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"Leave it with me, I'll study it." Daniil took the vial of blood, black-red and then closed his gloved fingers around it. "Will only take a few hours. While I'm busy, you may hit the cot over there, by the folding screen. You need it. I've seen corpses prettier than you."
"All right." Artemy Burakh said, as he stood over Daniil's desk with his shoulders slumped and his eyes dulled. He was looking particularly haggard, even considering the state of the Town. "Thanks, erdem."
But he didn't move yet. He hovered there, perhaps slowed by drowsiness, watching Daniil prepare his microscope. It was more than a little irritating to be supervised by someone who was barely standing, though, and a little spite rose in Daniil's chest. If he was going to be a pest, he might as well be a pest back.
"If you're still here," he said, looking up at Artemy and gesturing to one of the bookshelves, where his glass slides were stored. "Would you hand me that box on the shelf over there?"
Artemy met his gaze with those intense eyes, pale as the light on a steel blade. Then, without comment, he crossed the room and carefully pulled it out. He returned, and set it on the desk, next to Daniil's papers.
"Oh, and could you grab that book over there for me? The one on hematology." He gestured again, a few shelves over. Artemy looked at him again and then, still without a word, fetched it for him.
"Thank you, and… ah, it seems I'm out of ink." The bottle was still a quarter full. "The replacements are over there, next to the screen."
Daniil continued to give out inane orders, waiting for the moment where Artemy would snap and leave him to his work; but, bewilderingly, it never came. Every little request was granted without even a glare. This only served to irritate Daniil further.
"Here," Artemy said, as he set a bottle of clean water, from God only knows where, on the desk for him with a clink.
"Why are you doing this?" Daniil demanded, suddenly turning in his seat to glare up at Artemy from under his bangs. "Are you toying with me right now?"
"You're the one toying with me. Why are you upset?" Artemy asked, expression still and dour as ever.
"If you know that, why play along! If I started asking for the moon and the stars next, would you bring me them, as well?" Daniil asked, his voice rising in volume and venom.
"Do you want them?" Artemy asked, in a completely unreadable tone.
"No-- I want this damn plague to be over," Daniil groaned, and Artemy tilted his head a little.
"I'm working on it. Anything else?" How could he be so calm, even in his state of exhaustion?
Anger, though Daniil could not identify whether it was at this man's presence or his refusal to rest, formed new words on his lips, which slipped out before he could think on them.
"Then give me your beating heart, next."
Artemy stared at him. Yes, that was it-- that was enough to make him bite back, to make him push Daniil away. Surely he would make some biting quip and head to bed.
But, instead, he carefully, with one steady hand, unbuckled his smock and pulled it open. He shrugged out of it, laid it neatly on Daniil's desk, and then began to pull his sweater off.
Daniil realized he was holding his breath, and exhaled shakily as Artemy's skin was revealed, a little by his navel at first, then his whole chest at once. Sweat and grime clung to him, but soft-looking golden hair and firm-looking muscles still held Daniil's attention. It felt as though time had stopped.
Then, Artemy got down on his knee in front of Daniil, looking up at him with that deep stare. He pointed at his chest.
"Take it," he said, voice completely flat.
"How am I supposed to do that?" Daniil grumbled as he hid his reddening face behind his hand.
"You'll figure something out. You're smart, aren't you?"
"This is ridiculous." He could neither keep his eyes on Artemy's own, which were too intense to look at directly, nor his chest, which he liked much more than he wanted to admit, even in its filthy state. Not that he had much room to judge on that front. "At least ask for something in return. Don't you want an equal trade?"
"Will you give me your heart?" Artemy asked, voice raising slightly in surprise.
"I couldn't keep it from you if you wanted it. You could easily take it." It was meant to be a jab, a joke at the Ripper's expense, but it felt like a confession as it left his lips.
Artemy went silent, his eyes focused on Daniil's chest. Even without being cut, it felt like his chest was wide open, as if his quick-pounding heart were completely exposed to the Haruspex. He was having difficulty breathing normally.
"This game has gone on long enough," Daniil suddenly blurted, turning quickly back to his desk. "Take your rest, Burakh, and leave me to my work. We're wasting precious time that could be used to find the cure. I'm… Let's not get distracted."
"You're right," Artemy said, still kneeling in that spot. "There's too much at stake."
"Exactly. So get up and dress yourself already." Daniil lowered his head, trying not to see what Artemy was doing with his peripheral vision-- which he soon regretted, since the sudden pressure of a palm against his clothed chest nearly made him jump out of his chair.
"There," Artemy mumbled, far too close to his ear. "It's yours."
He started to pull away, and Daniil shot out a hand, his fingertips landing softly between Artemy's pectoral muscles. He quickly pulled it back.
"…It's yours," he said, face hot as a brand. He didn't know what he was saying at all. The words just kept tumbling out. "Now go to sleep."
He stepped away, without another word. Daniil could hear wool sliding against skin, and then leather creaking and buckles snapping back into place. He heard heavy footsteps across the floor of the loft, then the squeak of his mattress on the other side of the room. Then, nothing but breathing.
He returned to his work, feeling an unfamiliar beat in his chest.