Work Text:
Times were tough. After so much work, so much research, the ever forward train of progress had begun to grind to a halt. Results were beginning to slow, and the strain was starting to show on Dr. Martin Brenner's face, chipping away at the carefully constructed facade he'd built over the years, crumbling much like the white walls of the Hawkins National Laboratory the day that 011 opened the gate to that hellish dimension.
Brenner sat alone in his room, a simple army bed holding his weight. A cup of strong black coffee had long since gone cold, a half finished crossword book asking as a makeshift coaster. But none of those things were giving him comfort as he sat slouched, long fingers threading through his silver hair. How was he going to provide results, his team were beginning to lose faith in the project.
A sharp knock at the door roused him from his internal spiral of self doubt. He didn't have to rise to open the door, the lock beeping open before he could stand. Of course, only one other person had access to his personal quarters...
As he sat wallowing in his self doubt, the shadow of Dr. Sam Owens was cast onto the ground in front of him. To others, Owens was a prominent figure in the bunker, the good cop to Brenner's bad cop, the only one willing to stand up to his manipulative tactics against what was a traumatised young girl. But Owens wasn't here to lecture Brenner. In fact, quite the opposite.
The bed creaked under Owens' weight as he sat next to the still solemn Brenner. He kept his hands in his lap, only moving them to articulate when he spoke.
"What happened out there today, Martin? It's not like you to lose your composure like that when we're not alone."
Brenner didn't respond, head still in his hands. Owens sighed, leaning back on his hands, a picture of serenity next to Brenner's solemnity. He pitied the man, it hadn't been easy for him since the massacre. All his subjects, his children. Dead in front of him, white walls stained red. And now the only one he knew for sure to still be alive wasn't living up to the teams expectations. Brenner knew with time she'd be strong, but Owens wanted results and he wanted them now, massacre be damned.
"I don't want to push her, Sam. I can't lose her again. She's...she's all I have left."
Brenner's voice was hoarse. Not from crying, just lack of use. A large, warm hand came to rest on Brenner's back, a soothing comforting rub set into motion. Brenner's tension appeared to melt away with every circle, unwinding and unravelling the stress of the day. His head lifted up to see nothing but care and compassion on Owens' face, shrouded with a look of pity. Every motion drew Brenner closer into his arms, closer into his warm embrace, until Brenner's head fully rested on his shoulder. A comforting wall protecting him from the horrors of his past, the stress of the bunker. Thick fingers began to card through frosty locks, a gentle shushing in the air.
And for a moment, a single solitary moment, everything was okay.