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Doc has this habit of wringing his hands out when he's stressed. He never knows if he's doing it to try to get some of the tension out of his body or because he's trying to cope with the fact that wants to strangle the next person he sees. Of course, he never does strangle anyone because that would ruin his title of 'Medic', even though no one really thought of him as one. A doctor is meant to heal, not the other way around. Usually.
When he's not trying that method, he'd resort to chewing on his knuckles and nails, or start caressing his fingertips over his own scars, over and over again. Maybe run his hands through his mohawk when he's really feeling it, but he hasn't quite gotten to that point yet. He'd left his computer a few minutes ago and, on a whim, had wandered out towards the door leading to the outside balcony. Their base only had a few areas where Doc could have some solitude to himself, but this time someone had already been there.
Deimos usually would come out here to smoke, so him being here wasn't a surprise. When the two saw each other, Deimos smiled at him like he always did, waving at him with the cigarette in-between his fingers. Doc could only give a soft grunt in response as he leaned over the railing, elbows resting on cold metal. Seeing Deimos had lightened his mood just a little, but he still felt ready to clobber something.
"Long day?" Deimos asked after a beat of silence, already deducing Doc's temperament. It was a lot easier to read his facial expressions when he wasn't wearing his mask, which was a slightly more rare sight for Deimos to witness. Doc had expected to be alone, after all.
When Doc inhaled, he was immediately hit with the scent of Deimos' cigarette smoke filling his lungs, and he exhaled wearily. "Long is an understatement," His eyes flicker to Deimos' hand for a moment before he glances towards the horizon. Nothing but a long stretch of black and red for all to see. "I've barely had time to myself, Deimos."
A lightly sheepish laugh. "Do I need to leave?" Deimos lightly scratched the underside of his chin with his claws.
The edges of Doc's mouth formed just the slightest smile, expression softening even just lightly. He appreciates being asked. "No, no, you're fine."
"I think you're overworking yourself again, Doc." Deimos said as he flicked some ash off to the side, taking another drag of his smoke. "I mean, you already know how I get whenever I'm strung out."
There's an attempt to word this delicately. "I have been witness to your… moments in the past, yes." Doc attempts.
A few memories play out in his mind, a few instances where Deimos' outbursts have led to things being broken. People being scratched. At least one instance where he tried picking a fight with Hank that thankfully went nowhere, and with Hank dropping Deimos off at the door of Doc's office. Quite literally carrying him by the scruff of his jacket, reminding Doc of a hissing, feral kitten.
Before Deimos and Sanford had become good friends, Doc recalls the many times having to hear the two complain about each other on separate occasions. Sometimes within the same day. Needless to say, he's glad the two work together so well now, Deimos had been in desperate need of an actual companion. A role that Doc feels that he probably can't feel.
Doc doesn't think it's Deimos' fault. Not really. He can't help but feeling sympathetic towards the guy, one of the only former A.A.H.W members and a clone at that. He imagines it's a very isolating experience. Doc could only relate to being a former member, but he had no idea what it was like to be a clone.
Even if Deimos was one, he never thought of him as any different. Doc doesn't think he'll ever forget the day he had met the scrappy little smug, arrogant runaway who had been living in a cardboard box apartment and surviving off ramen and energy drinks. Though he does wonder sometimes if being nonhuman was one of the causes of Deimos' emotional temperament.
Or maybe it was the ADHD that Deimos refuses to acknowledge that he clearly has, but regardless.
"You don't gotta be nice about it," Deimos tells him, which makes Doc break from his thoughts. "I know I'm kind of a fuck-up."
Doc's glancing at him, eyes trailing across his lips and patchy stubble. Lightly chapped, definitely picking at his skin. Imperfect, but wholly Deimos. "You're not a fuck-up in my eyes, if that helps you."
Deimos smiles half-halfheartedly. It clearly does, but he won't say it. He doesn't want to look desperate, but especially not desperate in front of Doc.
The two are content in each others' silence at that moment, standing next to each other as heavy black clouds form in the distance. It would rain later that night, giving the outside a slight chilling breeze. It'd be a thunderstorm, and they definitely needed to head back inside soon. Catching a cold from rain would cause mild stress to turn into burning fury.
Rain never bothered Doc too much, he liked hearing the steady sound of drumming against his window as he worked. It did bring back memories. Sometimes he wondered how the Annex crew would be doing today if he hadn't…
He grits his teeth with a slight groan, shoulders tense. Yeah, no, now wasn't the time for remembering less pleasant choices made in his life. He tried pushing anything like that to the furthest part of his mind, compartmentalizing hadn't failed him yet. He hoped that the day it would fail, he would at least not be around anyone.
Well, Deimos must've noticed the look on his face, because Doc realized that Deimos had offered him his cigarette.
"I only brought the one, sorry." Deimos tells him softly. "You look like you could use it more than me."
Truth is, Doc had quit smoking over three years ago. Actually, 'quit' was a strong choice of word. There had been a few incidents in the past that had led to him binge smoking for a few hours before crushing the rest of the pack and throwing it away, ensuring that he wouldn't be tempted again. When he and Hank lived together, briefly, Hank would complain about the stench of nicotine on him, which was a helpful factor in him quitting.
That didn't apply much in a situation where the other person was Deimos.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Doc was on the verge of saying something like, 'no, I shouldn't', or 'don't tempt me', but it was against his better judgment.
He took it. A ceremony that would continue for the rest of the day.
Despite the lifesaver it was right now, Doc still found himself coughing a little now that it was in his lungs, and not just second-hand. Deimos snickered a little with a small snort when he did, causing Doc to roll his eyes just the slightest.
"Not scared of the death curse, Doc?" Deimos mockingly asked while nudging Doc's shoulder.
A scoff. "Oh, please. Death would be a nice vacation for me at this point." Doc stretched his back a little with a groan. Deimos took a half step to get closer, their forearms nearly touching now.
"Really? If I die, I'll let you know if they got a nice hotel in the Other Place. Maybe a hot tub too." Without the cigarette in his mouth, Deimos finds himself fiddling his fingers together, feeling a little awkward without something to hold.
A genuine smile found its way on Doc's lips as he tilted his head towards Deimos. The closer he got to him, the more he realized that he quite enjoyed the sight of Deimos' side profile. His softer, rounder face, the light sun spots across his cheeks. The way his hair was messy, unkempt, sticking out from the gauze wrapped around his head. The bandage on the side of his cheek that covered up a cut from a fight.
He's not half bad looking. It's an observation Doc's thought about many times, but right now, under this light and being this close to him… it's becoming much more apparent again.
That visor hat he wore hid his eyes out of view sometimes, and Doc thought it was honestly a shame. He actually liked the color, a deep shade of brown that looked black in the dark.
A familiar word manifested in his mind as he looked at him. Cute.
It's not a word Doc would casually inscribe to many people, if any at all. Doc rarely found anything to be cute or endearing, he'd usually use pitiful as a descriptor. But Deimos wasn't pitiful, Deimos could kill a man with his bare hands and dig a hole into someone's chest and pull out their heart. Deimos could hack an entire A.A.H.W database within an afternoon on nothing but soda and determination. Deimos was a fierce force of nature.
At the same time, he's also cute. He could be a scary motherfucker and cute at the same time.
He breathed outwardly as he hovered Deimos' cigarette towards his bottom lip. "You're kind of cute, Deimos." Doc says without much thought. Despite the casual admittance, Doc could see the way Deimos' shoulders immediately tensed up. Deimos' casual expression turned a little wide-eyed, his cheeks having the slightest dusting of pink.
"Jeez, someone's grateful I loaned them my cig, huh?" He tries to brush it off, tilting his head away from Doc. "Don't tease me." He mumbles it softly.
Doc leans towards him more, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not teasing you, you would know if I was teasing you."
"Would I?" Now Deimos was trying to revert into his hoodie like a turtle into its shell. Not helping his 'not cute' case, Doc thinks. He knew he wasn't trying to be sheepish, though.
Another beat. Doc presses the cig against the railing, crushing out some of the ash. "Hey."
Getting his attention, Deimos finally looks over, and Doc grabs his chin. Freezing up, there was that expression again, wide-eyed and blushing. His look and demeanor just screams 'I shouldn't be messing around with my boss like this and he's probably just trying to freak me out and If I take it seriously then I'm a weirdo and he'll hate me', and Doc can read that pretty well. He's learned the many nuances of Deimos' expressions by now. They've known each other for a long time.
Doc's thumb brushes against Deimos' bottom lip. The former balks, heart pounding, and he makes a tiny noise, and then suddenly shuts his eyes tightly. Like he's expecting something.
Well, it's a little too fun messing with someone who reacts like this. Doc sticks his cigarette back into Deimos' mouth, and Deimos sputters and his eyes flutter back open, nearly dropping the stick. The two make eye contact for a few moments before Doc finally snorts, and then starts to laugh. He laughs really hard, actually. Harder than he has all week.
Deimos furrows his eyebrows, undeniably grinning. "What's so fuckin' funny, huh?"
"You." Doc faces him, coming down from his laughing fit. "That's what you always tell people, right? That you're funny?"
"I- I am!" Deimos flounders yet again, standing up straight. "Damn, Doc, don't like— fuck with me like that. You play too much, man, I'm gonna write up a report about you or something." He's joking, of course. There's no one he can really write a report to. Technically it'd be to Doc.
"Oh? What will your report say?" With a sly grin, Doc tilts his head towards him.
Crossing his arms, Deimos leans against the railing with his back. "Oh, I dunno, somethin' like— Hey, my boss is a huge dick and plays sicko mind games. This guy's always doing some insane behavior, needs to be locked up right away. And also give a raise to his best techie."
There's a tempting thought Doc wants to say. But it may be pushing it to say 'I think you're just mad I didn't kiss you', so maybe he shouldn't. That's a door that neither of them should open.
He's gotta be a little better at keeping it professional, anyways. As professional as he could be, which might include not pretending to kiss his ever-loyal technician just to get a reaction out of him. Nothing about this interaction was exactly groundbreaking info, Doc's always been fond of Deimos. A little more fond than he probably should be.
In response, Doc just hums quietly with a grin.
Deimos beams at him, hopefully. "Hey, at least you're not stressed anymore."
A soft sigh, reminded of his responsibilities. "I'm not as irritated as I was, no. But I still have a laundry list of shit to do. At the very least, Hank isn't dead or in need of being stitched up right now, and that's all I could really ask for." He actually isn't sure where Hank is. So he hopes he won't be eating those words when he finds out that Hank got his arm served. Hm. Maybe he should take out his tablet and check his status in a few minutes.
"That's why they pay you the big bucks, Doc. Cause you're the asshole in charge of us assholes."
"And I'm an asshole now?"
"Uh, for the shit you just pulled? Yeah, you kinda are."
Another soft laugh escapes his lips. Doc turns back towards the sky. Those thunderclouds are looming closer than ever. Doc tentatively raises a hand to scratch at the side of his neck, instinctively running a hand against the fuzzy hood of his jacket. A self-soothing gesture. "Thank you for the cigarette, Deimos… and your company. I needed both." He glances down for a moment, seeing the supply truck near the back of their base. A shipment for medical parts that had arrived earlier today. His work is truly never over, but he needs order in his life.
"I always have more things to do." Doc laments. "I have benefactors and people to delegate the work to, but I still prefer it being myself to do the bulk of the workload."
"You also hate payin' people," Deimos sarcastically adds.
Defensive anyways, Doc has to play devil's advocate. For himself. "I don't hate it, I just—" Doc trails off. "Considering the gravity of the situation at hand, we should all be a little more grateful. I'm just asking for favors and not holding people at gunpoint. Most factions don't give some people the grace of choice."
They both know what that's about, Deimos' face grimaces slightly. "Yeah."
"Exactly." Doc replies shortly. "Have you just— have you ever felt like you're the only capable person in your own life and everyone else is just staggering behind? Like you have to constantly dumb yourself down for other people?"
"Uhh…" Deimos mumbles, a little defeated at that. "Not really. I think I kinda fit into the uh, person who needs it dumbed down." His gaze falls onto the soft glow from his cigarette, more ash falling from the end. "I think, if anything, I don't really get along with anyone. I'm the one who's staggering while everyone else just kinda rushes past me and yells at me to hurry up. Not trying to like, bitch and whine, or anything. But y'know, continue."
A light frown hearing that, Doc sympathetically reaches a hand over to rub Deimos' shoulder. Deimos tries shrugging it off. "No, no, not trying to make you feel bad for me, I promise." Deimos attempts a smile.
"You do good work here, Deimos." Doc assures him. "I've yet to meet anyone that can catch up to me on a technical level. We were both much more advanced in that field than anyone from our agency, and we were doing work above our pay-grade. You definitely don't stagger in my eyes."
Lightly guilty, Deimos lets out a soft noise. It's like a pleading, mild whine. "Nooo, I'm not trying to get you to compliment me, c'monnn…"
"You could accept it," Doc tells him.
Another noise. "You don't believe me." Doc flatly says.
"Doc, I'm supposed to be the one giving you advice and making you feel better right now." Deimos frowns deeply, finally making eye contact again. There were those eyes again. Doc looked at him.
"You did. I do feel better, Deimos. Let me return the favor?" Doc rubs at his back again, which makes Deimos change gears. He forces away his sad little expression, and instead puts on a faux smug look.
"Oh yeah, how you gonna do that, Doc?" Deimos tries. He wants Doc to accept it, to go back to playing around with him, because the idea of having to genuinely accept that Doc might be proud of him and thinks highly of him is fucking him up.
The bait is not taken, and Doc instead flatly stares at him. His expression isn't tired or annoyed, but instead, patient.
"…Sorry, sorry," Deimos deflates.
"You're a hard worker, Deimos." Doc tells him. "I mean that. You don't have to believe me, but I'd like it if you did." He lightly wraps an arm around Deimos' shoulder and pulls him close.
Despite it all, Deimos leans his head towards Doc's shoulder and rests it there. His jacket fuzz always tickles his cheek, sniffing lightly. Fuckin' Doc, always wearing some scent. Real expensive shit, too. Not exactly perfume, but Deimos doesn't know the actual word for it because he never wears anything. Just a regular wash and some deodorant and he heads out for the day.
Whatever Doc wears worms up his brain and he wants to nest into his jacket and sleep there. Aromatic? Is that the word? Some kind of powdery musk stuff, because Doc actually cares about presentation and looking good. He's kind of everything that Deimos isn't. He can also do everything better than Deimos can. At least, that's how Deimos sees it.
Honestly, he has no idea what Doc really feels towards him. Maybe he just thinks he's some stupid brat that can do decent coding and hacking so he gets to live at their base rent free. Maybe he's only a couple of fuck-ups away from Doc firing him. Or maybe, just maybe, Doc sees him as an equal and actually genuinely likes him. He has no idea. He could ask, but that's way, way too scary.
Plus, Doc's the one who's stressed out, not him. He doesn't wanna worry the guy. Doc doesn't wanna worry him either.
Deimos feels a hand cup the side of his face, Doc's fingerless glove familiar against his cheek. Tilting his head towards him just the slightest.
Doc kisses his forehead, softly. Barely registered the sensation from how brief it was.
"We'll be okay." Doc tells him.
For just a moment, Deimos decides to believe him. He smiles inwardly, and the two hold each other like that as the sound of distant thunder rumbles in the distance, growing closer. It's okay. They're safe.