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Rodolfo is unconscious through three debriefings, a double shot, a short and unintentional eight hours of rest, and several threats from Price.
Alejandro’s hands have to be pried off of Rudy when the two of them stumble into infirm. Alejandro does most of the stumbling, and Rodolfo -supporting maybe ten pounds of his own weight and groaning -does most of the pretending to be dying.
“His side hurts,” He says, doing his best to guess at his condition. The smoke they’d both inhaled is burning in his lungs, “And his head is bleeding.”
Someone pulls him out of sight of Rodolfo, sitting him on a chair and promising to be back with a cup of water in a moment. He sits for maybe a minute before Price arrives, instructing him immediately to debrief with the 141.
“Rudy’s-”
“Going to be fine.” Price insists, “And probably asleep for the next twelve hours or more. I’ll keep you updated. Go.”
His hands tremble as he walks, he shoves them into his pockets for the debriefing. It’s the most he’s ever focused on keeping his voice level. He can see the question before Ghost asks it.
“How’s Rodolfo?”
He kissed me. “Likely going into surgery as we speak,” Alejandro clears his throat, trying to get the excess smoke out, “He’s in good hands, he’ll be fine.”
Ghost nods and takes him by the shoulder, his eyes unreadable behind the mask, “That was a brave and stupid move, Colonel.”
He nods, and Soap thrusts a glass into his hand. Even at a distance, it smells like whiskey or something almost as strong. “For the smoke, yeah?” Soap pats him on the back and too soon the room is empty save him.
The whiskey does not help with the burning in his throat or the anxiety in his mind. But his hands stop shaking. Little victories.
Standard procedure has him calling command, letting them know the situation, the casualties, and lack thereof of. It’s easier to keep his voice level over the phone when he can stand in an empty room and stare at a wall.
He wants to feel as blank as the wall looks. Plain and slightly dusty. Not a care in the world.
When he hangs up the phone it’s only been an hour since he’d arrived. Eleven left, probably more.
There’s nothing immediate to do so he returns to the infirmary and settles in a chair in the waiting room, ready to wait out the rest of the time right there.
Price finds him ten minutes later and all but drags him out of the chair, “If you’re not injured, get out. I told you I’ll keep you updated and I will.”
“I don’t have anything to do.” Alejandro says. It sounds childish to his ears, and then it sounds sad. He hadn’t meant it to be a cry for instruction, he’s the one giving them more often than not, but the longer Price waits to respond the more it sounds like he’s admitting just how much he relied on having Rudy right next to him.
He kissed me.
“Try to get some rest.” Price offers. It’s the gentlest he’s ever heard the man speak, still a gruff command but a little less so. “I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”
He does a full lap of the base before he makes his way to his barracks. He’s not looking for anything in particular, something to do that isn’t wait or worry or think. The 141 are in the mess as he walks past, debating joining them.
Soap catches his eye and can’t mask the look of pity quick enough.
He decides to draft the hard copy report of the mission. Putting it in pen is easier than he’d expected. Who was where? Why? How did they get out? What happened after? When you pulled him to an alley. What did he do then?
He adds the kiss into the report, wants to add details, to make sure it was real. The pen runs out of ink.
His phone lights up, Price, with a diagram of what must be Rodolfo’s injuries.
It’s the worst time to look at a diagram. All this, and he still...
Alejandro stares, trying to feel each of the injuries himself.
He wakes to knocking on his door, an angry muscle in his back, and the imprint of his phone on his face. “Alejandro, they’re taking Rodolfo off the good stuff. He’s going to ask for you first, and we all know it so get your ass-”
He’s across the room and swinging the door open before Price can finish his sentence. Going off of Price’s grin, he didn’t mind all that much.
“Told you I’d keep you updated.” Price leads him back to infirm despite his knowing where it is and not needing an escort.
Rudy is blinking sleepily when he walks in. He’s beeping, wearing one of those stupid hospital gowns, and there’s an oxygen mask affixed to his face.
Alejandro wants to throw up.
“You look better.” He starts.
Rudy opens his mouth but nothing but a wheeze comes out. Part of Alejandro had wanted to stand at parade rest while they talked, ask him why he thought it would ever be possible to leave him behind. It all flies out the window as he rushes to his side, gripping his hand tight.
Waving his concern off but keeping his hand held tight, Rudy coughs loudly twice and tries again, “I feel…” Alejandro glares in case he tries to lie, “Better than a few hours ago.”
“Twenty-two.” Alejandro corrects sharply. He wants to be angry. He really wants to be angry. But Rudy’s hand is warm in his.
“Sorry to make you wait, Corporal.” Rudy hits the nail on the head immediately and all his anger shows its face -its real face.
Alejandro doesn’t hide his tears, crouching and pressing his forehead to Rudy’s hand, “I am glad you’re alive, Rodolfo.” He shudders, the feeling of Rudy getting heavier and heavier in his arms all too present.
Rudy’s other hand presses against his hair reassuringly.
It’s silly to inform him of everything Alejandro’s done since they saw each other last, but he can’t stop himself. It’s not even much, a couple of mission briefings, a nap, and a few conversations.
He runs out of material quickly, and then he’s just sitting there, holding Rodolfo’s hand, tears dried to his face, trying to piece together what it all means.
“You haven’t asked,” Rodolfo murmurs from above him. “About the kiss.”
—
Rodolfo’s back is almost as hot as the room around them when Alejandro finds him. He wants to scream at him not to just lie there, but he can’t breathe. They have a shot.
He gets one moment where time freezes, Rudy looking like the biblical interpretation of an angel; bathed in flames and utterly breathtaking to see alive, and then the flames start consuming the room in earnest and his heart kicks into speeds that would make a medical professional ask about drug usage.
The fire is already in the hallway when they throw the door open. Rudy’s coughing, head tucked close to Alejandro’s chest as they make their way towards the stairs. If Alejandro’s breathing anymore it’s on accident. His mind is running the escape route faster than the two of them are managing to stumble toward it. It hadn’t been caught yet, right? They had time?
The stairs are filling with smoke. There’s no fire but that’s not what’s going to kill them here. Rudy pauses as soon as the door to the stairwell opens, coughing up black liquid. Alejandro rubs his back. “One flight at a time, okay?”
Rudy nods, still hacking up a lung. He starts moving, pulling the other man along, trying to keep the both of them away from the areas the smoke seems to be collecting the most. It’s already hard to tell where the top of the staircase is, though that doesn’t matter in the slightest.
The heat makes breathing feel like inhaling pure fire, and his eyes won't stop watering, but he does the best he can to help Rudy down the stairs without falling over. One of Rudy’s hands is slung over his shoulder, the other permanently affixed to the front of his tac vest. His face presses close, trying to use Alejandro’s undershirt to filter out the smoke.
He has to stop and press Rudy to the wall of the stairs twice to keep the other man from tipping forward and sending them both down the fast way. Each time Rudy gets worse, gasping like he’s getting no oxygen and all smoke.
Alejandro doesn’t feel much better, skin tingling from the inferno of smoke. His hands are already burnt and raw, doorknobs he’d stupidly tried on the way in to get the other man, and he knows the fire that had caught his pant leg just leaves more of him exposed to the element.
Then the pressure changes so fast he loses his breath and it somehow gets hotter. He’d left the door open, the fire was here.
He scrambles down the stairs, ignoring that Rudy cries out when he tightens his grip on him and hauls him down the stairs, he’ll apologize later.
There’s one flight left when Rudy’s legs give out. Luckily, they land on a landing. It would be funny if Rudy wasn’t whimpering in pain.
“Rudy!” Alejandro has to take a second to make sure he can stand up on his own before he starts pulling Rodolfo to a stand, “We’re almost there!”
Rudy is gasping, taking in the air that is still almost fresh at the bottom of the stairwell, “Need.” He shakes his head. “Stop.”
“No!” Alejandro shouts at him, pulling harder, “Now!”
“Please.” Rudy’s voice is hoarse but he tries to yell back. He’s clutching his side, tears only making it part of the way down his face before they evaporate completely. Something broken, maybe many somethings broken.
He’s crying, and Alejandro can’t find the mind to care all that much. He grabs him by his tac vest and drags him to his feet.
They break out into fresh air a minute later but Alejandro doesn’t stop until they’re far enough away that the chill of the night takes over. The sudden change of temperature has his skin feeling like he ran through a power washer.
Stumbling over toward a brick house, he focuses on his breathing. It doesn’t matter if Rudy’s awake anymore. Evac is on their way, with infirm a ten-minute flight away.
Rodolfo will be okay. He promises himself.
He means to lean Rudy against the wall, staying close to keep him upright if need be. He’s sure that need will goddamn be.
Rudy has other plans. As Alejandro pushes him lightly against the cool bricks, his hand -still on his tac vest like it’s never belonged anywhere else -takes him along for the ride.
Later, Alejandro will learn that Rudy has four fractured ribs, two broken ribs, a laceration deep enough to need stitches on his forehead, and lungs full of smoke when he pulls him in for a searing kiss. His lips are cracked from the heat, and he tastes like smoke and blood when he licks his way into Alejandro’s mouth.
Alejandro closes his eyes, too caught up in adrenaline and relief, and fuck, he’s not losing him today to be anything but overjoyed that Rudy has one hand permanently attached to his tac vest and one arm around the back of his neck, holding him close.
The fire had been hundreds of degrees and everywhere, but Rudy’s burning mouth has Alejandro melting against him until the wall is the only thing holding the both of them up.
When Rudy lets him go, he tries to chase him -who cares if it’s just because he saved his life? This is what he wants to do until evac shows up. A hand on his chest stops him and he looks up to see his rapidly paling face.
“I think I’m going to pass out, Corporal.” Rudy informs him.
Alejandro grips his arms, trying to keep him upright, but it’s only a few moments before Rudy’s eyes start to droop, and then they roll back and he realizes that Rudy was holding a little bit of his own weight.
He turns what would be a dead drop to the ground into a slow sit, and the sound of chopper blades has never been so sweet.
—
Alejandro fiddles with Rudy’s fingers, “I’d just saved your life, if I were you I would have probably even made a pass at Ghost.” He laughs, wanting them to laugh together and forget the whole thing.
He won’t forget it.
Rodolfo is still.
Alejandro’s laughter peters out awkwardly.
“I meant it,” Rodolfo says quietly. “I was so happy that I wasn’t dead, and-” he laughs a little, then, “It was you.”
He says it like it means much more than just the word. Like Alejandro means much more than just the word.
“I’d always come for you,” Alejandro says, instead of answering right away. “You’ve been here so long it feels like there never was a time before you. I was conscious, and then I was alive.”
They sit in quiet. Rodolfo doesn’t seem upset or confused by the statement, despite its inability to answer any of the questions they both need answered. But the dam in Alejandro’s mind is flooding, fissures of realization and clarity sweeping him away.
“Your lips are chapped,” He starts, circling in the whirlpool of his mind, closer and closer to the center. “When we kissed, you -I liked it, though. Despite. And-” He feels dizzy and clutches Rudy’s hand tighter. “I don’t want to be without you.”
Rudy brushes his knuckles with his thumb and Alejandro gets the urge to kiss his hand. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
“I won’t leave,” Rudy murmurs, “Even if you only kissed back because you thought I was going to die. I’m staying with you.”
Alejandro imagines it, going back to the inseparable Alejandro and Rodolfo. Back to drinking too much and waking up snuggled against Rodolfo’s snoring form, back to reading each other’s minds so easily it frightens the recruits, back to the only person he trusts to critique his op plans.
He imagines; knowing he has the opportunity to kiss Rodolfo awake, or kiss him when they return to base, or a grumpy kiss to the corner of his mouth when he knows he’s wrong. Knowing he could, and not doing it.
He laughs at himself and presses a kiss to Rodolfo’s hand, trying to think of what to say. For once, he’s thoughtless, pressing kiss after kiss to each of his knuckles.
“The whole time, in the inferno,” When they appear, the words come out slowly, “It was never a question of leaving you. As soon as I saw you, as soon as I touched you, I knew I wasn’t leaving the building without you. And when you kissed me.” He looks up and Rudy’s always looked at him a certain way, but now he knows what it means, “I understood why.” He breathes.
It’s too early for confessions, and it’s far too late to not be in love. He opens his mouth, but he’s run out of things to say.
Rudy pats his hand, his gaze managing to soften even more at the words, “Let me hold you?”
Alejandro frowns even as he climbs onto the bed and lays back against the least injured parts of Rodolfo, “Shouldn’t I be holding you?”
Rodolfo laughs softly -trying not to jostle his ribs too much, and brushes Alejandro’s jaw, “How about you hold me tomorrow, hmm?”
And Alejandro does.