Work Text:
Netzach sits back in his office, overseeing the same handful of employees in his department as he always has, watching them complete their work and congregate in the main room to recover. He wonders if any of them feel the same as he does, longing to have a life beyond the labyrinthine walls of this facility, beyond extracting energy from those unearthly creatures that could take their lives in a split second, without even a grave to bury them.
He glances at the joint research report, sitting half-written on the screen beside him, then turns away again. Although he knows he should, he's too tired to finish it, and he doesn't see a reason to. It's already late, and Tiphereth is going to scold him for it anyway. She can tear into me all she wants, he thinks, I deserve it, the failure of a Sephirah I am.
Before his thoughts run in any more circles, he's surprised by the buzz of his transceiver.
"Sephirah Netzach?" The voice on the other end is tense. "It's the Information Team."
"Yep, that's me," Netzach replies flatly, although confusion flickers through his mind. "What do you need me for?"
"Yesod- Sephirah Yesod," the employee continues, "he's... been unresponsive for the past two hours. We've had no Abnormality breaches, no injury or panic among ourselves, nothing. We don't know what's happened to him, he's never done this. Since you're the Safety Team and all, we thought we'd check in with you..."
Netzach jolts at the news. They were right, Yesod would never. Netzach had always resented him - how he was so cold, how he never cared for anyone, how Angela would praise him for his diligence and detachment, how he'd criticize the others for failing to be the way he was - yet Netzach still worried for his fellow Sephirah.
He sighs. "Alright. I'll be there in a minute."
"You're- you'll personally go? But..."
"Yes, I know it's rarely permitted for a Sephirah to leave their department, especially on such short notice. I'll be fine."
"Okay..." The employee trails off nervously.
"Just keep doing what you're doing. I'll end the call now, see you in a bit, I guess."
"Bye..?"
Netzach ends the communication, and gets up to head to Yesod's department.
As he makes his way there, he gets some strange looks from his employees, who probably aren't used to him being out and about. He shrugs them off, his thoughts scrambled with fatigue and confusion. What could he possibly be doing, he wondered, gazing emptily down the corridors.
The green walls change to deep purple, and eventually he arrives at Information's coldly lit, slick hub.
Netzach unlocks the door to Yesod's office, peeking into the room.
It's eerily quiet inside, and Yesod is conspicuously absent from his usual spot at his desk. His belongings seem scattered across it, some papers and pens even on the floor. It's all out of character for him, as if someone else had broken into his office and flipped through its contents while he was away. The more Netzach looks, the more things wrong he notices with everything inside, until he's startled by the sound of rapid breathing.
He snaps around to see someone backed into the office's corner, trembling.
"...Yesod? Are you okay?" Netzach knows the answer is no, but asks anyway.
There's no response except the continued sound of his gasping breath. He stares blankly at Netzach, his usual piercing stare having given way to a profound terror.
Netzach crouches down to the floor. He barely recognizes Yesod in this unkempt state - his dark violet hair is scattered across his face, his crisp suit jacket and shirt unbuttoned, even the gloves he always wore are off. Looking at Yesod's hands, Netzach's chest tightens when he notices them smeared with blood, as are the cuffs of his shirt.
"Yesod- what's happened? Please, it's Netzach. Can you- can you hear me?" he pleads, desperation bleeding into his voice despite his attempts to keep calm.
The other Sephirah nods weakly, still quiet.
"Okay, okay." At least he's responsive. "I don't know what could've led to this, but now's not the time... we'll get you cleaned up in a moment."
As Netzach stands up, he notices something strange on the desk. Two thin syringes, one empty, the other still partially filled. The vibrant green liquid inside is all too familiar to him.
Enkephalin? Netzach's heart skips a beat as he realizes what it is. Yesod, of all people... using Enkephalin?
Either way, before he can think about that, he has to treat Yesod's injuries. Pulling his transceiver from his pocket, Netzach pages one of his subordinates.
"Sephirah Netzach speaking," he says, his tone unusually serious. "Requesting first-aid equipment to be brought to Information's main room. That's all."
He returns the transceiver to its place, and kneels back down to Yesod's position.
"You're gonna be fine, bud," Netzach says softly. "Just try to breathe slowly, it'll calm you down a bit."
He reaches a hand toward Yesod's own; the other recoils in response.
"Okay, I'll back off, then," he acknowledges. "But I'll be here as long as you need, alright?"
Yesod blinks at him, wide-eyed, and for a second, Netzach almost sees tears in his eyes.
There's a knock on the door. That was quick, Netzach muses, getting up to answer.
He opens the door, greeted by an employee who presents him with an opaque white case. They hand it off to him, and he thanks them politely, retreating into the office.
Netzach digs through the contents of the case for a few seconds, setting aside some gauze and disinfectant to wipe off the blood, as well as an ampule of regenerator gas. The quantities of it used in the employees' rooms were enough to stabilize even life-threatening injuries, but this would suffice for his purposes. He gently cracks the ampule open, placing it on the floor and breathing in the crisp, clinical smell of the gas as it diffuses into the air. To Netzach's relief, Yesod's eyes and posture seem to relax slightly; whether it's the pain or the anxiety subsiding, he's not sure, but glad nonetheless that it's taking effect.
"Feeling better?" Netzach asks. Yesod still doesn't speak, but looks up at him and nods, and Netzach thinks he catches a hint of a smile in it.
Netzach returns the gesture, hiding his disbelief. He'd never seen Yesod smile at all before, and he thought he never would. "Good. Now let's tidy all this up, yes?" he offers, looking over Yesod's disheveled appearance.
Yesod nods again, and Netzach prepares the cleanup supplies, slipping on a pair of gloves and wetting the soft gauze pads with the sharp-smelling disinfecting liquid.
"Your hand." He gestures at Yesod's right hand, who slowly lifts it, his strained motion betraying the heavily wounded condition of his arm.
Netzach gently rests Yesod's bloodied hand in his own. Strange to be the one wearing the gloves this time, he remarks to himself as he wipes it down. He pities Yesod, who flinches at every stroke of the cool, wet cloth, but feels strangely close to him now, despite their prickly relationship up until today. The two remain silent, Netzach lost in thought, Yesod still overwhelmed by nerves as he hesitantly allows Netzach to clean up his hands.
It all feels surreal to Netzach. So gently tending to the wounds of someone he believed he hated, being more delicate in his work than he'd ever thought he could, genuinely caring for someone in perhaps the first time in this life - he doesn't know what to think of what he's doing right now. After he's done with both hands, Netzach carefully pushes Yesod's sleeve up, and is met with another flinch of pain and fear.
"Hey, it's okay," Netzach reassures him. "I just wanna help you."
Yesod chokes out a few words through heavy breaths. "No- don't- do anything to me..." he begs, pulling back into himself.
"I won't, I promise. But you're hurt, and injuries need treatment." He looks warmly at Yesod, who doesn't seem to respond, but meets his eyes with a dread-filled gaze. He must be really scared, Netzach thinks to himself, pity once again building in his chest.
"I'm not gonna tell anyone, okay? No matter what happens, it'll be between us as long as I live. Just... let me help you, please." Netzach says, desperate to soften his patient up enough to be treated. "I know we've never been fond of each other, but..." He trails off, losing his words. You never let me in, he wants to say. You were cold and efficient and- so much better than I could ever be, and you knew it. I was never enough to care about you, am I enough now?
Finally, he settles on something to say. "But this is for you, Yesod," he sighs, holding back an addition of because I care about you.
He shakes off the sentiment. "I understand," he says, continuing his efforts to calm Yesod, "I've been in your place too many times. You'll be okay." Although Enkephalin was usually adminstered as a sedative, an improper dosage was known, ironically enough, to cause intense anxiety and paranoia, an experience Netzach knows all too well; he reckons Yesod is feeling the same.
After a few more arduous minutes of convincing, Yesod finally obliges, reaching a hand toward Netzach, who takes it. Again, he meticulously pushes away Yesod's sleeve, revealing a mess of scars and scratches, some newer than others, forming a pale and red, bloodstained latticework over his arm. A chill pierces Netzach's body at the sight - he'd known Yesod had a habit of scratching himself, but he never expected it to be as severe as it was.
Picking up and preparing a fresh piece of gauze, Netzach cleans the blood from Yesod's forearm, supporting it with one hand while lightly running the cloth along its length with the other, cautious not to rub against any wounds too hard. The dose of regenerator gas he gave earlier seemed to have partially healed some of the freshest scratches, although he notes that these seemed considerably deeper than the older ones. Netzach isn't too surprised by the fact, given that Enkephalin-induced anxiety tended to be much more irrational and destructive than its ordinary counterpart. Yesod's gaze is fixed on the floor, away from his scarred, exposed arm, and from Netzach. It's evident that he's ashamed of the state he's in; Netzach repeatedly tries to find the words to comfort him, but fails every time, resigning himself to quietly continue his work.
Wrapping a bandage over Yesod's wounds, Netzach finishes up the one arm, and Yesod, eyes still turned away from him, allows Netzach to help with the other. This time, he notices several shallow puncture wounds amid the scratches, likely from the Enkephalin injections. He makes sure to clean those more thoroughly, wondering what could've possibly led to this as he does. Yesod always criticized him for seeking an escape from L Corp's bleak reality, so why was he doing precisely the same thing now? What could've broken him so deeply, to take away the collected, strict attitude he took so much pride in?
...Or was that all a ruse, a façade to repress the fear-stricken, lost man he really was, now laid bare before Netzach?
He's snapped back to reality by an unusual sound from Yesod. A light, muffled sob, breaking through his thin breaths, almost a whimper from his attempt to stifle it. Netzach hastily bandages up the scratches and sets Yesod's arm down, shifting closer to him and gently taking his hand.
Again, Netzach yearns to give him some reassurance, but can't seem to know how. He supposes there's nothing else for him to do, and takes a deep breath, preparing to offer up something he'd never have imagined.
"...May I?" he asks in a small voice, holding his arms out for an embrace.
To his surprise, Yesod turns to him, damp-eyed, and nods. "Yes... please," he says, his voice shaking.
He slumps forward toward Netzach, who wraps his arms around him, holding on as tightly as he can. Yesod's quiet tears turn into full, unsuppressed sobs as he tucks his face against Netzach's shoulder, weakly raising his own arms to return the hug.
"What- what was I doing?" Yesod asks both Netzach and himself, gripped with shame and anger as his senses begin to return.
Netzach tries to console him with a few pats on the back. "It's okay, bud. I've been through it. No one's ever had it easy in this hell."
Yesod sighs, collapsing further into Netzach's arms. "You're right... I think. You know, Netzach, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you put this much work into something," he mutters, a vestige of a chuckle slipping in at the end.
"Still the viper you always were, huh," the other remarks, tucking a bit of Yesod's hair behind his ear.
The two share a soft laugh, and stay close, sitting together on the floor until the day's end.