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When Ryan walks into his quarters, door sliding shut behind him, the lights are already on.
He’s immediately on guard. Only a handful of people would be able to get into his quarters, but he just left Jane and Levi in the Infirmary, Dr Urvidian is on a date – it’s still weird to think about – and Akmazian isn’t even on the station. Not that he’d be stupid enough to come all the way up to Ryan’s quarters. Scratch that, Ryan thinks, he’d definitely be stupid enough. But he’s still not on the station.
Automatically, Ryan opens his mouth to ask the Interface if she knows who’s been in there. It snaps shut when he remembers they could still be there. And so, silently, he makes his way around the table, picking up the knife he’d left on the countertop breadboard that morning, grip tight on it as he makes his way towards the bathroom door.
He pushes the door open, ready to attack, and finds… nothing. Oh.
Maybe this Alliance conspiracy stuff is getting to him. Everyone knows he’s been on edge since the incident on the Orchid – not that he’s the only one being paranoid. Last week, Dr Urvidian almost stabbed him with a scalpel when Ryan came up behind him. Wear a bell, was his haughty retort when he realised it was just his co-worker. Neither of them spoke about it since.
Ryan almost – almost – relaxes as he closes the bathroom door, just before he hears it. Breathing – heavy breathing. Almost wheezing. Following it, the unmistakeable mew that could only belong to Morpheus. And it’s all coming from behind the door to the bedroom.
At that moment, Ryan sees the blood on the carpet. Ridiculously, his first thought is, that won’t come out easily.
He swallows. His heartbeat is pounding an imprint on his ribcage. Knuckles whitening on the handle of the knife, he moves towards the bedroom door, forcing his breaths to be released steadily and quietly. If anything, the only crack in the illusion of bravery is the way his fingers shake when he reaches out to push the door open.
When it swings away from him, the bedroom floods with light, and Ryan drops the knife.
Akmazian is sprawled across his bed. Morpheus is pawing at his face. More importantly, Akmazian is currently bleeding out.
“Holy shit,” says Ryan, helpfully.
It’s not that he’d never imagined coming home from work to find Akmazian in his bed. He’d just usually imagined it with… less blood. And maybe a better mood lighting.
Akmazian cracks an eye open, and Morpheus stops pawing at his face. “Dr Dalias,” he greets, lips curving up into the same half-grin he always displays when he says Ryan’s name. “Don’t mean to drop by without an invite, but…”
Breaking out of his stupor, Ryan strides over, nudging Morpheus aside. “What – did you – what happened?” As he stumbles over his words, his hands push the cape up, and then Akmazian’s shirt, finding what looks like a bullet wound underneath the masses of blood partially dried over it.
The half-grin doesn’t falter. “If I knew this was what I had to do for you to start pulling my clothes off, I’d’ve turned up here in a state a long time ago.” Ryan allows a pause in inspecting the wound to glare at him, and he chuckles weakly.
“Interface,” Ryan says, not even offering Akmazian a reply, and the telltale sound of his AI friend engaging echoes throughout the room.
“Dr Dalias, are you – oh my god, is that Akmazian?”
Ryan sighs, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose before remembering they’re covered in blood and recoiling in disgust. “Yes, unfortunately. I need you to tell Jane to empty out the Infirmary – or, at the very least, set up a private corner. I’m bringing Robin Hood down to visit.”
“How is Akmazian here? You didn’t come up on any of my recordings.” From her voice, Ryan guesses the Interface is actually a little distressed about the blind spot.
In response, Akmazian bites out, “Good. If you can’t register me, nobody else can.”
“But that doesn’t explain how –”
“Guys?” Ryan interrupts. “Priorities. We can talk about Akmazian staying under the radar when he’s still alive to do that.” While he talks, an arm is reaching down to wrap around Akmazian’s waist and heave him to his feet. A stab of guilt goes through him at the pained groan he gets in return.
“Shouldn’t we just –”
Ryan interrupts, again. “We can’t call any emergency transport for you, because people can’t know you’re on EOS 10. At all. I’m sorry, but we’re doing this the manual way.” He picks up Akmazian’s arm and wraps it around his shoulders, pausing briefly to tug the hood over his head – not that it would be able to offer them the slightest pretence of inconspicuousness, given their current situation – and grabs the hand looped around his shoulders before beginning to walk to the door.
Akmazian is leaning on Ryan far more than he expected him to, but he grits his teeth, holding him upright as they stagger out together and turn to go to the elevator. “Interface,” Ryan struggles out, “how many people are in the Infirmary?”
There’s a pause. “Nurse Johns is clearing them out. Everybody that’s staying overnight has been moved into private rooms. You should go undetected… hopefully.”
“And how many people are… um, around, on the way to the Infirmary?”
Another pause. “If you go down the left corridor when you get out of the elevator, nobody should be around.” The Interface seems to hesitate again, before saying, “I could ask someone for back-up if you need.”
Ryan shakes his head, jaw still clenched, slowly but surely making his way towards the elevator. “I’ve already dragged Jane into it. We’ll – we’ll be fine.”
“You know, I thought you’d be stronger, what with your… muscles.” Akmazian’s breath is hot on his cheek, and given any other occasion, it might’ve given rise to a blush. Instead, Ryan just tightens his grip on his waist.
“I’m a swimmer,” he mutters, “not a weightlifter.” They reach the elevator, and he pulls Akmazian inside, leaning him against the wall so he can program the journey to the Infirmary. With a whirr, the elevator begins to move, and Ryan’s attention is back on his friend. “We can save the how this happened for when you’ve got more breath to spare,” he tells him, “but just – how long ago were you hurt?”
Akmazian hesitates. “Hours, he says, but it sounds like a guess. “I wasn’t far out from EOS 10.”
Ryan’s lips twitch, displeased. The bullet didn’t seem to have lodged in any life-threatening places, but if he’s been wounded for that long, with not even a lump of cotton wool to stem the flow of blood, then Akmazian would be on his way to…
Passing out, Ryan’s mind supplies, just as Akmazian’s knees buckle from beneath him. Ryan catches him, swearing under his breath as he lowers him carefully to the floor, and after checking his pulse, he sighs. “Dalias to Johns,” he starts, propping Akmazian up against the wall, a hand pressed against the wound. The comms channel connects. “I need you to bring a stretcher to the elevator.”
“Okay,” responds Jane almost immediately, “okay – Ryan, what’s going on? Is he okay?”
Silence hangs in the air for a long moment, save for the mechanical hum of the elevator moving down. “No,” Ryan replies, and for the first time since he found Akmazian, his voice is wavering. “No, he’s not.”
The rest of the journey is a handful of seconds, but for all Ryan knows, sat on the floor with Akmazian unconscious by his side, it could have been hours. Jane isn’t there when the doors open, but she appears a few moments later, wheeling a stretcher with her as she rounds the corner. Ryan knows they don’t look good – sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, Akmazian’s blood covering not only himself but also staining Ryan’s clothes, hands, and he has the distinct feeling there’s a smear on his face. He forgot to wipe it off before. Still, he composes himself, just as any decent doctor should, and pushes himself to relatively-steady legs to help Jane heave Akmazian onto the stretcher.
Before Ryan can say a word, Jane is pushing the stretcher back towards the Infirmary, and he can’t help but take a moment to be impressed by the steely resolve he always forgets she has buried inside her. He follows close behind.
“I’ll have to perform an emergency surgery,” he tells her, as they enter the now-emptied Infirmary. “Take the – I think it’s a bullet wound, but I’ll have to scan him to check. If so, I need to take the bullet out, transfer – probably about three pints of blood? And stitch up the wound. Can you –”
“On it,” Jane says, and she’s wheeling the stretcher into the theatre. Ryan moves to the basin, washing his hands of the blood before pulling on a pair of latex gloves. His hands are still shaking.
And, coming up from behind him, Jane rests a hand on his arm. “Hey. You’ve got this, okay?”
Ryan nods. Jane steps aside. “You’re the most badass surgeon I know,” she continues, as they prep for surgery together. “You’ve saved people from way worse stuff. This?” She gestures sweepingly to Akmazian. “’Tis but a flesh wound, as far as Dalias is concerned.”
Despite himself, Ryan huffs a weak laugh. He knows Jane’s pulling out the overconfidence in an attempt to embolden and encourage him. He knows this, and yet it’s still working. His hands aren’t shaking anymore.
When the surgery finishes, they move Akmazian’s stretcher back to Ryan’s quarters under the cover of night, as both Jane and Ryan are reluctant to leave him anywhere he could be easily found. As Ryan’s bedroom is hardly fitted out as a medical bay, he takes the next shift off and Jane works double so he can keep an eye on Akmazian as he recovers from the surgery. Eventually, the adrenaline wearing off and his muscles reminding him of how sore they are from carrying Akmazian’s weight, Ryan falls asleep on the bed next to him. Morpheus is curled up on his chest.
He awakens from the light sleep at the sound of a groan, and his eyes blink open to find Akmazian waking up, similarly groggy. He turns his head to the side to see Ryan as he yawns, and the same half-grin returns, albeit softer than usual.
“Did I die?” he asks, voice gravelly. “’Cause if so, then Heaven is a pretty –”
“I’m gonna stop you there,” says Ryan, but it’s all he can do to not allow himself to look too fond as he moves Morpheus off his chest and sits up. “How are you feeling?”
Akmazian watches him. “Sore,” he responds after a moment, and then corrects himself. “Real sore. But alive. I’m gonna hedge my bets that that’s thanks to you.”
Instead of answering him, Ryan asks, “What happened?”
Akmazian looks away. “Well, as you know, I was off the station to follow a potential lead.” He huffs. “Got jack shit for it. Well, except a bullet in the ol’ abdomen. Life advice, Dr Dalias – no matter how desperate you are, never trust a guy called Dill.”
Despite himself, the comment brings a slight smile to Ryan’s face. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Like I said,” Akmazian continues, “I wasn’t far out from EOS 10 at the time, an’ I figured now was as good a time as any to pay a visit to my favourite doctor-slash-surgeon-slash-person I can trust not to turn me in to the Alliance on sight.”
“So, you broke into my quarters and waited for me to find you?” Ryan frowns at him. “Why didn’t you send me a message? Let me know? If I’d found you earlier, you wouldn’t have been so…” So close to death. He doesn’t need to say it.
Meeting Akmazian’s eyes, the only answer Ryan is given is a shrug. “Too dangerous,” he murmurs. “Last thing you need is an intergalactic terrorist calling you up during work to say, honey, I’m home.”
“Suspected terrorist,” Ryan corrects him, and then wonders why he did that. Akmazian’s expression brightens marginally at the words. “Still, it’s not as dangerous as – as waiting for me to get off my shift to find you in my room. What if I’d been working double? You’d probably have died.”
“I know your timetable.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have taken an emergency – you know my timetable?”
“Did I say that?” Akmazian asks, innocent. “You must’ve misheard.”
Ryan blinks. “That’s creepy. And – I’m gonna go make dinner. But seriously, that’s creepy. Unlearn my timetable.” Akmazian is grinning at him. Ryan glares as he stands up. “Unlearn it. I mean it.”
Grin unfaltering, Akmazian settles down into the bed, reaching out to scratch behind Morpheus’ ear as the kitten purrs comfortably. Something in Ryan’s chest tightens.
“You’re going back to your cargo bay,” he says unnecessarily. “When you’ve recovered. You’re only here because – this is temporary. Okay?”
The warmth in Akmazian’s gaze when he looks up from Morpheus hits Ryan unexpectedly, and they watch each other for a long moment; Ryan dares Akmazian to say no and Akmazian dares Ryan to change his mind. Eventually, with that same, frankly annoying smile, Akmazian replies, “You’re the boss.”
“Right.”
As Ryan turns to leave, Akmazian coughs. “Dr Dalias?”
He turns. “What?”
“You might wanna… take a shower, get dressed, whatever. You got a little blood on your everywhere.” He hesitates. “Seriously, you’re head-to-toe right now. It’s kinda hot.”
“Oh –” Ryan glances in the mirror, and, as expected, there is a smudge on his face. Great. “I shouldn’t have changed out of scrubs,” he mutters, taking a moment to mourn his shirt. Akmazian snorts.
“Anyway, you said somethin’ about dinner?”