Work Text:
Recently, Hank had developed a nasty habit during their checkups.
It began as tilting their head away or grumbling whenever 2BDamned removed their mask. They'd hiss and shake their head, earning a scolding before the task was regardlessly completed. 2BDamned had dealt with worse, and Hank had been worse. It was mildly annoying at best, but nothing he couldn't handle.
Tilting soon turned to rough jerking, grumbles to growls and curses. Settling them down took longer, occasionally having to threaten sedation to get them to finally allow him to do his job. What got into them always had been and always would be a mystery, much like anything else about them. 2BDamned believed their middle initial should stand for juvenile rather than whatever they chose to say it was.
He felt a twisted sense of gratitude when they returned from a mission on the shoulders of their comrades, delirious and hardly concious. Bringing them from the edge of losing their life was infinitely easier than arguing with them, and he'd take them tapping on death's door rather than stomping on his last nerve anyday. Peeling off their blood-soaked mask without them causing a fuss felt god-given. The solitude and silence he has while stitching up and cauterizing wounds is the closest he's had to peace in quite some time.
Unfortunately, they did eventually need to wake up. And wake up they do, immediately trying to rise from the table to find their face covering. 2BDamned doesn't allow it, rushing to their side to attempt guiding them back down while telling them all about how that movement could quickly create ruptures and undo all of his hard work.
Hank hears nothing, only sees how their medic's mask sits on his face, hiding him, keeping him away from them when they need him most. Their large hands reach up for 2BDamned's face with a choked, gutteral growl.
2BDamned just barely beats them to it, slapping his hands over his mask and clinging to keep it pressed tight to his cheeks. Hank's hands land over his, clawing for the fabric yet only managing to scratch 2BDamned's gloves, nearly shredding the material and his skin along with it.
"You fucking—" 2BDamned snaps, throwing his head back to rid himself of their frenzy for a mere moment. He presses his palm over his mask flat before coming closer to Hank again, using his now free hand to swat at theirs. "Dipshit—! Will you knock it off?!" His working plan fails immediately when Hank stretches further off the table to reach for him, disallowing him from leaving their touch.
"Take.. it.. off..!" they splutter in a fit of rage, immediately followed by a sharp hiss. A popping sound accompanies them lurching forward, blood beginning to dribble and pool beneath them.
"Get down! Dammit Hank, I just fucking finished that!"
2BDamned says their first name, and it does something to them. They don't release their grip, but they do lean back down ever so slightly. They stare at 2BDamned, watching his chest heave. With a stern look, eyes locked on theirs, he demands that they "Let. Go. Now."
Hank isn't done. They want to fight, they want to scream, they want to tear that mask to shreds with their nails and their teeth and see every last detail of 2BDamned's face because Deimos saw it, that much they know for sure, maybe even Sanford had, and they were always last for everything even when it involved the one they cared for most and it just wasn't fucking fair—
They can't do any of that. The steady bloodloss makes them weak and dizzy, forcing them to comply and return to laying back, releasing their dedicated hold on him. "Doc," they croak, almost pleading.
"Wimbleton." their medic responds coldly, already reaching for gauze and stitching materials. Hank growls low in their throat, weakly weaving away from his hands to the best of their minimal ability. "If you're going to pop your stitches for no reason, you're going to hold still when I fix them." the way he immediately starts to apply pressure to the wounds shows he means every word. "And of course you had to break them all too.. why the hell wouldn't you. For no goddamn reason."
Their next attempt at a growl comes out as more of a whine. Their resolve does not weaken along with their body, despite the way they pathetically go limp.
"Yeah, yeah, bite me." Hank does bite up at the air at 2BDamned's comment. It's a final desperate try for what they want, and 2BDamned refuses it knowing full well that in a matter of seconds they'll be unable to fight. "Let me handle this."
"The mask," it's barely above a whisper. Their fingers flex at their sides, as if they want to grab but don't possess the strength to lift their arm. "Your face, Doc.."
2BDamned heaves a deep sigh. "No." he says, plain and simple. "I'm asthmatic. Asshole."
What kind of expression did Deimos make when he saw 2BDamned's face? Was he scared by the sight, or did he enjoy it? Hank thinks they would, if it were them. Hank thinks they've earned the sight much more than he has. Hank thinks they've exposed so much to 2BDamned that they can be the one trusted with sensitive secrets for a change. Hank thinks 2BDamned belongs to them, in the most unconventional ways imaginable.
2BDamned thinks the attitude is getting old fast.