Archive of Our Own ^beta

Artemy drifted back to consciousness gradually, the bed he had been resting in was more comfortable than the glorified wooden board in his lair, but not by much. At least Artemy felt well rested and rejuvenated for once -wait well rested? Was that right? How long had he slept!?

Artemy sat up and looked around Dankovsky’s room. Outside the rounded windows of the Stillwater he saw stars twinkling behind the canopy of trees, their branches sparse in the September chill. It was a peaceful sight but Artemy, in its half-awake state, couldn’t help but begin to feel intensely guilty. Dankovsky’s rude observation from before had not been wrong, Artemy felt just about ready to curl up and die when he finally arrived at the Stillwater with his gruesome delivery. But he had only wanted to sleep for an hour or two, enough to feel marginally further from death, in all ways except his surely very empty stomach. But a glance at the clock across the room proved he had far overstayed his welcome. It was late. Too late. Late enough that Artemy wished the Bachelor had kicked him out already, it was his bed after all.

Eyes drifting from the clock he attempted to take stock of his surroundings, and what confusing surroundings they were. Daniil had not fallen asleep, actually he seemed more awake then when they last spoke hours before. The Bachelor was irritated, his stiff posture and occasional scoffs and annoyed mumbling made that clear. His long coat sat propped up on the back of his desk chair, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his gloves were covered in blood. He looked disheveled, at least from what Artemy could see from behind. Artemy looked around. Many dusty books had been removed from the surrounding shelves, piled up on Daniil’s desk or littering the floor. Also on the floor around him were countless crumpled up, ripped, or burned scraps of paper. Taking a closer look Artemy noticed the legible writing on them was chaotic, going in multiple directions and interrupted by abrupt splotches of spilled ink. There was a small metal bin, likely a trash bin, next to the desk, it was filled with similarly ruined scraps of paper. Daniil must have spent hours upon hours brainstorming, clearly getting nowhere. The desk was also littered with petri dishes and jars, each with just a few scraps of tissue sample. Looks like Artemy would have to find more organs, if the antibodies were even still what the Bachelor was focused on.

A moment passed and suddenly Artemy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, he was familiar with this feeling, his intuition was trying to tell him something. His intuition or maybe something else, something stronger. Dread pooled in his gut as he tried to make sense of this mysterious inclination, his unconscious instincts yelled danger, yelled to run. Anxiety filled every muscle in his body, something was very wrong. Artemy just could not tell what yet. His ordinary mess of curious thoughts gave way to a moment of perfect focus, until his entire conscious mind was fixed on a pinprick in space. The Lines pulled taut, beckoning him forward, and Artemy felt compelled to let himself be dragged along, but his better judgement had other plans. Artemy stood up from the bed silently to get a better look at the situation, still not announcing his presence to his perturbed and surely sleep-deprived host. Artemy looked over Daniil’s shoulder to see something in his hands, he was fidgeting with something. A glint of candlelight on shining metal and suddenly every thought and action of Artemy’s was going far too fast to process.

It was a gun, a small revolver. Artemy watched as the man, suddenly far quieter than before, solemnly loaded it. Daniil turned it over in his hand once and then began moving to face the barrel towards himself.

Artemy moved faster than he could think, his instincts, intuition, and judgement all finally converged on one single course of action in a split second. He followed these tangled Lines, commanding him to intervene, to help, to protect.

His feet brought him hurtling forward until he found himself perched right behind Daniil, reaching directly past his head to pin the revolver with one hand to Daniil’s desk in front of the seated man. The gun was pulled out of the other man's grasp faster than he could react. In his haste Artemy hadn’t exactly considered how to best snatch the weapon. Now he was practically hunched over a panicked Daniil, at some point he had unconsciously placed a hand on Daniil’s opposite shoulder for support.

The two men were at a standstill for a moment. Daniil was speechless, his mouth hung open and his eyes were wide with shock. Artemy gasped for breath for a moment, steadying himself in this new, inconceivable reality he found himself in.

“Don’t you dare Dankovsky.” He panted close to Daniil’s ear.

Daniil glanced over at the shoulder Artemy was still gripping and Artemy, finally aware of where his body had ended up, withdrew. He took a step back, steadying himself against the far side of the desk instead, taking the revolver with him. He took a moment to fidget with the gun, unloading it and tossing the bullets across the floorboards with a metallic clink. A long moment passed by in the wake of Artemy’s flurry of action. Candle light flickered, illuminating Daniil’s darker features, the two of them stilled for a moment, glancing between the discarded bullets and each other.

Daniil looked at him with the same shocked wide brown eyes again, but his brows were knit together in panicked fear. His chest rose and fell quickly. But as an ugly anger rose to the surface Artemy discarded concerns for the Bachelor’s own reaction.

“So are you going to let me know what that was about? I mean, if this was some kind of misunderstanding I’m sorry! But last I checked ‘rational enlightened doctors’ aren’t meant to play with guns like they’re toys!” He spat with more anger than he really intended. Had Daniil really just done that? Artemy still couldn’t tell if he had made it all up in his head.

After a silent moment Daniil looked over his messy workspace then back at Artemy and, oh, he looked thoroughly exhausted. His visible eyebags and weary expression gave away every second he had spent awake, tormented over his work for the past several hours. His usually tidy dark hair was disheveled. What would he accomplish by berating him? Would it make this all make sense?

“I can’t do this again Burakh, not in this town, not this damned plague. No, not again.” Daniil’s voice was quiet and measured. His explanation was just as precise and well articulated as it was absurd.

“Again? Please tell me you aren’t giving up yet Dankovsky. There’s so many more cures to try, so much more to learn. I know your skills can be of use to us.” Artemy got no response. Frustrated, he continued “I was right there! Could you not have spoken with me, or hell, at least excused me from this maze of a house before you tried that stunt?” Artemy gestured wildly, trying to emphasize the strangeness of it all.

“You would have preferred it that way than? To not be involved? To wash your hands of it?” Daniil retorted in a snide tone, despite that it seemed like a genuine question he wanted the answer to.

“Of course not. . . I could have helped long before now, just so we’re clear. We could all see you were struggling, but I never thought- you shouldn’t have even- just, why?! You’re one of the only other doctors in this damn town. Speaking of which, why the hell are you so keen on leaving the rest of us to pick up the slack? Some noble doctor you are oynon, taking the coward's path out!” The words felt wrong in his mouth, too bitter, too blatant of a lie. They escaped his lips regardless.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable. We’ll all die here Burakh, there’s no hope. I’m sorry if you were under the impression there’s still hope to be found here. But there can’t be, not anymore.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like that girl Clara. Really? Do you also think I’ll ‘drown the town in blood’? ‘No hope’?” He scoffed “Is that what you’ve been telling your patients? The kids of this town come to you for help and you tell them we’re all doomed?!”

“This town doesn’t trust me like they trust you. The children keep their distance now, like everything I endeavour to heal, I can never get close enough to see it through. I should have known. Qui totum vult totum perdit.”

“I don’t understand you, or your way of thinking. Not even the parts in a language I can understand.” Artemy grumbled.

“I know. I know that well already. I wish you could.” Daniil replied practically without thinking, like a buried unconscious thought brought to the surface. The added confusion only served to irritate Artemy further.

Daniil looked him in the eye then, a soft, saddened, knowing expression on his face. His head cocked to one side inquisitively.

Artemy balled up his fist, the utter irritation getting on his nerves more than it should. How was he supposed to be of any help when half of what the man said was cryptic ramblings and the other half were spoken in blatant callous disregard to the value of his home and his people?

“You don’t know as much as you think you do. You look at me as if we’re worlds apart but you said it yourself. This town trusts me, knows me, and in return I know it better than anything. You’re a damn fool if you think that means nothing.”

“This town doesn’t need you or me. I know that for certain now. I think I may have lost sight of the last place which truly needed me long ago.”

Daniil’s single-minded determination to not listen to reason was far too dangerous to leave him to his own devices now. Drastic measures had to be taken. If nothing else then to keep him as safe as Artemy possibly could. The role of a protector was an instinct Artemy could not shake no matter how he tried, no matter how hard he wished to be rid of it. There was still some life left behind Daniil’s eyes, life worth defending. As his attention shifted the unloaded gun hung like a dead weight in Artemy’s grasp, he felt the weight of it shift between his fingers. He resented the gun. An impersonal, hideous, merciless weapon. One which can be so large it mows down thousands, or so small one solitary snake can hide it away for use whenever he pleases. So the target of his aggression was chosen.

Still looking Daniil squarely in the eyes Artemy flung the unloaded revolver to the ground with a clatter, watching Daniil’s expression contort in anger as he swiftly brought down the heel of his boot on its fragile metal components, smashing it into an unusable hunk of metal. The only way Artemy knew how to begin fixing this was to destroy the object at the heart of the conflict.

“You thoughtless brute-” Daniil attempted to sneer before being cut off

“Thoughtless? Oh yeah next you’ll tell me the steppe is devoid of grasses you prick.” Artemy growled in retort

“Next time, try not going to shoot yourself at your soonest convenience. Then maybe I won’t need to break your things.” he continued

Daniil stood perfectly still for a moment, seething, gathering his thoughts. Surprisingly, instead of looking to Artemy with his newly sparked anger, Artemy followed Daniil’s scornful gaze as it traveled to his disorganized desk again. Artemy watched as he grabbed a fistful of papers and struck a match. With a blaze the papers were soon just another pile of ashes in the trash bin beside the desk. Daniil swiped paper, glass, and labware all into that bin, flinging dozens of items towards the ground in swift, precise motions until it seemed all his burning frustration fizzled out. Artemy shifted where he stood, letting the moment drag on in silence. He watched the determination and the remaining fight in him drain from his face. Daniil seemed resigned, accepting, even. Artemy let go of a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in.

“There’s nothing good about this town, and nothing worth all this useless research. . .” As the sentence tapered off Daniil looked puzzled, looking for the right words, looking barely awake enough to stand, nevermind form an explanation for whatever had led him to something so drastic.

“. . . I’m tired. I’m so tired, Artemy. I came here with so much hope, I only wish there was a way out for me now.”

Artemy considered those words. Looking away for just a moment to gather his thoughts. There was something unusual about those words, something he was missing. He wanted to understand, not just the words but the man who spoke them. As the adrenaline died down Artemy felt a familiar guilt tugging at him. He had assumed too much, assigned his own reasons when all he needed was answers. He hated suicide, scorned even its possibility, but could he not differentiate tumor from his patient's own flesh? What exactly was he trying to excise? What was guiding his hand? A careful reading of the lines? Or a hasty attack spurred on by animalistic fear? His gaze had softened when he looked back at Daniil. He knew that all-consuming exhaustion, at least in part. It was a difficult affliction to cure, but not so difficult to treat.

He stepped forward to where Daniil stood between his desk and chair and carefully clasped his hands with Daniil’s, gloved and bloodied as they were.

“It's difficult to give this town another chance, I know oynon. They barely let me live long enough to get my second chance. But they’re all just people. This is all far too human of a reaction to write them all off yet, right? So many people are struggling to survive right now. Please. Live long enough to let me show you what’s important enough to save in this town.” He hoped baring a bit of his soul could help him understand what exactly Daniil was really talking about. But he didn’t expect Daniil to react in kind. He watched Daniil’s sad, guarded expression give way to one filled with a fondness Artemy wasn’t sure he deserved.

Artemy let go of Daniil’s hands and watched him step back a bit, Daniil spent a moment looking around at the state of the room, seemingly now more aware of it than he had been since Artemy woke up.

Artemy gently picked up the broken revolver from the ground, cringing at the smear of blood his hands carried onto its polished surface from Daniil’s gloves. He set it on the desk, catching Daniil looking over at it. He looked down at the bloodied gloves over his hands, this time the faint but noticeable quickening of his breathing drew Artemy’s attention. At a point even a doctor can’t be faulted for fearing the sight of blood, namely, the point at which one finds their hands drenched in it.

“Erdem, please, let me help.” Artemy’s voice rung quietly through the air between them. A string of soft, reassuring whispers followed. Daniil hardly reacted. There was a hollow look in his eyes characteristic of someone who had not slept in far too long.

Artemy cautiously removed the gloves, finding some blood still dried onto Daniil’s pale arms. When he looked back up Daniil was already looking away again, burning with shame, his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed together. Artemy quickly pulled a small length of cloth from one of his many pockets, this one decidedly not from a trash can as many of his possessions seemed to be these days. He dabbed a few drops of water onto it and wiped away the last traces of blood. But when he looked back up Daniil still looked ashamed, pulling away from his gentle touch. Had he gotten something wrong again? Artemy placed the gloves on the desk, resigned to whatever judgement he had been given.

“I can leave if you’d like me to go Daniil. I’m just worried for you is all. Please tell me how I can help, anything you need.”

“Please . . . don’t go.” was the quiet but decisive reply that followed right after he finished his sentence. Daniil’s tired, unfocused brown eyes met his, he truly meant it.

“I won’t then. But you need rest oynon. Would you let me help you to bed?”

Daniil followed Artemy’s lead. While Artemy readjusted the bedding from where he had haphazardly tossed it Daniil removed his tight and uncomfortable vest, his cravat and its pin, and his shoes, but gave up on getting any more comfortable, exhaustion made even that too taxing to bear.

Artemy sat on the bed and helped Daniil lie down. Although it felt like an intrusion of sorts he would not disobey Daniil’s simple request of him. Artemy whispered hushed reassurances but it was hardly needed, he watched with a newfound tenderness as his Daniil finally shut his eyes and slept. All they had argued about seemed so insignificant now. What was the point debating philosophies when sleep would cure far more wounds then words alone?

Daniil woke up again in the same rickety, cramped bed. In the cold, nearly empty house he was beginning to resent. But something was different now. He wasn’t alone anymore. He was tucked under the warm blankets but laying right beside him on top of the blankets was Artemy. He didn’t think his asking would be all it would take to keep him here but it seemed this Artemy cared just as fiercely as all the others. In every eventuality he was forced into, there was a man to which the word “stay” was always enough.