Work Text:
The base was buzzing today as well, bubbling in the resounding noise of chatter and metal from his teammates adjusting the loaded firearms on their hands, ready to shoot at any moment. Since the infection had broken, it was not an uncommon sight— Military bases made from scratch and rubble rising all over the country, in a last-ditched effort to keep the pandemic at bay, and protect the last bits of population still unaffected.
Of course, those numbers dwindled each day as the infected duplicated, leaving behind maltreated survivors scraping against hope and morals, for a chance to reach the shelter.
Florian sighed as he took position at the innermost control station, separated by a long hallway from the exterior, guarded day and night by soldiers and obstructed with raised walls of metal wire, to keep any dangerous fellow outside.
Not like it kept every threat out, though— He had learned that well enough already. In this brief period of… three or four months he has been working here, he has dealt with more than one case of clever foes trying to worm their way into the base, by pretending to be survivors.
Poor souls… Whether by desperation or fear, Florian could always distinguish that last spect of terror in their red, bloodshot eyes. The tiny bit of a soul still remaining, before fully being engulfed by the mindless, destructive nature of the monsters roaming outside.
Thankfully, he has been able to catch each and every one in time. With the infection so far into their system, it’s no hard task to notice the symptoms, even in the most clever of them. Thankfully, the signs are obvious enough to prevent a wrong judgement— There’s no way he can imagine the consequences, if he were to let any misjudged individual into the survivor’s zone…
Luckily, he takes enough pride at being careful and methodic, going into detail with each examination and judging fairly for the sake of everyone. Thus, his reassuring words and tranquilizing gestures have granted him a good reputation amongst survivors and soldiers alike, and even in such a short time, he has become one of the most well-trusted people in the base.
He can’t say he isn’t proud of that.
“Today we have five people on the list. Some of them are pretty worn down so, prepare for some hard decisions, Brand” The commander says, patting his shoulder once with a sympathetic wince. Florian nods with a determined look, and after the man wishes him good luck, the wire door opens, and the first survivor is let in.
The procedures are the same as always; Check vital signs, reflexes, eyes and temperature. Balsa has been working overtime engineering and perfecting all the tools needed, and with Florian’s good eye, they’ve been able to put the instruments to good use.
It doesn’t mean that any of the decisions are easy, though. Even if there’s reinforcements for contraband on one side, and Balsa and his computer examining data and vitals on the other, the decision still falls on Florian’s shoulders in the end.
In truth, he is not the most capable regarding medicine and treatment, but with such a scarce personnel on the temporary base, it’s to be expected that he was picked out of the bunch. At least, he likes to think, his kind words and gentle handling are soothing enough for the desperate survivors clinging to that last bit of hope.
That, until they are faced with the cold barrel and realize they’ve been fooled, at least…
Today it goes like that too, there’s no way to spare the slaughter when the virus seems to stick onto more and more people everyday. The first one is infected, and so is the second in line. The third is thankfully spared, but mildly sick, and the fourth has a strange anomaly on the internal organs that forces him to redirect their way to Miss Dyer’s laboratory, instead of the survivor’s base.
He goes on in each case with the same patience and gentleness, trying to give a word of encouragement and a smile before their demise. They are human lives, after all— Even if some are already lost in the early symptoms of the infection, they still deserve that certain dose of solemn respect.
Some of his teammates often prize his smiles and steady countenance as a kind of talent, an art to deceive. Truly, Florian can’t help but feel guilty every time he gives hope to someone that was dead from the moment this outbreak started. Each night, even when he can no longer remember so many different faces, the words he gave them run around in his mind.
Not like he can do anything else, either. He just has to smile and hope for the better, knowing that most likely, each and every time he will get the worst.
With that he swallows a sigh— Just one more in line, and the day is over. He can’t wait to shake this feeling of weight and guilt off his shoulders.
“Next one,” Florian requests, but when the door opens, the monotony in his actions leaves his body immediately.
In short, the man before him is beautiful. Not the most handsome in common beauty standards, but intriguing. Enough to be breathtaking for him.
More than the affliction of a long day gripping his heart, he feels his body tensing after a poorly contained shudder, as the survivor stops a few meters away on the delimited spot for inspection. Thank God he looks rather avoidant, Florian thinks; If the man wasn’t looking at the ground right now, he would surely notice the heat that falls over Florian’s cheeks.
“What’s your name?” He asks in a practiced, methodical voice. It sounds strained, however. Even to his own faulty ears.
In front of him, the man purses his lips, sways on his spot, and quietly whispers; “Matthias… Matthias Czernin”.
It’s a silent voice. Raspy and faint, muted by the light drizzle and the metal sounds of the wire clanking in the picking up wind. Florian squints his eye to try and scrutinize him a bit better, but it comes harder to him this time.
When has it been the last time he felt that sweet feeling of young, hesitant embarrasdment…? In times like this it is rare, and yet, the man in front of him looks pointedly to the ground with a similar timid hesitance.
It’s endearing, but it won’t do; He has a task to do, after all.
If this man is a survivor then, hopefully, they will have a better chance to know each other under slightly less stressful parameters.
“Very well, Mr. Czernin. Care to raise your sleeves for me? I’d like to check your arms for wounds, if you allow me,” Florian clears his throat and asks with polite brightness, trying to look as less menacing as possible.
In this stage, the survivors often get a quip back, any sort of response. Matthias just stays quiet, fidgets once, and nods. Willingly, he slowly extends his arms for him to check.
How unique, indeed… For the apocalypse to leave untouched these delicate traits on some people. One would think that, barren of everything, shame and politeness would be the first thing to be gruffed and sharpened out by the apocalypse.
But here he is still, lying as pliant as in any other medical examination, as Florian raises the long sleeves of the worn chemise to check the pale skin underneath.
He hadn’t noticed it before, but close like this, he can actually trail the healed burn marks up Matthias’ left arm, licking up and losing trail under the cloth, only to reappear and cover a considerable half of his downturned face. Was that the shame he was trying to hide…?
“How did you find out about the base?” He goes for small talk; It helps to relax some survivors, and it also helps them to double-check some of the intel that Balsa has on their backgrounds. Florian tries to be careful about it, more with someone as skittish as Matthias seems to be.
“I-In the city. I was with a group, but we separated by accident… Some of them might already be here, I think,”
“Really? You are incredibly lucky to have arrived, then! I’m glad you could find us. Good job,” Florian smiles warmly, but if Matthias cared to raise his head, he would see how the gesture doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
It’s strange, after all. Very strange. Matthias seems thin and frail. Weak, and with nothing of real value to defend himself in a dire situation. How could he survive out there alone, after being separated from a group, no less? Florian really wanted to believe him, but by experience, even he couldn’t believe in miracles.
At his side, Balsa tried poorly to contain a wicked side eye— That said enough. There was no register of anyone mentioning anything similar to a missing teammate that matched the database from previous days.
It could be a slip from the others. It could be that they died on the way. Or, more likely, it could be a lie on Matthias’ part. Why? Now that was the true question.
“Very well, you seem to be in good physical condition. Just a few more tests and you are good to go, is that okay with you?” Florian lowers the sleeves fabric again and takes a respectable distance. When he sees him nod to his request, Florian explains again, “Then, I’d like to check your eyes now, please”.
In front of him Matthias hesitates, but meekly, he looks up. Florian wasn’t able to catch it until now; Not under the drizzle and thin hair sticking to the man’s pale face, as if helping him keep himself concealed.
Slowly, Matthias raises his head, and once he actually allows Florian a clear view on his features, he can’t help but exhale in surprise at what he finds— A chocolate, tenderly honest pupil, trembling in apprehension and doubting hope. And at its side, an empty socket that’s lost its sutures, sunken and half-open to the dark emptiness inside.
A lost eye much like his own.
Florian starts; He didn't think he would see this in someone else. Someone as equally wounded in the same ways he has. Licked by the fire and spewed out half blind— Was this the signal that, in the end, amidst the snow there could still bloom flowers?
For Florian, this job had taught him not to let his weaknesses slip, and even though he carefully raises the examination tool to check on the only remaining eyeball, the incessant thoughts that round his mind never stop to latch onto each little detail of Matthias’ overwhelming mystery.
Could it really be? Was there really still hope to find something this beautiful, this personal, in the remaining rubble of this barren land?
With crossed fingers he prays for this man to be healthy— He is intrigued, after all. He wants to know more, to not let him go so easily now that he's found him. How could he give away this rare, God-sent signal, directly to the barrel of a cold gun?
With halted breath he concludes that Matthias’ vision is healthy, and that no dangerous parasites have been found. He notes it down and moves to his breathing, where Florian easily attributes the abnormal sound to a common cold— The weather has been harsh, and it’s not hard to notice how Matthias is visibly trembling.
When the poor man coughs and apologizes quietly, Florian has already decided on the verdict; He is not infected.
Relief washes over him like a balm, uncharacteristically desperate in saving a man he has just met. Florian feels the restlessness weighing over his shoulders lifting at last, dissolving the hardships of the long day and its guilt-embedded decisions.
He can feel himself breathing more easily now, as he starts the last protocol to search for contraband, more for procedure than for real suspicion; The worst has already passed.
That’s why it comes as a surprise, when the fleeting glance he gives around Matthias’ neck makes him catch sight of something wrong. Just underneath the closed shirt’s neckline, a peeking glint of off-white contrasting with the pale, soft skin of his undamaged skin.
Florian immediately freezes— Hidden poorly below the dirty gauze, the corner of a blooming wound is visible. He blinks, once and twice, but no matter how much he tries, he is aware enough to recognize the teeth marks.
It’s a bite.
And a bite is a certain sign of…
“Please–” He doesn't even have to look up to know the face Matthias is doing, it's apparent in his wet, heavy tone. But even if his words sound empty, the fear still leaks out. As if a last, helpless attempt at begging for something that he already knows is lost.
“Pretty faces, tearful eyes… They are all like that. But you can’t get soft with them, or else…” In his empty mind the words resound in the silence, as suddenly, not even the rain seems to fall. Florian reels, unmoving— He doesn’t dare even breathe, as Matthias stifles a pitiful sigh with a tight jaw.
Florian prevents himself from making any rashful movement, suppressing the dawning feeling of dread falling over him. From the corner of his eye he can see how Balsa shakes his head, a knowing look already on his face as he writes something on the computer. Florian doesn't even need to ask, to know the dire verdict on everyone’s mind.
“I know,” Matthias says again. Fading voice, faint words. It makes Florian tremble against his side. “I know what it looks like. But if you can give me one chance– I promise you it’s not what you think…”
He can’t.
There's two dozen people inside the safe zone already— Families, colleagues and hopeful survivors counting solely on him to keep them away from the hell outside. He can't risk them by sparing a life because of sentimentality. He knows he can't.
And yet, the words to turn him away don’t leave his mouth either.
When he distances himself from Matthias, the dejected, gentle comprehension of his features is more blaming than anger would've been. It's evident that he knew he wouldn't get it— That he came here prepared to die from the beginning, no matter what he tried.
It makes Florian think of that burned, painfully scarred left half; How many times has this man been in this same position, giving up on his life, standing on the brink of life and death?
Florian doesn't know if it is his thin frame— The vulnerable, curved posture, hiding in himself while the rain falls on and on, making him look small and fragile. Or if it is his molten, honest brown eye. More at ease when facing imminent death than ever since the examination began. A certain beauty in accepting without remorse, with a languid sigh, that his life will end right here.
Florian doesn’t know what it is, but when he feels his heart beat again, the words have already left his mouth;
“To quarantine– He is not dangerous, but he has a mild cold that needs treatment. I’ll get to it now,” The words taste foreign and make his mouth feel like cotton; It is a lie, he knows it is. But when the man’s eye opens in the first gleam of genuine, hopeful emotion, the guilt in Florian’s tongue is overridden immediately by a comforting sweetness.
He doesn't need to look back to know that Balsa is dumbfounded, nor to see how all the squad blinks in surprise. He just gestures for Matthias to follow him, and with the last survivor of the day trailing on his stead, he finishes today’s work without sparing a single glance back.
_____________________
“...Can you show me now? The wound,”
They are alone in the secluded room, as the rain clinks on the rooftop and the heavy sound of boots comes and goes from outside the closed door. Florian sent the remaining man in quarantine on his way to the survivors base— It was a bit earlier than he should’ve, granted, but he was still sure that the man was not dangerous.
More than anything, he didn’t want to compromise Matthias’ secret even more. Not until being fully sure… Or, better said, not until convincing himself that he could trust in this unexpected miracle.
In the end, it’s just them in the room. Outside, the remaining soldiers come and go, imminent to arrive and discover his treacherous misstep at any time, if they discovered Florian’s lie earlier…
But he trusts his instincts, as well as his reputation. Exhaling sharply, Florian fidgets with the needle in his hand, before looking hesitantly at Matthias once again.
In the examination area the man nods mutedly, pale hands moving dauntingly towards the buttons on his shirt, sighing a wisp of reluctance as he slowly undoes them one by one. Hesitantly, he lingers on the last one, tracing its round shape under Florian’s attentive gaze, as his long fingers bring the clasp undone.
Once he is done, Florian can’t help but look. Admiring how the shadows overpose on the pale skin, covered in worn gauzes hiding away his chest and neck. With the upper layer open, the gap from the dark cloth lets a peek of discolored, burnt skin revealed, curling mesmerizingly under Florian's attentive sight.
The burnt is mostly healed by now, and it tells the story of being nearly as old as his own wound is. The affected skin looks slightly more reddish than his own discolored one, but even in the lacking clarity of the safety room, he can still trail and follow some of the shy kaleoid patterns drawn atop Matthias’ flesh.
Mesmerized, he steps a careful, silent step closer, but Matthias flinches back at the same time— Consciously, Florian immediately stops. Caught red handed, he can’t do more than look down at his boots as if scolded, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
Does he look stupid now…? He is supposed to be professional, and yet he is here, acting like a teenager in front of a surely frightened man. He wished he could help it, but the sight of someone so similar to his own sorrows is…
Closing his eyes forcefully, Florian mutters a small apology and tries to compose himself. There’s only silence to reply, and once the heat in his ears subsides, with overly conscious movements he brings his hand up, towards the dirty bandages that cover part of Matthias’ torso in a slow motion to pull them aside.
On the crook of his shoulder, he can clearly see the angry wound of a bitemark peeking like a flare.
“I’ll take off the gauze, alright? You can tell me if it hurts,” He tries to explain, but his voice is raspy in nervousness.
The base doesn’t concern itself with being overly empathetic, but Florian has always been mindful of people’s feelings and comfort— Now, however, with so many thoughts running through his brain and a distance so scarcely intimate as this one, the words are a mad attempt to soothe his own nerves, rather than Matthias’.
Trying to be careful, Florian steps closer again, a breath of distance that leaves him looking down at the timid man half a head shorter than him. The room feels stuffy and closing in around them, overly warm and buzzing. And yet, when he looks down, Matthias seems… frozen. As if more guarded than by mere shyness— Standing rigid, cold and stoic to bear whatever comes next.
Florian immediately feels his heart tremble; Something isn’t right.
“Do it quickly. I’m alright…” Florian hears in the stagnant silence of the room, a reply to his hesitance. The hasty whisper makes his fingers flinch before they can make contact with the skin, stopping him briefly, and delaying even more the curtain fall.
Looking at Matthias’ downcasted gaze, he can feel like there’s something he is still… hiding. Something important. With a complicated frown, Florian grazes softly the pale skin, mindfully taking the dressings apart despite the request to be hasty.
Underneath, after each round of the worn out gauze ribbon, more and more small sets of purplish wounds and small cuts are painted on his thin body, making a mosaic of painful grievances.
Close to his neck is the worst part; Next to the angry, reddish bite on the crook of his neck, the purplish chain of a handprint seems to round the thin, frail neck, in a laceration that is all too painfully evident.
What…?
“These marks–! How…? If you suffered an attack, then even small wounds could contain—” Florian starts, the examination fleeing from his mind in the urgent need to heal him somehow. Immediately, he is cut off.
“It’s not that–!” Matthias says clearly, and for one, his voice sounds cold and final. With bated breath he trembles, as if suppressing the need to hide in himself under the weight of Florian’s surprise, “I… It doesn’t matter what it was; I got away in time. And it was not… I’m n-not infected…”
Ah. If it wasn’t a zombie, then…
Florian stays quiet, processing with layering guilt the lack of tact he has been displaying until now. It’s true that, lately, external groups have been on the rise, stealing and killing fellow survivors in an attempt to get power and resources.
Matthias doesn’t seem strong or impulsive enough to get into those kinds of conflicts, much less to survive their gruesome antics— But if the nature of these wounds is not from that kind of violence, then the only reason Florian can imagine is…
Suddenly, he feels sick. The nausea running up his throat as the purplish wounds still marking Matthias’ fair skin take on a meaning much more abominable than anything he could’ve had anticipated.
In this state the world has come to, Florian has already grown used to the nature of violence for survival. Of wounds from fights, broken bones and bloodied bitemarks with the leaking infection embedded on each cell of the body. But this wicked kind of cruelty, for the sake of nothing but…!
Florian sets his jaw, feeling how his pulse rises in horror. A cold frustration coils tight in his gut at the sight of Matthias’ inward, reluctant demeanor. Pliant and half dead, even when forced to show him these wounds— Helpless, when forced to bare a part of his body in front of someone he doesn’t even know.
Florian feels like a careless monster; Stupid enough to not have realized sooner. To not have even considered the chance. He, who prided so much on being emphatic and smart—!
In his mind there's no longer any kind of worry about whether that wretched bite has anything to do with the infection, not when the answer is so clearly far away from it. Rather, he thinks about Matthias; His pain, his life and his mystery.
Him in his entirety. Of how he has hid his face so decidedly since he arrived, pinching the corner of his shirt and standing upright stiffly, with the impersonal, lost countenance of not being really present in the here and now.
Florian has only seen that lush gleam of life in him when he lied to spare his life. As if Matthias was genuinely surprised that someone could believe in him enough, to even let him stay alive for one more day.
From the very beginning, Florian realizes, Matthias was set for his own death. Convinced he wouldn’t pass the control barrier, yet still willing to face it anyway. No matter the cost.
Thinking back on it, Florian remembers his thoughts from earlier, the miraculous escape from the fire— Walking to the base with a bite marking his flesh, afraid to die out there, but willing to set himself for guaranteed suicide if he was discovered… Had Matthias ever truly been out of that thin line between life and death?
Right now, Florian thinks that he can see him for what he really is; A dead man walking listlessly ahead, uncaring and unremorseful for whatever happens to him anymore.
It’s chilling to the core. Heartbreaking and fragile, calling out in unbeknownst pleas to Florian’s desperate need to save him.
Outside the rain still holds strong, but Florian isn’t wary of others finding out about his treason— Suddenly, he finds out that he doesn’t feel that weight in his chest anymore. Looking at Matthias, he can only think about keeping the last vestiges of his crumbling self safe and secure under his careful watch.
The clutching need to save him… It’s like nothing he has ever felt before. But it takes his heart and rattles his chest forcefully, aching and wanting in the same trembling breath.
With shuddering countenance, Florian takes his hand away at last. Slowly, lingering, as if leaving behind a wondrous piece of fine, priceless beauty that he was allowed to grace with his dirty hands.
When he steps back again and admires all of Matthias’ tender evasiveness, Florian is struck with the determination that, now that Matthias is safe in the base, there’s no more danger of anyone else hurting and staining him anymore.
“I believe you,” Florian tells him at last, with as much sincerity as he can bestow. Matthias doesn’t reply immediately; Instead, he keeps very still, as if unsure whether to believe him or not.
Florian can see how his shoulders tremble as he breathes out slowly, and then, Matthias whispers back.
“Won’t you use that?” Caught off guard, Florian looks around, finally catching sight of the full needle-like tool he still keeps on his hand. It is the most definitive proof to determine whether someone is infected or not, and when unsure, it’s absolute protocol to use it.
He should use it, quick and painless; Pinch him and know for certain. But as the minutes pass, Florian can’t find in himself the need to use it anymore.
“No,” He replies, dry but decided; Matthias’ comfort and trust is more valuable than subjecting him to more invasive examinations. “There’s no need to; I think you are telling the truth,”
Florian looks at him with an honest look in his eye, but as Matthias raises his head, the expression in his face is a mixture of blank confusion and slight apprehension. He bites his lip as if troubled, looking to the side before replying.
“...Are you really willing to risk everything and believe in– Someone, you just met?”
‘Are you willing to believe in me?’ Is what Florian really hears, and the tender smile that forms in his lips as reply cannot be hidden under the roughness that this job has taught him.
Florian just chuckles and nods warmly.
“I believe you, I genuinely do. Isn’t that reason enough to let you in?” Florian sets the needle aside, squirming out of his thick jacket and draping it delicately over Matthias’ frail frame. The weight of the fabric sinks his tense shoulders down, making him look small and comfortable.
Confused and touched, Matthias’ brown pupil fixes on Florian with a gleam of wounded gratitude he hadn’t yet seen of him, as the words continue to flow from Florian’s mouth with a determined tone, “Your life is more valuable than you think, Mr. Czernin… If it’s on my hands to decide, then I choose to save you. Please, believe that you are worthy of that”
Silent, Matthias stays rooted to his place, grasping the fabric of Florian’s jacket with a trembling, lingering shyness that overcomes swiftly his previous coldness. It's as if warmth is finally breathed into him once again, and timidly, the color starts to repaint his pale skin amidst the freezing coldness of the rain outside.
Florian smiles, nodding to the timid man that Matthias has suddenly become. It’s a promising sign of a better future, one where those painful wounds can heal in a place that, even if not as welcoming as a proper home, can at least be safe and comforting enough to assure the suffering will never reach him again.
Florian will make sure of it. That's his oath from now on.
“Ah–! Have you disinfected those yet? I have spare gauze and alcohol, I’ll get it for you. Let’s not risk an infection now that you are finally safe in here,” He exclaims, turning for the door with a quick step, “Wait for me here, yeah? I’ll be right back!”
Before leaving the room, the last thing he sees is how Matthias nods dumbly, clutching the heavy jacket closer to his uncovered chest in more embarrassment than cold. Florian gives him one last smile before leaving, scurrying as quickly as he can to get the bandages on the other side of the base.
Outside, the few men left greet him with a curved brow, but he doesn’t stop to answer any of their questions. Matthias’ wellbeing is more important, anyway.