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"Who are you?"
It's bright and warm out, tempered by an easy breeze rolling through the tall grass. Far off, Rex can catch the sight of trees, as well as a river. It's a peaceful scene, if not troubled by the sky.
The sun large and close, and an angry red. Dark clouds are twisting and rolling rapidly around it, creating an ornery spiral, stretching towards the heated center, but not touching. Lightning flashes between them, in crashing streams across the sky, creating nets of blue hairs.
Gatlocke stands in the grass, apathetic of the weather above him. Although the man's back is turned, Rex can judge by the tall spout of hair. And the voice is unmistakable (if a bit different from its standard dramatic energy). It calls to Rex. Not by literal address— Rex feels a mysterious full-body beckon in response to the sound of it.
"Where are you?" Gatlocke speaks again, and feels too far for comfort.
Above, the sun explodes, spreading like a burst of ink across virgin cloth.
The lightning begins coming down like rain all around them, beating at the ground. As if giving in, the earth lurches and then cracks, quivering and shifting Gatlocke upward, but it doesn't seem to phase him much, although he has to reposition his feet to remain upright.
Rex has no need to make the same readjustment; he doesn't believe himself to have a body in this place, wherever and whatever it is. Everything is playing out like a 3D film, where he is only an observer. But instead of relief, he feels a pang of anguish.
The thought of Gatlocke, alone, on the brink of wasting away tears at him.
The malalignment of the ground worsens, the rock giving way to fire. Slabs of earth began flying up, returning with the hail of lightning strikes. Gatlocke sighs. His voice is soft, but Rex hears it in clear reception, coming from his own head:
"You need me."
Bleeding from his tone is a sharp sadness, almost desperate. It's unlike him. Rex attempts to reach out, but is reminded he has no arms. Nonetheless, his next thought is to shout—
But by then, the ground begins to peel up, and away.
Rex yells out to him. "Gatlocke!"
Gatlocke's posture straightens, and in the same movement, he looks up and right at Rex through the flashing light and flying debris.
"Ohh."
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Rex jerks awake with a cry. His windpipe feels chapped, like he's coughing on dust and can't inhale. All his skin feels lined with hot needles, stabbing inward, and he writhes, kicking away the sheets, knocking himself onto the floor.
His head raps against the tile, and in the stunned moment, his vision flashes bright red from pitch black. When the flashes don't stop, he realizes the Providence alarms have been set off. White is on the speakers, but his voice is lost in the ringing pitched high in Rex's ears.
Rex's throat is on fire, hurting too much to even scratch, as he gags on air.
Somewhere in Providence, he hears loud explosions. All personnel must be arriving on scene. Rex wonders if he's going to die here, only for his body to found later after the situation at Providence settles.
But the explosions and blasts are getting closer. He can hear the grunts shouting down the corridor outside. He tries to call out, but his mouth won't work— he hacks violently.
Help, he thinks, curling in on himself.
The needles under his skin grow thicker, stab deeper. The burning has gotten worse so that he can't feel the floor anymore. There's only pain, like his insides are boiling. It spikes and Rex's vision begins flashing white instead of red.
Help….
Another thought latches inside his head, and he doesn't believe it's his: I'm almost there!
Instantly, he can tell it's foreign, but it becomes a small pool of balm against the ragged jabs of heat clawing into him— he clings to it, and imagines the sensation growing, if only slightly by each chime of the alarms. The white goes away, but it's still too hot. It's as if the world, including any sights or sounds, are melting into one another so that Rex can't tell up from down, red from gray, ground from air anymore.
Across the room, an air vent on the wall is kicked out by a long, lean leg. With a curl of black cloak, Gatlocke crawls out and drops neatly to the floor. He spots Rex and the grin that springs upon his face is visible even through Rex's unfocused vision.
"Here you are!" Gatlocke cackles, and punctuates each bark with a canon blast to the ceiling, absolutely ecstatic.
Instinctively, Rex reaches for him and Gatlocke responds right away, closing distance between them and crouching down.
"Tell me it's you!" Gatlocke is yelling over the ongoing alarm blares, still with that madman grin on his face, even as he hunches over Rex, lifting him up and cradling him close like something precious. "Tell me it's us! Tell me you feel it!"
His palm rests along Rex's face, and the Providence agent groans at how good it feels— the needles and burning sensations ease. Above him, Gatlocke snickers, warm and low. It's obvious he feels it.
So instead of answering, Rex rasps, "What is it?"
All Rex sees is a brief flash of teeth before their mouths meet. He yelps in surprise, ironically not because of the kiss, but what follows as the aftermath. It carries all the force of a head-on collision, rattling him all the way down to his toes. And within the sudden wash of conflict between relief and euphoria rolling through his limbs in successive bursts, his fever breaks.
Rex notes the taste of blood, and the darkness that follows is sweetly serene.
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