Work Text:
It’s a day like any other. The same green light always permeating through the floor, the same piles of books strewn about without care. The same distant shuffling of his assistant librarians as they look for things to do.
None of it really matters right now. Maybe it should. He’s tried his best to find meaning in the mundane here, painting his thoughts about anything and everything, reading through some novels, even attempting to connect with the people. There’s things he could be doing right now.
But no, he just sits there. Stares into nothing.
There is an itch.
It’s old and familiar, slowly crawling its way out from that dark corner in the back of his mind. He thought.. or maybe just hoped, stupidly, that he’d managed to tame it. There’s no Enkephalin here anyhow, so there’s no risk. And beer by itself is far from strong enough to trigger such a thing.
..But what they do have, is medicine. Painkillers. Some of the librarians suffer the kinds of ailments the Library can’t magically heal. Mostly old scars acting up, or the occasional migraine. Netzach himself is no stranger to these, with.. everything done to Giovanni’s brain. It takes only a pill or two to ward it off. Usually.
The other day though, he tried to ignore it in lieu of finishing a piece. Too focused on the lines in front of him, powering through the first hints of pain just in case that spark of inspiration will leave him. He’s been through worse, anyway. It’s fine.
It wasn’t fine. Every following movement grew weaker, his vision started to blurr around the edges. The logistics of a human-like body are still pretty alien to him, but it very clearly sets limits. The world seemed to darken with agony as he scrambled to find those pills. And maybe in that moment of desperation, he took a few more than needed. It didn’t matter. As long as that screaming ache went away.
The next thing he remembers is floating. Untethered by the weight of a body. Seeing colours in ever so vivid, strange shades. Nothing hurt anymore.
It felt like peace.
He’s especially dreaming of it now, as the usual monotone sets in. The dull green light. The weight of his limbs. That same ache threatening to crawl its way back into his skull at a moment’s notice.
It was an accident. It was. And this stuff is just medicine, anyway. No one would bat an eye if he took it for his pain, because that’s the point. And he doesn’t need that many anyway. And he can always stop. He can stop whenever he wants. Yeah. He’ll stop this time. It’s fine.
The itch grows just a little stronger with each step towards that cabinet, seeping into his hands. Making them tremble. This is different though. Way different. It’s just painkillers, nothing more. Just maybe with some more perks than expected. It’s different. So it’s okay. He’s just fighting off the pain. Yeah. It’s fine.
There is no noise, but his nerves are abruptly shot.
“Hey.”
The voice comes from a space next to him. Either he was too deep in thought to notice, or the other man’s approach was completely silent. It doesn’t matter. He’s not caught yet. Well, he’s not doing anything wrong. Right? Yeah.
His body doesn’t agree, tensing what feels like every possible muscle. He barely hears the next words.
“..Something up? You’ve been standing here for.. uh, a while.” He can feel the other man’s gaze wander, searching for something. At which he will find nothing amiss, and hopefully leave. He’s so close. Hands almost digging into the wood impatiently, ready to seize his target.
Though he tries, against the gnawing urge, to think logically. As much as he can think at all right now. He can’t be sure whether Roland would stop him, but the man is physically much stronger. If he sees him dive for something like a madman, it might very well strike alarm. Even if it’s just medicine.
But something in the air seems to shift. And now there’s a hand on his shoulder.
“Heyyy…” the Fixer drawls out, tone ever so slightly off. “You up for a beer? Or coffee, or something.” There’s an edge to that last word as if he meant to say ‘anything’. It gets him to pry his eyes away for a moment, long enough to consider the man next to him. The furrow of pitch black brows, the clear tension in his shoulders. Roland is stressed.
He shoots another longing glance at the cabinet, before looking back.
“..You drink coffee?”
“I could try” he watches as the other man nearly slumps in relief, the very beginnings of a smile gracing his lips. The problem seems to be solved as long as Netzach is looking at him. Huh.
The hand previously on his shoulder moves across his back, pulling the two men closer. It feels like the Fixer is trying to soothe both himself and Netzach at the same time.
“C’mon. Let’s go.” There’s an odd urgency seeping through Roland’s voice now, as he practically drags the artist out of the room. Only slowing down once they’re far enough away from whatever was bothering him.
For a moment he looks back again, the urge still present. But it quiets down when there’s a near immediate squeeze to his shoulder. So Netzach only lets out a defeated sigh.
Not today, I guess.
The other man refuses to leave him alone.