Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Work the next day is surreal. Dan keeps feeling like the nurses are staring at him, and he has to duck into the bathroom to check that there’s no trace of blood still clinging to his cheeks. His head isn’t there, either—he brings Mr. Talbot’s medication to Mrs. Martinez even with Claire elbowing him in the side, and he completely forgets to check on Mr. Bremner. He’s just glad he isn’t scheduled for surgery.

He almost forgets the sushi on the way home too, has to turn around a block from the house to go back for it. Once he’s at the restaurant, he realizes he has no idea what Herber wants, panics, and orders one of practically everything on the menu. The teenage cashier raises his eyebrows but shrugs and takes Dan’s credit card.

When Dan gets home, the house is dark and silent, but Herbert has left a sticky note in the foyer that says, Working downstairs, dinner at 8 . Dan smiles at that—Herbert had placed it at exactly Dan’s eye-level.

By the time Herbert emerges from the basement—at 8:17, not that Dan was keeping track—Dan has cracked open all the containers and laid them out on the island. He’d run out of space by the end and shoved the rest onto the table.

Herbert inspects the scene, his mouth doing its little half-amused twitch. “Are we expecting visitors? Did you invite more of Oak Hills’s finest to join us for a cozy night in?”

“Fuck off, I thought you might be hungry. We have a fridge.”

Herbert is still smirking to himself, but he takes a plate and begins loading it up. Dan is tempted to tell him to get his own dinner the next time if he’s going to be so rude about it, but he doesn’t mind all that much. Hell, Herbert eating more than a few small bitest of any food is practically a ‘thank you’ coming from him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Herbert says, when Dan has cleared the table enough for them to sit down. He pauses to tear open a packet of soy sauce, seemingly unbothered, while Dan’s blood runs cold. Has McKinney’s death inspired him somehow, and now he wants to ask Dan to cross some further line? Or is it that Herbert has finally grown sick of Dan’s pathetic neediness and is finally going to demand that he stop acting so clingy?

“What is your computer password?”

Dan blinks. That was the last thing he expected. “What?”

“Your password, Dan. So that I can search a few things.”

“Uh, Miskatonic86. Capital ‘M.’”

“Astonishing display of creativity,” Herbert mutters, rolling his eyes. “Will you show me?”

“Will I show you… my computer?”

Herbert shoves a piece of shrimp in his mouth instead of answering. He’s fidgeting with his chopsticks, carefully avoiding Dan’s gaze. Finally, keeping his eyes on the chopsticks, he says in a rush, “I have no idea how to use your computer. It’s different from the ones at the hospital. I need you to explain it to me.”

“What hospi—oh, you mean Miskatonic,” Dan realizes. “You haven’t used a computer since 1990?”

“I was in prison as you may recall, Dan,” Herbert retorts sharply. He’s looking at Dan again, if only to glare.

He says it as if Dan had already refused to show him. Dan hates this, hates that Herbert is so embarrassed to admit he needs Dan’s help for anything, even something as simple as running a Google search, that he’ll resort to such an easy dig. Dan shrugs. “I don’t know, I thought you might have had access to one.”

Herbert leans further away from Dan and narrows his eyes. “And where exactly would I have gotten access to a computer? While I was in solitary confinement?”

“You seemed to get plenty of access to everything you needed to do your experiments.”

Dan regrets the words the second they’re out of his mouth. Herbert does this to him, makes him speak without thinking. He always has.

Herbert throws his chopsticks down and shoves himself away from the table. “You of all people have no right to talk to me about that,” he snaps. “Do you really want to pretend that the decade in prison because of your betrayal was simply some kind of–some kind of research fellowship? A nice relaxing time to catch up on my work?” He’s as angry as Dan has ever seen him, cheeks flushed with it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?” And oh, the moment of rage had been nothing compared to this, this frigid dismissal. Dan would rather Herbert had thrown a plate at his head—anything but the way he’s looking at Dan now, this sheer disinterest. As if nothing Dan can say will be worth the time it takes Herbert to hear it.

“Look, what is it going to take for you to believe me?” Dan snaps, throwing up his hands. He doesn’t remember standing up, but suddenly he’s on his feet, rounding on Herbert. Close enough that Herbert has to look up at him, has to care . “Haven’t I groveled enough for you yet? What else do you fucking want from me?”

Herbert stands his ground, folding his arms. “What else other than… what have you done exactly? A pathetic apology and an overindulgent takeout order?”

He’s trying to bait Dan—Dan doesn’t care why, refuses to waste any more of his energy trying to understand the man. He wants to grab Herbert, to shake some sense into him or at the very least to shake some of the bullheaded stupidity out of him, but he’s determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and steps back away from Herbert. “I killed a man for you last night,” he says, more quietly. “You know as well as I do that I’ve done more than that, too. I dragged all your shit across the country with me. I built you a lab. I spent over $20,000 in legal fees too, by the way, trying to figure out how to appeal your conviction.”

Herbert’s scowl softens at that and he cocks his head to the side, confused. “I never spoke to a lawyer.”

“Because you never read the letters , Herb. If we’d both cooperated, my lawyer was sure she could get your conviction overturned, but I couldn’t do anything without your consent.” Dan sighs and rubs his eyes. “Look, I got you out in the end, didn’t I?”

“Pure chance,” Herbert replies, but his anger seems to have ebbed. Without it, he looks exhausted. “You had no way of knowing I would escape in the commotion.”

“When don’t you escape in any given commotion?” Dan asks, and Herbert graces him with half a smile. “Besides, if it hadn’t worked, I’d just have kept trying until it did.”

That seems to reach Herbert. He’s staring at Dan, a strange expression on his face. His brow is furrowed and his mouth is hanging slightly open, as if Dan is an unexpected lab result, one with promising implications for the work.

Dan clears his throat. “So, uh, did you want to see the computer?”

Herbert blinks rapidly, shaking off whatever had come over him and smoothing out his shirt sleeves. “That can wait. I need you to do something else first.”

Dan groans, ready to be dragged to the morgue for the second time that week, when Herbert gestures towards the hidden door in the pantry. “In the basement?” Dan asks, hardly daring to believe it.

“If you would.”

“Yes! Of course!” Dan agrees, starting forward so quickly that he knocks his beer to the floor. It rolls under the table noisily, trailing foam across the floor, but Dan doesn’t care. 

Herbert chuckles at Dan’s clumsiness but doesn’t move to help clean it up or to wait for Dan to do so himself. He won’t look at Dan, just steps around him and over the spilled beer and makes his way to the pantry to push open the door to the lab. When it’s clear he isn’t going to ask Dan again, Dan hastens to follow. He can clean up the beer later.

*

“Be careful of the bottom step,” Herbert calls as Dan descends into the lab. “It wobbles.”

Dan knows it wobbles—he’d spent several hours before his final trip to Arkham trying to make it stop wobbling before he’d finally given up. He’s touched, though, that Herbert cares.

The lab looks much like Dan had expected—mostly how he left it after his own work, though with a fresh body clamped down on the modified examination table in the center of the room. Dan recognizes the cadaver Herbert is working with—T. Lafferty, 23 years old, carbon dioxide poisoning from an unidentified gas leak in the house. Dan had treated his younger sister, had told Herbert when the brother hadn’t made it, had driven him to the morgue to pick the body up. 

What Dan wasn’t expecting is the homemade ventilator—it looks out of place in the basement, though Dan probably shouldn’t be all that surprised, given that he had bought or stolen all of the components on Herbert’s instruction. “What’s the ventilator for?” he asks.

Herbert looks at him like he’s an idiot. “To help him breathe, Dan.”

“He’s breathing?”

“He’s in an induced coma,” Herbert explains. “Part of the trouble we always had was with the overstimulation our subjects experienced—the pain of rebirth, the mind failing to process what is happening to it. I thought inducing a coma might provide for a… gentler re-entry.”

“Can you, uh, un-induce it?” Dan checks the man’s pulse—it’s low, certainly, but not any lower than he would expect from a comatose patient. His breathing appears to be steady for the moment.

“It’s an ordinary barbituate-induced coma, Dan. He should wake of his own accord.” Herbert’s hand closes over Dan’s on the man’s wrist. Dan should move—this can’t be an efficient way to read a pulse, not with Dan’s knuckles brushing against Herbert’s palm, but Herbert doesn’t seem to mind, so Dan certainly isn’t going to remove his hand first.

“You injected the reagent already?”

“Yes. His vitals have been promising to this point, but he needs twenty-four hour observation. I don’t want him waking up while I’m dozing off.”

“So you want to take turns monitoring him?” Dan asks. He’s not sure how much longer he can pretend he needs to keep his hand on the man’s wrist, but Herbert still isn’t moving. “I can do that.”

Herbert drops his hand and nods, suddenly all stiff professionalism. “Good. If you could attend to him after midnight this evening, I can take over again before you need to leave for the hospital.”

“Okay,” Dan says, even though he can’t remember the last time he slept properly. He should be refusing, should tell Herbert that he can’t afford to go into work after another sleepless night, but he can’t risk Herbert never asking again. He has a few hours before midnight, anyway—he can try to nap, maybe, or at least make a pot of coffee when he cleans up from dinner.

“You’ll need to record everything that occurs when he wakes, of course,” Herbert says. “I’d prefer if you wake me as soon as possible, though obviously not at the expense of capturing as much data as you can.”

“I can do that,” Dan agrees, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager.

He almost certainly does, because Herbert eyes him skeptically and says, “It will likely be only a few hours of monitoring his vitals. It isn’t as ifI’m asking for your hand in marriage.”

Dan really is exhausted, because he doesn’t think for a moment before saying, “We’d have to move back to Massachusetts.”

“What?”

Dan can feel himself starting to flush. “If—y’know. You just said, you didn’t ask to get married. We’d have to move to Massachusetts, though. If you had asked.”

Herbert is staring at him like he’s grown a second head—actually, if he had grown a second head, Herbert would probably be taking notes, instead of staring in blank confusion. 

“It’s legal there,” Dan adds, by way of explanation.

“Yes,” Herbert agrees. “I know. I suspect the prison escape would make it illegal, though.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking, more like he’s hypothesizing about how a lethal dose of a rare drug in a particular cadaver would interact with the reagent. Like it’s all simply an interesting hypothetical to discuss.

“We could use fake names,” Dan counters. “Ethan still has a Massachusetts I.D.”

“Fake names would definitely make it illegal.” Herbert rolls his eyes. “Will you stop wasting time? You really should try to sleep for a few hours.”

Dan wants to push the conversation further, but he has enough dignity left to shut up and hold the body how Herbert wants it. He’s acting like an idiot, he knows he is, but at the same time— stop wasting time isn’t the same thing as no , especially not in Herbert-speak. He’d been smiling slightly too, amused by the concept rather than outright disgusted. 

“ Daniel , pay attention!” Herbert snaps, waving the video recorder in front of his face. “I asked if you understood what you need to do.”

Dan blinks and takes the recorder from him.  “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry, yeah. I can do this.”

*

His six hours in the lab wind up being spectacularly uneventful. Herbert greets him in the stairwell at midnight precisely and says nothing besides “ Don’t snoop through my notes.” Dan resents the order—he hadn’t been planning on it, but now he can’t stop wondering what Herbert is so worried he might see. Would it really be so awful for Dan to read about the work? Hadn’t he once wanted this, for Dan to be practically salivating over the chance to read about each and every failed trial or subsequent modification?

All the same, he can’t bring himself to disobey Herbert’s instructions, not while he’s finally allowed to sit here, so instead he finds one of his own old notebooks and passes the time flipping through that. He’s pleased to find several signs that Herbert has done the same, just the odd underlining of some variable or circling of a particular result. It’s not much but it’s there, solid proof that Herbert had devoted the time to read all of this work, to think about it. 

Lafferty doesn’t wake before Herbert arrives the next morning, looking better rested than Dan can remember seeing him. The circles under his eyes are fainter, and he’s actually brushed his hair again.

Herbert doesn’t thank him, doesn’t acknowledge the shift between them that had brought Dan to the basement, just clasps his shoulder gently and says, “You should go now if you don’t want to be late to work.”

Somehow, it’s enough.

*

Sergeant William McKinney’s obituary is published in the Friday paper. Dan buys a copy from the cafe in the hospital lobby and carries it around with him all day. He can feel it burning a hole in his pocket.

Herbert scoffs at it when Dan shows him the paper. “Only a $500 reward for any information? They must have really hated him.” He chuckles, skimming through the rest of the article. “Listen to this: ‘While he enjoyed many simple pleasures, like watching sports, eating good food, going to cook outs, and being outdoors, the thing that brought him the most joy was his family.’ What unbelievably trite garbage.”

Dan can feel his stomach clenching. His family… the image comes to him again of the lonely wife, waiting. Of the dead son McKinney had been so determined to save.

“Dan, you don’t think any of that was genuine, do you? I can find you forty identical obituaries on the internet right now.” He shakes his head in disgust. “What an utterly insignificant man.”

“ Herbert .”

“Might I remind you, Dan, that he was fully prepared to choke the life out of me when he didn’t get what he wanted? Who knows how a man like that must have acted at home, or on the job.”

He has a point. Dan doesn’t know why he has to deliver it like he does, why he can’t find any shred of empathy for the woman and boy in Dan’s mind.

Herbert insists on following up the obituary with a Google search, so Dan leads him to his study and shows him how to turn on his old Dell monitor. Herbert takes to the computer quickly enough—Dan shows him how to open Internet Explorer and where to type into Google and then Herbert pushes him away, declaring, “I’m not a child , Dan.”

His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he types. It makes Dan’s heart clench painfully in his chest.

“Suspected robbery in connection with a failed drug bust,” Herbert says.

“Huh?”

“I told you, Dan. They think some addict killed him. Some nobody. They don’t care enough to find out otherwise.”

“And what really happened to him, if he wasn’t killed by some ‘nobody addict’?” Dan asks, more to hear Herbert say it than out of curiosity. He knows he should be chiding Herbert for his callous phrasing rather than using it as an excuse to fish for compliments, but it’s impossible to resist.

Herbert rolls his eyes. “That’s a stupid question, Dan. You know as well as I do that you’re…” he trails off, hesitating.

“That I’m…?” Dan prompts.

“That you matter ,” Herbert finishes in a low mumble, clearly frustrated. He’s glaring at the computer screen instead of Dan.

“Would you like to repeat that? I don’t think I heard you,” Dan teases and Herbert reaches back to shove him away.

“Dan, you’re being very distracting.”

“Am I?” Dan can’t help but feel smug about that. He figures he’s earned it, at this point—Herbert has certainly distracted him more than enough. There’s something intensely intoxicating about it, being able to lean in and watch Herbert flush, or for his fingers to fumble on the keys.

Herbert shoves him away again, but he’s smiling now. “Will you let me work ?”

“Why should I?”

Herbert turns to look at him. He’s relaxed, happy in a way that makes Dan’s heart ache—this is what they always should have had, this warm familiarity. For a few seconds, everything between them feels easy.

“If you leave me in peace, I’ll tell you about what I worked on today,” Herbert offers.

Dan grins at him and holds out a hand. “Deal.”

Herbert shakes it.

*

Something shifts between them after that. Herbert doesn’t invite Dan back into the lab, but he tells him when Lafferty opens his eyes, describing how stable he seemed and the way he’d been able to comply with basic instructions before slipping back into unconsciousness. Dan seems to ask the right questions too, because Herbert answers all of them eagerly, his eyes lighting up as he explains the reagent’s effects on blood pressure. 

He doesn’t offer more information in the coming week, but he seems more relaxed around Dan too, and his jabs have lost some of their bitter edge. He’s sleeping more too—Dan wonders if he’d been more worried about McKinney than he had let on, and that now the man is dead he can go back to his grudging six hours of rest.

“I’m not moving back to Massachusetts with you,” Herbert announces out of the blue one morning. They’re sharing one of their increasingly rare breakfasts together, though neither of them has said anything more than pass the sugar.

“Excuse me?”

“You had said that we’d have to move back to Massachusetts, were we to get married. I’m not going to move back to Massachusetts and I have no interest whatsoever in marriage.”

“I know that, it was just a stupid joke—“

Herbert holds up a hand. “I’m not finished. What I was going to say was that while I’m not going to marry you and live out whatever ridiculous suburban fantasy prompted that comment, I would consider going to dinner together. If you could find a time between all your bar sluts.”

“Excuse me, all of my what ?” 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Herbert says. “If you prefer them, you can go out drinking and fuck the first person who looks twice at you. If not, we could go to dinner.”

“Wait, you mean like a date? You’re asking me on a date?”

Herbert frowns. “Dinner is still standard on such occasions, is it not?”

“Shit, I mean, yes , dinner would be great. Yeah.”

The corner of Herbert’s mouth twitches. Dan must sound like a moron. He doesn’t care. Herbert just asked him on a date , he’s allowed a few moments to be completely gobsmacked by the whole thing.

“All right,” Herbert says. “You can take me out Friday night. In the meantime, I’m going to need you to pick up the shipment of rats I ordered online.”

*

The last time Dan was nervous about a date was in the year 1984, when weeks of shy flirting had finally convinced Dean Halsey’s very pretty daughter to go out with him and now Meg was staring up at him with her wide blue eyes and he could barely stutter out an awkward conversation about their shared classes. He’d completely botched it, Meg had told him later—she’d only given him a second date because “you were so cute about it all, Danny, like a little nervous bunny rabbit!”

It had taken three dates total for Dan to finally muster the courage to kiss her. He’d taken her to an art museum and she’d opened up a bit, telling him all about Edward Hopper’s innovative light techniques, Lois Maillou Jones’s celebratory use of colors, Norman Rockwell’s political activism. She sketched a bit, she’d confessed, but “Daddy says he didn’t want some bohemian layabout for a daughter,” so she had focused on a career in medicine instead. They’d had a picnic afterwards in a secluded spot besides a local pond, and she’d sketched Dan’s profile as he talked aimlessly about his hobbies, about his friends from the softball team and his pathetic attempt to join a bowling league. When she’d shown him the drawing of him mid-sentence, his arms waving wildly, he had finally gotten up the courage to lean forward and kiss her, softly. Chastely.

Dan had clung onto that memory for years, metonymy for everything he’d lost in the Massacre. Meg, of course, but not only her. He knows that Meg had been his only chance at such softness, at the kind of memories that always had a golden glow about them. He supposes he had loved others since then, Francesca and Lisa and maybe Tim, but it was a sharper love. Painful, in a way Meg had never been.

And now Herbert—Dan can’t imagine Herbert at an art museum. He’d almost certainly dismiss it as a waste of time, roll his eyes at any painting Dan admired and loudly point out that he could have run several important tests in the time it takes to make their way through the Modern Wing. Dan briefly considers taking him into Chicago to either the Field Museum or the Museum of Science and Industry, but he can’t help but think of Herbert using the red pen in the textbooks. The last thing they need is for Herbert to make a scene defacing some scientific plaque he deems inaccurate.

Dan decides to keep it simple. Dinner and a movie, he suggests, and Herbert rolls his eyes and says, “You have plenty of movies here, I have no desire to sit in public and watch Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle , masterpiece of cinema though it may be.” Just dinner, then, with the promise that Herbert might deign to watch a DVD afterwards—“if you aren’t too insufferable at dinner,” Herbert says when Dan brings it up. “I didn’t hate The Thing , I suppose.”

Dan had assumed that, come Friday evening, he was going to have to drag Herbert out of the basement by force to make their reservation on time. He certainly wasn’t expecting to come home to find Herbert already waiting in the living room, dressed shockingly nicely in a dark blue shirt Dan has never seen before. He’s leafing through one of the textbooks, but he seems less invested than usual. He doesn’t even have a pen out.

“Is that a new shirt?” 

Herbert looks down at it and shrugs. “It’s from Miskatonic. I bought it years ago.”

“I’ve never seen you wear it before.” Dan is certain he’d have remembered—the shirt clings to Herbert in a way he would have thought about for weeks, even before he’d admitted to himself that maybe his attraction to Herbert might be due to more than proximity.

“I never had much cause to dress for dates. I don’t even know why I bought it in the first place—the store attendant was very insistent. She said it was ‘my color.’” He pronounces the air quotes with contempt.

“She was uh, absolutely right,” Dan says. “You look great.”

Herbert eyes him critically. “Is that what you’re planning on wearing?”

He’s still in the cardigan and button-up he’d changed into after his shift. Nothing overly dressy, but certainly presentable enough for dinner, the kind of thing Dan would usually wear out to a nice restaurant.

“No,” Dan lies. “Just give me ten minutes to change and we can get going.”

Herbert shrugs and returns to his book.

Three discarded ties later, Dan starts to worry—what if Herbert had simply meant it as a question, and now Dan is making a fool of himself picking out a tie that goes with his blazer. What if he gets downstairs and Herbert laughs at him—or worse, what if Herbert points out that the last time he’d seen Dan dressed like this, he had been standing in a courtroom refusing to meet Herbert’s eyes.

Dan forgoes the blazer. It seems for the best.

He’s pleased with his decision when he gets downstairs—Herbert says nothing, but his eyes run over Dan twice and he seems satisfied enough with what he sees.

The restaurant is two towns over, a forty minute drive away. Dan had insisted, hadn’t wanted to risk being seen anywhere closer, even with McKinney taken care of. Herbert had conceded grudgingly, though he’d told Dan several times that he couldn’t imagine any of the residents of Oak Hills being particularly up to date with the faces of missing Massachusetts convicts. He had been mildly disappointed to discover that he wasn’t even on the FBI’s most wanted list—“Don’t they understand that my work fundamentally alters the course of human history?” he’d complained to Dan, while Dan tried to convince him that not being raided by the FBI was an overall benefit.

Even with the distance, Dan spends the drive nervous. Herbert had conceded to wear contacts for the night, while Dan had shoved his own glasses on, but it’s not much of a disguise for either of them. He hopes the restaurant is dark enough to conceal them.

“You’re being paranoid again,” Herbert says when he catches Dan checking his glasses in the reflection.

“Maybe I’m just making sure I look good for our date.”

Herbert’s mouth twitches. “You look acceptable.”

“You look amazing.”

“Watch where you’re driving, Dan,” he says, though Dan catches a hint of satisfaction in his expression.

*

The restaurant Dan chose is quiet and cozy, all dark wood and low, warm light. Herbert seems satisfied with it, takes his time with the menu and waves for Dan to go ahead and choose from the wine list. Dan can’t remember Herbert ever drinking wine, doesn’t know what he likes, so he blusters his way through a conversation about vinyards and vintage with their server and eventually settles on a pinot noir that he thinks will pair decently with their orders.

“So you know your wines now?” Herbert asks when their server leaves, clearly amused by the display. “I remember you buying wine based on what was cheapest and came in the biggest bottle.”

“I was making half of that up,” Dan admits. “It’s not that hard—you just say something like “oh but the ‘92 couldn’t possibly compare to the ‘89” and then something about earthiness and, um.” He catches himself before he can admit that what usually happens next is that his date is suitably impressed by his sophistication.

Herbert is smirking like he knows anyway. “I’m certain the wine you so carefully selected will be just fine, Dan.”

Dan kicks him under the table. Herbert just smiles wider. He looks younger in the candlelight. Happier too—or maybe that’s more than a trick of the light.

“So what do people do on dates then?” Herbert asks. He sounds disinterested, sarcastic, like he’s making fun of Dan for being here at all. “What do you say after you’ve suitably impressed your partner by faking your way through a wine list?”

“Wait, have you never been on a date before?”

“The only relationships I have had did not tend to be the kind to include dates,” Herbert says. “Did you imagine that before Miskatonic I had some tedious girl like Meg to wine and dine?”

He’s trying to rile Dan again, but Dan is used to it by now, and any mention of Meg has lost its sting years ago. He’s far more caught up on Herbert’s reference to past relationships. He certainly hadn’t had any relationships while living with Dan, dates or not—had he? Had Dan really been too oblivious, too caught up in his own misery to notice?  Or were they in Switzerland, all these nameless men who hadn’t even done Herbert the courtesy of a night out? Or, worse still—had Herbert actually found someone in the past decade, a fellow prisoner who could be a better partner to him than Dan ever was?

“You look angry.”

“I don’t like thinking about you with other men,” Dan says, startled by his own honesty. “Who were they?”

Herbert raises his eyebrows. “You of all people are asking me about past relationships?”

“I’d tell you about any of mine,” Dan says.

Herbert seems like he’s about to say something when their waiter reappears with the wine. Herbert quickly closes his mouth.

Dan smiles and confirms it isn’t corked, trying not to look too much like he’s trying to shoo the waiter away. It doesn’t matter—the interruption was enough to stop Herbert from whatever he’d been about to say, leaving them staring at their glasses in awkward silence. Dan can’t stop thinking about Herbert in these relationships ; trying to think back to Miskatonic to decide whether any of their classmates seemed the type to sneak off into an empty room with the weird transfer student while Dan’s back was turned.

All the same, now that they’ve been interrupted, Dan doesn’t know how to return to the topic, not without offending Herbert. The silence is starting to curdle between them, so Dan raises his glass and clears his throat. “We should do a toast.”

“To?”

“Can be anything. ‘To us’ is always a nice one.”

Herbert’s expression darkens. “How many girls have you used that on?”

“A few,” Dan admits.

“I don’t want it then.”

“To your work, then?” Dan offers. “I can assure you I haven’t used that one on anyone else before.”

“To the work,” Herbert agrees with a nod, clinking their glasses together. He takes a long gulp of the wine, almost draining his glass in a single sip, and Dan wonders if maybe he isn’t the only one nervous tonight. 

“So, uh, speaking of the work, what are you working on now?” Dan asks, when the silence has stretched on long too far for comfort.

“I’m not talking about that.”

Dan’s face must fall, because Herbert quickly adds, “Because I don’t want to be overheard in public , Dan, not for whatever reason you’re imagining. I’ll show you when we get home, if you wish.”

“Really?”

Herbert sets down his glass and folds his hands carefully. He’s looking directly at Dan now, as open and honest as Dan has ever seen him. “I wouldn’t be here tonight if I didn’t intend to let you back into my lab. I thought that it was clear when I let you into the basement for the first time that you are perfectly free to ask about the work. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t seen it all already.”

“You told me not to snoop.”

“I didn’t expect you to actually listen .” Herbert shrugs. “Besides, you could have just asked me to see the rest of it.”

“I didn’t want to push”

“You can push, Dan,” Herbert says and then, so quietly Dan almost misses it, “You’re meant to push.”

“Okay.” And then, because he wants to be clear and because Herbert has asked him to, he does. He mirrors Herbert, setting down his glass and staring across the table. “If I’m allowed… then this is me asking to be your partner again. I don’t want to have to ask what you’re doing, I want you to come out and tell me and maybe I’ll have ideas that actually help you. You can even do the thing where you call me your assistant if that’s what it takes, but that’s not what I want. I want to be a full part of it all.”

Herbert looks—strange. His eyes are glowing in the low light, dark and intense. “Is that all?” he asks, and his voice is slightly rough.

“I could be in the lab full time, even. I could leave the hospital—I have the savings for it. We could focus on the work without any distractions.”

Herbert sighs and drops his eyes from Dan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dan isn’t sure if he’d said something wrong, doesn’t know what possibly could have offended him. 

“Please, Herb?”

“It couldn’t be without distractions. Not while you’re here.”

Dan can feel his heart sinking, a physical sensation in his chest. He had felt so hopeful for a moment, with Herbert staring at him so intently. He’d been so sure that this time, Herbert was actually understanding him.

Think about it, Dan. McKinney only knew where to find me because of you.” Herbert leans forward and taps the bridge of Dan’s glasses sharply. “Might I remind you that you’re currently wearing fake glasses to hide from the police just to have a night out.”

“They’re not fake.”

“Irrelevant,” Herbert says. He clears his throat and drains his wine. It’s odd to see him in this setting. Surreal. He seems so out of place chugging wine in his nice shirt, it feels a bit like watching a video of a cat wearing human clothes. 

“I’ve been thinking about moving,” he announces finally. He’s back to avoiding Dan’s eyes. “I believe it’s past time.”

“What?”

“North Dakota, I’ve decided.”

“Herbert, please. Why?” Not now. Had Herbert planned this as some kind of goodbye dinner, throwing Dan a bone over his pathetic crush before disappearing forever? Dan can’t look at him anymore, squeezes his eyes shut to avoid it. For a moment, he’s worried he might cry.

Something brushes against Dan’s hand. He opens his eyes to see Herbert’s fingers resting on top of his. “ Together , Dan,” Herbert clarifies gently. “I’ve been thinking about us moving to North Dakota. You mentioned before that you would consider moving.”

Oh. Dan lets out a shaky breath, almost a laugh. He feels lighter than he has in years, giddy with the relief of it. He turns his hand over under Herbert’s, lacing their fingers together, and Herbert squeezes. “Why?” he asks again, though it doesn’t matter. They both know he’s going to agree. 

“I think it would be for the best—McKinney won’t be the only person who comes looking for me here, not as long as you’re still going by Dr. Daniel Cain, my last known associate. Besides, it might be nice to leave the house every so often without having to drive an hour out of town. I’m worried you might insist on fake mustaches next time.”

Dan does laugh at that. Herbert has a point too. Dan hates having to check every few minutes that the couple by the window aren’t secretly watching them, hates having to search McKinney’s name every few days to make sure there are no new developments in the case. A new state might do them both good—new names certainly will.

“What about—”

“My work is going quite well, thank you,” Herbert interrupts loudly, and Dan turns to see their waiter returning with their orders— lamb for Herbert, some complicated mushroom pasta dish for him. 

When he’s left, Herbert quirks his head to the side. “What about what, Danny?”

“Why North Dakota?” he asks. “Have you ever even been to North Dakota?”

“When would I have been to North Dakota?”

Dan shrugs. He realizes again he has almost no idea what Herbert’s childhood had been like—hell, he doesn’t even know what state he’s from. He must have lived in the states before Switzerland, right? He tries to imagine him as a kid on a family roadtrip to Mount Rushmore or the Mall of America, but all he can picture is Herbert as he had first met him, full suit and tie, but slightly shorter.

“Well, I have never been to North Dakota. I looked it up on the internet, however, and it seems like it will suit our purposes perfectly. There is a low enough population we should be able to operate quite undetected, and the climate is not too humid for my preferences. The criminal penalty for graverobbing is relatively low as well, which ought to benefit us if we are unfortunate enough to be caught. Besides, it has one of the lowest average lifespans in the midwest and the highest teen mortality rate out of all fifty states.” Herbert raises his eyebrows. “Think about it, Dan. Practically all our subjects would be under sixty.”

Dan should be alarmed that Herbert is looking up teen mortality rates. Instead, he’s stuck on the way Herbert had said ‘our purposes’ and ‘our subjects’ so matter-of-factly.

“Uh, why under sixty?”

“Lower risk of heart problems, cancers, whatever else may be wrong with them. I really think I may be close to something with the pentobarbital, Dan.”

“Seems like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“So you’ll agree?” Herbert asks, and Dan catches a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You would come with me?”

“I—it’s a big change,” Dan says, picking at his pasta. “Where would we even live?”

“I found a listing that seems ideal,” Herbert replies quickly. “Three bedrooms, two bath. 1500 square foot basement.” He’s practically vibrating with excitement. “And do you know why it’s still for sale? Because ‘no one wants a house that close to the cemetery,’ Danny. The owner’s becoming desperate.”

That sounds—fairly perfect, actually, though Dan worries what Herbert thinks they need three bedrooms for. “Uh, I’ll think about it,” he says. “There are lots of things we’d have to sort out first.” He isn’t sure why he’s fighting this, why he can’t just shout yes like he wants to.

“We can sort them all out, though,” Herbert insists. “Dan, do you know the two highest causes of death in North Dakota? Exposure and overdose!”

No one should be able to sound so excited listing causes of death. Dan understands though—he always used to prefer the exposure victims the winter would bring when he was choosing his own subjects. They were always the best preserved. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dan agrees, as much to convince Herbert to stop shouting causes of death as anything else. He was always going to agree anyway. “I can do North Dakota.”

Herbert beams.

*

The drive home is strange. Herbert seems satisfied, like he’s gotten all he wanted out of the evening. Out of Dan. He’s resting his cheek against the window, smiling faintly as he watches the endless stretches of cornfields pass by.

Dan turns on the radio. It’s some top forties station. 50 Cent is rapping about how he’s into having sex, not into making love. Dan tries not to focus on the lyrics, glances over to check if Herbert has noticed, but he’s still just staring out the window.

“What are you thinking about?” Dan finally asks. 

He thinks Herbert is ignoring him, or else too lost in his own head to respond. The silence stretches on over a few more embarrassing minutes of 50 Cent, and Dan is about to change stations at least when Herbert clears his throat and says, “I was considering names.”

“Names?”

“We’ll need different names when we move to North Dakota. I was contemplating the options. I’ve decided on Hans.”

“Hans?”

“As an homage to Dr. Gruber.”

“That’s more sentimental than I’d expect from you,” Dan admits. “You were close? You never told me much about him. Just his work.”

Herbert shrugs. “I think of them as one and the same, Gruber and his work. He was a good man, though. Intelligent. Kind.” He pauses, swallows. “That will always be the failure I regret most, that I could not save him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your failure.” He sits up in his seat. “I won’t fail the next time.”

Dan can’t be certain, but he suspects Herbert is talking about him. I’d want all of you , he had said before, and Dan suddenly pictures Herbert, an old man who has moved onto a new town, a new assistant, now going by ‘Dan’ to commemorate his newest great regret. He wonders if Herbert would shoot him if the reagent fails and Dan ends up as murderous as the others, or if he would try to contain him somehow, a tragic, rabid reminder of what Herbert had been unable to do.

But no, Dan isn’t going to let that happen. He reaches over for Herbert’s hand. “ We won’t fail the next time,” he says.

*

When they pull up in front of the house, Dan takes his time parking, turning off the car. Herbert had let Dan hold his hand for most of the drive home, until Dan had had to pull his hand away to signal. Dan thinks he would let him kiss him now, if Dan can just get up the courage to lean across the gearshift and finally do it.

Or maybe not, because there’s barely a moment and then Herbert is unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the car.

Dan follows him into the house. He knows he must be acting strange—he’s hyper-aware of his body, of how close he’s standing to Herbert in the foyer, of how often his shoulder brushes against Herbert’s as they both bend down to take off their shoes. Herbert gives him a weird look and steps back pointedly so that Dan has room to shrug off his coat.

“So, uhh…” Dan starts awkwardly. “We can watch a movie?”

Herbert stares at him for a long moment and then shakes his head. “I have a better suggestion—didn’t you want to see the latest research?”

Dan can’t imagine anything he’d rather do.

*

In the basement, Herbert has pushed aside the examination table—Lafferty is still lying on it, hooked up to the ventilator, his pulse low but steady. In the center of the room, he has a new device set up, something Dan has never seen before. It’s sparking slightly. Behind it, Herbert has arranged rows and rows of cages, all containing the little white rats that he’d had Dan pick up from the pet store. As Dan approaches, one of them looks up at him and squeaks.

“What do you know about nanoplasm?” Herbert asks Dan. He’s leaning around Dan, his front pressed completely against Dan’s back as he pulls one of the nearest notebooks towards them and flips it open.

“Uh, not much,” Dan admits. “It has something to do with brain function, the Levine, Mortimer, et al. paper on it was a pretty big deal.”

“It has everything to do with brain function,” Herbert corrects. He’s put his glasses back on—they almost fly off in his excitement and he has to push them back onto his nose. “Don’t you see, Dan? This is it , this is what we’ve been searching for all these years. Nano-plasmic energy.”

He finds what he’s been looking for in the notebook and waves it in Dan’s face. “It’s a completely neutral energy!”

Dan catches Herbert’s wrist and takes the book from him. “Completely neutral? So you mean, the nanoplasm from a rat… any rat… could be transplanted into a human brain?”

Herbert’s eyes light up. “I knew you would understand. None of them ever understood me like you do, Danny.”

Dan barely hears him. He’s flipping through the notebook, captivated by all the words printed in Herbert’s neat script, methods of extraction, interspecies trials, interaction with reagent at various doses… He suddenly feels like he had in the basement of their first Miskatonic apartment, watching Rufus scream as he was reborn a second time. 

“Herbert, this is incredible.”

Herbert preens. “I haven’t even shown you the best part, I did take some of your notes on balancing the reagent and…” He stretches forward again, and Dan can think of nothing but the heat of his body pressed against Dan’s. He leans back into it.

“Herb,” Dan says. His voice catches embarrassingly on the single syllable but he doesn’t care anymore, he can’t stand another second of the tension stretched between them. He needs it, needs more than Herbert’s breath, tantalizingly warm against Dan’s cheek, as he pulls the notebook towards them both and flips it open.

“You see,” Herbert says, pointing. He still hasn’t moved back, and Dan can feel every hair on his body standing on end. If he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if it was some effect of the neuroplasm, the electricity sizzling in the air, but he’s done pretending the sensation is anything more than Herbert’s proximity. 

“When you combine your modified reagent with the NPE—”

Dan can’t help himself—he twists around, grabs Herbert by the shoulders, and crushes their mouths together.

If he’d thought Herbert would be hesitant or tentative about this, he was so wrong. The notebook thuds against the floor as Herbert’s hands fly to Dan’s hair, pulling him closer. His mouth opens easily under Dan’s—his kisses are as clumsy as Dan had expected from a decade without practice, but they are eager and hungry, as if he’s been starving for this as much as Dan has. Dan is starting to believe that maybe he has—when Dan brings his hand up to the man’s jaw, he lets out a desperate little whine so hot Dan that momentarily forgets how to breathe.

“Can we–?” Dan doesn’t know what he’s asking for—Herbert is pulling his hair now, biting sloppily up the side of Dan’s neck, and Dan definitely never planned this far. He tries again, “Upstairs?”

Herbert pulls away—just a few inches, still clutching at Dan’s hair, but Dan suddenly feels the distance like a physical ache. Fuck going upstairs—he tugs Herbert back to him, kissing him over and over until they’re both panting. When Herbert finally tries to speak again, it takes him a moment to find his voice. 

“I thought you wanted to go upstairs?” he asks, and Dan can tell he’s struggling to sound composed. He looks an absolute mess—cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in all directions, glasses askew. Dan feels a swell of pride at the sight— he did that, he made Herbert come undone so beautifully.

“Mm, in a minute,” Dan murmurs, plucking Herbert’s glasses off his nose and setting them aside. “Just wanna look at you first.”

Herbert flushes deeper under Dan’s stare, throat bobbing as he swallows, and Dan can’t help but kiss him again. He slides their tongues together, trails his mouth along Herbert’s jaw where the shadow of day-old stubble is coming in, down the side of his neck. Back to his mouth. His lips are almost unbearably soft under Dan’s and Dan isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to stop kissing him, not now that he’s started. Not now that he knows what it’s like.

“This doesn’t count as looking at me,” Herbert whines, squirming away suddenly, and Dan is struck by the miraculous revelation that Herbert’s ears are ticklish. “ Dan , stop.”

Dan laughs, pleased with himself, until Herbert presses forward again and slides his hand down Dan’s front to palm his dick through his pants and Dan almost chokes on his tongue.

“Okay, yeah, upstairs now.”

“Are you certain you don’t want to stick around to see our new reagent in practice?” Herbert asks, grinning widely. 

“Later, fuck, come on , Herbert.”

They make it to Dan’s bedroom relatively unscathed. Dan still can’t stop touching Herbert, can’t believe his luck now that he finally can touch him anywhere and everywhere, so they get distracted a few times on the way up when Dan reaches out and grabs Herbert by the waist and kisses him out of breath again, until Herbert squirms away and says, “Bedroom, Dan.”

Dan backs Herbert up against the bedroom door, savoring the way Herbert’s mouth opens so easily for him, all the strange desperate little noises he makes as Dan nips at his mouth. 

“No open door today?” Herbert asks, all smug satisfaction. It’s more arousing than it should be, the way he’s smirking at Dan like he knows him so well. “I thought you always insisted …”

“Somehow I don’t think my nosy roommate is going to be skulking around tonight,” Dan replies, starting to undo Herbert’s buttons. “It was all for him,” he adds, wondering if it’s possible for Herbert to look any more smug.

Instead, Herbert closes his eyes and lets out another tiny whine. “Say that again.”

“That it was all for you?”

Herbert nods shallowly. He’s like something out of a magazine like this—not anything trashy or hardcore, one of the arty erotic ones. His eyes are still closed, his head flung back, his shirt half-unbuttoned.

“It was all for you,” Dan repeats, and he’s not talking about the door anymore. “Everything. All for you.”

And then they’re kissing again and Herbert’s hand is back on his cock, and for the first time in years, Dan has to grit his teeth not to come too soon. He catches Herbert’s wrist and pins it against the door.

“Wait—”

“What?” Herbert opens his eyes again, and Dan almost laughs at the expression on his face. It’s so typically Herbert .

Dan takes a deep breath. “If we’re gonna do this, I have to tell you something. It’s important—”

Herbert folds his arms across his chest. “Dan, you had better not have caught something from any of your slutty bar pickups, so help me—”

“ What ? No, shit, I’m clean, but—”

“There’s the shock of the century,” Herbert mutters, like he hadn’t just had his hand on Dan’s dick. “You can’t tell me that last muscled dimwit wasn’t riddled with STDs—”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Herbert, will you just listen for a minute?”

Herbert looks up at him expectantly, looking for all the world like Dan is interrupting an important experiment, except for the way his shirt is still hanging open. “Yes?”

Dan clears his throat. “I, uh. Okay. It’s important to me, if we’re gonna do this that you understand this means something to me. That’s all, okay? I just need you to know that you aren’t one of my ‘bar sluts,’ as you so delightfully called them.”

Herbert just stares at him, brow creasing in confusion. “Yes. Clearly.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then.” 

Dan is about to reach for him again, but he stops. He’s so close to the truth, he can’t stop now. He doesn’t even think Herbert will kick him out for saying it. “Not just, like—I don’t mean because we live together or are friends or whatever, okay? I—I’ve been in love with you for seven years. Probably longer than that, if we’re being honest, but definitely seven.”

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen what?”

Herbert sighs like he does when Dan is being particularly slow to understand an equation. “That’s how long—for me. That’s how long it’s been.” 

“How long… shit , wait, Herbert, are you saying—”

“Yes.”

Dan takes longer than usual to do the subtraction, his mind entirely consumed by Herbert’s yes , by the flash of dark chest hair peaking out from the opening in his shirt. “Eighteen years…” he repeats. “That’s 1985.”

“Yes.”

“Wait, since we met, before Peru —”

“Do we have to keep belaboring the point? You claim you’ve loved me for seven years—‘at least’ seven, so can we get on with it already?” His tone is casual, but he won’t meet Dan’s eyes.

Dan steps closer, pushing their bodies together, and catches Herbert’s hands before he can put them on Dan’s waist. He leans down to whisper into Herbert’s ear, “Not until you say it.”

“Say what?” Herbert asks, trying to pull away.

“Come on,” Dan pleads, pressing an open-mouthed kiss onto the spot on Herbert’s cheek that makes him squirm. “Come on , Herb. Tell me you love me.”

“I just did,” Herbert replies, his voice shaking. Dan is delighted to find that he’s hard, straining forward to rub up against Dan again. “Dan…”

“Just say it properly , the actual words,” Dan insists. He takes both of Herbert’s hands in his right, careful not to twist them too far, and then uses his other hand to grip Herbert’s hip, pinning him back against the door as he tries to grind against Dan again. 

Herbert whines again, but he’s staring up at Dan with such naked desire that Dan almost abandons his teasing—he would, if it weren’t so satisfying to render Herbert so flustered and desperate.

“Please?” he repeats, and he can see the moment Herbert’s resolve cracks.

He clears his throat. “Dan? I love yo—”

Dan kisses him before he can finish. 

*

As soon as he lets go, Herbert is on him, his hands clever and competent as always even paired with the needy sounds he keeps making. He gets Dan’s pants open before Dan can fumble with another button, and his fingers close around Dan’s dick. Dan has to bite the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood to stop himself coming there and then. He gives up on Herbert’s shirt entirely.

Despite his best efforts, Dan probably lasts less than five minutes after that. Herbert is good at this, better than he has any right to be, and he doesn’t stop grinding against Dan’s thigh as he strokes him, his hips thrusting just out of time with the movement of his hand. Dan barely has time to think, can’t say anything more than, “Herbert…” before he’s coming so hard he sees stars.

Herbert starts to finish himself off before Dan’s brain has fully rebooted, but he’s present enough to nudge Herbert’s hand aside and replace it with his own, kissing him until he’s shuddering and crying out Dan’s name. 

Herbert stands up almost immediately after— “To get a towel , Dan, will you relax?”—while Dan struggles the rest of his way out of his clothes. He barely makes it to the bed before Herbert returns, completely naked now and holding out a damp hand towel for Dan. Dan smiles to himself—he would have had to practically run to make it back so quickly.

“Sorry it was so quick,” Dan mumbles. “You’re really good at that.”

Herbert looks flustered at that, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not exactly the most experienced but it’s not all that different than, you know.” He makes a quick jerk-off gesture and oh God , Dan is in this deep because it is one of the most arousing things Dan has ever seen. 

“We could try again if you want,” Dan offers, though he’s having trouble moving at the moment. He’s so warm now, relaxed and boneless in a way he hadn’t known he needed.

Herbert slips into the bed next to him. “We have time,” he tells Dan, stretching out.

Dan reaches out and runs his hand lightly over Herbert’s chest, around the curve of his ribcage. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says.

Herbert shoves his hand away. “I don’t need a pickup line in bed, Dan. I’m not one of your—”

“—bar sluts?” Dan finishes, raising his eyebrows. “I think we established that.” He kisses Herbert, soft and closed-mouthed. “That doesn’t change how fucking gorgeous you are.”

Herbert frowns, squirms back at that. “Dan—”

“Too much?”

“For now,” Herbert mumbles. “Just—give me time?”

“Okay.”

Herbert stares at him for a long minute and then says, “You can kiss me again.”

Dan is more than happy to comply. He doesn’t know how long they lie there, trading lazy kisses and soft touches. It feels timeless—for however long it lasts, Dan can forget about everything, all the horrors of their past, his anxiety about the future. 

Finally, Herbert clears his throat and stands up. “I should get back to the lab,” he says. “I need to run a few more trials on the rats before I can transplant the NPE to Lafferty.”

Dan reaches out to stop him.  “Stay,” he says. In my bed. In my life . “Please, Herbert. Just—stay.” 

Herbert hesitates. Thirteen years stretch between them. Finally, he lies back down. “Okay,” he says. “I suppose five more minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

*

He stays the night.

*