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It's been almost two weeks since Jebediah Christoff had his emergency visit to Doc's base. Much to his other employees' disdain (if they knew, that is), he doesn't charge the man for these visits—being able to study the way his body has been healing while he's out for the count is payment enough. That, and he's never seen a living, breathing person as underweight as him. It's fascinating. Not natural, of course, but he allows himself to be nosy. Someone should tell him heroin chic isn't really 'the look' anymore.
After Hank's poor performance and temporary disappearance Doc was surprised to hear from him that he was staying over. No request to do so, of course. Just a statement. Doc is a bit too old and disillusioned to really get excited when Hank tells him things of that nature. It feels less 'take charge' nowadays and more 'overbearing bum'. A few decades ago it would've had him swooning. Now it just puts a strain on his internet connection. Even being the longstanding star of his emotional and sexual fantasies doesn't give Hank a free pass to bog down his network. He needs that to send out orders to his Fellows and wire money to others for… goods and services. Things that vastly outweigh Hank's browser searches and downloads in terms of importance.
Speaking of, Hank is checking the fridge right now with Doc quietly watching him from over his laptop screen. He says nothing until the fridge starts to beep.
"Hank? You got everything you need?" Doc asks dryly.
"Getting air," is his response. "Gimme a bit."
Doc's expression drops almost immediately. "Like hell you are. I won't allow you to leave my fridge open for no good reason."
Shoulders slumping, Hank slowly closes the door, sniffling under his mask.
"If you're hot you could get a fan, you know where they are," Doc tells him.
Hank rolls his shoulders back and stretches his neck. "I'm not. Just wanted to smell the air in there. It's good."
It's the things like this that Doc will never understand. Sure, yes, Hank is atypical in more ways than one, but it's something that he'd rather study than have to deal with directly nowadays. There's a Hank from their shared past; reserved and sadistic with a penchant for late-night killing sprees, quietly coming home with blood going up his arms to sit down next to Doc on the couch while not quite touching him. A Hank somewhere in the middle; more erratic and cocky, but still quiet as he mows down not-so-innocents. And a Hank now. He's still quiet, but there's an air of detachment Doc is feeling from him, like Hank can't get out of his own head.
Doc has told himself time and time again that he's done playing therapist to Hank. Even though Hank's never let him properly sit him down and armchair psychoanalyze him, and that his best work was done within the confines of his own brain—'Oh, it's so incredible that you managed to figure out that menace, that nutcase Hank Wimbleton. Truly, he'll never be fit for society but at least, now, we understand WHY!'.
But he digresses. There's still value in examining Hank from a distance, he can still gain insight. Currently there's a few behaviors tipping Doc off; he's hiding something. Be it an injury or a preoccupation, he doesn't know. So he takes a shot in the dark and starts with something he knows he's recently introduced to the Hank ecosystem.
"What did you end up doing with that doll kit?"
The words settle heavily in the room. Doc looks up and Hank is staring right back. No apparent facial expression (typical), but there's a very uncharacteristic hesitation in the way Hank holds himself, like he's worried about his response. Interesting.
Doc waits a bit longer, nods towards Hank in an attempt to coax him into talking. Nothing. It pisses him off.
"I asked you a question, what's holding you?"
He can clearly tell Hank is avoiding eye contact now despite the fact he's wearing opaque goggles because he's felt the need to turn his whole head away from Doc. It's laughable, and the strange sound Hank makes a moment later is even more so.
"It's none of your business."
'None of your business' and they're in Doc's house. Hank is really acting like he owns the joint, or at least as if he has equal footing here. Unfortunately for him, that isn't the case. Never really was, even. "It is my business considering I gave you the doll. Why are you so uncomfortable with that question?"
And then Hank does something Doc didn't expect; he takes a step backwards.
Reluctance, social submission, he's asking for a way out. What?
Doc scowls, then his mouth curls into a smirk, a light chuckle, a gloat.
"There's really no reason for you to be acting this way over a toy," he closes the laptop with a loud 'clack'. "What, did you make it look like someone? Do you talk to it? It can't be that bad, you have to be overreacting."
Hank lets out another weird huff-noise before telling Doc, "Shut up or I'll drop the fridge on top of you."
Doc scoffs in genuine disbelief. Whatever Hank has done must really bother him for some reason, because that is an entirely out of proportion reaction to being lightly pressed on the doll that Doc gave him. God, Hank is weird sometimes.
"If that's how you feel about this, I guess I can't change your mind," Doc says innocuously. "But if you feel at all guilty it'll eat you inside-out, and I won't be able to help you-"
Hank snaps his teeth together, metal and enamel making a harsh sound as he growls, leaving the kitchen.
What the fuck?
He knows Hank is still here, his persistent smell of musk and rot trailing in and out of air vents big enough to hold him. There's at least one time were Doc sees an open grate with Hank's boots sticking out, but he lets Hank think he's still hidden. He might've fallen asleep like that, but Doc obviously didn't stop to check lest he risk getting his skull kicked in.
The fact that Hank is even going this far as to try and hide himself in Doc's own damn house is mind boggling. He's not sure what he said or Hank did that the concept of it coming to light made him act in such a way. But considering Hank's own amorality, it's almost certainly something extremely dumb.
It has Doc itching to find out.
He's doing inventory in his office when Hank finally makes himself known again. "Are you finally going to open up about what's bothering you?" Doc muses aloud.
"I want you to order food," is all Hank tells him. "Pizza."
"Well, since you asked so nicely," Doc responds, staring Hank down. Hank stares back, expectantly. "That was sarcasm. I still have things you can microwave in the freezer."
Hank's stomach makes an exceedingly loud noise, almost as if on cue. Doc stifles a laugh, "Go on, then."
He stands there, like a statue that someone carved specifically to look painfully out of place. Hank really does look extremely interesting, Doc will give himself that. Hank has always looked a tad strange, but the evidence of his various deaths and the physical modifications he himself has added and Hank's frankly abysmal wardrobe choices accentuate it very well.
"If you tell me what's bothering you then I'll buy you the pizza," he goads. "Come on, Hank. What's the worst that could happen?"
Hank seems to actually consider the possibilities and Doc clicks his tongue, switching to a sharper tone. "Just tell me."
"I want to know how to ask a guy out on a date." There is a heavy silence between them as Doc's mind goes blank.
"Uh."
"I know you've done it before. Can't remember if you did that to me or just asked to go straight to sex."
Doc doesn't remember either, but more importantly hearing Hank just lay out their history like that so plainly makes him feel ill. He was not wanting this conversation today. Or ever, really. But curiosity gets the better of him. He tries to stay as impartial as possible.
"Well," he starts. "It helps to understand a little about the man at hand. Do I know him?"
"Yes," Hank pauses, thinking. "He's got… I guess he's tall."
Doc stays silent.
"His hair is gross."
As soon as he tries to banish the thought from his mind, it comes in full-force. Jebediah.
"What?"
"His hair sucks. I don't know how much he washes it. He's missing some, too. It doesn't look good at all."
Doc messily clears his throat, his emotions coiling a bit tighter in his chest. Just… what?
"You… like Jebediah?"
"He-"
"How do you know you feel that way?" He doesn't let Hank respond. The question is callous, rude, and delivered with such utter indifference but Hank wouldn't actually care or pick up on the things that Doc is feeling. Not that he ever did, in the first place. Because really, despite his claims, Hank can't love anyone. Doc knows this firsthand.
Hank tilts his head, "Thinking about him makes my chest hurt."
"Cardiovascular issues."
"No. It feels tight and my heart beats faster."
"That's just…"
"It makes me feel good to think about him. I drool when I look at him."
Doc feels sick, "What does this have to do with the doll?"
Hank goes quiet.
"I know you're not 'artistically inclined', so I'm not going to ask if you made a little mutant Jebediah doll-"
"I am," the introjection comes, and Doc's heart sinks into his gut. "And I made Jebediah. It's like giving stitches. I've seen you do it, it's easy."
Doc laughs. Disbelief, first. It bleeds into a feeling of genuine hilarity, like, the hell does Hank mean—he made the doll look like Jebediah? That old pile of bones? That… loser? Barely alive? Unable to keep his shit together? God, what?
It takes a few moments for Doc to realize that he's shaking. He doesn't want to let his rage get the better of him, he's more than that, he knows he can control himself. But the words jump out of his mouth before they can reach his brain.
"That's gross and you're a fucking idiot."
Hank is either unfazed or was expecting that kind of a response.
"Genuinely," Doc chuckles giddily, "what the fuck? You just… made your gross fake-crush into a doll and what, want to ask the real deal out on a date now? You think he'd actually be receptive to that? You know he hates you, right?"
The rusty metal spring of Doc's emotions wind tighter in his chest. Teeth grinding and nails biting into his palms as he shakes, "Just… god, Hank." Doc sniffles strongly, chest almost heaving as the sudden rage gets gets swallowed up by fear, sadness, He's dropping you, just like that.
So easily. You're nothing. You really thought after all these years, you'd matter?
Even compared to Jebediah fucking Christoff?
"You asked," Hank tells him.
"I fucking did," Doc snarls. Tears beading in the corners of his crosshair. He will not let himself cry. "And you're still. Fucking. Stupid. So if you're ready to stop messing with me and tell me the truth-" Please tell me you're joking. You can't love anyone because you can't love me.
"Okay," Hank interrupts him. "You need to calm down. Just buy the pizza."
Something in Doc snaps and he slams his fist onto the nearest surface. "You asshole- PIZZA? You still want PIZZA?"
"Yes? I don't know why you're acting like this."
A slew of words try to escape Doc in a single moment, and he nearly chokes on them. He nods sharply, turning away from Hank. This sucks. This really sucks, and on a list of things he would never be ready to talk about unprompted, this is very high up. And that itself is such an embarrassing thought to even entertain that it almost distracts him from how horrific he feels. Just… god. Fuck Hank for having feelings or wants at all. This would be so much easier if he just existed for Doc. He doesn't even have to be with him anymore! Doc's given up on that. It's obviously not going to happen, especially considering that he's being forced out of Hank's view by Jebediah of all people.
Doc clears his throat, turning back around.
"I'll get the pizza. When you're done, you need to get out of my house."
Hank tilts his head from side to side, "You're really dramatic, you know that?"
"…yes."
Doc doesn't know what else to say. He guesses he is.
It's been a long time since Doc has had a moment like that. Freshly made pizza is a good thing to eat if you want to decompress, or at least distract yourself. Hank likes extra sauce on his, so that's what they get. Doc would've gotten pepperoni but nowadays there's always a chance it'll upset his face.
They're sitting on the floor together while they eat it. Yeah, Doc's got chairs, but sometimes even at his age a bit of floor time isn't unappreciated. If anything it reminds him of when the two of them were younger, back when they were renting in the city and starting out with a mattress and a mini fridge and a microwave and that was it. It wasn't good by any means, but they were still learning so much about themselves and each other.
Hank gulps down a slice. "Why'd you get mad earlier?"
Doc doesn't want to state the obvious. Even if he did, Hank still wouldn't get it.
"I didn't."
It sounds like Hank is trying to clear his throat in slow motion—a laugh. Doc prays that they continue to eat in silence after this. His outburst from before is embarrassing and he'll never admit to it happening, but really? Jebediah Christoff? Hank has abysmal taste in men.
…which could potentially put himself into the category of 'abysmal taste'. He's not sure if he can bear that over the idea of Hank not having liked him ever in the first place. It's a double-edged sword.
"I can't possibly imagine him seeing anything in you worth dating," Doc tells Hank. He's not sure if Hank is looking to 'just date' Jebediah or if he is actually interested in sex nowadays. It makes him nauseous to even consider. Hank shrugs.
"I don't need to date him. Just to… go out on a date." He picks up another slice of pizza.
"Uh-huh. How do you think he'll take that kind of proposal?"
Hank doesn't hesitate when he tells Doc in full seriousness, "He will."
"What?"
"He'll take it."
Doc scoffs and rolls his eyes. There it is, the 'take charge' in Hank. Other than himself being the subject of it, Doc can in the periphery of his mind remember Sheriff also falling victim. Who, Doc hopes, Hank didn't have a thing for. More points in favor of 'Hank has abysmal taste'. Ugh.
"Well, unfortunately for you, you just missed a chance to ask him," Doc muses. He eats a whole other slice of pizza before realizing Hank hasn't said anything. Looking back up, he sees Hank staring at him. Completely still with full concentration, pizza slice almost slipping from his fingers.
Doc blanches. "He came back recently for some antibiotics. Remember how you couldn't stitch him back up while I was out?"
"Where is he." Hank doesn't miss a beat.
A scowl works its way onto Doc's face.
"Not here. You aren't really thinking of tracking him down for a date, are you?"
Hank stands up with a start.
"I can."
Doc scoffs again, "Sit down. Finish your pizza."
"I have to go," Hank tells him, scarfing down the last of his slice. "Bye."