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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

Graverobber moved one more step right into Nathanâ??s personal space then stopped, wide mouth twitching with that same large grin. He liked this. It was vaguely domestic and completely innocent and Graverobber didnâ??t think he had ever interacted with another human being like this. And with no one to see them, well, it was as good as not doing it. Least that was how he figured it when he leaned in with a wolfish grin, snatched the towel an said in a sing song voice, â??Donâ??t know what youâ??re talking about, Doc. Sheâ??s seen me before. Maybe you mean something more specific on me.â?

He couldnâ??t help. Nathan was so â?¦ not Repo at the moment that it made his insides warm like heâ??d had something half-rotten to eat. The old manâ??s face was so serious as he tried his damnedest to keep the scavenger covered as if that was how heâ??d keep the man under control. It was cute.

â??Itâ??s okay to say â??penisâ??, Doc,â? he murmured in that low voice, the hand that wasnâ??t holding the towel below his belly button coming up to cup Nathanâ??s face. â??You can even say â??dickâ?? if you like.â? As far as he was concerned, they were playing, honestly playing, with no sharp edges to the conversation. His thumb traced Nathanâ??s bottom lip.

He didnâ??t even hear the soft crack of a door than an even quieter gasp. The slam was pretty obvious, though.
 
"You know precisely what I mean." Nathan said, somewhere between irritability and a frustrated sort of amusement; he felt like he was dealing with an overgrown child right then - one with the most ridiculous hair he'd ever seen, "Yes, well, I'm aware of the - terminology. Sometimes even I forget it, but I am, in fact, a doctor, now I would appreciate it if you would -"

Graverobber's hand went to his face, and Nathan faltered at the tenderness,

"-would -" he repeated, but lost anything he was going to say as he found himself staring blankly at Graverobber, feeling the man's thumb trace his bottom lip.

Of course, then there was the sound of the door opening, and Nathan's eyes fell shut in a wince, teeth gritted at the gasp, and shoulders jerked when the door slammed closed again. After a silence, Nathan let out a slow, long-suffering sigh.
 
It was a surprising moment of affection for him, but being alone with Nathan made him braver. The old man had him at an impasse; here he had planned on feeding the good doctor little doses of warmth so he'd keep the scavenger around and Graverobber would get all the bonuses that implied. He'd had the upper hand in his mind, the same way any dealer did. He'd get food, sex, a good place to sleep when he wanted and a man with eccentric complications for miles. Graverobber hadn't expected to hand over a weakness, hadn't expected that the thin smiles and soft sounds his doctor made would give him his own craving.

They were almost equals here, and Graverobber wasn't sure what to do about it. Hell, if he was being completely honest, they weren't quite equals because Graverobber was hooked and he wasn't sure he'd appreciate being cut off.

That was why he had tried to bury that damned human part of him, the part that flared up like some affectionate acid reflux when Nathan stammered, his expressionless face different than normal.

Graverobber's head whipped around, paying no mind to the trajectory of his damp hair, stared for a moment, chuckled and dropped his head to wrap the towel around his hair. There was no point now in keeping the towel at censorship level: the kid would have already got an eyeful of pasty, grave robbing flesh. It was probably the old man's worst nightmare, up there with the kid getting a tattoo, a nose ring and joining a band of colorfully dressed adolescents. The Graverobber popped back up, gave Nathan a big grin, the dark blue towel now a wonderfully wrapped turban to keep his hair off his back, then flounced off to the bedroom like the overgrown kid Nathan had previously compared him to.
 
Nathan was pretty sure that if there was some sort of Worst Parental Unit award, he would be the runner up for it, just after Rotti Largo; though his expression didn't fully convey it, Nathan was mortified that his daughter had just seen his - his - what, boyfriend? Was that the word? - naked. It may have only been the rear view, but that was more than enough to set off the censor alarms in the aging Repo Man's head.

If it weren't for the fact he was disconcerted by what had just happened, he might have laughed at the sight of Graverobber practically skipping down the hallway naked, wearing only a towel like a headdress.

He smirked a little, but pushed it down, sternly telling himself that wasn't funny and that if it was, his sense of humour needed tweaking.

"You're not doing that again," Nathan called after him, half-heartedly because he knew there wasn't a real way to actually stop the other man from doing anything he wanted to do.
 
If Graverobber heard Nathan refer to himself as a â??Parental Unitâ??, the doctor would be put in the running for â??Oldest Nerd Who Happened to Have Had Childrenâ??.

Parental Unit, indeed.

But Graverobber, for all his people watching and studying, was not a mind reader and was fortunately not privy to that little slip. Instead, he pretended that he had conveniently not heard the command (because if he wanted to prowl the house naked, he would until Nathan forced him not to, and that wouldnâ??t be all that bad, would it?) and returned to the bedroom to gather his clothes. They, unfortunately, still smelled of dirt and decay, sweet and earthy. Nathan was rubbing off on him because he noticed, for once, the way the material smelled, how it felt stiff in his fingers from grime. He stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then pulled on the shirt anyways.

Later, maybe once they were done with their little meeting with Ray, heâ??d head by his place and pick up some more clothes. He did laundry every once and awhile, and maybe when Nathan was gone and it was just him and the kid, heâ??d wash something, surprise him.

Course, heâ??d have to leave one set of clothes dirty: the scalpel sluts wouldnâ??t recognize him if he smelled like fresh flowers or whatever Nathanâ??s laundry detergent was.
 
Nathan didn't follow after Graverobber - he knew better, knew that if he had trailed after him into the bedroom, he would have found an excuse to keep the tramp around just a little bit longer before they left to see Dr. Bankole. As urgent as the matter was, he would have found a reason to linger there, found a way to convince himself that they could wait for just a few more minutes - all because the paranoia was welling up inside of him.

Surgery; Marcus would be going for surgery, and might not come back from it.

He took a deep breath, the way he had done so many times before, and resolved not to be distracted again.

"We have to go, Marcus," Nathan said aloud, heading down the stairs now, putting some physical space between them, feeling as though the distance had somehow cleared his head, like Graverobber had filled it with a pink mist.

For the first time in a long time, Nathan exited his home through the front door and had to pause for a moment to stare at his front yard in the daylight.
 
Graverobber could hear Nathanâ??s feet on the stairs, not all that heavy but still not as quiet as when he was playing ninja-Repo. â??Coming, Doc,â? he shouted, following the good doctor down the stairs as he fiddled with his fly. The one problem with going commando? Sure, you got out of having to worry about having clean underwear, but catching yourself in your zip was a good way not to have a happy day.

But the young man was obviously a pro, and ended up out the door with nary a member in the horrible jaws ofâ?¦ done up pants. He squinted then let out an elegant and precise, â??Fuck.â? It was too early. He couldnâ??t remember the last time he had seen the sun at that height in the sky, mocking him, the damned ball of radiation and nuclear physics. Mocking him for being up when he should have just crashed in whatever dumpster, bed, etc that he would have spent the early morning and afternoon in.

If this went any further, Nathan would have him on an exercise plan and drinking orange juice. Fucking morning appointments with Ray.

â??What are you waiting for?â? Graverobber passed Nathan, giving his shoulder a good, manly, â??Weâ??re certainly not having kinky sexâ?? smack as he went by for the benefit of the old lady that was peering at them from her barred windows. It might, however, have looked like the â??Iâ??m dealing drugs and setting him up with hookersâ?? slap, though, if the look she gave him when he smiled at her was any indication. This was rich. Nathanâ??s neighborhood was filled with the sort of people that freaked out when your azaleas didnâ??t match your trim. Not that plants grew that well anymore, not out in the open. But the idea was the same. Ignoring the whole plague thing and the murderer standing next to him, the scene might have come out of â??Leave It to Beaverâ??, a show Graverobber was sure Nathan had watched for tips at how to be as boring as possible, especially in the realm of sleepwear. Graverobber glanced to Nathan, dark eyes sizing him up warily.

Or maybe, under the leather and blood, he was that boring.

But under that, there was a deep and disturbing love of blood, so his odd onion-like fuckbuddy couldnâ??t be all bad.
 
The manly smack on the back struck so hard that Nathan jerked forward slightly, and the action knocked his glasses askew for an instant, nearly making them tumble off his face before he set a finger against the bridge of them and shoved them back up his face; from the corner of his eye, he could see his nextdoor neighbour, Mrs. Hubble, staring at them through her kitchen window. She and her husband had always been particularly - invested - people when it came to the rest of the neighbourhood, and had been around when Nathan had first moved in with Marni.

Of course, Nathan had been quiet and unassuming; he hadn't bothered anyone or really even made efforts to get to know them, beyond the meek smiles he would exchange during moments they happened to step out of their homes at the same time - which only happened when Nathan didn't time it properly to avoid them. Marni, however, had been extraordinarily outgoing, making a point of loudly greeting everyone she ran into, and when she realized the Hubbles were always watching them, she had taken to exhibitionism - in particular, she had enjoyed following her unaware husband out onto the front steps and yanking him into the most innappropriate full-contact kisses that she could summon. It always startled the Hubbles, and thus always left her walking back inside with a self-satisfied smirk on her face, telling him to have a nice day at work, dear.

Of course, given the sense of humour Nathan was privately inclined to, he had decided to maul her while she was gardening one evening; she had been a small-framed woman, so sweeping her into his arms had been easy and he had leaned her back and kissed her in such a way that she had ended up sitting on the grass at the end of it looking impressed and vaguely alarmed. The two of them had ended up rolling around on the grass like uncontrollable teenagers, her in a sun dress and rubber gloves, him in his labcoat and tweed. The Hubbles had sent them a nasty letter the next day, which Marni had framed.

Nathan had to shake himself out of the memory; the garden had brought him back to it - and probably the sight of Mrs. Hubble's haggard face. She looked at him differently these days - back then, there had only been a vague sourness to her expression, but now there was something more like malice on her face, something nasty that sometimes left Nathan wondering what she knew.

And sometimes, he hated to admit, it left Repo itching.

Nathan quirked an eyebrow at Graverobber and for an insane instant he considered throwing the man down on the grass and finishing what they had started in the shower - but he reminded himself of priorities, and scaring his neighbour wasn't one of them. The doctor moved along the pathway and out through the front gate, trying not to think about how foreign the world felt to him right then.
 
The younger man wasnâ??t sure what weird chemical imbalance brought on by years of drugs possessed him at the moment. Maybe it was just the way Nathanâ??s eyebrows moved in the light, so faded during the day. Maybe it was the way his steps were almost unsteady. Maybe he was imagining it all, but Graverobber reached down for a hand, just as ghostly pale as his own and squeezed lightly.

Graverobber didnâ??t say a word, but he made sure they held hands until they got into his turf, where affection like that was deadly.

Sometimes, even jaded drug dealers wanted a little warmth in their lives and letting go of the morningâ??s heat to wander back into the cold of the fucking city was harder than quitting Z.

Ray, of course, was waiting, in the form of little, baby You. She didnâ??t shake this time, instead meeting Nathanâ??s eyes with her own very clear brown ones. â??Dr. Bankole is waiting for you,â? she said, her voice steady and so very adult that Graverobber wanted to laugh. She was a piece of work. Ray had got that stick up her ass early on and sheâ??d seem to have simply melded to it. With a wave of her little brown hand, she started leading the two men into the death trap that was Ray's charity hospital.

â??Dr. Singh will be the one preforming the surgery, but Dr. Bankole has requested you speak with him."

Graverobber stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait, surgery? Who the fuck is getting surgery?"
 
For the first time in a long time, Nathan felt genuine surprise - as they walked through the front yard and out the gate, Graverobber suddenly reached for his hand and took hold of it, and the gesture was so uncharacteristically warm that all Nathan could do was stare at the other man, his expression somewhere between puzzlement and a sad sort of contentment. It lasted until the day gave way to the filthy darkness of the alleyways and they both released their hold on eachother and walked side by side, looking as casual as two men of their appearance could look together - Graverobber in his grubby clothes and rainbow dreadlocks, Nathan in his three-piece tweed suit and thick-framed glasses.

The walk wasn't long, but it felt like it for Nathan, who was experiencing a chill in his stomach, combined with the familiar edge of guilt - he had spent nearly half of his life feeling guilty, but what he was doing now was a fresh lash. He was aware that he could be leading Graverobber to his death if anything went wrong during the surgery - but then, if it all went according to plan, then he would live far past what statistics said he would.

And entering the building, Nathan found himself faced once again with the small, dark face of You - she looked directly at him this time, and there was some comfort in that fact. She may have still feared him - or at least what he was capable of - but he couldn't be certain.

And then Graverobber was stopping in his tracks and Nathan felt his heart sink; he had known this moment would come, of course, but he wasn't entirely certain he could have prepared himself for it. He did his best not to let the guilt enter his voice, but it managed to show in his eyes,

"I saw your file." Nathan said flatly, "You've got two years left at most - and that's pushing it."
 
â??Uh uh,â? Graverobber grunted in his own articulate way. There was no way in hell that he was getting on one of these make-shift operating tables. For fuckâ??s sake, they were dealing with equipment that was already a decade old in some cases. The only people that came here were desperate orâ?¦

Or had pissed off GeneCo.

Graverobber hadnâ??t really done anything bad in his mind. After all, many a dealer and grave robber still went in for surgery, with the surGENs with the perky breasts that nearly popped out of their gauzy dresses and the up-to-date (if gaudy) equipment. Graverobber could do the same thing. Only Amber was watching. And probably dear old Daddy Largo, too, because heâ??d been boning his Repo Man. Going under their knives would be the quickest way for him to get his lungs removed, never put back in and his body thrown away in a big dump.

Or maybe on the payroll proper.

Bright blue eyes shaded with just the hint of panic turned to Nathan. â??Two years is still a fucking while,â? he snarled, but for what? Two years, King Rotti might still be alive making him still on the List of People to Fuck Over, right next to his Doc. And Nathan was right: two years was pushing it. Graverobber had moments where his lungs hitched, ached and he had to cough to set them right again, like jumpstarting an old car. They were on the way out and, if he didnâ??t get them replaced, so was he. â??Fucking mother of Christ,â? he added irritably, moving closer to Nathan as they got away from the crowded entrance. â??Did you find these, Doc? Better than roses or chocolate for a present." His mouth was open and his teeth bared as if he was trying to smile, but he was failing miserably.
 
Nathan's expression was grim as he watched the reactions flick over Graverobber's face; it began with confusion, turned to disbelief, followed quickly by panic - and the vagrant was trying to reason here, saying that two years was plenty of time, that maybe at some point during that time he would come by another chance like this and wouldn't need to face it so soon.

Then came the anger, but it was laced with acceptance - Graverobber knew that this was his best chance for survival, something he had always been good at, and turning this down would go against the very core of his personality. After all, given who he sold to, Nathan's grave robber had managed to be the only one in the entire city who had Rotti Largo personally keeping an eye on him - not to mention that Amber Sweet was likely keeping tabs, she would always want to know where her supplier was, especially since Graverobber was the only one with a spine that allowed him to sell to a Largo. Or maybe it wasn't bravery; maybe it was just because he was insane.

Either way, he knew that he had to go through with the surgery, but Nathan couldn't blame him for being annoyed with the surprise.

"Yes, they were just laying in a trash can behind a Chinese take-out; I dusted them off and figured there was no sense wasting them." Nathan replied, heading down the hallway and eyeing the walls - there was an attempt to keep the place clean, and it smelled vaguely of solvent, but only in a distant sort of way that indicated funds were so low that even bleach needed to be used sparingly.

He peered over his glasses at Graverobber for a moment, watching him bare his teeth,

"You'll be fine." Nathan said crisply, even though he wasn't so sure he believed it himself.
 
Nathan was completely correct: survival was such an important part of Graverobberâ??s life that it fueled his insanity. After all, making oneâ??s self valuable to those in charge, especially through their darling daughters, was how one stayed alive, especially when they did have a habit of insanity. And the offer was so tempting that even someone without Graverobberâ??s cockroach like urge to stay alive wouldnâ??t be able to turn away.

A pair of nice lungs, so he could run and jump and play all he wanted. Fuck. That was familiar, wasnâ??t it?

Only now play involved crawling into a Repo Manâ??s bed and sucking him off in the most boring house known to man (ignoring the basement) and Graverobber found he wanted to be able to do that for a long time. He was pushing the age for grave robbers, but the idea of having more than a measly two years to explore the things that made Nathan curse and his kid giggle with joy sounded pretty good.

â??Easy for you to say,â? he muttered anyways as You disappeared down one of the faded white hallways. Graverobber leaned in towards Nathan a little, dropping his head so they were almost touching. For some reason, the other manâ??s warmth felt good, even if he knew he had to be imagining it. After all, the weather was fucking humid and miserable, especially in the city where the asphalt and concrete backed all day. â??Youâ??re not going under the knife. I shoulda known youâ??d pull shit like this.â?

He should have been angrier. He was angry. But his voice had a sort of amusement to it. He was learning his Doc, after all, and if he wasnâ??t careful heâ??d end up in a room just like the kid while he recovered, lock and all. Graverobber parted his lips to say something more, but Ray took that time to sweep in with some small, crooked Indian woman.

â??Ah, Dr. Wallace,â? he said, his obnoxiously colored clothes sticking out even worse than the Graverobberâ??s dreads because the scavenger at least knew how to match colors. Sort of. â??Follow me and Dr. Singh. Iâ??ve called two nurses to get you prepâ??d for surgery,â? he added a sort of after thought to Nathan. Fuck. Something else was going on. Singh gave him a thin little smile before whisking away with Ray and Nathan.

For a moment, Graverobber felt afraid.
 
Nathan managed to look indignant, a man utterly insulted by the implications of 'pulling shit like this', but the closeness of the other man, though brief, was somehow reassuring enough to make the expression fade. Hearing the amusement in the other man's voice, he peered over at Graverobber and felt a sudden and powerful affection for the vagrant, and directly afterwards, felt a cold chill that told him he was in over his head.

The feeling grew when Singh and Bankole entered the room and told him to get prepped for surgery.

Graverobber getting prepped - that made sense.

But him?

Nathan stared at the two as they began off down the hallway, and he shot a brief look at Graverobber before moving along beside him,

"There's been some misunderstanding," Nathan said, bringing a hand to his chest, "I'm not -"

Well - he was a doctor, yes. And a surgeon. But he hadn't set foot in an operating room outside of the one in his basement for seventeen years; the street had become his surgical table.

"I don't do that sort of surgery anymore." he finished lamely.
 
â??Which is why Dr. Singh will be supervising.â? Rayâ??s hand hovered next to Nathanâ??s shoulder just in case the man decided to bolt, tweed flapping in the wind. The old man couldnâ??t understand how the baby doctor managed to keep from flushing in those heavy clothes, but it seemed that somewhere with the proper fashion came some kind of self-regulating response to temperature.

Ray preferred his painfully bright Hawaiiâ??n shirts, thank you very much. They brought out the color of his pain in the ass-ness.

â??Besides, Iâ??d like to keep the grave robber under anesthetic for the least time possible. I feel that you may perfect for getting out the lungs in record time.â? He glanced down to Nathan, bright green eyes (which managed to clash with every piece of clothing he was wearing, including the lab coat, because Ray was just that damned good) examining his face. â??Iâ??ve seen your videos with Magâ??s eyes and the work on the lungs. Dr. Sing, with her better professional opinion, has as well. I donâ??t want to see your hands wasted, especially not by Largo.â?

The two doctors, used to the layout (and one navigating it half blind most of the time), managed to drag Nathan along in record time. Ray didn't like how quiet Singh was; something was wrong, though it might have just been the idea of working with one of Largo's. He hadn't, of course, told her that Nathan was a Repo Man nor had he given a full name, but she wasn't stupid and she could read him as if every thought he had flashed right across his face in giant, neon letters. "Scrub up well, Doctor. We do our best to keep infection rates down."
 
Nathan, though already pale enough to be called 'colourless', had somehow managed to go several shades whiter during the brief walk down the hallway; if he was a god-fearing man, he might have rolled his eyes skyward and asked why, but as a man of science, all he could do was grimly accept that sometimes things just sucked.

Given Bankole's personality, he probably should have seen this coming - it couldn't be as simple as bringing in the organs and paying the surgeons, no, Ray would have to get him involved in it - well, more involved than he already was. Even worse, they were asking him to sink his hands into the chest cavity of the man he was sharing a bed with, and that fact caused his stomach to lurch violently; by the time Bankole finished speaking, even Nathan's lips were without colour, leaving him a palette of slate grays and whites, with only the hazel of his eyes to break the ghostly colour scheme.

That video.

"That damn video," Nathan rasped out; Largo had absolutely needed to tape it, hadn't wanted to miss the momentous occasion where GeneCo did the first eye transplant, but why couldn't he have stayed anonymous? Why did Largo have to insist on naming him in the thing? He couldn't have predicted something like this - even Rotti's power and money could only go so far, after all, but that goddamn video was going to trail along behind him for the remainder of his life.

He hadn't done surgery for years, couldn't even remember what it felt like, because the last seventeen years had been filled with bodies that he forcibly removed organs from, and none of them had involved him putting them back in.

Nathan looked ill and shaken, but he didn't argue; Graverobber's life was at stake, and if he refused, there was a chance that Bankole would back out, and Nathan couldn't risk it. He did, however, give Bankole one desperate look before he crossed over to the sinks.
 
Because that video had once been the crowning jewel in Rotti Largoâ??s replacementâ??s surgical crown, back when Nathan Wallace had just been an ordinary, but skilled, SurGEN. It was another piece of the puzzle Ray had dug up and the man was starting to feel he had at least a few of the edge pieces.

Prana took her spot at Wallaceâ??s side in the sinks. â??Make sure you spend a lot of time on the mechanical motion,â? she said in her delicately accented voice, echoing Rayâ??s previous advice. Back when the world wasnâ??t a hell hole, sheâ??d grown up in the UK and had never quite shaken the mix of Indian and British accents. Last Ray had heard, the UK had closed itself off in a quarantine. Something about land reclamation, too, but he had a lot more on his plate right in the city. â??We have a lot more areas where infection can occur. Irene,â? she said to a middle-aged woman that had slinked into the pre-op room. â??This is Doctor Wallace. Heâ??s been out of the loop for a very long time and should something go wrong, Iâ??m going to move you from anesthetics to surgery, got it?â?

The woman nodded, and smiled at Nathan. Lines at the corners of her blue-green eyes crinkled in good cheer as she pulled on a faded Batman patterned surgical cap over short brown hair. â??So youâ??re Rayâ??s pet project,â? she said, voice a little low for a womanâ??s as she directed Nathan towards the actual surgery.

Graverobber was lying on the table, stiff lipped and, if it was possible, paler than usual. Someone had gone through and finished the happy job of shaving him and cleaning his now shirtless chest, revealing the old scars to the high intensity lights above him. That same someone must have told him to keep his dirty hands away from the skin that would be cut, thank you very much, because his stained fingers were tapping away on the cold metal and plastic of the table. Nerves. He didnâ??t even glance over when the doctors entered the room, all rustling scrubs and gowns. Graverobber wasnâ??t entirely certain he could take seeing those familiar pale eyes, one with a dark splotch of something warm like brandy, peeking at him from over a mask. Not when those same fucking eyes belonged to a Repo Man that might or might not want him dead and skinned for a shirt.

Oh, god. Bad idea. Now he wished he had been to Church some time in the last decade, because he was pretty sure theyâ??d appointed a patron saint of surgeries sometime and he wanted to know the name to pray to. Rayâ??s makeshift hospital wasnâ??t giving him the sort of odds he would like.
 
Nathan heard Dr. Singh speaking to him, he understood her words and saw the laugh lines that formed around her eyes when she smiled, but his mind was absorbed by how bright the world inside the surgery room was; it was poorly funded, that was clear enough, but efforts had been made to keep it clean and the smell of solvents hung in the air in a too familiar way. An excess of lights hung overhead and cast the patient into sharp focus, an expanse of suddenly too-pale flesh beneath burning brightness, every part of him highlighted in a way that made him look like he had died just waiting for the actual surgery.

An array of sharp, gleaming steel was at the ready nearby; pliant flesh on a table. Nearby, a GeneCo organ storage container.

A mask on his face.

Gloves.

Repo lingered coolly nearby, awaiting his moment because as far as he was concerned, this was his territory - he was the one who gutted things, cut them open and brought blood to the surface. That was his job. Patients belonged to Repo.

Nathan's eyes fell onto the table for a second time, and he found himself following the length of the ridiculously hued dreadlocks all the way up to the scalp, then down the profile, over the long nose and the grimly set mouth, and he felt his own heart thudding painfully in his chest.

But this one was Nathan's. This one belonged to him.

For a moment, Nathan saw his own reflection in stainless steel, and hard, angry eyes stared back at him just before he managed to push the monster back down where it belonged, back into its cage and away from this, away from the white and the bright lights and the metal - away from Graverobber, while curtly informing the predator:

He's mine and you can't have him.

It didn't matter that there were others in the room; for a moment they vanished entirely and all that existed was the silly, foolish, ridiculous, filthy scavenger that he just wanted to take back to his home and keep warm. Not for the first time, it occurred to Nathan that he was doomed, but the feeling had never been quite as pronounced as it was right then when he took Graverobber's hand, squeezing it just once.

He said nothing, however, because he knew the words would never be right, not even now.

"I brought alternatives," Nathan said suddenly, voice firm, "No zydrate. I don't want him relying on it through the healing process."
 
Graverobber managed to have a whole huge paradigm shift without even knowing it.

It started back before, when the old man had gotten soft on him and kissed him in a way that tasted of sour and blood, the same sort of taste he got in his mouth when heâ??d been stabbed that one time in the stomach and had vomited up blood. Not that the old guy had been turning his guts out any time earlier than the day, it was just the dealer had a few wires crossed in his brain and stuff came out the wrong way, where pain had a taste and tastes like grave dirt had colors to them. The room had a taste to it, too, but that wasnâ??t the important part.

The important part was that he was watching Nathanâ??s face behind the surgical mask over the talk of women, all women, voices like warm honey and hand sanitizer, and that he recognized the good doctorâ??s inner conflict as something more important than his own. Because he wasnâ??t inner conflicting so much as fucking scared of the monster that was going to have access to his innards, but for some reason him being scared shitless didnâ??t matter too much. Not when the Docâ??s eyes looked like that, so angry, like Repo was pissed like a mother fucker and taking it out on the doctorâ??s insides.

His own long fingers, surprisingly steady, squeezed back. Momentary show of weakness, but, fuck, it was all women so they wouldnâ??t notice, right? Besides, chicks dug that sort of thing, emotions and all, but that didnâ??t really matter either.

Nathanâ??s eyes were so washed out. The harsh, artificial light had gone and stolen what little color the man had left, made him look deader than usual. Graverobber usually liked corpses.

He didnâ??t like his doctor looking like a corpse.

So he smiled: a twisted, sardonic thing that got a little more pained when Nate mentioned the lack of Z. Fucking Doc. For Chrissakeâ??s, he was going to have some charity surgeon cut into his chest, remove his crap lungs and not even give him the glow afterwards?

What a hardass.

Unfortunately, the very Nathan-like concern of his mild addiction made him feel a little warm, warmer than he should feel in that sterile room.

The woman who had taken up a seat near his head laughed, voice like broken glass in his mind because she was staring at his doctor in a certain when he looked up. â??Dr. Bankole said youâ??d want that,â? she said under her mask, her pixie hair cut hidden under that stupid cartoon cap. â??Pulled out a general anesthetic we use on those that kicked the Z habit.â? Her fingers were warm and rubbery when she placed the mask on his face and it tasted of plastic and, oddly, yellow, and when she turned her head down and looked at him with gentle, pretty eyes he nearly panicked. â??Count to ten for me,â? she said, and he hated her for â?¦ he didnâ??t know, really. Sterilized, Zydrate blue eyes rolled towards Nathan.

â??Doc,â? he croaked, instead of counting, and the last thing he saw before his mind rolled off where those mismatched eyes, highlighted with purple and lines and set over a stale, white mask.
 
Nathan nearly started when Graverobber's hand squeezed back - in front of others, no less.

But the tiny gesture held enough meaning for the broken old man that he might have smiled beneath the mask if he hadn't been so terrified of what he was about to do. Graverobber managed a smile - or something like one, anyways, but it was a bitter and twisting thing that was so characteristic that this time Nathan really did smile, and it showed just at the corners of his eyes, and only for an instant before it was exchanged with a more stern expression.

Of course Bankole had known; the man seemed to predict everything correctly; Nathan nodded to the woman at the end of the table and unlike Graverobber, adored her for the fact she was caring for the colourful idiot on the table.

And then there was eye contact, blue eyes that made Nathan's heart wrench for a moment, his brows knitting as he watched Graverobber sink into unconsciousness, forcing Nathan to acknowledge that he might not open his eyes again.

But then, Marcus had lived through a lot of things that should have killed him - including being the bedfellow of a repo man.

There was a final whisper from Repo, but Nathan stamped it out and his mind reverted to a time long ago where his world had consisted of clean, sleek metal and anesthetic, and patients that were meant to walk out of the building again.

"Well," Nathan said finally, nervously, "I suppose we'll be alright as long as we remember to put the lungs back in."

Probably not a good time for dark humour.
 
â??At least one, yes.â?

Irene glanced to the near-ancient equipment (had to be half a decade, which in an age of hyper-fast invention, was as good as having the display set to cuneiform), blue-green eyes expertly logging the heart rate, O2 rates, etc. Unlike Wallace, sheâ??d been doing this her whole life, all the way until she got into her thirties and had to retire. Well. She didnâ??t have to. She had the chance of getting copious amounts of surgery from that time forward to look like sheâ??d made it to twenty-five, stopped, and simply never developed any further.

She had never felt so good to say â??ver derhargetâ?? as she had then. Her grandmother would have been proud, both for the Yiddish and the general sentiment.

â??Heâ??s completely under, Dr. Singh.â? One hand smoothed away an artificially coloured lock of hair, noting the general uniformity and the color of the clean hair. The dealer was in pretty good shape for a kid that lived on the streets. Musculature, too, was good. He probably got enough to eat, unlike most of the junkies that came through the doors. Low chance of dying in surgery, she hoped, because Wallace just didnâ??t look like heâ??d be able to take it.

â??Weâ??re going to remove the left lung first. Have a care: these organs will be donated to someone else.â? Irene looked to Prana, confused. Usually she was a pleasant woman; not the most talkative, but smiled. Today, today she was cool and biting off the end of her words. Ireneâ??s brow furrowed over her mask, very similar to Nathanâ??s expression, as she tried to fit together her superiorâ??s recent bad moods. Ray and her werenâ??t fighting, sheâ??d seen that; there would be copious amounts of flowers exploding in the Indian womanâ??s small apartment. It couldnâ??t be Wallace. Wallace was too adorable for anyone to be angry at for too long of time. â??Scalpel.â?

Of course, if what Ray cautioned her about was true, she thought as she watched one of the nurseâ??s reach over and swab the skin as another handed off a shining metal tool, then he could turn nasty at first blood and theyâ??d have to down a Repo Man before finishing the surgery. Irene wasnâ??t entirely sure that the meek, grey looking man across from her could really be a big problem, but Ray had insisted that sheâ??d keep a tranq on her.

Singhâ??s gloved hand was stable as she made that first, fluid cut. Blood welled up, scarlet against the scavengerâ??s marbled skin. Irene watched the manâ??s face, his muscles, checking for any twitch, tightening, some sign that the anesthetic wasnâ??t working as they pulled back skin and bone.
 
Even with the heavy smell of cheap solvents hanging in the air, there was no disguising the scent of blood from Repo; the moment flesh was pierced, he could feel his darker half rattling his cage, furious and eager all at once - there were days where he likened Repo to a sick child, the sort that spent time burning ants with magnifying glasses and pulling the wings off of insects.

Though, that may have been too kind of a comparison.

Repo relished the gore, but Nathan Wallace decidedly did not - especially not when it was coming from Marcus. His brows knitted with worry for an instant as the blood came and flesh was parted, and he wanted to look away because he just didn't want to see someone else he loved split open and lifeless on an operating table.

But he didn't; he watched every movement with the hawk-like focus of the obsessive, compelled in part by the surgeon in him, but primarily by the control freak in him - even though he knew his involvement with the surgery would be limited, and even though he knew the surgeons had been doing their job for years, were probably more skilled than he was - he just had to make sure.
 
Irene was, as always, entranced by the blood against the sterile whites of the scavengerâ??s skin, the cotton and the cool grey of metal. Part of her, her own part that loved to watch bleeding for bleeding sake and got itâ??s joy out in renting particularly gory movies, was glad to watch. The rest, however, was aching to work. She was good. Damned good. And Prana had a man whoâ??d been in retirement (for lack of a better word) for nearly two years helping.

Ah, well. Sheâ??d get to work next time. There were always next times, because the number of people who couldnâ??t afford GeneCo and had the sense to stay away from them was always high. Irene turned her head, watching the grave robberâ??s vitals, then back to the middle-aged man he had come in with. Handsome. Very handsome, in a quiet sort of way, but Irene had always preferred quieter men. A few hours in, Singh actually started talking to him, walking him through a few parts of the procedure like he was some sort of grey-haired intern.

Ireneâ??s eyes moved from her work (manâ??s heart rate was good and strong, way better than what she would have expected from a user) to Singhâ??s so she could watch hands covered in latex and blood. She loved the color of the organs as they were removed, carefully, to be cleaned and re-used in someone who had even less time than the man on the table, loved the way each of the state of the art GeneCo lungs was stitched in, one at a time. She couldnâ??t help herself. Irene stretched her neck, catching a glimpse of the chest cavity and the movement of one fresh new lung.

God. She loved her job. Maybe even more now, when she wasnâ??t dealing with someone who was getting a job done for a show, when care had to be taken with each and every transplant because the organs couldnâ??t just be ripped out.
 
Nathan was quiet through the procedure, silent unless he was spoken to, sharp eyes focusing on the operation, mouth in a perpetual frown behind the sterile mask he wore. When Singh instructed him, Nathan listened with the rapt attention of the most ambitious surgical intern, regardless of the fact that his years as a surgeon were still with him - as far as he was concerned, he could always learn more.

At some point during the procedure, Repo made the strange, very quiet remark that they were being observed; Nathan finally managed to tear his eyes away from the open chest cavity that he had been watching for hours - he blinked, and the sting in his eyes told him that he had been forgetting to - and he looking up, eyes meeting unexpectedly with Irene's.

Nathan wasn't sure why, but the moment it happened, he found himself ducking his head, eye moving back down almost bashfully, a motion that brought him back years ago, back when he had been a lab rat, sequestered away in the GeneCo laboratories when he wasn't in the surgical ward, a man utterly incapable of socialization - especially when it came to women.

He reminded himself he was forty-two, a Repossession Agent, a doctor, and a father. There was no reason for that sort of thing.

Still, he couldn't seem to bring himself to look back up; he refocused on Marcus, the worry creasing his brow once more.
 
Irene arched an eyebrow. Adorable, yes. Expected, no. After all, wasnâ??t the former surgeon sleeping with the guy on the table? Thatâ??s what she had understood from that little exchange earlier: men didnâ??t often share feeling by squeezing hands. Nor did most upstanding citizens hang with people like the grave robber unless they were buying drugs or engaging in some odd affair.

In any case, the look, whatever it was, was over before she had a chance to properly analyze it. Who knew why the man was with the kid? Maybe it was a family member, not a partner.

â??Iâ??m going to ask you to remove the second lung,â? Prana said in her cool, calm voice, the one that made it sound like everything was under control and nothing could go wrong under her watch. It was a good voice, from a good doctor. Maybe if he kept on, heâ??d see that, too. Prana had a way with making people feel like the wouldnâ??t, they couldnâ??t mess up. â??Will you be capable of that, Doctor?â?

Half done already and still a good pulse. No need for a mechanical breather, it looked like the boy's one lung was good enough for the rest of the surgery on its own (with some assistance). Irene, before Prana could even asked, reported, "It looks good, Dr. Singh. Heart and lung functioning near optimal and no complications at the moment." Thank God. Whatever the scavenger was to the strange gentleman, he didn't look like he'd do well a death on the table.
 
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