Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I wish they did - oh, how I wish they did...
Graham hadn't known anything could hurt quite so much...
For years he'd worked at Doctor Arcane's side, the only one trusted to assist him in the more delicate and potentially deadly experiments and procedures. He'd watched as Sunderland - damn him to hell - demanded more and more of Arcane, pushing him, goading him, forcing him to greater speed, faster results. He'd picked up the pieces when equipment failed and the Doctor was hurt, cared for him, protected him as best he was able.
The man was brilliant. A genius. OK, he was also vain, egotistical, completely amoral and he treated people like shit, but with a mind that worked at the speed of light it was no wonder he got a little cranky sometimes, stuck with humans whose minds crawled like the tortoises in the swamp. It was forgivable. Look what he'd already accomplished! The military were using weapons developed from his inventions; pharmaceutical companies were investigating the uses of several of his discoveries, and even the big agriculture businesses were showing great interest in a considerable number of the processes he'd developed. And his work in the field of genetics was unparalleled.
And he was doing it all to restore his adored wife back to consciousness, to wake her from her seven-year coma. It hadn't escaped Graham's attention how depressed and irritable the Doctor became around their anniversary, or how long he spent talking to the still form in the cryo-tube, or listening to her voice on the one video-recording he possessed. Graham ached to be able to offer comfort, but he couldn't break through the Doctor's grief and anger. He'd tried, diffidently, but Arcane had either remained slumped in misery, too despondent even to insult his assistant, to utter more than a low, unhappy 'Go away', or ranted at him furiously and viciously.
He'd been at first disbelieving, and then almost ecstatic, when the latest experimental process had proved successful, interrupting Arcane with the news. It meant, of course, that once Tatania was restored he'd see much less of his Doctor, and that was hardly cause for celebration - but to see the man he near-worshipped happy again... he'd sacrifice anything for that.
And then they found that the Tatania Arcane had been tending to all these years was a plant, an impostor, surgically altered to resemble his wife, a way for Sunderland to keep him under control. And then they'd 'invaded' Sunderland's private quarters, found the real Tatania, kept captive all these years - and everything had gone to hell. Graham knew that later Arcane would rage and scream, cursing the General and his foul betrayal, but now...
... Heart breaking, he turned his head away as Arcane sobbed over the body of his wife, distraught, begging her not to leave him as he'd begged Holland to return her to life. But her spirit had flown. Her last words to the husband she had once loved with all her heart had been to call him a madman, because he wanted revenge on the bastard who had so cruelly kept them apart for so many years, lied to them both for so many years. No, she hadn't wanted to return, hadn't wanted to share her life, her self, with the monster Arcane had become in her eyes...
And in his own? Would this betrayal destroy him? If he no longer believed in himself, in his work... Graham shuddered. He would have nothing...
Arcane sat at his desk, playing the tape of his wife over and over again. He'd barely slept, just brief periods of unconsciousness when he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he hadn't eaten in nearly a week, and Graham was now seriously worried about him.
'Sir?'
A pause, then Arcane rasped a lifeless 'Go away'. Graham placed the bowl of soup he carried on the desk before his Doctor and risked laying a hand on a far-too-thin shoulder.
'Sir, you've got to eat.'
'Why? What's the point?'
'You're gonna make yourself ill.'
'I don't care.'
'I do.'
'Yes, but you don't matter, do you, Graham.'
'I... I'm sorry...'
Arcane buried his face in his hands.
'She left me. She didn't... she didn't want to come back to me. She didn't want me.' The low rough voice was disbelieving and anguished. 'She was the only person I've ever loved. What... what am I going to do, Graham? What am I going to do?'
But Graham had no answer, able only to wait and watch as Arcane grieved, body shaking with the force of his silent sobs.
Half an hour later Arcane had lowered his head to the desk, pillowed by his arms and with Graham forgotten, and dropped into an exhausted doze. The assistant reached out tentatively to stroke his Doctor's hair, pulling his hand back quickly as Arcane sighed, then risking another touch, resting his hand gently on Arcane's neck. The Doctor shifted slightly, and Graham winced: asleep, Arcane's closed eyes were sunken in bruised-looking sockets, his face gaunt. He really couldn't go on like this. Swallowing hard, Graham eased him partially upright and pulled one limp arm over his shoulders, holding onto the bony wrist. Twisting, he wrapped the other arm around the Doctor's thin waist and hauled him to his feet.
'Whu...?' Arcane forced open one red-rimmed eye. Graham tried to smile.
'Getting you to bed, sir. You can't sleep here.'
He held his breath, expecting objections, but Arcane was too weary and too heart-sick to do anything more than grumble under his breath and allow his assistant to guide him to the bedroom. Easing Arcane onto the bed as carefully as he could, he debated trying to undress the Doctor, but opted for the less daunting task of slipping off his shoes and undoing the top buttons of the tunic-top. Managing to pull the duvet over the cool body, he wondered if he should stay. It wouldn't be the first time he'd watched over the suffering man. But he needed a meal, and the Doctor was out like the proverbial light and would be OK by himself for a little while. He'd come back right after eating...
Every time Arcane fell asleep he relived it...
Tatania's beautiful face had paled as she stared up at him.
'You work for him?'
'I had to. Had to finance my efforts to revive you. I thought you were in a coma.'
'He told me you'd done terrible experiments on people - is that true?'
And Arcane, who had no trouble lying and dissembling to anyone else, couldn't answer, couldn't meet his wife's horrified eyes.
'Anton - what's happened to you?'
'... he's turned you against me...'
But he knew that was a lie. His Tatania, who loved him and believed in him and in his work and in helping mankind, would never have countenanced the awful things he'd done, no matter what the end result, no matter the reason for it all.
He'd pulled her from the rubble of Sunderland's collapsing building, carried her lifeless body to the swamp, to the one being who could restore her. But she'd left him. Refused to allow herself to be brought back. And there was a vast aching grief within him, a Tatania-shaped void that would never be filled.
He whimpered her name in his sleep, waking with a tortured cry of pain, pulling himself to sit upright, hands clenched in his hair.
'Sir?'
He twitched, startled, and twisted his head sharply to meet the tense and worried face of his assistant. Graham laid both hands on the Doctor's shoulders, trying to ignore their trembling.
'Sir, why don't you have a shower while I get you something to eat. Then you... you can have a proper sleep.'
Arcane stared at him - then began to laugh, a laugh that threatened to become hysterical.
'Sleep? Sleep? Do you know what I see when I sleep? No, of course you don't, you have all the imagination of a wilted cabbage...' he rubbed at his aching head. Graham took his hand, holding it firmly as Arcane weakly resisted then gave up the struggle.
'Sir, please. She... she wouldn't have wanted you to go through this...'
'Oh spare me the platitudes, Graham! You didn't know her.'
'But she loved you. If... if you love... love someone, you never want them to be hurt.'.
That much was true. And she had loved him, adored him, once... Arcane slumped, eyeing Graham wearily.
'Will you leave me alone if I do as you ask?'
'Yes sir.' For a bit, anyway, until you need to eat again.
'All right.' He shoved back the covers and stood, nearly collapsing as hunger and weakness made his head spin. Graham grabbed him, holding him until he was steady again.
'Let me help, sir.'
'I think I'm capable of taking a shower by myself, Graham. Don't worry, I'm not going to slit my wrists. Too messy.'
Did that mean the Doctor was actually thinking about suicide? Graham swallowed hard. Should he insist on staying? But Arcane had paused outside the bathroom and was eyeing him pointedly. Graham offered a weak grin and let go.
'I... I'll be back in half an hour, sir.'
'No hurry, Graham.' Arcane unbuttoned his tunic-top and let it drop to the floor. Underneath, Graham could count his ribs. He winced. The Doctor had always been lean: now he was positively skinny. It wasn't healthy. Something would have to be done. He nodded as he automatically picked up the tunic: he'd drop it off at the laundry on his way to the kitchens. Ignoring him, Arcane closed the bathroom door.
He stood under the spray, shivering. The water was cold: he couldn't bring himself to care enough to turn on the hot tap. From habit he scrubbed shampoo across his scalp, through his hair, then listlessly rubbed at himself with the soap. How long had it been since he'd bathed? Or shaved, come to that. There was a safety razor on the shower shelf: he raised it, watching the light gleam on the steel. It was new, and very sharp. It would do.
Graham had spent some time in the kitchens, persuading the staff to let him make soup and an omelette. Placing the food carefully into an insulated container, he hastened back to the Doctor's suite.
He could hear water running in the bathroom: Arcane must still be in there. He knocked on the door, alarmed to feel how cold it was... He tried the handle: the door was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously opened it....
No steam billowed out. Stepping quickly into the room he was greeted by the sight of Arcane standing naked under the spray, head raised, eyes closed, shivering violently, his skin pale, nails blue with the cold...
'Doctor Arcane!' Graham fumbled for the tap, turned it off and grabbed for one of the large towels folded on the shelf. Jerkily, Arcane's head turned towards him, tired eyes glinting recognition before the Doctor's knees buckled and he dropped painfully to the floor of the shower, Graham just a second too late to catch him. Swathing his chilled body in the towel Graham knelt beside him, pushing wet hair back from his forehead and trying to chafe some feeling back into his fingers.
Arcane groaned and let his head roll forwards.
'Graham...'
'Let's get you into bed, sir.' Graham managed to haul Arcane to his feet and half carry him back to the outer room, dragging back the duvet and letting the Doctor fall onto the mattress. Arcane was shaking too hard to be able to dry himself, and much as he wanted to Graham didn't dare try to do it for him: he folded the towel over the thin body and pulled the duvet on top, diving back to the bathroom for another towel and wrapping it around the Doctor's streaming hair before it could soak the pillows. Then he sat back on the side of the bed and regarded the Doctor, exasperated, alarmed and worried.
'Why, sir?'
Arcane dragged a shaking hand over his eyes.
'Why? So the cold outside matches the cold inside.'
He was still shivering. Graham leaned forward and began to rub his hair with the towel. Arcane allowed it for a moment, then tried to pull back.
'What do you think you're doing?'
'Drying your hair, sir. You can't sleep on wet pillows.'
'You're fussing, Graham.' His voice shook, but he didn't try to stop his assistant, for which Graham was heartily grateful.
'Yes, sir. You need to warm up. I... I don't want you to get sick.'
Bemused, Arcane closed his eyes and let Graham work. There was a certain bleak pleasure to be had from someone caring enough to do something so intimate...
After ten minutes Graham pulled away the towel. The Doctor's hair was a mess but mostly dry, certainly enough that he would be able to sleep comfortably. He piled pillows up behind Arcane's back and reached for the food container, pulling out the soup.
'I'm not hungry.'
'Sir, I think you are.' Graham cupped Arcane's cold hands around the mug and helped him lift it to still faintly blue lips. 'Try some.'
Arcane took a sip, eyebrows rising.
'It's... tasty.' The admission was made reluctantly, and Graham smiled.
'Made with my own hands, sir.'
Arcane shuddered theatrically.
'Are you trying to poison me?'
'Oh no, sir! Of course not! I... I used to cook a lot before I came here.' He pushed the mug gently against Arcane's mouth. 'Have some more.'
Graham had never had to feed a sick child, but he imagined it would bear a strong resemblance to cajoling Arcane into eating. But the Doctor finally managed all of the soup and half of the omelette (although he'd complained about too much salt, not enough pepper and none of the things he liked in such a dish - which Graham had deliberately made plain out of fear of overloading his stomach), and some colour had returned to his skin.
'You should sleep now, sir.'
Arcane groaned and covered his eyes.
'I don't want to. I see her when I sleep, accusing me...'
'I'll stay with you. If... if you want, I'll wake you if I think the nightmare's starting.'
Arcane gazed him from haunted eyes, about to refuse - but the man had a point. He was almost at the end of his strength, and he had to sleep sometime. Better now, with Graham watching over him, than by himself and at the merciless assault of the dreams.
'Very well.' He pushed back the duvet and pulled off the towel, shoving it out of the bed as Graham tried to keep his eyes averted - silly really, given what he'd seen in the bathroom, but then the Doctor had been almost unconscious whereas now... Graham swallowed, confused, uncertain of exactly what he was trying to convince himself into believing. Automatically he picked up the towel and tossed it into the bathroom. He'd tidy up later.
Arcane's eyes were closing, although he was still fighting it. Graham took his hand.
'Sleep, sir. You'll feel better afterwards.'
'Mm.' Arcane didn't sound convinced, but he simply couldn't remain awake any longer. With a sigh he dropped into sleep.
Graham realised he was still holding the Doctor's hand, and laid it carefully on the duvet. Moving quietly he pulled a chair closer to the bed and settled himself to watch over his mentor.
Arcane had slept fitfully - but he had slept. Just before dawn Graham rubbed at gritty eyes, brain foggy with exhaustion, wondering if it was his presence that had allowed the Doctor to sleep without nightmares. He sighed and shook his head. No, of course that couldn't be it. Arcane was just so tired he hadn't been able to dream - or had been so deeply asleep the dreams hadn't been able to disturb him.
Restlessly the Doctor shoved the duvet down his body, to his waist, flinging one arm up to lie over his head, and coughed in his sleep. Graham frowned. It wasn't a particularly healthy-sounding cough, and the Doctor's pale skin was flushed. He laid a hand on Arcane's forehead, wincing at the heat rolling off the man.
Great. Combine starvation, grief and a freezing cold shower and the Doctor had managed to make himself ill after all. With a sigh Graham fetched a cold wet sponge from the bathroom and wiped it over Arcane's face: the coolness woke the Doctor.
'Graham, what the...' he broke off as a coughing fit had him curled over, arms wrapping his ribs. 'What...?'
'You're sick, sir.'
'I don't get...' another fit of coughing left him breathless. 'Oh bloody hell...' he managed to gasp.
'Shall I get a doctor, Doctor?'
'Of course not...' this time the coughing lasted several minutes. Every time Arcane tried to draw breath it started again, until he was slumped over, ribs aching and throat raw. Graham tried to support him, struggling to hold the Doctor steady as his body shook with the force of the spasms.
'... water...'
Reluctantly letting go, Graham dived into the bathroom, hastily filled a glass from the tap, and hurried back to the bed, supporting the beaker as Arcane managed to stop coughing for long enough to take several sips. The liquid seemed to help a little: at any rate, he was able to suppress the coughing for a few minutes. Graham piled pillows up at his back, then eased him carefully down.
He swallowed. Arcane looked awful, feverish flush exaggerating the gauntness of his face and body. He ran the sponge over the sweat-beaded face, then down the Doctor's neck and across his chest.
'I... I think I should call a doctor...'
Arcane gazed at him from half-closed, glazed eyes.
'Just need rest.'
'You really need to see a doctor.'
'Tomorrow.'
'But...'
Arcane roused enough to scowl at him.
'Shut up, Graham.' He stifled a cough. 'Orange juice.'
'I'll have to get it from the kitchens, sir.'
'Well hurry up, man!'
How was it, Graham pondered as he hastened across the complex, that Arcane could be dying and still manage to dominate everything around him?
Arcane slumped as the elevator doors closed, gasping for breath and trying not to start coughing again. He dragged the duvet back up, shivering - and immediately felt too hot, so shoved it from him. Damn it, Graham was right, he'd developed some sort of unpleasant ailment overnight.
He took his own pulse. Far too fast, and it was obvious he was running a temperature. Damn. Damn it! He did not need this.
Water. More water. His throat felt like sandpaper under a blowtorch. Dragging himself from the bed he stumbled to the bathroom to fill the glass - but lost his footing on the still-wet floor. The beaker fell from his hand as he grabbed fruitlessly for something - anything - to break his fall, and a second later he'd landed on top of shattered glass.
There was a strange still moment of shock, just long enough for a quick stab of relief that the long sharp slivers had pierced his abdomen rather than a little lower - then he cried out as the pain registered, slicing into him. He tried to push himself up, but the combination of pain, exhaustion, weakness and the coughing fit he could feel building in his chest made him collapse again. Whimpering, aware of the heat of his own blood under him, he made himself lie still. Graham would be back soon...
Graham closed the refrigerator door and stood staring at the cartons in his hands. The kitchens had been out of orange juice until the delivery later that day, and he now hovered indecisively, hesitating between grapefruit and pineapple juices... Finally he sighed and took both.
'I'm sorry, Doctor, there's no orange juice. Do you prefer grapefruit or...' Graham halted, frowning at the bed. 'Doctor Arcane?'
At the faint moan he dropped both cartons and ran to the bathroom, halting in the doorway.
'Sir!' He stared at the naked figure for a second - then noticed the blood oozing from underneath the thin frame. 'Doctor Arcane! What's happened?'
'Help me up you idiot...' Arcane's voice shook. Graham stood helplessly, hands fluttering, until Arcane whimpered - then he knelt down beside his Doctor, one hand to a thin hip, the other to an equally skinny shoulder.
'I’m gonna try and roll you, sir.
'... just get on with it...'
Terrified of what he'd find but marginally reassured that Arcane was still capable of insulting him, Graham very carefully rolled Arcane onto his back, wincing at the bitten back groan and then flinching at the sight of the Doctor's belly.
'Oh crap... sir, you're hurt...'
'No, really? Thank you for that insight, Graham...' Arcane gasped through gritted teeth.
'Um... what... what should I do, sir?'
'Oh for god's sake Graham! Pull the bloody glass out!'
'It'll hurt...'
'I know it'll bloody hurt!' Arcane yelped as the indrawn breath required to shout twisted a large shard under his ribs and made him cough painfully. Graham flinched, then took a deep breath.
'OK sir. Try to lie still.'
He took the end of the largest shard gingerly between trembling fingers and tugged gently. Arcane cried out, legs drawing up reflexively as pain speared through him - which only made the problem worse.
'Faster, you moron!'
Swallowing hard, Graham laid a hand across the Doctor's thighs, pushing his legs flat to the floor, then yanked the glass out as fast as he could.
Arcane screamed, head flung back. Graham pressed his other hand on the Doctor's waist, trying to keep him still.
'I'm s... sorry, sir!'
'Just... get it done...' Arcane rasped, trying desperately not to cough.
Grimly, Graham pulled out the glass piece by piece, trying to ignore the pain it caused the Doctor. As the last visible shard clinked against the floor Graham reached for a towel and pressed it to Arcane's bleeding body. The Doctor slumped back against the cold tiles with a groan.
'Doctor? Are you OK?'
'Of course I'm not OK!' He opened one eye and frowned at his assistant. 'Are you going to grope me all day or can we get back to bed?'
Graham blinked.
'Sir?'
'Help me back to bed, idiot!'
Sighing silently, Graham eased Arcane more or less upright, snagging another towel as he helped the Doctor limp to the bed and quickly lying it over the sheet. Arcane flopped onto it, grimacing as his hands gingerly felt his injuries.
'Nothing that needs stitches, at any rate...'
Graham nodded - he could see that was true, and Arcane had almost stopped bleeding, so none of the puncture wounds could be very deep. The lightly-tanned skin was nevertheless a mess, and needed to be treated if they were to avoid scars.
'Where's the first aid kit, sir?'
'In the lab.'
'I'll be right back. Please don't try to do anything while I'm gone.'
'Pour me a juice then...'
He'd need to keep an eye on the Doctor, Graham realised as the elevator ascended to Arcane's quarters. He was probably just chilled from the cold shower, but that could turn into bronchitis if they weren't careful - or even pneumonia. If he could just persuade Arcane to stay in bed for a couple of days... Maybe pointing out that he couldn't work anyway, ill as he was? No, the man was so contrary he'd take it as a challenge...
But at least he was still in bed, Graham noted with relief as the elevator door opened. And he'd finished the glass of pineapple juice and was lying still, one arm over his eyes. Graham seated himself on the edge of the bed and opened the first aid kit.
'This'll hurt a bit, sir.'
'Just get on with it...'
Graham swallowed hard and poured antiseptic onto a cotton wool pad, then took a deep breath and very carefully swabbed it over the bruised and broken skin. Arcane winced, hissing through his teeth, and Graham murmured an apology. Arcane growled.
'Just... hurry up, idiot...'
Graham would rather have lingered over the task. This was the most intimate thing he had ever had to do for the Doctor, and he found himself rather enjoying it. Arcane's skin was smooth and silky, albeit too hot at the moment, and the muscle of the flat abdomen was taut under his fingers. And Arcane had a beautiful body - even if it was too thin right now...
He caught himself with a start, glad that the Doctor's eyes were tightly shut as he could feel his face flaming. Arcane would skin him alive - or mutate him, or feed him to the alligators - if he knew what his assistant was thinking. Graham took a steadying breath and busied himself with surgical tape, carefully closing the worst of the gashes and covering the area with sterile gauze. As he finished Arcane gave a sigh of relief and relaxed.
'You should stay in bed for a day or two, Doctor. To let them heal, and to make sure you don't get pneumonia.'
Arcane opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it and nodded.
'True. It would be a senseless waste to have my brilliant intellect snuffed out by something as crass as a simple illness.'"
'I'll stay with you. And get you food. I'll look after you, Doctor.'
Arcane eyed him grumpily.
'If you must...'
© 2009 Nov 18th Joules
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