Work Text:
It was a quiet Nevadan night, and Hank was supposed to return from a recon mission two hours ago.
Doc wasn't worried. He had a habit of making his own decisions on the field, sometimes disappearing for days at a time without a word. At the very least, he was glad that Deimos and Sanford were out on a similar mission of their own. They didn't have the type of history with Hank that Doc did, and would have been quick to show concern over his delay.
He had a lot more free time than the other three did - he wasn't necessarily as skilled in combat as his colleagues, so he kept to the sidelines. Simple missions like reconnaisance didn't require much guidance from his end, so he'd often end up alone, with not much to do but think.
And Nevada gives Doc a lot to think about.
He's snapped out of thought by the sound of heavy footsteps - he can recognize then as Hank's. Shifting slightly, he turns to face the entrance of the apartment they had been holing up in.
He's silent for a moment upon seeing the state Hank was in - stab wounds littering his torso, and his hand pressed against a deep gash in his side. Then, he sighs.
"I thought I sent you on recon."
"Ran into trouble on the way back."
Doc isn't going to pry. Not while Hank is injured, at least. He can tell that the injuries were affecting the other, even if he tried to hide it.
He's quick to begin digging through supplies to find their first aid kit. Doc isn't entirely sure when he became the team's resident medic, but he's accepted it. Especially considering he's the only one out of the four of them that's bothered learning anything about first aid beyond 'wrap wounds with bandages' and 'inject strange syringes'.
Hank gets the idea as soon as Doc shuffles off, shrugging off his coat. It would have been an uncharacteristic action had he done it around anyone but Doc.
With him, there's no hesitation. No second thought that the other man would stab him in the back, take him out while he was vulnerable. An unspoken trust.
Doc works in silence, and Hank is still.
He isn't sure what intimacy is supposed to feel like. He's been living in Nevada for too long. Perhaps in a normal world, intimacy would be holding hands, going on dates, kissing. But right now, as Doc slowly begins to wrap bandages around the wounds Hank had sustained, and his fingers brush gingerly against his bare torso, he thinks he understands it.
It's a silent 'I love you' to someone you really, truly love - when you can't say the words, but you know you're both thinking it.
"I'd almost believe you got injured on purpose," Doc quips, tying the last bandage into a tight knot.
'I love you.'
Hank lets out a noise that almost sounds like a chuckle. "I thought you knew me, Doc."
'I love you too.'