Chapter Text
The lower levels of the Rhodes Hill facility were quiet except for the low, rhythmic hum of the bioreactors. Fluorescent lights cast long shadows across stainless steel tables cluttered with petri dishes and yellowed Spencer documents. It was past 3 a.m., and only two men remained.
Dr. Victor Gideon stood at the central console, his white coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The tall virologist leaned over a holographic display of the latest Elpis simulation, fingers tracing projected viral strands as if he could coax them into obedience. Sweat beaded at his temple despite the chill of the air conditioning. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours.
Behind him, Zeno lounged against the edge of a lab table, arms crossed over his broad chest. The black tactical coat he favored hung open, revealing the fitted shirt beneath that did little to hide the unnatural definition of his shoulders and arms. His sunglasses were off for once, revealing eyes that glowed faintly gold in the dim light — a deliberate reminder of what he was.
“You’re stalling again, Doctor,” Zeno drawled, voice low and velvet-edged with mockery. “The Connections have poured millions into your little obsession. My patience is not infinite.”
Gideon didn’t turn immediately. He let the words hang, tasting the challenge in them. When he finally straightened and faced the other man, his expression was calm, almost paternal — the same look he gave test subjects right before the needle went in.
“Patience is the only virtue worth cultivating, Zeno. Evolution does not rush. Spencer understood that. You…” Gideon’s gaze drifted slowly down the length of Zeno’s frame, clinical yet lingering just a fraction too long on the way the fabric stretched across his chest, “…are merely the impatient echo of a greater mind.”
Zeno’s lips curved into a sharp, humorless smile. He pushed off the table and took one measured step closer. The air between them thickened.
“Echo?” He tilted his head, studying Gideon like a specimen. “Careful. I could crush your windpipe before you finished your next sermon on eugenics. And yet here you are, lecturing me while you reek of desperation and recycled coffee.”
Gideon’s pulse jumped — visible in the faint throb at the side of his throat. He didn’t step back. Instead, he met Zeno’s eyes directly, the corner of his mouth twitching with something dangerously close to amusement… or hunger.
“You won’t,” Gideon said softly, almost tenderly. “Because without me, your precious syndicate has nothing but a pretty clone playing at godhood. And without you…” He reached out, bold and unhurried, adjusting the lapel of Zeno’s coat with two fingers, brushing the fabric over the solid muscle beneath. “I’d miss the funding. Among other things.”
The touch was light. Professional, on the surface. But the way Gideon’s fingers lingered — the deliberate slowness as he smoothed the material — turned it into something else entirely.
Zeno’s hand snapped up, catching Gideon’s wrist in a grip that could have shattered bone. He didn’t squeeze. Not yet. He simply held it there, thumb pressing against the racing pulse point.
“You flirt with danger the way lesser men flirt with women, Gideon.” Zeno’s voice dropped lower, intimate, the faint growl of superhuman restraint threading through it. “Does it excite you? Knowing I could end you in a heartbeat… and yet I keep letting you push?”
Gideon’s breath hitched, barely audible. His free hand came up to rest flat against Zeno’s chest, feeling the unnaturally steady heartbeat beneath the thin shirt. Warm. Powerful. So very alive in a way his viruses could only dream of replicating.
“Excite?” Gideon murmured, leaning in until their faces were inches apart. The scent of antiseptic and expensive cologne mingled with something sharper — ozone and raw power. “No. It clarifies. You are the perfect vessel, Zeno. Superior body. Inferior vision. Watching you chase Spencer’s shadow while I rewrite the future… it’s almost poetic.”
Zeno’s grip tightened fractionally, pulling Gideon closer by the wrist until their chests nearly brushed. His golden eyes narrowed, pupils dilating with a mix of irritation and something far darker.
“And you,” he whispered against Gideon’s ear, breath hot, “are a brilliant, arrogant fool who gets hard on the idea of controlling what he can never truly possess.”
Silence stretched, electric and suffocating. Neither man moved to close the final gap. Neither pulled away.
Gideon’s lips parted, a ghost of a smile forming. “Care to test that theory?”
Zeno’s answering chuckle was low, dangerous, vibrating through the scant space between them. “One day, Doctor,” he said, releasing Gideon’s wrist only to trail his fingers slowly down the front of the white coat, stopping just above the belt, “I might. When your precious Elpis finally disappoints you… I’ll remind you exactly who the imitation really is.”
He stepped back then, the loss of proximity like a physical snap of tension. Zeno slid his sunglasses back on, masking the heat in his gaze. “Get back to work. The deadline doesn’t care about your… distractions.”
Gideon watched him go, chest rising and falling a touch too quickly. He touched the spot on his wrist where Zeno’s fingers had been, then turned back to the console with a soft, private laugh that echoed in the empty lab.
“Neither do I,” he whispered to the glowing viral strands.
But the heat in the room lingered long after the door hissed shut behind Zeno.