Chapter Text
Ami tosses his latex gloves into the trashcan, then moves his foot from the pedal. He leans against the foot of the bed and tilts his wrist toward him. That patient was quick, he still has plenty of time in this shift.
His eyes widen as he remembers no one actually has a lot of time left in their shifts. It's the best opportunity he'll get to snoop around Dr. Harlow's office. When Russell and Yvette leave, they'll hardly realize he's still somewhere in the hospital. Beau will, but Ami is sure this will be in and out. He'll take pictures and go get his groceries with Beau.
With a clear goal highlighted in his mind, Ami walks out of the room and straight to the doctor's office.
As he suspected, the door was locked. He breaks the pocket clip off of his pen and holds it between his thumb and forefinger. He slides it into the keyhole and lowers his ear close to the door knob. It opens with practiced ease, allowing Ami to slip inside.
He tucks away the broken pen clip. He's not that bad of an agent, he supposes.
The room is bathed in darkness that his eyes quickly adjust to, pupils growing wide. It seems like a conspicuous room, if a bit messy. Filing cabinets, a desk in the middle of the room. Ami first investigates a door on the right wall. He pushes it open, finding it only leads to the back of the hospital with the dumpsters and such.
Ami shuts it with a hum. He finds a lighter and half empty pack of cigarettes on the corner of the desk. He picks up the lighter. It's a windproof one. He flicks it open and sits in the chair in front of the desk, picking up documents and examining them. He's looking for something incriminating, he knows for sure that this Dr. Harlow character is up to nothing good.
Everything laying on his desk is generic things you'd find in a doctor's office. Ami searches the drawers in the desk instead. Pens, white out, replace keys for a keyboard Ami does not see, a junk drawer, too. Nothing good.
He sighs and pushes himself out of the chair. Surely, he'll find the suspicious documents he's looking for in the filing cabinets. Maybe.
Ami starts bottom to top, flipping through files. They're just for patients. The next drawer is about the staff. Beau is missing, but he dismisses it. He's here on an internship. Still, he snaps photos of the information. The top drawer is several letters from the corporation, so he takes photos of them without bothering to read them on his time crunch.
Finding nothing is making him go batty. He searches the rest of the office throughoutly, collapsing into the chair. His foot kicks a metal box just below the desk. Ami hums and bends down to grab it.
Inside is a manila folder and a cassette tape. He scoffs at the sight. Who has cassette tapes these days? Still, he lifts it up and flips it around. In messy cursive it reads, “Chemoautotrophic Anomaly”. He slowly places it back down and snaps a photo.
He can't just take the cassette. While thinking of what to do, he opens the manila folder.
It's all about Beau. It has a few photos clipped to some of the papers. Ami has little time to consider the pictures of a tiny bunny with big eyes at the park, in the mall, clutching another bunnie’s paw as they cross the street before his heart thuds against his chest.
Any and all air escapes his lungs. The papers slide out of his paws. He looks down, squinting through the blur of adrenaline. Five grey spikes pierce through his skin, right through his vest and under shirt.
“Why are you here, Amir?” Someone whispers, then the spikes retract. Ami spits a glob of crimson onto the floor. He stumbles forward and a foot pushes him on the floor. It feels chilling against his warming skin.
He rolls over, one paw moving to squeeze the five wounds in his side. Dr. Harlow's foot slams into his chest.
“Why are you here? I won't ask again.” The buck flicks on the light switch, bathing the room in white fluorescent light. His eyes focus on the paw clutching his side, and he kicks it aside with his foot. “Why are you so choked up?”
Adrenaline has never failed Ami in such a way. He can hardly think. He faintly registers a hoof with unusually sharp claws grasping his collar. Sparks pierce through Ami's brain behind his eyes. He's so dizzy. He reaches up, flexing his fingers and digging his claws into the wrist of the doctor.
“Don't touch me.” Dr. Harlow pulls his hoof close to his chest before slamming Ami into the wall.
A choked groan escapes Ami. It felt like his neck snapping, but he's breathing, so that didn't happen.
He's thrown to the asphalt outside, and it feels like the ground sinks around him. He opens and closes mouth a few times, tasting his tongue. “What was… at? ‘bout, Boh…” He tries to clench his jaw, but he can't even do that. He can't tell if his eyes are open or shut.
The doctor's following words are muffled and foggy in Ami's head. He's all too ready to let unconsciousness consume him, to stop feeling this dreaded sensation of blood drooling from him. His phone lands beside his head with a crack.
Beau waves at Yvette as she departs, the hospital's doors shutting behind her. He waved off Sheila and Russell already, too.
He shouldn't be so worried about Ami. He carries a gun. But there's this sick and twisted ache in his stomach that something is wrong. Especially since he's so punctual and Beau didn't see him leave. Not to mention, there's no one else here now. He watched Dr. Harlow leaves, too. In a hurry, no less.
Pushing off where he was standing by the check-in window, Beau starts searching rooms. Medical wing, surgery wing, storage room. He doesn't even find traces.
Finally, Beau leans against the wall in the storage room and calls Ami. Like he should have done before he started looking, but he can't be at fault.
Ami's ringtone sings from past the door of the storage room, the one leading outside. Beau's brows furrow as he pulls his phone from his ear. He twists the door knob, but something blocks the door.
“Mr. A?” He calls, mouth pressed to the door. With growing concern, he rushes out of the storage room and goes around the opposite side of the hospital from outside.
The ringing ceases, and Beau rubs the back of his neck. He's paranoid. Yeah. He's paranoid. Ami is strong. He slows his pace, but his feet carry him forward with worry.
Beau walks past the door leading to the back via the doctor's office and rounds the corner. His head might as well have exploded.
Ami, laying limp on his face. The light on the wall flickering over his body like lightning. Beau falls to his knees beside him, quickly pressing a paw to his bleeding side.
“Mr. A? Sweet cheeks?” Beau calls, lowering himself to inspect the cat's face. “Are you conscious?” Part of him wishes he dropped dead for that. No one losing this much blood this fast is conscious. He fumbles for his phone with a bloody paw.
He slots the phone between his cheek and shoulder as it rings. “Please don't die, man.”