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Hilbert throws the metal tray across the room like a frisbee, flinging past Eiffel’s head and slamming into the wall, the contents of the tray floating off in every direction.
He hadn’t even noticed Eiffel was there, but is to engrossed in his furious rage to care, nor acknowledge him.
He grips a the side of his desk to use as leverage as he violently swings his leg in a few swift kicks, hitting the computer box stowed underneath the desk.
With each kick, he grunts something in Russian, something Eiffel can’t understand, but he knows it’s not anything good.
Hilbert doesn’t even notice when Eiffel places a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Doc?”
Hilbert stops kicking the computer. He clenches his fists around the edge of his desk, trying with all his might to withhold from turning around and socking Eiffel in the face.
“Are you. . . Are you alright?”
Hilbert exhales a deep, annoyed sigh, “Go away, idiot.”
Eiffel gently nudges Hilbert so he faces him. Hilbert doesn’t look him in the eye. “What’s got you all ‘Rage Quit’? Can’t get past the Water Temple?”
Venomously, Hilbert spits out, “You would not understand. You are too stupid.”
That stings a bit, but it’s nothing Eiffel isn’t used to. He squeezes Hilbert’s shoulder, pulling him away from the desk. Hilbert fumes, but allows himself to be led away.
“Why don’t you take a minute to cool off, y’know, distract yourself. Wanna play a game?” Eiffel says, voice inflecting like he were talking to a small child.
“No I do not want to play game. I want to get stupid, ridiculous sequencing to cooperate.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
Eiffel gently pulls Hilbert so he’s floating in front of him. He grabs Hilbert’s shoulders, squeezing and massaging the tense muscles.
“Wanna talk about something, instead? It can be anything.”
Hilbert grunts in response.
Eiffel digs his thumbs into his muscles, massaging out a knot. “Alright, I’ll talk, you can listen. Sometimes I like to fantasize about what life’s gonna be like when we get back to Earth.”
Hilbert scoffs, but Eiffel continues anyway. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Germany. I’ve never been though! So I think, when we get back, I’d like to visit. Have you been there?”
In a low, rather unenthusiastic voice, Hilbert says, “Yes.”
“Great! You can come too, and show me all the cool tourist spots.”
He continues massaging Hilbert’s back, and Hilbert hadn’t noticed when, but some time since he’d began, he’d uncrossed his arms and started leaning back into Eiffel’s hands.
“Have you ever been to New York?”
“No.”
“Dude.” Eiffel gasps, “I have got to take you to New York City. We can walk around Central Park, and visit the Natural History Museum, and, oh man you have not had real pizza until you’ve had New York pizza!”
Eiffel doesn’t see, but Hilbert rolls his eyes. Even if they get back, it’s most likely they’ll be kept as prisoners at Goddard’s facilities.
He doesn’t say that, though. He simply says, “I have never had pizza before.”
Eiffel stills his motions for a moment, as if he were processing what Hilbert just said. “What?!” He asks, sounding about as shocked as if Hilbert had admitted to never breathing air. He continues the massage, but shakes his head and tsks. “Dude. First thing we’re doing when we get back is getting you a cheese-stuffed-crust pineapple and ham pizza.”
— Months Later —
Eiffel gasps, his lungs heaving in, desperately trying to withdraw air. He coughs out what little air he had, and when he tries to inhale again, can’t seem to take in anything.
As soon as Hera had anxiously alerted Hilbert of Eiffel’s condition, Hilbert dropped everything, grabbed his medical bag, and flew through the halls as fast as he could. He lunges into the room, stopping his momentum by gripping a handrail.
“Eiffel, Eiffel, please, focus.” He grabs Eiffel, strapping him to the nearest surface.
He zips down Eiffel’s jumpsuit zipper, not wasting any time in getting to work on Eiffel’s lungs.
Hilbert’s muttering nonsense to himself as he quickly works and proposes a diagnosis. “We need to open airway,” he says, grabbing an intubation tube and tearing it out of it’s sterile packaging.
He tilts Eiffel’s chin up, and Eiffel clenches his jaw shut.
“Eiffel, open your mouth!” Hilbert commands. “We are running out of time, you need to corporate.”
Eiffel is too panicked. His face is starting to redden, as he shakes his head back and forth, not listening to what Hilbert is saying.
“Eiffel. You need to listen.” Eiffel thrashes, and Hilbert has to forcibly hold his chin up. “Eiffel, please listen to me. You need to open your mouth. Please, please. Please open your mouth!”
He tries prying his mouth open on his own, but is unable to. He’s desperate at this point, and finds himself rambling, trying to calm both of them, “Eiffel, please. Eiffel, think about, about house we will have when we get back to Earth! We can live in small country cottage- in- in Germany. We will have large garden, where we can grow enough food to sustain all of friends and family, doesn’t that sound good?” At hearing Hilbert’s words, Eiffel’s thrashing begins to slow. “We can make homemade pizza, and watch silly television together, and, on weekends we can have Anne over and we can raise her together! And, and maybe we can even adopt one of our own! And we can play stupid board game together, and stupid video game. But we can’t do any of that if you die, so please, please I am begging you, please open your mouth.”
Eiffel, despite beginning to purple, seems to take in Hilbert’s words, and finally opens his mouth. Quickly, Hilbert shoves the tube down his throat and it burns, but once Hilbert turns on the oxygen pump, the sudden intake of air he receives is so worth it.
His chest rises and falls in deep motions, and Eiffel is grateful for every ounce of air that enters his lungs, never feeling happier about having such a basic necessity.
Hilbert is breathing deeply as well, his hands shaking as he tries to calm himself from the high-anxiety situation he just had to work through.
Eiffel can’t turn his head, but he shifts his eyes to look at Hilbert beside him. He smiles, as best he can around the tube in his mouth, and very slowly, his eyes begin to drift shut.
When he wakes up, he feels a weight on his chest, and he finds the pump is still artificially breathing for him.
He looks down, his eyesight is blurry from sleep, but he can see it is Hilbert’s head, resting on him, that’s causing the weight against his chest.
Slowly, and hesitantly, Eiffel lifts a hand, dropping it on Hilbert’s head and tangling his fingers in his hair. Hilbert jumps, sitting up like he was just caught doing something vile.
“Ah, Eiffel! Did not know you would wake up so soon.” If Eiffel didn’t know any better, he’d say he saw a blush spreading across Hilbert’s cheeks.
Eiffel can’t talk around the tube in his mouth, so he simply smiles at Hilbert instead.
“You were asleep for little over four hours, the commander came in to see you only about forty times.”
Eiffel sort of chuckles, which is hard to do so in his condition.
Hilbert sits up, turning around to grab some tools.
He checks Eiffel’s upper respiratory tract, making sure the blockage has been dealt with. Once done, he says, “Okay, you are good to go. I am going to remove breathing tube now. Brace yourself, I am turning off pump.”
He flicks off the pump, and Eiffel feels the shift as he takes control of his own breathing.
“Okay, am pulling out tube now. It will burn.” Eiffel clenches his fists as Hilbert slowly removes the tube, trying not to flinch as the rubber scrapes the inside of his throat.
“Good, good. You are doing very well, Eiffel. That was not too bad, was it?”
Eiffel tries to speak, but his throat is too raw and dry. Hilbert hands him a bag of water, and he takes a few large sips.
“That sucked.” He finally says, voice hoarse and quiet.
“You did very good job.”
They’re quiet for a moment, while Eiffel sips on his water. He inches his hand toward Hilbert’s, then laces their fingers together. Hilbert shifts his eyes away, blushing furiously.
Eiffel’s voice is small, barely registerable, when he whispers, “Do you. . . Do you really wanna get a house together? And raise Anne with me?” He’s quiet for another moment, before saying, “And maybe adopt another kid with me?”
Hilbert doesn’t look at Eiffel, nor says anything. For a long time, the two sit there in silence, holding hands, but not looking at each other.
Finally, Hilbert says, “Da. If we return to Earth. That’d be nice.”
Eiffel grins at him, squeezing his hand tighter.