Blossoms from The Apocalypse

They did not return to their bed that night.

Doc stayed sat at his computer, focused intensely on the computer screen, watching lines of code for hours, and hours, and more hours…He kept downing caffeinated drink after caffeinated drink, trying to ensure he’d be awake in case the program picked up on something. He’d look back to the dead body laying beside him every now and then, this stupid little hope permeating his brain that he’d wake up and start breathing again, despite the program not having found him yet. His body probably wasn’t going to last for much longer before signs of true post mortem deterioration set in, so it was kind of important the program hurry up and locate him.

But, like always, it did, and only a few minutes after, Hank’s body jolted forward, shaking, grabbing at his face to feel for what happened to him. He seemed to realize his head had been repaired beforehand, and he set his metal jaw in his hands, breathing heavily. Doc got up from his chair, and pressed a palm over Hank’s heart, feeling for a steady beat. At the same time, he put his arm around Hank’s shoulders, and leaned against him, resting his head against the other man’s. He felt cold.

“We have a bit of a situation on our hands,” Doc muttered, gently, rubbing his skin to warm him up some, “But I’ll worry you with details after you and I have gotten rest.”

“...dont…want rest…right now…” Hank sighed, uncovering his face so he could bury it in the crook of Doc’s neck. “...i…fought…like hell…im not…ready…to rest…”

“I know.” Doc mused, sliding his hands around Hank’s body. “But you’re ice cold, and you smell like death. You’re getting some TLC before you think about getting close with me.”

Hank’s breathing was staggered, and he didn’t really move from the hold Doc had him in. He felt so cold, the warmth from his body felt nice. But slowly, he turned his head to look up at him, his face desolate of life and his remaining eye displaying how truly exhausted he was, despite what he claimed. “...i feel…stiff…hurts…to move…myself…”

“Rigor mortis was probably starting to reach its roughest. The extraction program took longer than I thought it would to retrieve you.” Doc mumbled, now rubbing Hank’s neck and shoulders to help loosen his muscles. “I’ll help get your body to relax, but I’m not promising anything after that.”

Hank only nodded his head and grunted, and followed the guiding hands of Doc as he helped him first sit up, then slide his legs over the edge of the operating table, then stand, then walk. His body had locked up so terribly, he probably wouldn’t have made it far without his help.

~

A week of rest, a week of easy labor to get her on her feet, and then Bank would be able to finally resume her regular routine. A month of having it broken was going to drive her insane, but she had no other choice. At the very least, she’d be allowed to choose what jobs she did and who she was working with, Doc was at least charitable when it came to that aspect. But still, the torture she would endure from that week of nothingness…

The first couple days were fine enough, she wouldn’t go stir crazy that quickly. And it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy getting to do fuck all every now and then, sitting on the couch and watching Death Pit for almost an entire day was always an enjoyable experience. If she couldn’t get her violence fix from enacting it herself, at least she could get it from watching actual snuff, blood, and gore play out on live television.

Slaughter Time had gone off air many many years ago, back when Bank was still a child. But a sort of sister series had taken its place, a program called “Death Pit”, which functioned almost exactly the same as the latter game show. It just had slight changes in how fights functioned, and what types of fights would be hosted. It didn’t reach the same level of popularity as Slaughter Time had, but, well, when you’re able to mass produce merchandise like little baby sized onesies with your bloody brand logo on it, things were probably going well for your business.

There really wasn’t anything of note to take from the broadcast she was watching on this particular night, until a round late into the event began, when a face she recognized appeared on the screen; proclaimed loud and energetically, the host practically demanded a round of applause for Shank, before the man himself was displayed, wielding an oversized and bloody ninjato, in a proud stance. He was probably one of the last people she’d expect to see in the tournament- he seemed like he was just an amicable weapons delivery boy. But wow, did his K:D ratio say otherwise. 64 kills and only 2 deaths? Impressive!

Now, she was really invested. That errand boy was one deadly combatant? She had to see this.

The kill portion of his ratio only climbed as he survived each round. He truly deserved that high of a count, he was ruthless in the arena. No matter how big or strong any grunt that came at him looked, even if they were a zed or GOL3M or sleepwalker- hell, they sent out a particularly gnarly looking MAG at one point- He mowed through each opponent that was thrown at him. He spilled blood like it was paint, and turned a living, breathing creature into a pile of guts and bones within seconds. The host’s energy only seemed to encourage him to get nastier with his executions, and it drove the crowd fuckin’ nuts. Nevadeans, no matter how sweet or kind, were bloodthirsty by nature.

“...Man…” Bank thought, practically glued to the TV as she watched him slaughter countless grunts that were thrown his way, “...I wish I could’ve done some shit like that with him…”

A few seconds passed, and she realized that that thought had crossed her mind. Why did she wish for that? She barely even knew the guy. The hell was so special about him?

Bank sat there, a little confused, because, you know, why did she care? He was just another guy that was doing an above average job of not getting his shit rocked in the arena. He was whatever, there were far more interesting contestants fighting and special combat scenarios that were happening in the show to focus on than only that dude. What was it about him that intrigued her so much…

“...His voice is interesting…”

She dwelled on that thought, then rubbed her head and sighed. Bank tried to push it out of her mind, and shut her brain off so she could indulge in some good old fashioned ultra violence and gore that was airing before her. But it still lingered in the back of her mind.

~

This was pretty much all she did for the next few days, since she wasn’t really allowed to leave the bunker until Doc deemed her leg stable enough to walk around on. Which really blew, there wasn’t much else to do other than watch TV or lie in her bed. Sure, she also enjoyed rotting in her bed on occasion, but not for that long. She could feel her brain actively eating itself alive from the lack of activity.

Then, the week was over, and she could be re-entered into the assignments pool. She could only take on simple tasks, ones that barely required any heavy work and zero combat focus, but after that week of doing nothing, she was taking anything she could get. So, she decided to hog one task that was considered easy, but still involved; taking inventory of every storage site located within the base, for the upcoming week. Normally, Doc would’ve done this task himself, but he had a bit of a problem to figure out, which was keeping him pretty busy in the meantime. Bank got first dibs on snatching this task before any other employee could’ve.

Her mind was hard wired for this sort of thing, so despite its monotony, she had an unusually great time fulfilling each individual inventory stock. Like an actual child, counting things and tallying up how much of something there was in a given area activated the neurons in her brain. The name “Baby” was just so fitting for her.

A little into the middle of the week, after she’d spent a couple hours visiting each storage site to take inventory, she could feel herself wearing out. It was around the afternoon anyway, so a trip to the cafeteria to pick up whatever meaty slop was being served was probably in order. That stuff looked disgusting, but meat of any kind was highly appreciated, even if it was prepared in such a way where it was pulverized to absolute mush. Who cared! Whatever food you could get your hands on in Nevada was considered a 5 star meal. The fact that S.Q. was even able to provide its employees with daily meals was something to be admired.

Bank was a carnivore by nature, so downing something made of pure meat, regardless if it was in a form that you could even consider as “meat”, was an easy task. Thus, she spent little time hanging around the dingy cafeteria. But there was still a lot of time left until her allotted break time was over, so she figured she’d just wander around base and do some people watching in the meantime. If she was working on base, she made time to go around the complex at some point during the day, watching other grunts go about their tasks, take their breaks, chatter amongst their coworkers, get into some fights, etc, etc. She liked doing this primarily to keep an eye on what was going on amongst Doc’s employees and report back to him in case she noticed something seedy brewing, but also so she could observe how people went about conducting their social interactions and tasks, so she could learn from them.

She’d been a little embarrassed by how stunted she was in a lot of areas compared to most people, but mostly in the social category. Bank had always been reserved, not one to really wear her emotions on her sleeve, and struggled greatly to make it through daily living, and for a long time she wasn’t particularly bothered by that. But when she’d begun actually carrying out work for S.Q. and working amongst people other than her father and uncles, she suddenly realized just how behind she was.

Like mentioned before, she was horrible at interacting with anyone outside of her little family, and she had a terribly hard time trying to cooperate with anyone. She was perfectly capable of getting things done on her own, other people she didn’t know just made things harder for her and got in her way. And the way people talked- good lord, how does anyone keep up with that? She could barely come up with anything she felt like saying in the first place, what do you mean people would talk for hours on end about their daily lives? She couldn’t think about anything she felt like saying about her daily life, and why would she want anyone to know things about her? Sharing information like your fears or what emotions you were feeling at the moment or hard things you’d experienced seemed like such a bad idea to her, people could use that kind of information for malicious purposes. And don’t even get her started on how touchy everyone else was with each other, if someone even dared try to hug her or hold her hand she’d yearn to kill herself before their eyes. And people were so loud, why did people talk so loud, her eardrums were being assaulted every time she walked the halls or went out into the wastes. And people could be so rude, and people’s words could be so easy to mix up, and people could be so uncomfortable to be around and people were so cruel and so gross and so hard to understand and…

…And she knew she was an outlier with people. It wasn’t their fault that her hearing was sensitive, or she didn’t understand sarcasm or jokes, or that she struggled to talk, or that she didn’t like being touched in anyway or that she could be so overwhelmed so quickly or that she didn’t like being open about herself or that she found a lot of “normal” things to be so uncomfortable or that she felt some sort of “aura” coming from people that would immediately make her not like them even if they hadn’t done anything before hand. Bank was well aware that the way she functioned was vastly different, and sure, she couldn’t control a lot about how she worked, but god, how badly she wished she could blend in with everyone else. The very best she could do was observe them and try to mimic how everyone else acted and try to condition herself into naturally acting that way too, and she could do a good enough job of pretending like she wasn’t thinking about gutting herself anytime she had to interact with anyone, but she couldn’t get it to stick for good.

Hank had always assured her that there was nothing to fix with how she functioned, that he was the same way and that both her and him could make it through life perfectly fine without trying to force themselves to be something they weren’t. But Bank just wanted to be what she considered “normal”. She appreciated that her dad and uncles were supportive of her issues and accommodated her as much they could, but she sometimes wished they could’ve pushed her to try and be a little less closed off when she was younger. Doc was trying to encourage her to do so now, but if he had tried a little sooner, maybe she wouldn’t have such a hard time with it in the present. Not to mention, being cooped up in a little bunker for almost all of her life probably only hindered her development as a person in a lot of ways. Mistakes had been made.

Bank dwelled on thoughts like this pretty often. It was just one of those things that ate away at her whenever she was alone with her thoughts. She still didn’t really know how to combat them. She knew how to take care of violent problems that came at her whenever she was carrying out an assignment, that was no issue, but she couldn’t figure out how to deal with the ones her mind threw at her. She thought it was pathetic that she couldn’t understand something as personal as her own emo-

“Heya stranger!”

That was the end of those thoughts!

Bank made a weird noise, now aware that she’d been walking for a while through the halls and ignoring anyone that tried to greet her, she’d been too lost in her own melodramatic thoughts. That was, until, that voice snapped her out of her own trance, and she turned around and saw that damn errand boy standing behind her. Strangely enough, he wasn’t wearing his goggles or mask over his face, so she was actually able to see the stupid grin she could only assume he wore. She could also get a good look at that scar that crossed his eyebrow, and across his eye, as well as a missing chunk of his lip that revealed a gold snaggletooth fang protruding from his mouth.

She was frozen for a couple of seconds, and slowly raised her hands above her chest, trying to make her mouth move. “...Hi…Again…”

“I haven’t seen your face around this place in a bit! Can see why now though, what happened to ya’?” He asked her, tilting his head to the side as he eyed her cast.

“... I, I got sent o-on an assignment and I, I got nabbed by a MAG and it fuckin’ cr-crunched my leg…So I’m not, uh, I’ve been recovering fr-from that.” She felt like she needed to answer, she couldn’t just brush someone off for no reason. Or at least no reason she could think of. “Uh, you say that like you, like you work here and s-see me often..?”

Shank shrugged, then snickered. “I mean, I kind of do! That 2bDamned guy keeps offering me contract work for this place and I keep accepting them cause, yanno, cash is cash, I like getting paid. Besides, the work he has me doing is usually more exciting than what N.P.S’ modus operandi is, heh.” He set his hands on his hips, and smiled. “So I’m around base pretty often, and yeah, I’ve seen you around from time to time! It’s kind of hard to not miss ya’, anyone that looks like a babydoll goth mini Hank is gonna sort of stand out from other grunts.”

“Ah. I, mhm, I’ve h-heard that a couple of times.” Bank replied, dipping her head. “It, um, I dunno, I guess we, we, both of us are into th-th-the same style, who knows?”

“Don’t you work with him?”

“Wh- huh?”

“Y’know, don’t you work with him often?” He asked, lifting one of his hands so he could fiddle with the red and black necklace around his neck. “Cause, like, from what I’ve heard, you get sent out on missions with him pretty often, and you’re referred to as an “important” employee like he is. Ya’ll just ain’t that chatty?”

Bank was…a little surprised. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t ever really thought about what the other employees must’ve thought about her going on missions with the guys so frequently. Oh boy, now she had another thing she was going to think about constantly! But not now, she had to try and hold this conversation. “Uh, well, all w-we do is work together, he’s not really…not very friendly. Just kind of, of, just kind of secludes himself when the j-job’s over. Same with me to, to be honest.” She then immediately wondered, “Why did I fucking say that.”

“Really? Mm, that’s a shame, must be hard working with someone if they ain’t that friendly.” Shank muttered, looking away to the side for a moment. “...I was a little surprised I hadn’t seen you around much, I was kind of hoping I’d get to work with you again.”

“What? Why me?” Bank practically exclaimed, the confusion more than clear in her voice, if the fact she raised it in the first place wasn’t sign enough that she was caught off guard.

Shank was a little startled by her yell, his eyes opened a little wider than usual and his body stiffened some. “Well, you get paired up with the Hank of all people often for assignments from the bossman ‘round here, so you’ve gotta be crazy good at fighting, right? You said you’d rather be killing people than running deliveries the last we talked, so I’d guess you’re really into fucking shit up.” He explained, easing into his chill guy persona again, “I like working with people that are so gung-ho ‘bout fighting and killing n’ shit, gives me a chance to see other people’s techniques n’ try ‘em out myself, yanno?”

Bank nodded her head. “Oh. Ok, then, yeah, that, that makes sense. I, um, I’d probably wanna do the same th-thing, if, uh, I wasn’t already up there, kinda. Ahah.”

“Yeah! I like improving my skills and learning from others, you get it!”

“IIIIIIII dooooo. Yup!”

“And, yanno, you seem like a sweet gal, and I like hanging with sweet guys.”

Bank fell silent again, she didn’t know how to continue. Yeah, it was nice to be complimented but…where do you go from there. She sure didn’t know!

“...thaaaaaank youuuuuu…” She said, very quietly, reaching across her body to grasp her hands and give her some pressure to focus on instead.

Shank observed how quickly she’d closed in on herself, and kind of dropped the persona once more. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel weird.” He murmured, his tone a lot more soft. “I think you’re nice, I like making friends with nice people, and I’d like to learn what you’ve got in you that makes you so coveted by a guy like 2b.”

The two stood there, in awkward silence, not saying anything or making any kind of movement, like they were waiting for the other to do something first. Surprisingly, Bank was the first to say anything. “...It’s cool. I, um, I think you’re nice too. Uh, I, I guess, I guess I could sh-show you a thing or two…” She mumbled, squeezing her fingers tightly. Then she perked up. “Wh- I saw you! O-o-on Death Pit! I saw you ki-kill people, you’re, you’re nuts! You’re already, already fuckin’ crazy a-a-at killing, I-I don’t think I’d have much to offer, ahaha!” Bank exclaimed, though she wasn’t frightened this time. Even if the laugh she gave sounded forced, it wasn’t, she was genuinely excited. “If an-anything you could show, um, show me some new ta-ta-tactics!”

Shank picked up on her enthusiasm almost as soon as she became so excited, and laughed with her, ignoring how strained her’s sounded. “What, we can’t both trade ideas? ‘M sure we both got trade secrets we could both benefit from- Hold on.” He stuffed his hand into one of his pockets, and pulled out a little blocky device. “Here, you wanna trade cells? So we can still chat even if we haven’t gotten assigned to a mission together. That too much or nah?”

She lifted her hands, like she was almost about to defend herself from getting punched, her fingers twitching a little. “He wants to give me his number?” She was suddenly overcome with this weird…feeling…that didn’t really feel bad, just unfamiliar. It accompanied a flurry of new thoughts that suddenly began to race through her head. “Does this mean anything? I’m sure friends trade their numbers with each other. Oh, wait, does that mean we’re friends now? Does it work like that? Is it that easy? Or is he just weird?...I guess him being weird isn’t too bad, I’m fuckin’ weird too. That’s probably a good match up. Ohhh but does this really mean anything deeper though? Cause in those cheesy movies I’ve watched with dad, when guys give girls their numbers-”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure, th-that’d probably be a good idea.” Bank blurted, not wanting to think about it any longer. He was being friendly, and clearly offering friendship, and she just wanted to try and be normal, so maybe making a friend would give her the opportunity to learn how to be “normal”. She didn’t need to think about it any further than that.

“Sweet! Here, here’s my cell, gimme yours, we can register ‘em together.” He cheerfully explained, holding his little brick phone out to her while she awkwardly retrieved her’s from her pockets, having a bit of a difficult time since she was propped up on crutches. Once she’d grabbed it, she offered it to him, and the two quickly typed in their number on the other one’s cell.

“I, uh, I need to, uh, I need to get back to t-taking stock of our storage, storage facilities.” Bank stated, once he’d given her her phone back. “It’s like the one, the one task I’ve been given for the d-day, I don’t wanna be l-l-late on that.”

“Heh, wouldn’t wanna make yer boss angry! See ya' then, it was nice runnin’ into ya’.” He replied, raising his hand over his chest. “Can I pat your shoulder?”

“...sure..?”

“Cool. Anyway, see ya’ round short stack.” Shank laughed as he patted her, before flashing her a friendly grin and turning to walk off down the hallway.

She stayed in her place and watched him leave into one of the doors that led to another section of the base, contemplating what the hell just happened. She really just gave him her digits like that, huh? That was almost completely antithetical to the social battle she constantly fought with herself. Why did the rules her mind had made up for how she needed to conduct herself around other people not seem to apply to him? Seriously, what was so special about Shank??

Again, she didn’t want to dwell on anything, so she forced herself to wipe it from her thoughts, and begin walking to the next storage site she hadn’t checked yet. And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop her pulse from pumping a little faster than it normally did.

“God, I hope I’m sick. This fucking sucks.”

~

“Alright. If you’re so damn worried about Baby getting assigned to your usual missions again, you’re gonna have to whine about it to someone else. I’m not stripping her of those opportunities just because of one nasty occurrence.”

Hank and Doc had been having the same small argument for a couple of days now. Any situation Hank found himself in where he was being decimated by Tricky wasn’t ever something he gave much of a shit about after the fact, but god, not knowing what happened to Bank after he’d died had shook him to his core. It’s not like she would’ve been done for, Doc had ensured he’d be able to locate and resurrect her if the worst case scenario were to befall them; but dying was painful, and resurrection was just as painful, and Hank didn’t want her to ever suffer through that.

He remembered what his first time dying felt like. Getting blasted in the back of his head was quite the way to go out for the first time, if he was able to remember it all these years later. It didn’t take too much time after he’d been shot for him to slip from this plane and subsequently find himself awake in The Other Place. His head pulsed and throbbed with a pain he couldn’t just ignore, which made it rather inconvenient when he started being attacked by S3LFs that seemed to be dedicated solely to killing him a second time. And after trying to escape those hordes of wayward souls, he found himself being gutted with a sharp chain that violently pulled him far away, and through some kind of portal. The next thing he knew, he was struggling to look up at the blinding lights of Doc’s examination room, that pounding pain still in the back of his head. It wasn’t exactly helpful that the sound of a baby crying was aggravating it worse.

That pain never really went away; he just got used to it, and it became dull.

Point was, dying sucked, but being revived sucked too, so the whole process of death and rebirth just kind of blew shit all around, and he didn’t want to take the risk of Bank being caught in that cycle like he was.

“...im not…saying…pull her out…completely…” Hank’s ragged breathing became heavier when he was tensed up in the way he had been for a couple of days now, “...i…just dont…want her to go…on your more…dangerous…assignments…”

“All my assignments are dangerous, Hank.” Doc replied, less focused on the conversation, since he was busy dissecting an agency GOL3M’s body. “And don't you say 'don't let her go on assignments with me' because she's going to immediately know what we're up to. She's not stupid, you know that."

Though he wasn't facing him, he could feel Hank's stare slicing through the back of his head. Doc had been having the same conversation with him since he was last revived; his answers remained unchanged. He wasn't sure how many more times he could repeat this song and dance, and Hank could tell it was getting on his nerves. Doc would at least have the decency to meet Hank's sights when they discussed serious matters, but he hadn't looked away from the body he was harvesting organs from a single time since he'd entered the room.

"...cant…can't you…give her other assign…ments…to complete…instead-"

"No, Hank, I don't know how many times I have to say this but I'm not just going to stop her from doing the same work as the rest of you-"

"look at me…right now…"

Doc was a little surprised that Hank would give him, of all people, a command like that, as Hank wasn't really one to boss him around. Doc was the boss, after all. He stopped working on the organ he was trying to remove, sighed, and turned around, facing Hank as the bigger man held his shaky hands up.

"Do you never consider how badly she could get hurt out there?" Hank signed, a little quicker than he usually would. "Don't you ever think about how she could be killed and no one may be there to retrieve her body? Don't you care at all about how viciously the world is going to come for her?"

Doc furrowed his brow, and a frustrated grunt came from under his mask. "If you're suggesting that I don't care as much as I do about her, then you've got a lot of nerve in you, Wimbleton."

The use of "Wimbleton" unsettled Hank.

"Don't you dare act like I don't love or care about that girl as much as you do, she may be of your blood but I put just as much work and care as you did into keeping her safe and healthy through her childhood. Don't you dare accuse me of not fearing for her life as much as you do, every day that she goes out into the wastes I'm wrecked with guilt that I may have sent her on a death walk, but I can't keep her holed up in a safe little bubble for her entire life, and neither can you. She's not a baby anymore, she's grown and she's only going to rot away as a person if we keep her on a child's leash like we have been."

"I don't want her to risk getting hurt more than she already has been and I don't want to risk letting her run straight towards her death and I don't want her to have to fight through hell and be hurt again when she gets revived. I'm not afraid, I just don't want bad things happening-"

"You ARE afraid." Doc stated, firmly, raising his voice as he began to lose his patience. "You are afraid for the safety of your daughter, you've been afraid since the moment she was born. You know damn well what kind of hellscape we live in and you've always dreaded the day she was big and strong enough to walk through that hellscape without needing to hold your hand. I don't think you're wrong for being afraid, but you're most certainly wrong for projecting that fear onto her."

Hank's hands lowered from where they'd been positioned before, and his fingers twitched. From the way his posture sank, Doc could tell he'd struck a chord in a particularly sensitive part of him.

"...Hank-"

"i don't want her to ever die"

Whatever he was about to say died on his tongue as Doc watched Hank look down at and try to steady his shaky hands.

"...You're worried when you let her go on missions like ours, but you don't understand. You don't understand." Hank struggled to say, unable to really stop his hands from shivering so intensely. "You weren't there when my head was obliterated and the last thing I heard was her yelling for me." He could feel his chest struggle to rise as he kept thinking of what he was about to say. "You weren't there, in The Other Place, fighting within an inch of your life and the only thing you could think about was all the times your daughter had cried out for her dad. You weren't there to be terrified that the thing that killed you had gotten it's hands on your daughter and was going to subject her to the same torture it subjects you to."

Hank slowly began to crouch down, his legs suddenly felt weak. "Doc, please, you don't understand, I was being eaten alive by this fear that she was going to be murdered beyond just being killed. She's like me, but she's not me. Baby can be hurt, Baby can't kill everything that's thrown her way, Baby is still susceptible to being fucked up irreversibly. It's too late for me but it's not for her, and I don't want her to become me."

Silence deafened the two of them as Hank's trembling hands closed in towards his chest, and the rest of his body closed in on himself too. Observing him for a few seconds, Doc got up from his metal chair, and slowly made his way towards Hank, having to steady himself on the tables and trays and machines beside him since he didn't grab his cane. Once he was beside him, he carefully sat himself down, and placed his hands on Hank's back and chest.

"Sit down, stretch your legs out, and lean back against the cabinets behind you." He helped guide Hank as he followed his instructions. Cautiously, he moved his hand under Hank's chin, and turned his head so he was looking at him. "Copy me." Doc muttered, setting his hand back over his chest. He then slowly took a deep breath in, which Hank copied, after which Doc slowly let his breath go, and Hank copied him again. They repeated doing this for a good half a minute, before Hank leaned against Doc.

"I didn't go through that, yes, and I can't begin to imagine what that does to a parent's psyche. That's horrific." He began, his tone far more gentler than it had been before, "Everytime we step foot into the wastes, everyday we make the decision to leave the safety of base, there is always the risk that we’re going to die. That’s just how things work. And I know it doesn’t comfort you in any way, but ‘we’ includes Baby, Hank. She’s just as at risk for everything that we’re all going to be at risk for.”

“...but she doesnt…have to be…”

“The only way you can achieve that is by keeping her locked away in the bunker. You know better than to actually consider that.” Doc pulled him a little closer against his body, gently squeezing as much of him as he could reach his arms around. “Hank, she’s an adult. The days of having to protect her from everything yourself are behind you. She has to learn how to do it herself, she has to be able to stretch and go running into whatever’s next for her. If you clip those wings that she needs to spread, she’s going to fall apart as a person. And that’s not something we want.”

“...i dont…want her...to…to be hurt…”

“Hank.”

He didn’t respond, but Doc could tell he didn’t really have anything to say. He just breathed heavier against his shoulder.

“Hank, everyone gets hurt. Everyone has to get hurt sometime in their life. Sometimes we get hurt worse than others but getting hurt is a part of life.” He felt Hank sort of…spasm, not in an immediately concerning way, he knew he was just emoting. “Sometimes death is just a risk everyone is subject to. We’re all mortal, even if I’m able to bring you tools back from the dead however times I wish.” Hank’s body jolted again, but he wheezed at the same time, so this time Doc was certain he was just laughing.

“...things are…unpredictable…” Hank muttered, slowly moving an arm around Doc’s side. “...i know…i cant…coop her up…i wish i could…keep her safe…all the time…but she’s…big now…”

“I know.”

“...being a dad…is hard…”

“I can only imagine.”

The two of them stayed where they were, clinging to the other, now just trying to calm down fully from that tense experience they’d shared. They remained as they were for a good while, until Doc received an alert from his computer. A fellow had messaged him, so it must’ve been important. Only then did they get up from the floor, and resign to return to what they’d been doing before their little argument was sparked. Though, before they did, they embraced each other one last time, and pressed their heads to the other’s, just sort of soaking in the other’s presence for as long as they could.