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There's a frantic pounding on Frank's door that jerks him from the half-sleep he'd been in, his fingers scrambling over the keys as he checks just who is stupid enough to be standing outside his apartment door at three in the fucking morning.
He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected – the police, maybe, coming to arrest him for crimes he'd definitely never admit to committing – but what he gets, when he stumbles to the door to unlock all six of the deadbolts, is Adam Jensen collapsing into his arms.
And he's fucking heavy, too.
He manages to drag a staggering, incoherent Jensen to the couch, clearing away a pile of papers and loose cables to set him down. And then he stands back, arms over his chest.
"What," he says carefully, "the fuck?" On the list of people he expects Jensen to crawl to for help, his augments scuffed and – melted? – Frank's name would be near the bottom, if it made the list at all. But here he is. Heaving for breath and looking like someone who is having a very bad fucking day.
Jensen's eyes blink rapidly, as though he can't keep them open or closed. He turns his head to the sound of Frank's voice. It's unnerving, not seeing the asshole shades shielding half of Jensen's face. "E... M. P." He chokes out, his voice guttural.
"Oh yes, that's a very helpful diagnostic," Francis grumbles as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and wonders if it's rude to leave Jensen on his couch to suffer for a few more minutes while he makes some coffee. "You are so lucky I'm a genius."
Jensen grunts in response – or maybe it's a moan of pain, Frank isn't sure – and he decides it's probably not the best time for some coffee, even if it is tempting. He checks under a folder for the augmentation reset device he keeps at home, spilling schematics in a slow tumble all over the floor. It’s always best to restart a system before trying anything else, but he hesitates, half-leaning over Jensen, the device pressed against his cheek.
“Jensen, I’m going to reset you. Like that day at Sarif HQ. Don’t get confused and shoot me.”
Jensen’s head jerks in a nod – or at least close enough to one to assuage Frank’s conscience.
Frank leans forward and activates the device. A spark of electricity runs through Jensen, making him twitch against both Frank and his couch. Frank leans back, not wanting to be on the wrong end of an arm blade.
Except after a few seconds, instead of Jensen’s systems returning to normal, things get worse. There’s a sizzling sound, and the sharp, acrid smell of something burning.
“Shit, shit.” Frank tosses the device away and leans forward, running his fingertips along Jensen’s rapidly warming skull. It’s not exactly an emergency override button, but it’s close enough. He taps the correct pattern on the tiny button embedded on the back of Jensen’s neck. It will put a pop-up notification on Jensen’s HUD. Alerting him that someone’s trying to force a system shut down.
“Accept it, Jensen,” Frank mutters, leaning back and watching Jensen’s eyes flicker inhumanly fast, back and forth. “Just trust me.”
He’s not sure if Jensen hears him or if the timer runs out, but Jensen sags – dead weight – against the couch.
“Fuck.” Frank says, leaning back and considering his options. He runs an experimental hand over Jensen’s exposed arm – the overheating seems to have stopped. Jensen’s completely shut down until Frank reactivates him. At least he’s still breathing.
Time for that coffee, then.
It takes two cups of coffee, a brand-new mess on his coffee table, and three laptops before he can begin to even figure out what’s happened. All while Jensen lies – almost lifelessly – on Frank’s couch. The only movement is an intermittent rise and fall of his chest.
He starts slowly, triggering each system online one at a time. First the basics. Then he reboots the Sentinel health system. Waits for a long few minutes as the diagnostics feed through his laptop screen. Ends up rifling through Jensen’s coat pockets for his cigarettes and lights one while he waits.
Technically, Frank doesn’t smoke. It’s just that sometimes, Jensen shares. And it’s nice to get out of the office, to stand out on the helipad and snipe at each other during their breaks.
An error message flashes almost too fast to read. Right. The Sentinel wants other systems to be activated before it runs properly. Frank rubs at his eyes and starts again. This time he activates the rebreather first, frustrated at himself for wasting time by not remembering the correct procedure.
He hasn’t been sleeping well since the attack on HQ. Has been sleeping even worse since Jensen came back to work and required him to stay up at all kinds of ridiculous hours of the night to provide technical support. Maybe if he’d slept more this week, he wouldn’t be making such amateur mistakes.
This time the Sentinel starts properly, and Frank leans back, waiting.
Jensen’s eyes flicker. His hand jerks, then lifts to his face and rubs at his exposed eyes. “Fuck.” His voice is even rougher than usual.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Frank mutters dryly. He lights another cigarette and then passes it to Jensen’s waiting fingers. “Want to explain what happened, using your words this time?”
“You know how it is, Francis.” Jensen shrugs, then winces with a hiss of pain he badly covers with a drag of his cigarette. “You’re trying to get your job done and some asshole shoots you with an EMP grenade you can’t dodge.”
“Ah yes, a typical Tuesday.” Frank rolls his eyes.
“It’s Wednesday.” Jensen says, reaching past Frank for the ashtray. “But yes.”
“Maybe if someone didn’t keep me up at all hours of the night asking for maps and schematics and apparently after-hours tech support,” Frank mutters, “it’d be easier to keep track of the time.”
“I didn’t want to go to a LIMB clinic,” Jensen says slowly, as he leans back into the couch. “Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Frank echoes dully. “I need to finish resetting your systems.” Better to leave that can of worms unopened. Machines and technology, Frank can fix. Not people.
“I had noticed the influx of flashing red warnings, yes.” He finishes the cigarette and passes the ashtray back to Frank, who manages not to upset another stack of papers as he sets it down. “Just… be gentle.”
Frank raises his eyebrow. Jensen, not acting all tough and impervious to suffering like normal? He must be in a lot of pain, and that makes Frank concerned. The Sentinel should be repairing the internal damage, and he hadn’t noticed any bleeding when he’d run his hands over Jensen earlier.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Adam?” Frank doesn’t use Jensen’s first name very often – it’s too intimate for him. He leans forward, watching for any miniscule flicker of expression.
“It… might’ve been an EMP and a frag grenade,” Jensen admits slowly, not meeting Frank’s stare. “And there was an asshole with a flamethrower-“
“That explains why you look melted.” Frank rubs at his eyes. “I might be a technological mastermind, Jensen, but not even I can unmelt augmented limbs.”
“And here I thought you’d work miracles.” Jensen closes his eyes. “Just do what you can. Please, Francis.”
Frank sighs and gets up. “I need more coffee. You were easier to deal with when you were unconscious.”
By the time he’s made a fresh pot, Jensen’s fallen asleep. At least, Frank is fairly certain he’s asleep.
“Jensen,” he calls softly, and the man doesn’t even twitch.
For a second, he considers dumping the mug of coffee right over Jensen’s head. But instead, he sits down and – quietly – begins typing on his laptop. The wires are still connected, so he can reconnect the deactivated augments without waking him up.
It’s tedious work because he has to run thorough diagnostics before enabling each one. Preventative safety measures to make sure nothing fucking explodes or something. All the while, Jensen’s relaxed and asleep on the couch while Frank sits on the coffee table, a laptop to either side and one balanced precariously on his knees.
“And you think I’m a prick,” Frank mutters as he rubs at his eyes and considers swiping another cigarette. It would keep him awake for the next couple of augmentations, and then he can collapse into bed and Jensen can figure himself out in the morning. Except there’s sunlight peeking through the edges of the blackout curtains, which means morning has already come.
He’s on the last activation – the Typhoon system – when a scream startles him. The laptop falls to the floor with an ominous cracking sound as Frank leaps forward.
Jensen is flailing – screaming – as though his very soul is being torn from him.
Frank doesn’t want to touch him – is afraid of what touching him might do. “Jensen,” he calls, trying to make himself heard over the agonizing screams. “Adam!”
It’s not working. Frank swallows and hopes he’s not about to spend the last seconds of his life fixing a problem that shouldn’t be his.
He leans forward and puts his hands on Jensen’s shoulders. Shakes him very firmly. “Adam, wake up.”
The screams stop abruptly. Jensen’s eyes flicker, opening and closing at rapid speed before his gaze focuses on Frank.
“Francis?” His voice is hoarse. “Why are you in my lap?” He sounds confused. Dazed. For a moment his hands brush against Frank’s sides. Then they flinch away.
“You were screaming.” Frank rolls his eyes and sits back, collecting his cracked laptop as he does. “Right on the final activation, too.” He sighs and pulls the cords before tossing the laptop aside and picking up another. “Go back to sleep, Jensen.”
“No, I…” Jensen fumbles around on the couch for a few moments until he finds the package of cigarettes. “I don’t want to sleep.” He lights the cigarette and leans forward for the ashtray.
Frank’s curious but not stupid enough to pry. He hunches over his laptop and starts the last diagnostic test. “Your arm’s busted, by the way,” he murmurs as the screen fills with bars and graphs and lines of code. “The melt went down to the inner layer. Probably why you’re in so much pain.”
Jensen leans back, frowning. “Never said I was in pain.”
“Didn’t have to.” Frank reaches forward and swipes the cigarette he didn’t take earlier. “It’s obvious.”
Jensen’s frown deepens to a grimace. “Not sure I like knowing that about myself.”
“You’ll need to get it properly checked out. But everything else is fine – assuming this last scan doesn’t error out.” Frank blows out a plume of smoke and rubs at his eyes with his free hand. “I should get overtime pay.”
“Wait, you didn’t get any sleep?” Jensen shakes his head. “It’s been like, eight hours.”
“Nine. Glad your Infolink’s back up and running.” Frank leans up and stretches his arms over his shoulders. “You can call yourself a taxi.”
“Kicking me out?” Jensen raises an eyebrow at him. “When I’m injured?”
“You spent two hours in shutdown mode and then six asleep on my couch while I did all the work making sure you’re fine.” Frank snaps. “I would like to sleep.”
Something – some brief, dark expression – flickers over Jensen’s face too quickly for Frank to decipher. “Right. Can’t sleep with me in your apartment.” He jabs the cigarette out in the ashtray.
“There are six deadbolts on my door and you don’t have the keys.” Frank says tiredly. “I’d have to wake up to lock the doors behind you when you felt like leaving. So yes, I would like to kick you out so I can sleep.” The laptop screen flickers, and Frank glances over. “Especially since your augs are all up and running just fine.” He puts his cigarette out and rolls his shoulders.
“Oh.” Jensen says awkwardly. “It’s just…”
“Just what, Jensen?” Frank closes the laptop screen and allows himself a jaw-splitting yawn.
“I don’t really want to be alone.” The words are so quiet Frank’s not sure he heard them correctly. “Can I stay?”
Kicking him out now would be like kicking a puppy. An ache cuts through Frank’s heart as he remembers Jensen’s beloved dog, Kubrick. He can’t exactly say no to him now. Not that he was going to in the first place. Probably.
“Fine.” Frank sighs. “Just… don’t… I don’t know. Don’t touch anything. Or tidy things. I know where all my stuff is.”
“I was going to just sleep on the couch, but thanks for the reminder you don’t trust me.” Jensen rubs at his temples.
“I don’t trust anyone.” Frank shakes his head and tosses the laptop aside. Getting to his feet is painful after so long spent hunched over. His knees bang against Jensen’s as he stretches. “That’s why there’s six deadbolts.”
It only takes him a minute or so to get ready for bed, but when he emerges from the bathroom Jensen’s made himself at home on the couch. His coat – the sleeve is burned – is acting as a makeshift blanket, but he looks… cramped. His knees are pressed up against the back cushions, and his arm is slung over his face, and Frank isn’t sure if he’s awake or not.
Frank tiptoes to his own room and collapses face first onto his bed. He can kick the door shut from here, but he leaves it half-open.
It takes him twenty minutes before Frank gives up on sleeping. He can feel Jensen’s presence, even though the man isn’t making a sound. He’s just there, in Frank’s apartment. Existing. Cramped up on the couch while Frank sprawls across his bed.
“Jensen,” he calls, softly. “Are you asleep?”
“What are you, twelve?” Jensen replies. “Is this a sleepover?”
“A ‘no’ would have sufficed.” Frank snaps. “I was feeling bad for you cramped up on my shitty couch.” He sits up and runs his fingers through his half-undone hair. Reties it into a neater ponytail.
“And?” Jensen prompts.
“I can’t sleep with you out there.” Frank growls.
“So where am I supposed to sleep?” Jensen mutters. “Your floor’s covered in papers.”
He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hell, he isn’t thinking. He’s gone past exhausted and straight into ridiculous. “The bed,” he says, and then he wants to kick himself. “You can’t sleep on a two-seater couch,” he adds, a weak excuse that Jensen’s bound to pick up on.
“Slept in worse places,” Jensen says, but there’s a rustle of cloth. “Didn’t think you’d share.”
“Just don’t kill me in my sleep.” Frank rolls over, away from the door. Giving Jensen space.
There’s a dip in the mattress as Jensen sits down. The rustle as he gingerly spreads out.
Frank tries very hard not to be hyperaware of every movement of Jensen’s and fails. But at least it’s better having Jensen right next to him and not curled up pathetically on the couch. He can’t feel as guilty.
“Not gonna share the blanket, Francis?” Jensen’s voice is dry and closer than Frank had anticipated.
He rolls over and flings half the blanket over Jensen with a dramatic sigh. “Say please next time,” he murmurs, half-asleep.
“Next time?” Jensen adjusts the blanket around them both. “You’ve got high hopes.”
Frank would roll his eyes, but they’re already closed. He doesn’t even have the energy to roll back over and face away from Jensen.
“Thanks for answering the door,” is the last thing he remembers hearing before he falls asleep.
He wakes up to metal hands around his throat, squeezing his airway. He scrambles, squirms, tries to escape. But someone – Jensen – is straddling him. Holding him down.
“Adam,” he croaks, his hands fluttering uselessly around Jensen’s. “Please.”
The tinted shades are still retracted. There’s a glow to Jensen’s eyes, blue-tinged and otherworldly. Even though it’s a ridiculous thing to notice as he’s being actively murdered, Frank can’t help but notice how ethereal it makes him look. How handsome-
Oxygen deprivation. His fingers scramble against Jensen’s, frantic. “Let me go,” he chokes out, “I saved your life-“ and it feels so unfair, to save someone only to die at their hands hours later.
A virus, maybe, his brain suggests unhelpfully. Something embedded in the EMP that avoided detection because it was on a time-lock. Something like that would be easy to code. As if Frank can do something about it when he’s minutes – seconds – from death. He feels as though he ought to panic. Except he feels sort of – soft. Fuzzy. Like his edges are being erased. He reaches up a hand – maybe to slap Jensen, maybe to attempt to gouge out an eye. But all he manages to do is run his fingertips over the Jensen’s cheek, scrape across his beard. And then – it all goes black.
Someone’s calling his name from very far away. Except it’s black and calm and warm, and Frank doesn’t want to go towards it. It’s just so comfortable here, in the darkness. He doesn’t have the weight of his responsibilities dragging his shoulders down. He could just – just float away. Leave it all behind. And it’s not like anyone would miss him. He’s made sure of that.
“Francis!” The voice is louder. More panicked.
Frank wants to tell them that it’s okay, that he’s happy to be floating away. Except something jolts through him – an electric agony that makes his toes curl and his teeth ache. The pain drags him down, or maybe it’s up, and then his eyes are opening and his throat is working to suck down precious air into his tortured lungs and his vision is blurry with tears.
“Oh thank fuck,” Jensen’s voice is ragged as he bows his head to rest against Frank’s forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t… I think something went wrong, it wasn’t me, I wouldn’t – I’d never-“
“Adam,” Frank says, wincing at the pain in his throat, his voice rough and aching. “You’re really heavy.” He can’t think with the weight of Jensen pinning him to the bed, holding him down. With Jensen’s face against his, so close he can feel the hot, panicked breathing across his cheeks.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Jensen moves – awkwardly – off Frank and to the side of the bed. “Can you breathe okay? Are you okay? Should I call-“
“Please.” Frank holds up a shaking hand as he sits up. “Breathe, Adam.” The irony is not lost on him as he takes a few deep breaths of his own, gingerly touching his fingertips to his throat. Fuck, it feels like he’s been chewed up and spat out.
“Right. Right. Fuck.” Jensen is not breathing. Jensen is getting up and pacing – except Frank’s apartment is a mess and there’s hardly anywhere for him to go, so he ends up pacing to the bathroom door and back again.
Frank coughs and reaches for a bottle of water. It tastes – dusty – but it’s still better than nothing. He wants to clear his throat but is distinctly aware that it will cause a new kind of agony, so he just swallows – carefully – instead. “What happened, Jensen? Sit down.”
Jensen comes back to the edge of the bed and sits. Then he wrings his hands as though he’s trying to keep them occupied. Away from Frank’s neck.
“I was… asleep. I think I was dreaming. I don’t dream, you know. Since the attack. But earlier… on the couch. I had a nightmare. Something… I don’t remember. Something warm in my veins. A bright blue light. And then I was on top of you with my hands around your neck and – you weren’t breathing – and I had to shock you-“
Frank holds up a hand and Jensen cuts himself off. He looks down, morose, then glances up again. For a moment his hands reach imploringly forwards, before Jensen jerks them back away. “I’m sorry, Francis – Frank. I’m sorry.”
Frank rubs a hand across his eyes. He feels half-floaty, still, like if he shuts his eyes and lies down again, he might not wake up. The thought is exceptionally tempting. “You’ve never called me Frank.”
“You don’t like me calling you Francis.” Jensen looks away. “It’s just a habit. To annoy you.”
“It doesn’t.” Frank lies back down again. He just feels so heavy.
“Francis?” Jensen leans over him. “Are you okay?”
“No.” He closes his eyes and takes a ragged, pained breath. He needs to get up. Check Jensen’s augments for the virus embedded so far within the code that he missed it. He can’t risk falling asleep again. “What…” He opens his eyes to see Jensen staring down at him. Normally he’d avert his gaze. Normally. “What was it like when you died?”
“I…” Jensen blinks. Leans back. Runs his hands through his hair. “It was soft. Comforting. Like being wrapped up in a blanket on a cold day. And then I woke up, and it was so cold and… disorientating. Everything felt so wrong. Which made sense, once I figured it out.” He glances back towards Frank. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have come if I knew. That I was infected. That I was a danger.”
“I know.” Every word hurts. Frank swallows again. “I know you wouldn’t, Adam.” He reaches out a hand to touch Adam’s shoulder, but he jerks away.
“No, I…” Adam buries his face in his hands. “I’m… I’m glad I don’t get nightmares. Because I’d just see your face now, too.” The words are muffled by his fingers.
Frank wrestles himself up, even though his pounding head and throbbing neck just want him to lie back down again. He wraps his arms around Adam before the other man can jerk away. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs against Adam’s back.
“But it is.” His voice is broken – anguished. “I killed you.”
“You brought me back,” Frank points out, even though part of him – a selfish part that doesn’t care about the misery it would inflict – wishes he hadn’t.
“I’m sorry.” Adam sounds like he’s sobbing – crying – except Frank knows that his new eyes aren’t capable of producing moisture like that. His chest makes the motions, his throat makes the sounds, but he can’t make any tears. “I’m so sorry.”
Frank squeezes him in a tighter hug. “I’m still alive, Adam. So help me up and we’ll find out what I missed.”
It takes Jensen’s – Adam’s – help to get to the couch, to his laptops and cords and wires and mess. Except this time Adam makes sure Frank sits on the couch beside him. Which he’s thankful for, since his legs feel wobbly. Adam even helps fetch cords and the right laptop and another bottle of water, which is nice of him.
But it’s hard to concentrate when Adam keeps glancing at Frank’s throat and making barely audible pained noises. When his hands keep reaching towards him and stopping.
Frank has the diagnostics up, though it’s hard to read the code with his attention drawn to Adam’s movements and the pain in his throat making it hard to breathe. He’s not sure where the virus would have attached itself. Unless it’s the neural weave system.
“Adam,” he says softly, and Adam flinches beside him.
“Yeah?” His voice is shaky.
“If you want to touch me, then touch me,” Frank murmurs. “But stop waving your hands about. It’s distracting.”
“I…” Adam coughs. As though he’s choked on something. “You don’t want me touching you.”
With a pointed sigh, Frank leans against Adam’s arm and continues typing. He’s too tired for this. Too bruised and sore. Besides, Adam is warm, and Frank’s apartment runs cold so that the servers stacked against the living room wall don’t overheat.
There’s an awkward rearranging as Adam puts his arm properly around Frank’s shoulder and pulls him – gently – closer. Which is comforting and nice and warmer.
“You can’t snap my neck in this position,” Frank murmurs as he continues typing. “And if you can, leave me to my blissful ignorance.”
“Alright.” Adam’s voice sounds tentative – wary. “Did you find it yet?”
“No, Adam, I didn’t find it yet.” Frank rolls his eyes. “Let me concentrate.”
The hours roll hazily by. Frank is fairly certain he falls asleep more than once, only to be woken by a gentle squeeze from Adam’s hand on his shoulder. Adam, who barely moves a muscle as Frank leans against him more and more, not complaining from the weight or the uncomfortable position his arm must be in.
The virus is embedded deep within the neural weave – so tiny that Frank almost misses it. Just a – well – bug. Activated on a time-trigger – to silently incapacitate any living being around him. And then to vanish, leaving Adam wracked with guilt. Frank is very grateful that the EMP’s virus was designed to be non-lethal. He wouldn’t have survived an arm blade to the throat. He carefully – biting at his lip to keep himself awake – backs up the code onto a closed system to examine later, and then erases it, line by line. He needs to know if it was specifically created for Adam, or if it was just created for any augmented. If it's the former... Sarif is very lucky Adam came here and not to HQ.
By the time he’s done, it’s dark again. Frank slumps into Adam’s lap, his eyes closing against his will.
“Done,” he murmurs, as Adam lifts the laptop away from Frank’s stomach and sets it – somewhere. “I think.”
“Reassuring,” Adam mutters, stroking a strand of hair away from Frank’s forehead. “You should sleep.”
“Are you going to watch over me?” Frank cracks an eye open to see Adam shaking his head.
“Don’t trust myself to sleep.”
“Doubting my hacking skills when I’ve been saving your ass for almost 24 hours straight?” Frank coughs and winces. Talking is a very bad idea, but he can’t keep his mouth shut. “Rude, Jensen.”
“I’ll trust you after you’ve slept and gone back over your work.” Adam fishes around for something he drapes over Frank. His coat – still smelling of burnt metal and smoke and what might be Adam’s faint woodsy cologne. “I’ll stay awake. You’ll be safe.”
“Of course I’ll be safe,” Frank mutters, closing his eyes. Adam’s tenderly stroking his hair, and even if he dies again it might be worth it for this moment of contentment. “You’re here.”
He’s not sure when he wakes up – it’s still dark, and Adam is still stroking his hair. It could have been a few minutes, or it could have been hours. Frank feigns sleep a few minutes longer, enjoying the warmth of Adam’s hand.
“You know, CASIE tells me when you’re awake,” Adam murmurs.
“CASIE’s a fucking liar,” Frank mutters. “I’m not.” It hurts even more to talk now.
Adam chuckles softly. “My mistake.”
Frank enjoys the hair stroking for a few minutes longer and then sits up slowly. “Okay, Adam. Let’s have another look.”
Because he is, in fact, a genius, Frank didn’t miss any stray snippets of code. He runs another check, probing deep within the augmentations’ codes, but they all come up sparkling, pristine. Clean. His stomach growls painfully as he sets the laptop down and rubs at his eyes.
“You’re clean. 100%.” He flops back against the couch – against Adam’s still-outstretched arm. “Order something for dinner. I’m going to have a shower.”
“Wait-“ Adam splutters, but Frank is already getting to his feet. “I don’t know what you like.”
“You’re a clever man. Figure it out.”
The bathroom mirror is a mistake. Frank tilts his head this way and that, examining the blue-black handprints. He touches a delicate finger to his Adam’s apple and winces. At least – hopefully – nothing’s broken. Just bruised. He’ll have to find a turtleneck or something to hide this while it heals. And it’s going to take a long time to heal, if the bruising is so dark and prominent.
But there’s no turtleneck in his bathroom. Just a ratty pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he should’ve thrown out by now. He dresses slowly, wondering if Adam ordered food. If Adam’s still even here, now that his augmentations are all fixed.
There’s two boxes of pizza on the coffee table when he comes out, towelling his hair dry.
“I got cheese. Because spice would hurt your throat,” Adam says, gesturing to the boxes. He glances at Frank’s throat, then away, then back again. “Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as your guilty conscience.” Frank flops down on the couch and drags a box of pizza onto his lap. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” Adam sounds a little stiff. As though Frank went too far.
But he drags his own box onto his lap, and for a few minutes they’re both too busy shovelling food into their starving stomachs to talk.
When the boxes are empty – and stacked in the recycling pile, courtesy of Adam – Frank makes himself a coffee. He needs to go over that virus, figure out who and how and why and what and when. And Adam probably needs to leave to report to Sarif.
Except he’s lingering, like he doesn’t want to leave.
“Are you staying another night, Adam?” Frank mutters as he pours a cup of coffee and considers passing it over.
“Can I?” Adam looks hopefully across at him. “I didn’t get much sleep.”
Frank shakes his head and keeps the coffee to himself. “Well, you know where the bed is.”
“Yeah, but… I wanted a shower.” Adam says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you have something I could wear?”
“What would you do if I said no?” Frank murmurs, setting his coffee down and heading to his bedroom. Adam doesn't respond – hopefully he didn't hear.
He finds some – thankfully clean – sweats and a hoodie that might fit Jensen’s ridiculous frame. And a clean towel.
“Here. The hot water runs out after about ten minutes, so be careful. And I don’t know if it’ll fit, since we’re not all ridiculously auged up.” He rolls his eyes to take the sting out of his words as he passes the bundle over.
“Guess we’ll find out. Thanks.” Adam gives him a tentative smile.
Ten minutes later, Frank years a yelp as the hot water runs out on him and bites back a laugh. He’s going over the code, scrutinising every line. Except he’d forgotten his coffee and it’s surely cold by now. He sighs, considering getting up and making another cup.
Except Adam comes out of the bathroom, wearing the sweats and not the hoodie, looking – raw and red where the Sentinel had clearly healed some kind of deep wound on his torso.
“I did warn you,” Frank says mildly as Adam rubs a towel over his hair. “About the hot water.”
“I didn’t think it had been ten minutes,” Adam complains. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Constantly.” Francis yawns, wincing at the tug on the bruised flesh of his throat. “Why?”
“Well.” Adam fiddles with the towel for a few moments. Retreats back into the bathroom to hang it up. “I thought. Maybe…” He fiddles with the drawstring of the sweatpants and doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Spit it out, Adam.” Frank mutters, closing the lid of the laptop. “What is it?”
“I wanted to sleep next to you again without being hijacked by a virus in my brain?” Adam says the words in a rushed tumble that takes Frank a moment to parse. “Unless you don’t trust me, or-“
Frank stands up. “I’m suddenly exhausted. I’m going to bed. Come on.”
Adam follows behind as Frank climbs into bed. The code can wait. And he does need sleep. The both of them do. So what’s the harm in – well – sleeping together? He quirks a smile as he makes himself comfortable, Adam settling in beside him.
“You’re sure you got the virus?” Adam says as he rearranges the blanket to cover them both.
“Yes Adam, I am sure I got the virus. Go to sleep.”
He feels Adam shuffling. Trying to get comfortable and evidently failing. But his pillow is soft and he is exhausted and Adam's problems aren't his.
The next time Frank wakes up, it’s to Adam tracing a lazy circle on his back. Somehow they’ve ended up twined around each other.
“Are all your apologies so tactile?” Frank murmurs as he nuzzles closer to Adam’s chest, trying to avoid the sharp edges of the metal rivets.
“No.” Adam’s voice is soft. “But it helps me know you’re alive.”
“You’ve got augs for that.” Frank can feel the soft motions of Adam’s hand lulling him back to sleep.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Adam teases gently. There’s a soft pressure against Frank’s head – if he wasn’t delusional, he’d think it was Adam’s lips – and his heart skips a couple of beats, like a record skipping a scratch.
“Never knew you were so affectionate,” Frank mutters, wondering what the CASIE augment is telling Adam about his rising temperature. Nothing good.
“Never knew you’d let me be,” Adam says. “I just… I miss touching. I miss being touched.” His metal fingers flex against Frank’s back and then relax. “This is nice.”
“Is it going to take an EMP and a virus to get you back over to do it again?” Frank asks. Then he wishes he can take the words back as they hang in the air for a long, agonizing moment. Normally he only asks questions he knows the answers to.
“No.” Adam says slowly, tightening his embrace. “Just invite me.”
“Alright.” Frank brushes his fingers through Adam’s hair, since apparently that’s where his sleep-driven hand ended up. “I will.” He might even clean the place up. Make it – make himself – fit for company.
This time he can't pretend the pressure is anything but Adam kissing the top of his head, and Frank's heart stutters. This warmth is better than the one he'd almost faded into. It feels like home.