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The archive is rarely the warmest room on the ship. With cheap ink and home-made paper, they keep it cool and dark in an attempt to preserve the papers as long as possible. The humidity is drained, too, though that can be said of the entire ship. It was Philza's first, but it's Cellbit's now; they both have a desk here, but only one is frequently used. Even in just a few weeks, he can see that the Crow tends just to come in, file things away, and leave - he's not an analyst, but his archives are actually usable. Which is more than he can say for most people.
There's a neatly sorted stack of papers on Cellbit's desk, ones he is doing his best to work through. He's looking, he's looking - somewhere in this mess he knows is the answer, he knows there's something about the missing civilians to be found here. He's pulled out the whole drawer from the filing cabinet - one draw for each problem, with colour-coded labels for shelf-stored items, those are the rules from long before Cellbit came to the Avenger - and he has so many pieces they just... Don't fit together.
His finishes reading the page - looking at the patterns, he can see why Max is convinced his partner's disappearance fifteen years ago is related to the current problem. The patterns match, or close enough, but it was also long before the invasion... If alien activity truly has been that long... It would explain some things - and reaches for another.
Or, he tries to.
His fingers seize up, refusing to bend and grab it.
Cellbit looks at them, and sighs, and uses the still functioning hand to rummage around in a drawer. He grabs a heat pack, snaps it, and lays it over his screaming knuckles.
There has been trouble with his hands ever since... that, but cold tends to make it worse. It's annoying, but he's used to it; lingering injuries all over his body cause bother, his hands are just something he uses more than most. Give it a minute or two and it will be fine - sore, but fine - he just needs to wait.
Cellbit hates waiting.
But he's good at it.
He sits there, gently flexing his fingers and waiting for full movement to return, collecting the next paper with his other hand and reading it even as the pain stings. They almost bend far to grab his pen when the door slips open.
"Hey Cellbo."
Felps sounds more than half asleep already, wandering in and towards his favourite corner. There's a few old, spare cushions there, placed down purely because of Felps' habit of sleeping in any room his friends are in. It's somewhat a comfort, to have him nearby - he wonders if Felps feels the same. It's odd - wonderful, amazing, odd - having Felps slip back into his life. Two weeks have lessened the feeling, but it's still a little like putting back on an ill-fitting shirt.
Still, Felps is here, and Felps is safe, and it's a miracle all over again every time Cellbit sees him - even if he usually sees him asleep.
Though to be fair to Felps, Cellbit has caught Tubbo napping in his corner before.
"Heya Felps," he waves to his best friend, forgetting the hot pack for a moment, waving with the hand free of paperwork - with the hand that is hurting.
It slips from his hand, to the desk, to the floor.
Cellbit curses, and reaches for it, and as he does he hits his suffering hand against a drawer handle.
"Fuck!" he yells, louder than before, immediately moving to cradle the hand against his chest. "Motherfucking bastard drawer."
He kicks it for good measure, and then Felps is there - significantly more awake, and holding the hot pack.
"Cellbit?"
He reminds himself to breathe, that pain is only momentary, "I'm fine, Felps. It just surprised me; feel free to rest."
But Felps doesn't. Instead he takes Cellbit's hand, pulling it out and exposing it. He hums as he rubs circles into the hurting muscles, noticeable even through Cellbit's gloves.
Cellbit tenses.
Felps frowns.
The humming stops dead.
"I'm going to check it, okay?" Felps asks, fingers shifting to Cellbit's gloves.
"There's no need," Cellbit promises. "I just caught myself badly, that's all."
Felps looks at him, and Cellbit... Cellbit could say no, he promises he could, but it's late and he's cold and for all he never wanted Felps to know, hiding it would be more suspicious.
If he's lucky, Felps won't be able to tell.
"Alright," he concedes - because it's Felps, it's always Felps, and what wouldn't he give for his first and closest friend?
"Alright," Felps replies, a little too serious for either of their likings.
Felps is so careful as he removes the glove, making sure not to tug or pull at the skin beneath. It's his left hand - the hand with the neater scars - but they are still immediately obvious.
But Felps doesn't say anything, not yet, just... Looks at them.
Cups Cellbit's hand between his own, and gently massages the skin.
Their eyes meet, and they know - they both know.
Felps can feel what is missing, what even the prison didn't take the surgery too unethical to perform even on a cannibalistic serial killer.
What the Federation took anyway.
Cellbit doesn't stop him as he takes his other hand, gently removing the glove there too.
They both look down - five more scars, three neat, one messy, one carving down the length of his hand.
"Cellbit..." Felps starts, hands now hovering as Cellbit's sit neatly on his desk.
"Don't," Cellbit whispers back, voice cracking. "Please, don't."
And Felps doesn't say anything, but he breaks Cellbit anyway - a kiss to every scar, and then pulling Cellbit into a hug.
He can feel the questions, he can sense them burning on Felps' tongue - Cellbit trembles in the hold, and it's nine years ago again. There's a scalpel to his knuckles and Cucurucho is smiling eerily down at him and the surgeon's eyes are laughing as he carves away his bones, his skin. There's no pain but there's blood and then he could meet their eyes but how because he's terrified, terrified, terrified and they took his claws and cut open his hands and his bones have never been right, not since and not again.
His trembling grows to a shaking, and drives them both down to the metal floor. Still Felps keeps holding him, wrapping an arm across his back and another tangling into his hair and he's started humming again - one of his stupid, cheerful songs.
Felps is here, and Felps is here, and if Felps is here and humming his songs then everything is fine, and everything is okay, and maybe there's a surgeon and a scalpel and a Cucurucho but Cellbit will burn the world to keep them from his friend.
Felps is here, and that means he must have won.
And Cellbit - Cellbit cannot cry, not about this; he has no regrets, but it hurts and it hurts and it's been nine long years and his claws were only the start - his claws, his skin, psionic claws in his brain and a chainsaw and a carving of his skin from his back and- And- He cannot cry, but he cannot stay silent, so he laughs as he sits on the archive floor, Felps wrapped tightly around him.
Felps, Felps, Felps - finally, finally, his best friend is safe. His best friend is safe, and here, and Cellbit would destroy continents if Felps only needed him to.
"Has a doctor looked at it?" is the question Felps asks, once Cellbit quietens down.
He's still playing with one of Cellbit's hands, moving the fingers and poking the joints, treating it with the curiosity of any other new, strange thing. Not as the horror it is, but just... as another facet of Cellbit's being.
Cellbit laughs again, and it's bitter, and it's dry. "A doctor did it," he says, because that's the only truth he has.
Felps pauses - looks to Cellbit's face, then back to the hand. "They're a shitty doctor then. Has a real doctor seen it?"
"I think Fed doctors count as real doctors, just about."
The words slip out, and Cellbit has said too much; Felps freezes, glazes over, then comes back with something determined in his spine.
"We're going to see Doctor Ruiz."
"Felps..." is all the objection that Cellbit can quite manage. Anyone else he would fight, but Felps...
Felps squeezes his hand, "it'll be okay - I'm here. You don't need to be scared."
He's scared anyway.
And it's not really the doctor he's most worried about.
The infirmary is thankfully quiet for once, everyone injured well enough to be up and about the ship, only needing to check in every so often to check healing process. The doctor is at the computer, updating notes on... Cellbit's pretty sure those are Foolish's notes, but he isn't sure. There's a lot of people in the Order now, and most of them he didn't even know about before.
"Hey doc." Felps greets her like a friend. Given how often he has to come by for checkups, she may as well be.
"Felps," she spins her chair around to face them. "And... Cell is it? What has he done this time?"
"Cellbit," he corrects her, flinching a little at the name.
"Cellbit has old injuries that need checking," Felps says. "It's not me this time."
The doctor doesn't seem convinced, but does bring up Cellbit's notes - first on the computer, then transferring them to her tablet, "how can I help you, then?"
"It's really nothing," Cellbit tries to say, even as Felps tugs his right hand - his worse hand, but not the one troubling him today - towards the woman.
She looks at the scars, then her tablet, then squints at Cellbit.
"Cat hybrid...?" she hesitates a little.
Cellbit dies a bit inside, but nods; Felps squeezes his arm in reassurance.
"How long ago did this happen?"
Cellbit glances at Felps, and knows he won't like the answer - he knows Felps is going to destroy himself over it, but he also knows he has no way out of this situation.
"Nine years."
As expected, Felps flinches, and he clings harder.
Cellbit takes back his hand, and uses it to hold Felps tight.
"Does it cause you trouble?" she asks.
"Nothing a few minutes with a heat pack fails to solve."
"Pain?"
There Cellbit hesitates. Because, yes, constantly. But admitting that, saying that, confessing that he's been in constant pain for nine years, with fluctuating functionality, while Felps is right here and his best friend is intelligent enough to know why this happened...
"I see," the doctor says, noting something down. "Have you ever received treatment for it?"
That makes Cellbit laugh - the day after he was declawed the stitches tore, and he had to fucking replace them himself. The idea of having any proper treatment... "Fuckers didn't even stitch them properly."
He can almost feel Felps go pale - he certainly feels him freeze up against his side.
He glances to him.
"Do you want Felps to leave?" the Doctor asks.
And... Yes, but no. Cellbit doesn't want Felps to hear this, doesn't want a single secret of it whispered even to the doctor, let alone to the person for whom the sacrifice was made. He doesn't want Felps to know, he doesn't want the guilt, or the pity - he made his choice and, fuck it, it was worth it. He doesn't regret a thing - not the pain, not the stiffness, not the agony. There's not a single thing he would not have given for Felps, and now he has him back...
Now he has him back, Cellbit thinks if he's not there, he's going to lie to the doctor just to escape.
If Felps isn't there, and he's being forced to remember this... Cellbit doesn't think he'll be able to stay present.
"No," he answers, and it tastes like ash - to condemn his best friend to guilt, just so he doesn't have a panic attack in the doctor's office. "No, he- Felps stays."
His fingers clamp tighter on Felps' shoulder, keeping him close.
Felps does nothing.
Doctor Ruiz hesitates, but carries on.
"Can you tell me about how it happened?"
Cellbit doesn't want to, he really doesn't want to, but... But Felps is worrying about him. "I was undercover in the Federation. On orientation day, I was taken to a Cucurucho's office, where a surgeon was waiting. Dental anesthetic in both hands, metal cuffs to keep them still, had my ears pinned while it kicked in and then the bastards cut out my claws."
"Follow up care?"
"I passed out and woke up in blood soaked bandages, and had to deal with it myself."
Against his side, Felps whines. Cellbit clutches to him tighter, putting his fear into his body that he might keep his mind clear.
Felps already knows something is wrong - if he can get through the doctor's appointment, it will comfort him. Cellbit doesn't care about pain, but Felps cares about him being in pain, so...
So he'll try.
He'll try, because for some stupid reason Felps loves him, has loved him for years and been loved in return, and Cellbit has to deal with that.
"Any infection?" she asks. "Other complications?"
"I don't remember well," he confesses, hiding the fact that he's pretty sure that yes, there was. "It was nine years ago, and I was busy."
Neither Felps nor the Doctor like that answer.
The Doctor flicks something on her tablet, quickly reading. Then she flicks back, and looks at him again. "Laser?"
"Scalpels."
Under his arm, Cellbit can hear Felps whispering a combination of half-formed prayers and curse words, fingers flicking across his friendship bracelet as though it were a rosary. He shifts, holds him closer, whispers an apology in his ear.
It breaks the chain; Felps slaps his thigh, and goes quiet.
"Did you receive other injuries during your time there?"
Cellbit nods, "there's also scarring on my back and shoulders. Various workplace stuff, the usual amount of torture to put the fear of the Duck in me. And Cucurucho," he gestures at his head. "I was in one of their departments."
He glances at Felps; the Doctor sees the look, and doesn't press. Instead she moves on, eyes promising to discuss the other scars some other time.
"This is not an area I'm much familiar with," the Doctor confesses, and Cellbit doesn't blame her. "But would you mind an x-ray? Sometimes it causes damage to the remaining bone, which will worsen over time."
Cellbit does mind, but Felps looks at him and... And he agrees.
Doctor Ruiz has to do everything in the infirmary, except occasionally when Aypierre helps. After a really bad mission Philza or Bad might help triage, but that's about it. He's pretty sure she's a trauma surgeon by initial training, so... Nine year old scars are definitely outside her wheelhouse.
It saves time, though, to only have one doctor; the x-ray machine is just the other side of the room. Felps has to let go of Cellbit while it happens, waiting back by the computer and far from the radiation.
The Doctor tries to flatten Cellbit's hands, preparing them for a clear picture.
It takes everything Cellbit has not to scream.
He swears instead, and she frowns, but finds a pillow to place them on - allows him to keep his knuckles bent, if only because they cannot flatten at all.
The x-ray does not take enough time for the pain to fade, though the doctor does not call him back immediately. He's allowed to sit there gathering himself as she reviews the pictures.
She also has to take more from other angles - that might be why.
Eventually, when the sharp pain has faded and everything has leveled out, she comes over and sits on the x-ray table.
"The good news is there are no loose bone fragments," she says. "I'd like a full CT scan of your hands, possibly also anywhere else with scarring, but it's awaiting repairs - once it's fixed, I would like you back here so I can assess the muscle damage. Some is obvious, but I'm not sure of the extent."
Cellbit hates that, but he can see how Felps is scared, so... so he nods in acquisition.
"For now, you said heat helps?" she asks, tapping her notes away.
"I have some heat packs I grabbed from a sports store," he says. "When they cramp, it helps loosen the muscles again."
"I'll requisition more with the medical supplies," she says. "It won't be a reliable supply, though, we don't often find such things. Pierre might be able to reactivate them for you if you ask him... Do you take anything for the pain?"
Cellbit shifts, "it doesn't do much, so I don't tend to bother."
And it must be bad, it has to be worse than he thought, because she hands him a bag of boxes of tablets.
"Please take something during flares, at least," and she sounds so tired, like she's said this at least twenty times before. "These are stronger than the stuff in the first aid kits. Do I need to explain how long term pain fucks your body up, or are you going to behave?"
He takes the tablets.
"I'll... try," he says.
He even thinks he might mean it.
"You'd better," she sighs. "Side effects are on the leaflets, come back if there's problems. Once the CT scanner is fixed we'll look at your hands in more detail, and I'll do some research; physio could probably help, but the joints seem unstable."
He... doesn't really like the sound of that, but he nods, and he takes it, because he knows that he has to - there's a doctor sat near him, and he has to do what he's told.
Felps deems himself no longer banished, coming and sitting in Cellbit's lap.
The pressure throws his brain a second. He wraps an arm around Felps' waist, and remembers how to breathe.
"Thank you," he says, because all he wants is to escape.
"I'd tell you to stop pushing them, but I know a loosing battle," the Doctor says. "Chief Tubbo said the parts should be ready tomorrow; I'll see you in a week, all thing successful?"
Felps is here, and will hold Cellbit to that; he nods anyway.
It fades into an awkward quiet, until eventually Felps pulls Cellbit away.
They end up back in the archive, Cellbit and Felps both sat on the cushion pile. Cellbit has coffee, and water, and Felps forced one of the painkillers on him.
Felps has some sort of fruit juice, and given the colour Cellbit is a little afraid to ask.
They drink quietly, Felps leaning on Cellbit's arm and Cellbit leaning back. It's quiet, and it's still, and it isn't working but Cellbit is struggling to hold his glass.
The mug is fine, with the handle to loop his fingers through. The glass...
Well, he abandons the water just as soon as the pill is taken.
"Why did you do it?" Felps eventually asks, voice too quiet.
"I had to," Cellbit says. "They did this shit to all the hybrids in the department. There was this one woman-" she's dead now, or at least Cellbit hopes she's dead, because any other reason for disappearing is worse "- never got her name. The office called her Junior. Fish-hybrid. They carved off all her scales, and used skin graphs to stop them growing back. The air con caused her gills to dry out and get infected. Boss sent her to medical. Didn't see her again after that."
Felps shakes his head, leaning closer, "did you really have to?"
"Yes." Cellbit says, because there were no other paths he could have taken.
Felps takes one of his hands, and holds it close. His fingers are back, tracing over and over the scars on his skin.
"There's always an option," Felps says.
"They took you," Cellbit replies. "I couldn't let them keep you. That was the other option, and it wasn't one I would ever choose."
Felps holds the hand tight, and leans against Cellbit's side, "you could have."
Cellbit uses his free hand to turn Felps' face towards him. "No. I couldn't have. It was worth it, Felps. I found you, didn't I? You're safe now - we're both safe now."
Cellbit begs Felps to understand, to realise the cost was worth it - his claws, his hands, it would have been worth even his life. More than his life! Felps is his best friend, and Cellbit is a selfish man. If it had cost other people their lives to get him back then, well, what would he have cared? Felps would have been safe, and that has always been the first thing to matter.
"And you'll stay safe?" Felps asks. "You promise?"
"As safe as I can," Cellbit replies, because their lives are dangerous, and he can lie like a snake but Felps deserves better than that.
"No more sacrifices."
... And Cellbit cannot promise him that, so he holds Felps closer and they both fall onto the cushions, curled up in the warmest part of the archives.
"Cellbit." Felps says again, more insistent. "No more sacrifices. Promise me - no more sacrifices."
"... I can't give you that," Cellbit says. "But I promise I'll always bring my family home."
"And you'll come with them?"
"If I can."
"Cellbit."
He can't promise it, he can't, he can't - there's so many variables, so many things that can go wrong. He can't stay away from the missions, not always, not when there's secrets that just loot and recordings will never fully capture, not when Pac and Mike go out so often, and Felps might be his best friend, but they're his family too.
And hell, Roier - Roier is out there so often, and Roier isn't Felps' family yet, but Cellbit knows that the cute spider hybrid is his own. His heart, his heart...
It's a terrible thing, to have family.
To have people you are afraid to loose.
"Cellbit. Please."
And Felps is begging, his family is calling for him, and Cellbit is a weak and mortal man.
He closes his eyes and turns his head, tucking it into the small of Felps neck.
"I'll come back to you," he promises. "No matter how long it takes, I will not leave you. Not if you're taken, not if I'm taken; I promise I'll always find you again."
Felps relaxes, finally, and smiles, and laughs, and pretends he hasn't just torn the heart from Cellbit's throat as he picks up the hand and begins to massage it once again.
"Does this help?" he asks. "It's kind of fun. Your hands are all squishy."
"I have no idea," and Cellbit doesn't, because his head is full of doctors and surgeons and scalpels, and he's hyperaware of his hands.
He cannot stop thinking about them, cannot stop feeling them, but now Felps is touching them and...
And he thinks of Felps, not of scalpels and blood.
"We'll try, then," Felps says, and it feels like he means more than just massaging Cellbit's knuckles.
And what can Cellbit do but try?