room to check on him.

Herbert, too, is subdued, but that could be entirely attributed to the withdrawal process. He's sleeping a lot. Spending a lot of his waking time laying in his bed reading. At least he doesn't try anything again, not like that. If Dan didn't know better he'd almost think Herbert was ashamed. Embarrassed, at least. There's a dark little sliver of pettiness buried in his chest like a thorn that likes the idea. He should be ashamed. His pride is second in importance only to the work, and it didn't take much for Herbert West to be reduced to a borderline animalistic need. Dan can practically picture his face if he saw himself like that. He'd use that condescending sneer, the one he reserves for using on people who he considers a waste of oxygen. Probably say something about people who are a slave to their desires or some other sanctimonious bullshit. If he's gonna be a hypocrite, then it makes sense to Dan that the least he can do is be a little contrite. Then again, Dan's no better. He's really, really trying to be, but it's just… it feels like he can't look at Herbert the right way anymore. Can't be around him without tension coiling around his spine, around his heart, squeezing it tighter with every beat. If he were a little stronger, maybe, he could shake it off, rely on his professionalism to help him get Herbert through this. If he were stronger, he wouldn't be so easily distracted.

He knows it'll be easier on the other side. When Herbert's back on his feet and Dan can actually leave the house without worrying about him, he'll hit the town, find a bar and socialize with real, normal people. That whole thing in Herbert's room, that'll just be a funny story to never, ever tell anyone.

If Herbert notices Dan avoiding him, he doesn't say anything.

#

The first real sign that Herbert's starting to shake it off is the fact that he gets dressed. No tie, no shoes, no jacket, but there's no point to any of them when they're not going anywhere, and it's already miles better than what he's been wearing all week. One late morning, almost too late to still be called morning, Dan finds him at the kitchen table, sullenly making his way through a piece of plain toast.

"Morning."

Herbert mumbles something through a mouthful and then swallows.

"It's eleven forty-six," he repeats.

"Hey, you're the one just gettin' up. I've been up since nine." He glances at Herbert's sad, single piece of toast.

"Do you want butter?"

Herbert shakes his head.

"This is the most I can handle."

"Well, better than nothing."

"Mm. I'm not used to having to eat so frequently. It seems like every time I finish anything, even if I keep it down, I turn around and I'm hungry again." He sounds both frustrated and disgusted, and Dan can't help a grin at his pure indignity of having to actually be human.

"If you get a better diet going, that wouldn't really be a problem. A piece of toast won't fill you up for long."

"I'll try. Later."

Dan makes himself a few slices and a cup of coffee to go with. He takes a seat at the table and reaches for the rolled up newspaper sitting askew in the center.

Abruptly, Herbert pulls it towards him, out of Dan's reach.

"Um… am I not allowed, or…"

"A moment of your time, first."

Dan blinks.

"My toast is gonna go cold."

"It won't take long."

"Alright."

Despite this, Herbert seems to need a moment to gather his words. Dan raises his eyebrows, waiting. Doctor Herbert West, uncomfortable. Nervous, even, one might think. It's a shame Dan doesn't keep a camera on hand.

Herbert takes a deep breath and straightens his posture, his gaze finally fixing on Dan's.

"I feel I should… apologize. For how I behaved over this last week."

Dan takes a sip of his coffee, shrugging.

"I mean, don't feel like you have to, but, much appreciated, yeah."

"I'm aware I was very rude. And I didn't show nearly enough gratitude."

"Mhm."

"But I do realize you were acting in… what you consider to be my best interests."

"It is your best interest."

"Subjective, but, please, let's stay on topic. About the other day."

He doesn't have to say anything else for Dan to know instantly what he's talking about, and his entire body goes cold. He swallows.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure that was uncomfortable for you. Seeing me like… that."

"It's okay," Dan says, forcing a smile. Uncomfortable is one way to put it. "Already forgotten."

"It was never my intention to put you in that situation. I was… not thinking straight."

"It's really okay," Dan repeats. His chest feels tight, and now all he can think about is what tells he might be broadcasting. His hand is shaking, so he sets the mug down. "It's a part of the process. We don't have to talk about it. If you want, we can just sweep the whole thing under the rug."

Herbert nods, clearly relieved.

"That might be for the best. I just wanted to apologize," he says, pushing the newspaper back over to Dan's side.

"Yeah, well. Like I said, not necessary. Forgive and forget."

His toast is long since cold. Doesn't matter, anyway, since he's lost his appetite. He considers offering it to Herbert, but with the amount of butter and honey on top, Herbert's probably too queasy to even look at it.

Dan takes another sip of his coffee, more out of muscle memory than anything else. He clears his throat.

"So, uh, how are you feeling? With the cravings, I mean."

"They're…" Herbert pauses, grimacing just slightly. "Manageable. Still very present, but decreasing."

"That's great. It's quicker than I expected."

Herbert looks at him with a look that says obviously. Obviously, it would be half the time of anyone else. Don't you know who I am?

"I'd like to get back to work tomorrow," he declares after a moment.

Dan takes a second to count the days back in his head.

"We still have a week of leave left, if you want to take a few more days-"

"The work. Our work. Reanimation."

"Oh. Right, of course." What else is there, to Herbert?

"You'll need to be there."

"Yeah, I know. I've got the keys."

"Mhm. That's-" Herbert pauses. He looks like he's about to say something, then shakes his head. "We can come back to that later."

Dan nods. He appreciates the lack of an argument about it. As much as he doesn't bother to hide his annoyance over it, Herbert's smart enough to realize he isn't getting free reign until he's earned it.

"Regardless, I'd like you to try and get to sleep at a reasonable time tonight, and I'll do the same. You haven't been sleeping well."

Dan pauses, coffee halfway to his mouth. Herbert seems to notice his hesitation.

"I've heard you pacing frequently," he explains.

"Oh." Dan runs his tongue along his lower lip, his mouth suddenly dry. "S- sorry. Hope I didn't keep you up. I'm just a little stir crazy, I guess."

Herbert looks at him with a curious expression that Dan finds difficult to parse. Not quite pity, but not wholly unrelated, either.

"You didn't keep me up. But if you want to leave the house, you can."

"Ah, y'know how it is. Don't wanna leave a patient unattended."

One corner of Herbert's mouth quirks up into a slight smile.

"Of course. How fortunate for the patient to have such a devoted doctor."

Dan returns the look with a smirk of his own.

"How fortunate for the doctor that the patient knows it."

Herbert hums, pushing his chair back to stand up. The idea of returning to the work seems to have bolstered his spirits. Dan has to admit, weird personal crisis aside, it's nice to see Herbert feeling better. He'd missed having him around the house, quiet though his presence usually is in the mundane parts of their life. It's maybe a little hypocritical to miss someone you were avoiding, but…

He tips back in his chair, sighing.

#

Despite his promise to Herbert, Dan still doesn't sleep very well that night. He does try, to his credit. He's just nervous. Excited. Both? It's hard to tell. It's not like heading back into the basement is really all that new and scary; it's more that, for the first time in a week, Herbert's going to be right there, holding the thing he's been craving. Tomorrow could be a good step forward, or it could undo all their progress and set them right back to square one. Everything he needs is laid out down there. Hypos, tourniquets, the reagent. There's no way around it, because it's in everything they do. Dan's seen how lightning fast Herbert can roll up his sleeve and have that tourniquet on, and all it would take is a second while Dan's back is turned for him to relapse. Can he even handle that? Going through this whole ordeal again? It sounds… exhausting. This week has already been hell ten times over.

For the thousandth night in a row, Dan tosses and turns until his eyes ache with exhaustion and sleep drags him kicking and screaming away. He doesn't even remember closing his eyes.
His morning begins abruptly, with the extreme confusion of a person whose body has woken up a little ahead of their brain. It takes him a moment to identify the sound he's hearing, because it's definitely not his alarm clock.

"Dan?"

Knocking. Herbert. Bedroom door. Alright. Alright, that all makes sense. He's got the picture now.
Dan groans into his pillow and rolls over to check his alarm clock. Eight minutes until it would've gone off. Eight minutes he could have slept.

Herbert apparently runs out of patience for politeness and pushes the door open halfway.

"Dan? Are you dressed?"

"Mmn. No."

"Hurry up, then! I made coffee already, it's waiting for you on the table."

That wakes Dan up a little more, and he props himself up on his elbows to squint at Herbert.

"What?"

"Coffee, which it seems you're greatly in need of. It'll get cold if you take much longer."

"I'm just making sure I'm not still dreaming. Don't think you've ever made me a coffee before."

The idea is so strange that it's almost cute. The way a cat bringing you a dead mouse is cute.

"I had some myself." Herbert screws up his face. "Awful. But the caffeine was necessary."

Dan chuckles.

"Yeah, welcome to my world."
Herbert disappears back into the hall, and Dan drags himself out of bed to dig up a pair of jeans and a button up. He finds Herbert standing in the kitchen, practically bouncing on his heels with impatience. He shoves a mug into Dan's hands, almost spilling it, and Dan looks at it. Sure looks brown. Smells coffee adjacent. He takes a sip.

"No wonder you thought this was awful. It's awful."

Herbert scowls.

"I'm unfamiliar with your…" he points to the percolator on the stove.

"The percolator?"

"That's the word. I haven't used one myself. This is instant."

"I didn't even know we had instant coffee." Dan picks up the bag of freeze dried coffee on the countertop, examining it.

"Ah. We did. A year ago. Until it expired. A year ago."

"I didn't see how it would make a difference," Herbert says, clearly exasperated.

"You can taste the difference," Dan insists. "I'll make you a proper one. Trust me, it'll be much better."

"Dan!"

The impatient tone to Herbert's voice is something Dan didn't realize he'd missed over the last week. He grins.

"Alright, alright. Later."

Herbert grabs his wrist and all but drags him over to the basement door. Dan looks at him over a slow sip of his expired coffee.

"I don't have my keys."

Herbert grits his teeth. "Christ. Where are they?"

"In the pocket of my scrubs."

Before Dan can even finish talking, Herbert has darted over to his bedroom, and after a few moments of concerningly loud and concerningly invading-of-his-privacy noises, he reappears with Dan's lanyard in hand like a triumphant search dog. He nearly pushes Dan out the way to unlock the padlock and open the door. Dan quickly plucks the keys from his hand and tucks them into his pocket, and Herbert hardly seems to notice in his hurry to get down the stairs.

"Oh, Dan." He raises his arms out wide like a welcoming host, turning in a slow circle. "Isn't it great to be back?"

"It's been a week."

"The longest week of my life!"

You and me both, Dan thinks to himself.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Now, we'll have a lot to catch up on." Herbert rushes over to the benchtop, gathering the scattered papers into a pile and flicking through them.

"Yes… yes, okay, I remember where I was up to." He looks up at Dan. "Would you check the integrity of the stored samples? They should be fine, but I can't risk results with unreliable tissue."

"Sure."

Dan abandons his coffee and heads for the industrial freezer they keep in the corner, a new addition Herbert gifted himself after they first moved into this house. It's got all kinds of settings Dan wouldn't know what to do with, but Herbert does, and that's the important part. Dan lifts the lid and glances inside.

"They look fine."

"What's the temperature stabilization setting on?"

Dan leans back, scanning the front of the freezer to remember where that little LED number display is.

"Uhh… minus ten. Is that right?"

"Perfect."

"Is that cold enough?"

"More than. A quicker freezing process means a lower chance of crystallization." Herbert joins him, reaching down to rummage through the packaged samples of flesh and body parts until he finds one that seems to fit his specifications.

"I was in the middle of setting up to test the regrowth capabilities of a reanimated liver when we stopped," he explains, carrying it back over to the workbench. "It could become quite worthwhile in overcoming the initial cause of death in the reanimated."

"What, like liver failure patients?"

"Exactly! Any kind of organ failure." He darts back over to the freezer to retrieve another small package and then unceremoniously shoves it into Dan's arms.

"Here, this is a set of lungs."

"It's not even my birthday."

"They're animal, not human," Herbert adds, glossing over yet another of Dan's great jokes.

"Yeah, I guessed that. Good thing I didn't skip that class about human lung size being bigger than a grapefruit."

That one gets a reaction, and Herbert's uneven grin is as good a laugh as any.

"I'll need you to defrost these- gently- and set them up in a bell jar for me."

"Won't that take a while? What about yours?"

"I'm only using slices. My own body heat should be enough to defrost those just by handling them."

"Right."

Dan flips the package over in his hand, briefly scanning the label. Recently collected, small primate, taken from a deceased animal testing subject. He grimaces. Considering the stuff they do down here, anyone might assume Dan is a heartless SOB, but he just can't get on board with live animal testing. What he and Herbert do, it's with people who are already dead, parts that are donated or disposed of. He can begrudge Herbert's under the table deals to get his hands on these leftover labrat parts, but live experimentation on helpless animals… he'd rather they steered clear.

He unwraps the first few layers of the packaging to inspect the lobes. They're fine, if cold. Intact, no outward evidence of… he pauses, looking closer at a few unusual nodules on the lower right lobe.

"Are these benign?"

Herbert glances over briefly.

"No, I don't believe so."

"Poor little guy."

Herbert doesn't respond to that as he crouches down to the small but faithful minifridge right beside him. The sound of glass bottles clinking as the door is opened pulls Dan out of his somber reflection, and he looks up.

"Herbert."

"Hm?"

"Just… be careful. If this is too much for you, we can push it back. It'll still be here when we get back."

Herbert straightens up with a glowing green bottle in his hand. He opens his mouth to say something, a petulant expression on his face, but then he seems to hesitate.
When he does finally answer, his tone is genuine.

"I am. I'm fine." He looks at the bottle in his hand, turns it over a few times. "I want to. Very much. But the idea is… less appealing, with you here. So if you wouldn't mind staying here with me, I think I'll be fine."

"Hey, even if you didn't want me here, you know you're not getting rid of me."

Herbert flashes him a small smile.

"Good."

He buries himself in his prep work, and after a few moments, Dan turns to do the same. Once the bell jar is set up and there's nothing more for Dan to do but wait, it doesn't take long at all for boredom to set in. He should've brought a book down or something. He doesn't usually spend quite as much time down here as Herbert, but there's no way he can leave him alone. Even if he wanted to, the idea just makes him uneasy. That reagent, sitting right there on the workbench; it's glowing like a literal neon sign, and it's only because Dan's watching him that he can see Herbert looking at it every do often. He has to, of course, it's a part of the work. It is the work. But after this long researching and working together, Dan would like to think he's at least adept at reading Herbert's face, and there's discomfort there. Distraction. Dan's recently become very familiar with the feeling himself.

The morning turns to noon and Dan can't spend much longer down here. It's dark, chill, and he's spent an amount of time with his own thoughts that he would have preferred not to. If he's not helping Herbert, he's watching him. He's been trying very hard not to think about anything from the past week, to shove that entire length of time into a little box in the back of his head and wrap the whole thing in chains. There's no other options, nothing else he can do about any of it. It'll be fine, he repeats to himself. It'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine. You'll feel better once you go back to work, once you see other people, once you pull your head out of the goddamn gutter, then it will be fine.
However, there is one silver lining to this whole ordeal Dan's happy to benefit from. Now that he's been dragged back down to the same mortal coil as Dan, it's much easier to convince Herbert to take a break as the afternoon stretches on. He again complains vehemently about how frequently he's finding himself hungry, and Dan offers very insincere sympathy.

By the time they have to stop again for dinner, Dan has decided even insincere sympathy is no longer necessary, being that every single person on the planet can relate to having to eat, and Herbert can just re-learn to live with it. Herbert does not seem to agree.

#

He's more prepared by the next day. Without the anxiety of letting Herbert near the reagent, Dan manages to get a pretty serviceable night's sleep, even waking up with plenty of time to try unsuccessfully to teach Herbert how to use the percolator. It's not that it's out of his grasp; he just insists that he doesn't need to know how since Dan already knows.

He refuses to comment on the superior quality of the coffee, although Dan is sure he can see a hint of gratification on his face when he tries it.

When they move to the basement, he forgets, again, to bring anything to do during the long stretches of time where Herbert is writing page upon page of observations, theories, implications and Dan is… not. He considers running back upstairs, just long enough to get something to read, but he just can’t shake the apprehension. He settles for flipping through textbooks and research journals, and then just watching Herbert work. It's like a game, or a pattern. Change the slide, add a drop of reagent, look at the microscope, write something down. Every now and then he'll change it up with a slightly different reagent composition. Occasionally he'll even make a few sounds of interest. Wildly fascinating stuff, apparently. Dan zones out watching him. He's always impressed by Herbert's ambidexterity every time he sees it. He has several books open on either side of him, his pencil changing hands as he writes in one or another.

After a long stretch of silence, Herbert speaks without looking up, and although it's not very loud, the suddenness makes Dan jump.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me?"

Dan blinks, sitting back slightly.

"Oh, uh. I'm just a little cautious, still, I guess. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
Herbert lifts his head from the microscope and turns slightly to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You're just supervising?"

"I wouldn't put it like that, but, sure."

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, really." He removes the current slide from the viewer, replacing it with another and refocusing the lens."If you want to consider yourself my warden, go ahead. I suppose it's… justified. As long as it's not interfering on your end."

"It's not."

Not entirely. Dan could probably be doing something more helpful, but that's not his main reason for being down here. He's here for Herbert's safety, ultimately. At least until Herbert can be trusted to be in here alone. Besides, if there was something Herbert wanted him to be doing, he’d have wasted no time giving Dan a succinct list of directions, and Dan’s sure he’ll find something for him to do soon enough. For the time being, Dan’s company seems more than enough.

#

Overnight, they leave several of the experiments running, set up in their own separate stations across the length of the bench. Whatever results Herbert expected to find in the morning, he doesn't seem at all satisfied with any of them when they return the next day. He casts a frustrated look along the benchtop the moment they reach the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, no.”

He moves from station to station, examining each piece of viscera and writing at length in a spiral bound notebook. He pokes and prods at each body part, double checks equipment drip rates, and makes occasional disappointed clicks with his tongue. Dan pulls a tall stool from where he left it half-tucked under a nearby workbench and sits down, setting his heels on the thin metal bracing bar connecting the legs. He was largely hands off for this round, so he has no input on where the failures have occurred, but he can see pretty clearly that they have. That small set of lungs he carefully set up for Herbert had respirations when they left it last night, and now hangs flaccid and motionless in its bell jar. It must have stopped at some point, must have needed more than just a steady dose of reagent to keep it stable. It's surprisingly morose, Dan finds- the concept that down here in the dark, a handful of organs struggled on long past their purpose only to end up unceremoniously dying for a second time.

Despite the frustration evident in his brusque writing and stiff shoulders, Herbert takes the time to carefully record whatever observations he can salvage from this mess. Dan would offer help, or sympathy, but he knows neither is needed or particularly appreciated at the moment. Eventually, Herbert straightens up, snapping the book in his hand shut.

"Dan, I need to go out."

Dan looks up from an article on squamous cell carcinoma he's having trouble focusing on. He slips off his stool, setting his journal on the seat to come back to after they do- actually, he doesn't know.

"Yeah?"

"I need…" Herbert twists his pencil between his fingers. "I need a live subject."

"So make one."

"I need it to be predeceased."

Dan looks at him blankly. He wants something that hasn't died in the first place. Untouched by reagent, life still left to live. Something he can kill without consequence.

He shakes his head.

"No. You know I'm not doing that."

"I'm not asking you to do it. I just need to go collect the subject, and I assume you aren't going to let me off the leash unsupervised."

Dan picks his journal back up, flipping through it to find where he left off.

"Yup. But also, no. Not happening. Use the donations or, hey, maybe approach the medical board and ask for volunteers."

He doesn't mean that, of course. Herbert would sooner die than let medical officials take his research and bastardize it into a tangled mess of dragging ethics committee approvals and red tape and debasing himself at their feet for grant money.

Herbert pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

"Your hangups on this are an argument for a different day. If you don't want to be involved, let me go and collect it myself."

"Are you kidding me? The instant you're out of the house you'll shoot up. No. Find another way."

Herbert seems to ignore the accusation.

"I need a living, pre-deceased subject to test the transplant. It's a necessary evil."

"It's not! You have your pick of parts and viscera from all your "sources", why do you need something living? I'm pretty sure you already know how to cure life!"

Herbert reels back slightly, his eyes sharpening.

"Just as well as you do, I think," he snaps. Dan walked into that one, admittedly, but it doesn't sting any less for it.

He turns around without a word. It's childish and petty, but right this moment, he needs any kind of distraction to manage the frustration roaring in his ears. More than that, he needs to pretend Herbert doesn't exist until he's sure he can look at him without wanting to throw a right hook.

"Oh, come on," Herbert complains, but Dan can't hear him because he doesn't exist. He begins to tidy up the countertop to give his hands something to do.

"Dan…"

"I already said no. Find another way."

"What can I do to change your mind?"

Behind him, after a stretch of silence, Herbert makes a thoughtful hum.

"Would you want to hear me beg again?"

Dan goes still.

Objectively, if he had the processing power left to devote to it, Dan might be fascinated by the speed with which his entire body goes numb. The lightning quick signals that relay between his ears, his brain and his body truly are a scientific marvel.

Herbert's voice breaks through the static in his ears.

"Because if that's what it takes…"

He feels the sharp click of Herbert's dress shoes on the concrete like gunshots. He whips around, skittering back a few steps at the same time until the edge of the workbench is digging into his lower back.

Herbert stops, a few feet in front of him. His expression changes almost imperceptibly, the edges softening, his eyes never leaving Dan's.

"Please."

Dan’s stomach drops clear through the floor.

"Don't-" he says, trying to raise his voice over Herbert's, like he can drown the word out before Herbert even has the chance to say it again. "Don't."

The corner of Herbert's mouth twitches up into a cavalier smirk.

"But you want to hear it."

"No, I don't."

"You do. It's okay. I can say it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dan snaps, painfully aware that the panic in his voice is undermining the entire act. Herbert exhales, amused.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Are you high? Right now, are you high?"

"Would you like that, if I was?" Herbert asks, tilting his head slightly. "Because then I'd have to do it again. Withdrawal. And you'd get to watch, again."

Nauseating panic swells in Dan’s throat, his brain screaming for him to redirect, as if the whole fucking cover-up isn’t already a lost cause.

"Shut up," he growls, snatching Herbert's wrist to pull sharply at the buttons in his cuff until they slip undone. "Let me see."

He yanks Herbert's sleeve up to just beyond his elbow, and Herbert lets him, pliant and unimpressed. There's nothing there. Old track marks, some older than others, none of them fresh. Dan drops his arm.

"Other one." He reaches for it, and Herbert knocks his hand away.

"I'll do it myself."

He carefully unbuttons his other sleeve and rolls it up, displaying his cubital fossa for Dan's inspection. Again, no new marks.

"There's other places you can use a needle," Dan says, but he's losing his grip, his bravado leaching out of him and leaving only trembling hands behind. Herbert shakes his head, glaring at him.

"You've been with me the entire time I've been down here. Throw whatever accusations you want, Dan, you know I haven't done a thing."

"What are you doing? What's- what's the goal here, what do you want me to say?"

Herbert doesn't answer as he rolls his sleeves back down. There's color gathering in his face, the first Dan can remember in days. It's a real testament to how angry he must be, and Dan feels he did as a child, every time he got in trouble. Knowing you messed up, knowing you’ve got your punishment coming, sitting in that chair in the hallway outside the principal's office while the grown-ups inside negotiate the sentencing.

He turns on his heel, striding over to the closest workbench as if he has any purpose to do so. He sets his hands on the surface, trying to fight for control of his heart rate.

"Okay." He taps his nails against the wood rapidly. He kinda feels like he might throw up, but if he does that on Herbert's notes on top of the mess he's already in, he may as well be signing his own death warrant. "Okay. Bandaid off. You noticed, then."

"Obviously."

"I thought-" he trails off and takes a deep breath. His fingers feel stiff, his arms and legs disconcertingly cold as his fight or flight redirects blood flow to his racing heart.
"I was hoping you hadn't. Thought maybe you were too sick."

Behind him, Herbert scoffs.

"I was unwell, Dan, not utterly blind."

"You didn't say anything."

He latches onto the realization like a lifeline- like a shield. Turning around, Dan squares his shoulders to stare down at Herbert.

"You could have said something. Brought it up any time. But you didn't. So, the whole time, you've just been holding onto it for, what, punishment? Extortion?"

Herbert frowns and shakes his head.

"I wouldn't do that."

"I've watched you do that, Herbert."

"I wouldn't do it to you."

Dan's voice is rising, louder with each reply.

"You've done it to me before!"

"When?"

"When we-"

He falters at the memory, at the sharp look in Herbert's eyes as he'd told him that Dean Halsey may not approve of what he'd been doing with his daughter.

"A long time ago. But it happened."

Herbert hesitates.

"It's different now. We've known each other for years."

"Yeah, I thought we had. I knew I was living with a psychopath, but I guess somehow I thought I was outta the crosshairs." He shakes his head with a bitter laugh. "Shoulda known better, right?"

Herbert scans his face for a moment.

"You're upset."

"Oh, can you tell?"

"I wasn't trying to start a fight."

Dan smiles with his teeth. He knows he’s lashing out, no doubt making everything worse. He can’t seem to stop it.

"Really? Really, Herbert? You just thought you'd bring up the most humiliating moment of my life like it was no big deal, a funny joke for you to make and I would just be fine with that?"

Herbert inhales sharply, his posture stiffening. It's simultaneously terrifying and gratifying to finally hit a nerve.

"The most humiliating moment of your life? You reduced me to a-" he chokes on his outrage, the words sticking in his throat, "a- an animal! Like some stray creature begging for scraps! And you really think you get to say it was humiliating for you?"

Dan throws up his hands with a sharp, harsh laugh.

"I reduced you?! You did that to yourself when you got hooked on that stuff! You wanna be ashamed, West, be ashamed! You sure earned it!"

"Oh, no," Herbert hisses, eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare blame the reagent. Do you also blame oxygen when you drown in the ocean, Dan? Do you blame food when you starve to death? You have no idea what kind of sacrifice this was."

God, he's seeing red. He grabs the front of Herbert's shirt, reveling in the flinch it earns him.
"We can talk about sacrifice. Let's do that, huh?"

With his other hand, Dan uses his fingers to count off.

"My time. My sanity. My scholarships. Very nearly my entire enrollment. My-" he can't even say her name, white-hot nausea rising in his throat. "My entire life has turned into- into this, into you and this basement and this constant feeling like I'm just waiting for the cops to break down my door and drag me away. I'd say I've sacrificed plenty."

"Hardly your entire life," Herbert scoffs, venom in his voice. "You spend plenty of time outside the lab. And you seem to have no issue bringing any number of strange women back to the house."

"And you have no issue scaring them off."

"It's not my fault if they're too weak in the stomach- weak in the mind- to see the importance of what we do."

Dan's jaw tightens but he remains silent, because Herbert's right. In the grand scheme of things, this is more important. This is life and death, and they are on the cusp of bringing this to the masses. His petty personal issues, his love life, it doesn't even compare. None of that changes the fact that Dan's human, with all the needs and urges implied therein. He's not a robot, not a one-track mind like Herbert. And that's the whole reason they're at each other's throats right now, isn't it? Because Dan can't keep it to-goddamned-gether enough not to get off on his best friend's torment. And now he doesn’t even have the dignity to be graceful about being caught.

"Dan…"

Herbert's voice softens, and he reaches up with both hands to grasp at Dan's wrist.

"I've been killing myself over this, Herbert," Dan finally says, the words breaking as they fall out of him. "I felt like a fucking creep."

"I wasn't aiming to upset you."

"Why'd you bring it up, then? Why couldn't you have just let it go? We said we were gonna sweep the whole thing under the rug. I wanted to move on."

Herbert's expression is infuriatingly, unnervingly unreadable.

"Did you?"

"What else am I supposed to do? I'm sorry," Dan pleads. "If you're looking for an apology, there. I'm sorry about- about what happened, I'm sorry I'm some kind of fucked up in the head, I'm trying to deal with it. Is that good enough?"

Herbert's gaze drops, low and away. The urge to shake him until he says something is bitterly strong in Dan's mouth, and he bites his tongue to give the adrenaline an outlet.

"God, Herbert. Just talk to me. I can't play this game. I don't know what you want me to say. Not once, in all the time I've known you, have you ever held back on telling me what to do. So why now, when I'm right here asking for you to tell me what to do, why're you acting like a goddamn mute?"

His grip on Herbert's shirt tightens, and Herbert inhales sharply.

"Because I don't know how to navigate this."

"Navigate what?"

Herbert swallows.

"I think you're very intelligent, Dan. Specifically, I think you're… much more equipped than me to… read the room, as they say."

"You're a pretty difficult room to read."

Herbert dips his head in acknowledgement of the fact.

"So are you."

"You think?" Dan asks, caught a little off guard. People, Herbert included, normally tell him he wears his heart on his sleeve a little too much.

"You… seem a lot more upset about this than I had been anticipating," Herbert says. "I think maybe it would be a better idea if we moved on after all."

"After…?"

Over a few agonizing moments, the frazzled gears in Dan's brain finally start to turn. He has to push aside the guilt, the anger that it protects itself with, everything, and take a step back.

"...But that wasn't what you were trying to do, was it?"

Herbert hesitates.

"I would rather preserve our working relationship if the alternative is complete dissolution."

He seems apprehensive to meet Dan's eye, something he's never shied away from with anyone.
Dan stops. Stops moving, stops breathing, stops thinking. Like a hard reset, like a cardioversion, he needs to stop so he can actually start to think.

Slowly, subtly, Dan tips his head to try and get a better look at Herbert's face. He's still burning red. Still breathing rapidly. All that stuff, Dan had written off as anger, as heat-of-the moment physical reactions prompted by adrenaline. Maybe he was looking through the wrong lens entirely. It's the eyes that really make it click; he's never seen Herbert's pupils that wide. He's always thought the transitional color of Herbert's eyes made him look severe in most lighting, but this… they look almost pitch black, as dark as the frames surrounding them.

"Herbert," he says, his throat painfully dry. "Is there somethin' you wanna tell me?"

Herbert pointedly avoids his gaze.

"Is it really necessary?"

"I just need to be sure I understand. I need to hear it from you."

He finally drags his eyes slowly to meet Dan's. His mouth twitches into a nervous smile. When he gathers himself enough to speak, his voice is halting and guarded.

"If you really don't want me to beg, you seem awfully intent on making it happen."

From one instant to the next, a pyretic kind of heat pours over Dan. It pools in his throat, his palms, in the pit of his stomach.

His fingers loosen until he's no longer gripping Herbert's shirt but he leaves his hand there, pressed flat against his chest. He can feel Herbert's heart, only inches away from his palm underneath bone and cartilage and muscle and membranes. It's beating even faster than his own. It doesn't seem real, doesn't seem possible that Herbert- Dr Herbert West- could be just as nervous as him.

"Huh," he says, and if he didn't already feel like the biggest moron on the face of the earth he would've cringed about how stupid he just sounded.

Herbert clears his throat, adjusting his glasses and quickly brushing a hand over his hair.
Dan needs to say something, say anything.

"For real?"

God, something less stupid than that.

“I thought- I thought you were mad at me.”

“I could have… approached this differently, maybe,” Herbert admits. “I know you have a tendency to react to panic with anger. I should have taken it into consideration.”

Dan wants to argue that, but he’s not wrong. It’s a fundamental flaw that’s bitten him in the ass more than once in his life.

“You could have just told me. Talked to me.”

“So could you.”

They’re at something of an impasse, but Dan can’t find it in himself to carry on the argument anymore. It’s overwhelmingly unimportant now. His brain is at capacity just trying to wrap itself around what Herbert is telling him, and it still doesn’t seem real.

"You're not - this isn't a joke? You're not trying to pull some prank on me?"

Herbert throws him an incredulous look.

"Do you think I'm the sort of person to prank?"

"I think…" Biting at his lip, Dan stalls while he searches for an inoffensive way to reply. "Your sense of humor is an acquired taste."

The corner of Herbert's mouth twitches in a way that could either mean Dan's insulted him gravely or given him a compliment.

"There's nothing wrong with my sense of humor. Regardless, I can assure you I'm serious. You know where I stand. Whatever happens next is up to you."

Shit, that's a terrifying amount of responsibility. He could do anything. Herbert's waiting on his cue, waiting for Dan to be the one to direct them for once. It's daunting. He could kiss him. He could do that, if he wanted. The option is there, real and tangible and immediate. He could kiss Herbert. He didn't even know he wanted to.

He has to stop staring at his mouth and say something.

“If we… and… What if it doesn't, doesn’t work?"

He doesn't know how to say what he means, how to express the impinging fear that he's caught up in something temporary and if they do this, try being more than friends, what if it's a mistake? What if Dan's just under the influence of hormones and isolation and adrenaline and it all wears off and he has to put that hurt on Herbert? What if Herbert's not equipped to handle what this would mean for their dynamic, for how it could interfere in the work?

Herbert nods once.

"Then I suppose we'll do what we do best. Learn from our failures and carry on."

Dan smiles weakly.

"We're good at that."

"Of course we are. It's the price of progress."

"Of course," Dan echoes.

Shouldn’t they talk about this? Go upstairs, sit down at the table, maybe the couch, have an actual conversation like adults? It’d be a first for them, admittedly, but the situation warrants it.
He's about to suggest it, and before he can work up the courage, Herbert clears his throat.

"If you're not going to kiss me, I'd like to get back to work."

"O- oh." Dan has to work to hold on to the last threads of his sanity which Herbert has so efficiently just torn through. The idea of talking disintegrates along with it. "Um. I mean, you- right now?"

"If you don't want to-"

"I want to," Dan interrupts, and his stomach twists because he said it without thinking and, Jesus, it's not even a lie. He’s been so careful to avoid thinking about that kind of thing, knowing how easy it is to get caught up in ridiculous daydreams. Now he feels underprepared for the reality of it.
"Just… maybe not here?"

"Why not?"

"It's a little…" creepy, Dan wants to say, but calling the lab creepy is not a fight he wants to repeat right now.

Herbert looks around, confusion on his face as if he really doesn't get why Dan wouldn't be perfectly happy to spend his every waking hour here.

"Well, it's where I always pictured it."

"Always?" Dan stops, leaning back slightly to search Herbert's face.

Herbert stiffens slightly.

"Herbert, always?" Dan repeats, and Herbert looks away, grimacing slightly.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I don't really want to answer that," Herbert responds, the words clipped short, and Dan's head is spinning so fast he can't help a giddy laugh.

"God, nothing's easy with you."

The implications behind that single word are massive, and a little difficult to comprehend. Maybe it'd be easier if his brain hadn't liquified a few minutes ago and the rest of his viscera hadn't turned into a horde of butterflies. How long, he wants to ask. Were you just waiting for me to catch up or were you never going to say anything?

Herbert huffs indignantly.

"You never liked easy. You did your residency in the ER."

"Yeah, and it made me miserable."

"I certainly hope I don't make you miserable, then."

Dan leans back in, closer than before. His heartbeat is shaking his ribs, roaring in his ears.

"Constantly," he breathes.

He's so close he can actually feel Herbert's sharp inhale, feel the air brush over his own lips as it rushes past. One fraction of a movement is all it takes to close the gap between them. Herbert goes still, freezing up like a captured animal. Maybe he didn't actually think Dan would do it. Maybe he's just out of his element.

That's fine, though. More than fine, actually, because for once this is something Dan does know how to do. His hands settle on either side of Herbert's waist without a second thought as he kisses him, the position feeling both absurd and natural. Herbert makes a breathless noise at the back of his throat that Dan can hardly reconcile with coming from him. It's so vulnerable, so human.

He pulls back just enough to catch his breath.

"This okay?"

Herbert groans.

"I thought we would have talked enough by now."

"I'm just checking."

Herbert rolls his eyes. "Yes. It's okay. If it wasn't okay, I would tell you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that much."

It's Herbert who initiates this time, leaning up to kiss him in a mirror of Dan's own motions. Quick learner. When they separate, Herbert's hands have moved from gripping at Dan's arms to rest on the front of his chest. His palms are warm, even through the fabric, and Dan wonders if they always had been, and he'd just never paid attention. His thoughts are running at a mile a minute, but a lot of good it does when they're largely incomprehensible anyway.

"So… you thought about this," he says.

Herbert shrugs loosely. "I considered it. Briefly."

"Only briefly?"

"I don't like to waste my time on impossibilities."

"Oh." Of course. For some reason, Dan feels retroactively guilty about every time he's brought some girl back to the house. It seems like adding insult to injury, however unintended.

"But then you… showed interest," Herbert adds, and Dan's guilt is instantly replaced with mortification.

"Yeah, well. That was a surprise for me too," he mumbles, wincing at the memory.

Herbert smiles slightly.

"I thought I had perhaps hallucinated it."

Dan frowns, worry creasing his brow. "Were you hallucinating much?"

"Infrequent fever dreams. Mundane and repetitive. That's how I decided I hadn't imagined it, actually. It was…" he pauses. "Different."

White hot shame itches at the nape of Dan's neck.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know how to deal with it, and I panicked, and…" he heaves a sigh. "Yeah."

"It's understandable. I gather it's the first time you've been attracted to any man."

"Um… yeah, I guess." What a terrible, clumsy choice of words for such a life changing confession.
Despite that, Herbert's face radiates a barely suppressed self-satisfaction. Naturally. Herbert's always relished winning, no matter what he claims to the contrary, and he's never made it a secret how little he cares for Dan's distractions, as he referred to them. It seems the rules have changed, now that he is one. "Okay, you don't have to look so smug about it."

"I'm not."

"You are. You're not even trying to hide it."

"I think you're accusing m-"

Dan cuts him off with another kiss, and for once, Herbert doesn't seem too upset to be interrupted. He meets Dan with equal force, having to stretch up slightly to do so. He's exactly as aggressive as Dan would have assumed he'd be, if he'd ever thought to wonder about it. He kisses Dan with the same dogmatic energy with which he approaches the world as a whole, seeming more brazen with every passing second that Dan doesn't push him back or shy away.

Dan almost stumbles as Herbert leans further into him, then too far, gripping at his shirt tightly. He turns his head away slightly, and then Dan can hear him, his breathing strained and struggling.

"Dan," he says, hardly more than a gasp in the shape of his name. '"Hold on."

"What?"

"Vas- vasovagal, I think."

"Oh. Oh, shit, okay."

He grips Herbert's arms and lowers him to the floor. Shakily, Herbert sits down, and Dan kneels over him, reaching quickly for his wrist to press two fingers into the notch below his thumb. His pulse has dropped sharply, sluggish in comparison to how it felt through his chest only a moment ago.

"Still there?"

"Mhm," Herbert answers weakly. "It's passing."

His pulse is picking back up already, and it's the only reason Dan believes him.

"Do you need anything?"

Herbert shakes his head.

"Let's keep going."

"What? No, you need to rest. Come on, let's go upstairs."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Keep going."

"But-"

"Keep going," he repeats, tugging at Dan's shirt to pull him closer. "Please."

Dan groans, screwing his eyes shut for a moment and leaning forward to knock his forehead gently against Herbert's. He’s trying so hard to invoke some common sense, since neither of them appear to have any, but Herbert always did have a knack for making things difficult.

"Don't do that. You're not up for this."

"I am. I'm fine."

"You just had a vasovagal."

"Nearly had one. I'm just dehydrated, I'm fine. We'll stay low."

"That's not fine. As a medical professional I can't in-" he falters for a moment when Herbert's mouth finds his neck. "In good co-onscience… allow… shit."

"Save your good conscience for your next shift," Herbert mutters against his skin. "I don't need it."

It's a stupid line, about on par with the rest of Herbert's occasional jokes, but Dan still has a little trouble gathering himself enough to remember to breathe. We should stop, he wants to say. We should talk about this. Set some boundaries, expectations, all that stuff.

"Okay," he says instead.

Leaning up on one elbow and gripping Dan's shirt with the other, Herbert pulls him into another kiss. There's a voice in the back of Dan's head reminding him that no matter how good this feels, a basement floor is not the right place to let Herbert break the shrinkwrap seal on his lovelife. For Christ's sake, they’ve barely even talked about it. This isn’t how it should happen. Herbert deserves something better, something-

Herbert draws one of his knees further up and a gutteral noise of surprise wells up in Dan's chest when he feels it pressed between his own legs, the contact electrifying in its unexpectedness.

"Jesus." He breaks off to catch his breath. "Thought you'd never done this before."

"I haven't. I'm just not an idiot."

He moves, just slightly, barely a fraction and Dan's breath stutters in his chest. He feels like he's running, stumbling to keep up with the way Herb's steamrolling through this.

“We should slow down.”

Herbert raises an eyebrow.

“This is too fast for you?”

“I-” he pauses, frowning. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re implying something."

“I’ve just never known you to be very particular about waiting. Or is going out to dinner a non-negotiable step?”

Dan would like to pry a little further into that particular line of mocking, but he has a suspicion there’s not much he could say to his defense. He’s aware that the reputation arising from his string of short-lived relationships is not unknown to the break-room gossipers at the hospital, and it’s not entirely unfounded, despite Dan's intentions to the contrary. He’s not trying to come across as easy, he’s just… passionate. Besides, for one reason or another, none of Dan's girlfriends ever seem to last beyond a few weeks. If a one night stand here and there keeps him sane, Dan thinks that’s perfectly understandable.

“I’m trying to think about you, Herbert. I don’t want you to rush into anything just because you think you have to.”

“Did I ever say I thought that?”

"No, I'm just-"

"Making assumptions on my behalf. Again."

"... Yeah," Dan sighs, and he already knows the debate is over. At least he can’t say he didn’t make a valiant effort. "Look, it's not just that. I don't know how to do this," he admits. "This is- I've only ever…" he makes a face. It seems like poor form to bring up past girlfriends right now.

Herbert swallows, glancing away.

"I'm aware of the, ah, theoretical side. I don't think it's something we should engage in unprepared. We can discuss it later, if you'd like."

"Yeah, sure, schedule it in," Dan says weakly, his attention suddenly and entirely diverted to the concept of what kinds of things need preparation.

"But if you're willing," Herbert continues, "Right now. I- I would like to… watch you."

He doesn't specify, but the quick glance down between them is enough to get the meaning across. Dan's kneejerk reaction is to wish he had something to cover his front with, and then his brain catches up and he actually realizes what Herbert is asking for.

"Like, right here? Uh, in front of you?"

Herbert nods, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose slightly. Dan's stomach twists, borderline uncomfortable in the way it makes his nerves hum. He's done plenty of stuff with the women he's dated, even a few things he'd call kinda freaky, but no one's ever asked to just… look at him like that. Let alone Herbert.

It's just… it's a little hard to come to terms with. He's never heard a single noise through the walls. Never seen Herbert buy a box of tissues or sneak a load of laundry in at a weird hour, never heard him make a single locker room joke or even glance too long at a passing girl. But of course, he wouldn't. It makes sense now. Dan had heard jokes about it from others before, back in medical school and still now, hushed comments from the nurses gathered in the break room about Herbert's speculated personal interests and where they may lie, if any indeed existed.

And yet- with Herbert laid out underneath him on the cold concrete, his hair and clothes a mess, his face burning red- Dan finds their existence now undeniable.

"Yeah. Okay." He feels too warm. The stagnant air in this basement is suddenly smothering. "Yeah."

His hands are still shaking as he undoes his jeans. He can't remember the last time he was this anxious. Final exams, maybe. Or his first week on the wards. He was so nervous back then that he nearly passed out, and he really, really doesn't want to do that right now. He tries to pull his focus down into his chest, into his hands. If he can just zero in on the motions, ignore everything else for a moment, he can be careful. Be calm.

Herbert watches him with a reverent focus reserved normally for their research. Dan pushes his jeans lower on his hips, as much as he can while still kneeling over Herbert like this, and Herbert's awe sharpens into something more heated.

Jesus, he's really looking. He's really watching. He really wants to see.

He pushes his underwear down to pull himself out and he'd probably be a lot more embarrassed about already being this hard if Herbert hadn't taken a shaking breath the way he did. He moves underneath Dan, no real action achieved but for a restless kind of shifting in place. Like he wants to do something, but he's holding back. Out of the corner of his eye Dan can see his fingers curling into his palms, a subtle tell of Herbert's impatience that seems to go unnoticed by most people who are the target of it.

Overthinking every movement, every sound, Dan tries to relax. He touches himself in slow, long strokes, watching Herbert's face.

"You really like this?"

Herbert's eyes flick up to Dan's face for only a moment before dropping back down, and he nods.

"This… um. This the kind of thing you, y'know… thought about?" Dan asks.

"Along these lines," Herbert replies, distracted.

"Yeah? Anything, uh, else?"

"Yes," Herbert says slowly, glancing back to Dan's face with an appraising look. He says nothing else. It's like pulling teeth, trying to get anywhere with this.

"You can tell me more if you want."

He's never felt this out of his element. Anyone else and it'd be easy, a natural back and forth of flirtatious teasing. With Herbert, it feels like the words are clinging to his chest to stay inside.
"Do you want me to?" Herbert asks, and Dan's aware of how hypocritical it must seem, but his avoidant half-answers are going to be the thing they write on his death certificate.

"I'm asking."

Dan can see the indecision warring on Herbert's face as he considers what long-kept secrets he's willing to part with.

"You leave your bedroom door open sometimes," he finally says.

Dan doesn't say anything. He knows he does that. He knows he's been less careful than he could have been. He knows that, realistically, every time he'd fucked a girl or gotten himself off and left that door open, convincing himself that Herbert was too deep asleep across the hall or too engrossed in his research downstairs, he can't always have been right. But Herbert never said anything, and Dan never brought it up, and willful ignorance remained the status quo.
For a moment he wonders if Herbert has already lost his nerve, but then he continues.

"I've… heard you, sometimes. I try not to, if you were with someone. But sometimes you weren't."

Dan's not quite sadistic enough to enjoy the squirming discomfort evident in Herbert's body language as he speaks, but it's close.

"A- and I would find it difficult to ignore."

"Why?"

The roughness of his own voice surprises him, and Herbert, too, seems startled to even be addressed.

"I thought…" he hesitates. "I imagined… scenarios. Where you would look for me across the hall. Or hear me walking past and ask…" he trails off, grimacing slightly. "This is surprisingly hard to tell you."

Yeah, Dan can relate to that. With adrenaline still trembling in his nerves, he rests his free hand on Herbert's thigh. He feels tense under Dan's palm, the lean layer of adipose tissue not enough to conceal the wiry muscle underneath. Stroking his thumb along the inner seam of Herbert's slacks, Dan leans forward to kiss Herbert's neck, just above his shirt collar. Without Herbert's darkened, piercing stare, it's a little easier to convince his own thoughts to let themselves be spoken aloud.

"So... You wanted me to either have my way with you or, what, come crawling to beg you to touch me?"

"I don't know," Herbert rasps. "Either. Both. I wanted you to make those- those stupid obscene noises because of me."

Dan smiles, and he's sure Herbert can feel it against his skin.

"So what happens?"

"What?"

"If I did go to your room. What happens when I get there?"

Herbert makes a noise of strangled distress.

"Dan, this is humiliating."

Dan shudders. Those words really shouldn't feel like an arc of electricity straight to his nervous system, and yet.

"Alright. I won't push it but if you feel like telling me it'd, um. It'd probably make me feel better about all the stuff I was thinking about this week."

Judging by the way Herbert's breath seems to rush out of him, Dan has more than repaid him the same sensation.

"Oh."

"Yeah." He can feel the heat radiating off of Herbert's throat, thinking of how alien it feels from a man who seems so cold to everyone else. He presses another lingering kiss to a spot just below Herbert's jawline and Herbert tilts his head into the contact with another breathless noise that makes Dan twitch against his palm.

"Dan, would you mind if I…" Herbert trails off.

Dan pulls back just enough to look at him.

"Mind what?"

Herbert's fingers rest hesitantly on his belt, and Dan's brain has just enough blood left to read between the lines.

"Oh. Wow. I mean, yes, yeah. I mean no, I don't mind. You can- you can do that. If you want to."

Herbert doesn't look sure, despite being the one to ask.

"I don't want to make you too uncomfortable."

"I think we're pretty far past that," Dan laughs. "I just- I guess it's still new. Never thought you were that type of guy."

Herbert looks at him, frowning slightly.

"What other type of "guy" would I be?"

Dan's hand stalls for a moment, feeling a little too awkward to keep touching himself while trying to defend his own naivety. Herbert does not seem similarly affected, undoing his belt even as they talk.

"I just meant- Jesus, I haven't put my foot in my mouth this much since highschool. I didn't mean anything by it, Herbert. I've just never considered you as someone who, y’know, did that."

Herbert pops the button of his slacks. "I'm not one for frequent distractions, but I find it interesting that you thought I was entirely without sexuality."

"Not entirely, I just thought- I mean, I never saw you dating."

Herbert shrugs, undoing his zipper. "I don't have time for it. You of all people should understand that, considering we work at the same hospital."

It's increasingly difficult for Dan to maintain eye contact. He was dimly aware Herbert was hard, too, but between all the fighting and talking and making out on the floor, he'd yet to take the time to actually look down properly.

"Not even, you know, casual stuff?"

"Absolutely not. I don't need some stranger to do that for me. I can take care of it myself."

"So you do, then?"

"I'm not some kind of inhuman mad scientist," he says, bemused, and Dan would try to offer a retort if that wasn't at least somewhat how he (and countless others, likely) had regarded Herbert until now.

"Kinda feels like I have to see it to believe it."

Herbert smirks.

"Well, you've always been that type. So skeptical until it's right in front of you."

"We're doctors, aren't we? We like hard proof."

Herbert raises an eyebrow. Dan winces.

"I know. I heard it as soon as I said it."

"And you tell me my humor is an acquired taste."

"I wasn't trying to make a stupid joke, it was just poor wording. And I mean it, anyway. If you're going to make those kinds of claims, maybe I'd like to… see your references."

That one was a joke, and Dan gives him a nervous smile to drive the point home. Herbert glances away with a lazy eye roll, but Dan can read him well enough to know when he's struck a chord with Herbert's unpredictable humors. His hand hovers above his waistband, and he looks at Dan.

"Don't lose your nerve, now, Cain."

"I'm not scared," Dan says, and technically it's not a lie; he's not scared, he's terrified. There's still some tiny part of him clinging to the fear that they'll cross some line that makes him realize this was a mistake, that he dragged this whole thing out and led Herbert on for nothing.

Herbert pulls himself free from his underwear and Dan's entire train of thought derails considerably.
He's not normally possessive. Not moreso than the healthy amount anyone would expect from a guy they're seeing. But. Something about this sight, this version of Herbert, just makes Dan think maybe it's not such a bad thing that no one else gets to see it. There's already so much about their lives no one else would ever understand, anyway. This is just one more thing, another secret between just the two of them and the basement walls.

"You look…" he struggles for the right words. Everything he would normally say to a girl so easily, it just doesn't suit Herbert. Besides, it’s not like Dan’s ever had much practice in complimenting other guys on their dicks.

"Good," he settles on, and although he's sure it falls short, Herbert looks gratifyingly flustered.

"You don't have to be nice."

"I'm not being nice. I'm- I'm trying to figure out how to say it right, is all." He pauses. "I didn't know you could look like this."

"I didn't know you might like to see it."

Jokes, flirting, all of it gets pushed to the wayside now. Inside and out, this entire afternoon has had Dan tied to a table and cleanly fileted, anyway, so there's just no point to hiding the earnestness in his voice anymore.

"Can you show me?"

Herbert looks questioningly at him. "What more is there to see?"

"How you touch yourself."

"Oh," Herbert says faintly before clearing his throat. "I can only imagine it's much the same as you."

"Then why did you ask to watch me?"

Herbert concedes the rebuttal with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Point taken. I wouldn't want you to think me a hypocrite."

He doesn't waste any more time, releasing a slow breath and letting his eyes fall away as he moves his hand.

Maybe, at the most basic level, he is right that it's not that different to Dan's own experience. His hand is steady around himself, the strokes slow but sure enough to be self-evident in their expertise. It's all the same, pressure and friction and warmth and the repetitive up-down motion Dan is obviously familiar with. At the same time, somehow coexisting in the same areas of time and space like overlapping planes, Herbert is something incredible and brand new. His breathing is almost agonal in the way it peaks as his fingers brush over a particularly sensitive spot on the underside, near the head. Dan knows the exact spot because it’s the same for him, and somehow, knowing exactly what that feels like, knowing the shock of pleasure Herbert’s experiencing, it’s... Something about it makes it hard to breathe. As if Herbert's motions have direct input onto his own, Dan begins, unthinkingly, to mirror him. The movement draws Herbert's eyes back to him.

They watch each other like that, almost synchronous but not quite. Dan can't settle on a single place to stare, because everywhere he looks is the most captivating sight. The way Herbert does this, it's different. There's no kind of performance to it, nothing but an unfiltered, carnal kind of vulnerability. He doesn't arch and writhe into angles that deliberately flatter his waist, or bat his eyelashes and bashfully brush a lock of hair behind his ear. Instead, strands of it cling haphazardly to his forehead. His breathing is coarse, his shirt crumpled where he's curving up from the floor. The blush on his face creeps down his neck, disappearing beneath his closely buttoned collar.
His glasses have slipped slightly down his nose again, and this close Dan can see the ever-present smudges on the lenses. Herbert doesn't seem to care, his gaze pinpoint focused on Dan.

Dan sways for a moment and tips forward in a slow, controlled kind of fall to shift his weight to a hand pressed to the floor beside Herbert's waist. The position isn't the most comfortable for either of them, with Dan hovering over him and Herbert craned up to meet him, but it doesn't really matter. As long as they're closer, as long as Dan can reach his mouth to kiss him. He feels like he's owed this. Not from Herbert, but from himself; like he's drawing from a surplus that's been building for every time they could have kissed before, for every missed opportunity because Dan was too stupid to examine how he felt and Herbert was too constrained to initiate the conversation.

"You look good," he repeats, almost growling for how low his voice has dropped. It doesn't feel as stupid to say anymore. A little simple, maybe, but there's too much he could say and hardly enough brainpower left for him to say it, so good will work for now.

"Dan, would you?"

"Huh?"

Herbert doesn't reply, instead angling his throat towards him in a gesture more obvious than a flashing neon light. It's such a shameless display of desire, akin to wordless begging, and Dan wastes no time pouring himself into dragging his mouth along Herbert's throat, hungry kisses melting into one another.

Despite the approving noise that resonates in his chest, Herbert shakes his head.

"No," he groans. "Your teeth."

Dan exhales sharply, the wind knocked out of him.

"Fuck. Really?"

"Try it. Please."

Christ, that's gonna be a thing. He can't encourage it, or Herbert will just keep using it against him. Although, if he's honest, he really doesn't care. He gravitates to a spot low on the side of Herbert's neck and feels the way his teeth fit perfectly against the skin there. He smells faintly like aftershave and sweat, a contrast to the floral and fruity perfumes Dan is used to. It's not bad, though. Maybe even kinda nice.

He bites down.

"Shit," Herbert hisses, and Dan might burn up on the spot. Herbert's losing it, losing his grip on that carefully constructed persona he always clings to until the very last second. Dan's heard him swear before, but he can count the times on one hand and it's never been a situation anywhere close to this. Gently, Dan presses an almost apologetic kiss to the reddened indentations his teeth have left.

"How was that?"

"Again. Harder this time."

"Are you sure?"

Herbert makes a breathless sound that's almost a laugh. He reaches for Dan's wrist.

"Give me your hand."

Dan allows him to pull his hand away from himself, despite the immediate complaints from his lower half.

Herbert doesn't hesitate as he directs Dan's fingers to wrap around him instead, and another arc of that ruthless electricity screams along Dan's skin.

"Jesus," he breathes, more an outlet for the sensation than any real attempt at human communication.

Herbert squirms beneath him, again baring his neck.

"Now. Again. Harder."

Dan does as he's told, pushing past the warning in his head that tells him to stop before he hurts him. There's only so much give to muscle, and even less so to skin. He feels like he must be close to breaking it. He has to be careful, before bruising becomes outright bleeding.

With a strangled moan, Herbert shudders beneath him.

His cock twitches violently in Dan's fingers. It happens in waves, contractions tightening muscle and the pulsing rush of blood that speaks to how well received Dan's teeth are.

Low and breathless, Herbert speaks.

"Is that sufficient proof?"

"You're insane."

He's talking to Herbert. He's talking to himself. He means the word in every way he can mean it, with fear and apprehension and desire so overwhelming it makes it hard to breathe. Herbert just laughs, and Dan takes that, too, catching the rest in a kiss that he hopes will say everything he can't.

What else can he do that would provoke that? What other simple movements, touches, words would make Herbert feel that same visceral heat that Dan does? What else makes him twitch like that?

Experimentally, he swipes a thumb across the underside, and Herbert makes a noise that's so, so, so-
Dan doesn't really have a word for it. He doesn't really need one. He's got a feeling, instead, an insatiate hunger to hear it again.

Awkwardly, hastily, Dan shuffles forward somewhat to straddle Herbert's legs and realign his center of gravity so he isn't leaning quite so much. He doesn't let go of Herbert. He won't, now that he has him. He just needs his other hand free, too. It won't take much, won't take him long, but if he doesn't get some kind of friction as soon as he can, he'll definitely probably die.
Herbert slumps back onto his elbows, fatigue overtaking him. He's shaking, either from exhaustion or the aftermath of adrenaline.

"You're not- not obligated to keep doing that."

"Mhm," Dan hums vaguely. It’s both incredibly strange and intimately familiar to be touching Herbert like this. It’s another body, separate to his own, and yet his movements fall into a comfortable muscle memory he doesn't have to think about. His hands move in sync, one on each of them.

"God," Herbert mutters under his breath, almost too low to hear, but Dan can see his mouth shape the word. His eyes are trained on Dan's hands. He can't seem to relax, his own hands twitching against the concrete floor and his hips rolling in minute, suppressed movements like he's trying to keep from just outright bucking into Dan's fist. It's just like him, to be scrabbling to hold onto what's left of his composure, pretend that his meticulous control over his life extends to even the most base urges that befall him. Dan wonders what it would take for him to give up. He saw it, once, days ago, sitting on Herbert's unsteady bed. That disregard for decency; that raw, clinging desperation. He’s no better for how badly he wants to drag Herbert back down to that.

"Dan,” Herbert gasps, screwing his eyes shut. “I feel I- I should give you fair warning.”

The heat in Dan's stomach surges, but at the same time he becomes more aware than ever that if he’s going to ask for what he wants, his window to do so is rapidly shrinking. There'll be other opportunities, maybe, hopefully, but the higher brain function it requires to stop and reason that is drowned out by the rest of his nervous system screaming for him to take this chance. He slows his hands, not quite stopping but enough to draw a frustrated noise from somewhere deep in Herbert's chest.

"Is it too weird if I ask you to do something for me?"

"That would entirely depend on what it was."

Now or never. Do it, do it, do it, he urges to himself.

"Can you say it?"

"Say what?" Herbert asks, frowning.

"What… what you said before. You know."

"Do I?"

He's playing dumb, and Dan knows it because he saw Herbert's face change the instant it clicked.

"You do." He hesitates. "I- I mean, you don't have to, if it's too freaky."

Herbert answers with a smile that looks- well, he'd be hard-pressed to call it playful on anyone else, but by Herbert's standards, it is.

"Too freaky," he mumbles, shaking his head. "What a concept."

Dan's face burns, and not for the first time today, he feels mortifyingly gauche.

"Just forget I said anything."

“Dan,” Herbert hums, almost melodic. It’s a question, a demand, a single word that implores Dan's cooperation. Dan’s familiar with it. He doesn't try to argue back.

Herbert's smile fades, and for a moment he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he's looking Dan straight in the eye. His expression has changed, the warm amusement replaced with a pleading anguish that’s so convincing it makes Dan's heart skip a beat. Herbert takes a breath and holds it for a beat.

"Dan… please. Help me."

Echoes of guilt prickle Dan’s skin but fuck, that scratches an itch he’s had for days. He swallows thickly, releasing a shaky sigh. It’s so incongruous, the way it feels so incredibly wrong at the same time that it makes his stomach twist in knots. Herbert shifts his weight slightly to lean on one elbow, his other hand reaching to snag the edge of Dan’s shirt.

“Please,” he says again, and his voice cracks raggedly halfway through the word. Dan has no idea if that’s genuine or just some dark horse of an acting talent, but it’ll kill him either way. He arches, no longer bothering to hold back, trying desperately to push just that little bit harder into Dan's fingers. Dan could help him out, take the hint and move a little faster, but he's selfish. He's dragging it out. Not enough to be cruel, just… enough to take in the sight. The pale, feverish mess of a man who’d clung to him and begged to shoot up, it doesn’t hold a candle to this Herbert, buttoned up to the wrists and collar, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin, a deep red bitemark practically glowing on his neck. His eyes are huge, dark, so intensely concentrated on Dan that it’s overwhelming.

“Okay,” he rasps. “Okay. It’s okay. I got you, okay?”

He’s repeating himself, talking so fast and breathless he’s almost slurring, but he couldn't care less. Herbert’s fingers twist in his shirt, and somewhere distantly Dan registers the snap of a thread somewhere in the hem breaking.

Herbert’s rolling thrusts become sharp and staggered, every muscle in his body winding tighter.

“Dan-”

Whatever else he was going to say is lost to the wounded groan that seems ripped from his throat as he comes, never once dropping his gaze away from Dan's.

Dan feels heat spill over his fingers, feels Herbert's thighs trembling violently where they’re pressed against him. He didn’t know it would be like this. Didn’t know what it could look like from this side. Looping like a broken record in his head, all Dan can think is I did that to him, I made him do that.

He hits his own limit without warning. It crashes over him like a wave, knocking the breath out of him, sweeping his feet out from under him. Before Herbert’s weakening thrusts have even finished, Dan curls forward, the muscles in his stomach spasming tightly.

“Ffffuck,” he shudders from behind gritted teeth. His thoughts go blank, his ears roaring with the rush of blood. He should have warned Herbert, maybe at least made some kind of attempt to keep the mess contained. He’ll make it up to him later, somehow. Besides, Herbert really doesn’t seem to care.

He collapses back against the floor, struggling to catch his breath, and it takes the last of Dan’s strength not to do the same right on top of him. He tips to the side to roll awkwardly off of him and onto his back, the two of them side by side on the blessedly cool concrete as they recover.
A hazy sleepiness pulls at the edges of Dan's consciousness. His energy is totally gone, and the longer he lays here the higher the risk of falling asleep becomes. Seconds stretch into minutes as his breathing evens out, and just as it’s taking progressively longer to open his eyes after each blink, Dan is startled by Herbert abruptly scrambling to sit up beside him.

“That’s it!”

Dan tries to snap himself back to full wakefulness, sitting up slowly.

“What? What happened?”

Herbert is already on his feet, striding towards the workbench.

“I think I know what I did wrong!”

He picks up and tosses aside a few notebooks until he finds the one he’s looking for and begins flipping quickly through it. Dan slowly gets to his feet, pulling his pants up as he does.

“What?”

“Of course,” Herbert says, not even listening to him. “Right there. God, how utterly moronic.” He snags the closest pencil and begins furiously erasing something to rewrite it, pausing only to grin over at Dan like a man possessed.

“I know where I went wrong. A stupid mistake, but I can fix it! Easily! God, it was right in front of me, too.”

Finally, Dan’s brain catches up. The experiments, right. Oh, Jesus, they’d been in the same room as them the whole time. That’s off-putting.

“Oh. Great.” He clears his throat. “Uh, by the way, you’re still…” he gestures vaguely to Herbert’s lower half. “Out.”

Herbert pauses.

“...Right. Thank you.”

He hastily puts himself away and does his pants and belt back up, throwing a reproachful look between the stains on the front of his thighs and Dan. Dan fires back with a blithe look that hopefully communicates that he will not be taking all the blame in that regard.

“We should take a break, anyway, right? It’s been a long day.”

“I just need to finish this.”

“Come on, Herbert. Aren’t you tired?”

Herbert hesitates, frowning slightly.

“I am, I just didn’t want to waste the… clarity of mind.”

Dan takes a breath just so he won’t laugh.

“Yeah, ok. Look, come upstairs. Bring the notebooks with you. I just wanna take a shower without having to worry, okay?”

Although he doesn’t quite look convinced, Herbert nods.

“I suppose. I’d like to come back down later this evening and put my new idea to the test, though.”

“Right, yeah, whatever you wanna do. Just later.”

He helps Herbert gather another armful of notebooks and hauls them upstairs, piling them on the end table by the couch.

“You can go next, alright? I won’t be long.”

“Mhm.” Herbert’s barely listening, already reading over another notebook with a pencil held idly between his teeth as he dogears pages at his discretion.

Dan keeps his shower somewhat brief, resisting the allure of using the entire hot water tank at once. It doesn’t even matter in the end, because by the time he gets out, Herbert is snoring softly on the couch, a notebook spread open across his chest and his pencil dangling loosely from his fingers. He looks exhausted. Without the blush to hide it, he’s pale again, the circles under his eyes thrown into sharp relief. Dan can't help a pang of guilt that he let them both get so carried away when Herbert’s still not well. He’ll make it up to him.

He’ll make him coffee when he wakes up, the good kind.

And then they’ll talk.

He leaves Herbert to sleep with a worn blanket over him and his notebooks piled carefully on the end table.