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Being brought back to life was something that took a bit to get used to.
Being brought back to life by your boyfriend was something that you don’t really get used to, ever.
It was a not-so-subtle shift in Mick’s dynamic with Ludo that he did not think was intentional, at least not on Ludo’s part. He didn’t seem to be able to intentionally shift any interpersonal dynamics, honestly. He only knew how to shift the positions of Mick’s internal organs.
Mick sat on the table in the infirmary, drumming his fingers on the cool metal as he waited for Ludo to get situated. Ever since he’d died, he’d always had more check-ups than the other guys, originally multiple times a week but now maybe twice a month. It wasn’t because Ludo loved him - Ludo loved everyone else just the same, and Mick knew it. He was the kind of person who had so much love inside him that it spilled out over all his edges and could never be limited to just one person. It was because Mick had become an anomaly, a groundbreaking medical achievement, a wonder of nature - and Ludo wasn’t quite sure what he had done to make it happen.
That might have worried anyone else, but Mick had learned to get used to it. Frankly, he didn’t care what was powering the inner workings of his body as long as it worked, and if
Mick watched as Ludo washed his hands and rearranged his beakers and wrote down little notes on scraps of mismatched paper (if one tried to decipher his unintelligible hand, they might me able to make out reminders to restock on birdseed and to place an order for that book Misha recommended), admiring him quietly. He was cheerfully singing an improvised nonsense song in three different languages and no particular key; Mick understood only about a fifth of the lyrics, but it seemed to be very violent.
“Oh, you just look lovely today," Ludo chirped when he finally came over to where Mick was waiting, taking the other man's face in his hands. "Let's see those scars."
This was typical; apparently, it hadn't been in Mick’s best interests to run around shooting people so soon after his intensely experimental revival surgery, and Ludo was very preoccupied with worrying about infection. Mick didn’t mind unbuttoning his shirt to let Ludo check his scars, the same way he didn't mind opening his mouth to have Ludo inspect his teeth or rolling onto his belly as Ludo took note of his breathing. He didn't doubt the science behind it, but it was nice to imagine it was all just an excuse for Ludo to get his hands on him. Most of Mick’s physicals in the past hadn't involved this amount of kissing in between checking vitals.
With a huff, Ludo pulled himself up onto the table next to Mick, ignoring as it whined under their combined weights. This was also not uncommon, as they both liked to make these check-ups last as long as possible.
Ludo leaned back to let his feet dangle, slowly kicking back and forth in the air. "You know," he began softly, uncharacteristically quiet. "I've always been told that doing something like this-" he ran a finger gently down the long scar on Mick’s chest "-would be playing God, if not completely impossible." He wrapped one of his arms around Mick’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. "But that's not how I feel about you. I did at first, of course!... but now I realize, more than anything, I saved a life.”
Mick was a little bit surprised by Ludo’s words; despite knowing him so well, he’d grown to not expect a lot of selflessness from the guy. But he could tell that Ludo was being honest - he was rarely anything else.
“I’m still your ubermensch, though, I hope,” Mick joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Ludo winced at his pronunciation, but still smiled. “Of course you are. You all are." He took Mick’s face in his hands again. "But you always have been." His hands smelled like ammonia and his lips tasted like fake cherry candy. Mick wondered absently what Ludo had been eating as he wrapped his arms around his broad, soft waist.
"My mother used to tell me that I should never operate on someone I loved if I could help it," Ludo murmured, tracing a soft finger down the ragged stitches under Mick’s collarbone. "She said that once I saw how ugly someone was on the inside, I wouldn't be able to love them the same way ever again." He laughed softly, pressing one of his palms against Mick’s belly, right above the incision scar. "I can't believe I ever listened to her. You're just as lovely in here as you are on the outside."
Mick flushed, not quite sure how to respond to something like that. He suddenly felt very aware of his insides, that he was full of blood and bones and squishy bits, but it wasn't a bad awareness.
"Well," Mick started, leaning in closer. " My mother used to tell me that if two people really love each other, the only thing that could keep them apart is dying." He remembered that, when he was a kid, one of his dogs kept running away to a nearby farm because she'd bonded with one of the other dogs there. Mick didn’t have the heart to keep them apart. "But I guess not even that's true."
Ludo seemed delighted by this idea, letting out a little giggle, the kind that Mick couldn’t get enough of. "I guess that," he paused, chewing his lip like he was trying to remember the phrase. "Death won't do us part." He burst out giggling again, squeezing Mick tightly to him. "Oh, death could never keep me from you, schatz."
Mick curled up tight in Ludo's arms, both of them giddy with wild laughter. Mick thought it was terribly romantic, being able to traverse death for someone. Death can't do us part. How incredible he was. How incredible they both were.