Theory of Magnetic Attraction, a re-animator fanfic

LOL I WROTE RE-ANIMATOR FANFIC. RE-ANIMATOR -SLASH- FANFIC. LOL.

Title: Theory of Magnetic Attraction
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: profanity, sexuality (groping, kissing, no actual sex), blanket spoilers for the entire Re-Animator trilogy
Summary: Dan doesn't know how he found him and doesn't know why he takes him back. Herbert doesn't know why he follows. Neither are sure what this force is pulling them together.
Notes: I... I originally just wanted to write cuddles. But then I needed to work with a back story, some sort of "logic" so their behavior wouldn't seem too OOC.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Magnets.

That explained everything.

Magnets. Magnets and fucking iron.

Because that is the only way to describe their relationship.

Love, loyalty, devotion, respect, admiration? No. There was a time, maybe, but a time long since passed. What is left between them... are magnets and iron.

There was so much time and space to distant and push. So many years used to forget, but never quite forgive. After his stint in prison, Dan had left Arkham. Left behind bad memories and the foul aftertaste of mistakes and madness. Due to his willing to compromise and sell his partner out, his sentence had been decreased to half the original, unlike his unfortunate "friend." Most of the evidence was stacked on Herbert as was; more dug up from his past prior to the Miskatonic incidents. Dan was tried more as an accomplice, an accessory rather than a cold blooded murderer. He might have argued how Herbert wasn't necessarily a murderer, so much as a... Well, there was Hill. Hill sealed it; you could imagine everyone else was just added to his charge by the court without considering they were dead before Herbert sunk his claws in them.

After getting his medical license revoked and any desire to pursue a career in the field stamped out, Dan was forced to look down new avenues. Hell, there was practically a restraining order on every hospital. He wasn't allowed within twenty feet of one, unless he was gushing blood from every orifice.

There were jobs qualified as odds and ends and blow. Stuff that never quite paid well, and never lived up to the satisfaction of becoming a doctor. He had dreamed of being a physician ever since he was a child. Now the dream was gone; his life felt like a waking nightmare. It didn't help that his track record influenced people in hiring him. That was, not hiring. Naturally, everyone was suspicious of an ex-con. Especially one that, you know, fucked around with dead people.

Francesca had left him shortly after the entire ordeal was over. Dan didn't blame her for leaving. She was put through Hell the entire time, from the moment she involved herself with the deadly duo right through the entire crisis of his sentencing. Scandals and rumors and lies popped up, people accused her of being disgusting and a disgrace for harboring feelings for a murderer; 'necro-freak's mistress' and 'crazy lady in crazy love.' It wasn't until Francesca actually found her re-animated dog wandering around one day and was forced to kill him after he tried to choke her with his human hand did she call it quits. She told Dan that, despite his errors and poor judgment in people's character, he had a good heart. And maybe one day, when it was all over, they could be friends again.

Needless to say, Dan's relationships were sporadic through that long stretch of thirteen years. He counted two girls he had seen. One lasted a month before she found out about his experiments and little illegal operations with a sociopathic mad scientist and dead bodies. As for girl number two, well, she was only his girlfriend because he had the right amount of money that night. Beyond those lovely ladies, he was in an intimate and longstanding relationship with his right hand. Dan felt like he was sixteen again and this time, all women, not just the hot babes in magazines, were unattainable.

Far, far away upon the wind Dan rode, a drifter just looking for redemption. It just happened that he was in Arkham when the news announced the riot at the local prison, warning the public numerous convicts had escaped. Photos flashed across the screen and Dan choked on his chow mein on his hotel bed when he saw Herbert's blank glare suddenly right in his face.

Many would consider this an act of fate. Dan refused to believe such a thing existed. Between the two of them, that was. There was nothing mystical or romantic or soul-binding about it. It was just pure, dumb luck and magnets and iron. Because despite all the world to run to, and with enough days to get out at least two states over, he knew he'd find him there. The criminal always returned to the scene of the crime, after all.

Not that this was any previous scene. In fact, Dan had never laid eyes on it until today. It was a rundown factory, situated on the outskirts of Arkham. Abandoned some years back, left to rust and decay. Its giant tanks emptied and main building rotting. Whatever the reason-magnet and iron-he knew this was the place.

Dan was cautious, made sure he left no trace of his tracks. No trail to follow should anyone get suspicious. Night was the best time-it was always the best time-to do his research. Zipping on a coat and gathering a flashlight, he proceeded off the beaten road miles from his hotel room, down along the gravel and dirt leading inside the factory.

It didn't take long to locate the doors to the underground supply station. The place was full of debris and ruins, an old couch, broken beer bottles, smashed cans, empty cigarette packages, a Freddy Krueger Halloween mask? and shattered window glass. The lock on the basement doors were very deceptive, made to look like nothing could get in-or out. But if this was a trick Dan knew, then he would be right on his money.

Of course.

Doors yawning open with a loud, rusty creak, Dan flashed his light down into the abyss. He licked his lips, checked the coast before peering back into the seemingly empty darkness. "I know you're down there," he said.

No response.

"I know you know it's me."

The silence carried for another minute before something grabbed him by the front of his jacket, yanked him inside. Dan hit the cold ground with an 'omph,' opened his eyes just as the doors above slammed shut and locked.

"Never thought to see your face again, Brutus."

Dan slowly sat up, the flashlight rolling past him. With a soft buzz, the room lit up in a dreary yellow light. Looking up, Herbert stood a few feet away, glaring down at him. He was no longer in the prison suit shown in his photograph, but rather a plain, if not oversized t-shirt and baggy pants. Which was very weird, since he figured Herbert's suits were just another layer of his flesh. One thing that did not change was that fierce expression, the flatline frown and inquisitive, condescending glower.

"How did you find me?" Herbert demanded.

Dan thought a moment. "Magnets?" he responded and clambered to his feet. The smaller man cocked a brow. "I just... had a gut feeling. This place." He gestured around the forlorn surroundings. "Suits you well."

"I will take that as a compliment."

Dan pointed at him. "Didn't strike you as a hockey fan."

Herbert blinked before looking down. An insignia supporting the New Jersey Devils hockey team printed over his heart. "I stole these from a clothes line a few days ago," he said, tugged up his pants. "Unfortunately, I cannot travel in my prison garments."

"I'd imagine not."

"Why are you here?" Herbert demanded, curtly. He moved his hands behind his back. "If you have come to return me to the police, I am afraid I cannot let you leave." He drew back a hand, a scalpel's blade glinting light off its surface.

Dan wasn't afraid. Not entirely. "No, no," he reassured, raised his hands, "I... I didn't come to turn you in."

"Then why?"

That was the gazillion and infinity dollar question. Dan frowned. He did not respond, could not respond. "... Dunno," he said simply enough.

Despite the ambiguous response, Herbert had known this man long enough to know when he was being honest, sincere. He pocketed the scalpel. "Well," he breathed, "perhaps you wanted to put a puzzle together. You know where I am, so now you can go."

"It's not that."

"What then? Did you come here to invite me to dinner? Maybe with your girlfriend?" Herbert's eyebrows climbed. "Oh, that's right. She left you. Probably a good decision. I hear long distance relationships are often too complicated to keep."

Dan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're mad at me. And you've every right to be."

"I've more than every right." Herbert's face flushed, a soft red. He was furious. "You turned on me, Dan. You are the one who slipped the blade in my back. And after all we did together-after all the promises you swore you'd keep."

"It's not like I had much of a choice, Herbert!" Dan snapped, threw open his arms. "We were both up shit creek without a paddle. One way or another, we were going to face jail time." He shook his head. "If you were in my place, what would you have done?"

"Confess the truth," the smaller man insisted, "tell them you were my partner, my equal and as such, you deserved the same sentence as I." He moved forward, until they were nearly face to face. Dan could see the fire burn in his eyes. "What did you think would happen, Dan? You would reap the rewards, but not suffer any of the consequences?"

"You put me in a tight spot!"

"You are a coward if you must fix all the blame on me!"

Dan fumed. "All right. I admit. Ultimately, it was I who agreed to follow you, no matter how much of a manipulative, blackmailing little prick you were."

"That's more like. Was that so hard to say?"

God. Just one fist, one fist to the face, and that smug, bitter expression would be wiped right off. Replaced with something shocked or terrified. But Dan calmed himself, let his fingers loosen from their grasp. "I guess, maybe, it's out of pity that I'm here now," he said, words biting.

Herbert scowled. "I don't need your pity. Though it would be the first," he sneered. "Not many people have pitied me, so much as loathed or feared me."

"Why are you here, Herbert? You do realize the Arkham prison isn't even an hour from this place."

"I know that," Herbert mumbled. He retreated farther into the basement. Dan debated following or getting the Hell out of there, before he was in over his head like thirteen years and eight months ago. But as always, he cursed and found himself trailing along. "This is only temporary." Herbert stepped and crawled over a few planks of wood, into a corner. There was a small table set up, on it a leather doctor's bag, papers and three emptied cans of pork and beans. "I had to get the means of financing any way of getting out of this town first." He looked back at Dan with squinted eyes. "Do you know some people put so much trust in the police here that they leave their back doors unlocked at night?"

Dan smirked. "Money, clothes- What else did you steal?"

"Only the necessities."

Dan spotted a Jack Daniels bottle under the table. "Yeah, I can see." Then his eyes trailed up, met the conspicuous black bag. "... Let me guess what's in your bag. Could it be more beans? Maybe the money you stole from those naive Samaritans? No, wait." He held up a hand, bowed his head and shut his eyes. His brows furrowed in concentration. "... A Christmas ham."

Herbert snorted. "Warm," he joked. He showed his ex-partner the contents; the tell-tale luminescent green light was enough.

Dan sighed and scrubbed his forehead. "Thirteen years in the hole, Herbert, and nothing has changed."

"This is my life's work, Dan," the smaller man growled, "do you think I would just abandon it?"

"I'd think you'd learn better and knew when to let something die. Literally, and figuratively."

Herbert wrinkled his nose. "Well, you're no longer involved," he said, "so any consequences of the re-agent fall solely on me." He peered over his glasses. "Much as they did that day in court as you sat snug and guilt-ridden in the pews."

"Are we going to go in circles the entire night or what?"

"Do you think that after thirteen years I would also forgive and forget?" Herbert demanded. He approached his old friend in hard strides. Dan stepped back. "At least when Jesus was crucified, Judas hanged himself."

Dan snorted. "Oh, you're religious now?"

"I also read Sleeping Beauty and Snow White as a child. Doesn't mean I believe in fairytales."

"Ah, but technically, wasn't Snow White also revived from the dead? Sleeping Beauty, too."

"No. Sleeping Beauty was her namesake."

The two paused a moment. Things caught up slowly in sluggish realizations. What was once suddenly heated had reverted to the two discussing childrens' folklore. "This was not on my agenda tonight," Herbert murmured.

"Me dropping by or the fairytales?"

"What else would you like to talk about?" Herbert asked. "Because I can assure you, anything I want to say would be of no interest to you. Not anymore, at least."

Dan groaned. "I'm starting to miss Snow White."

"If it makes your bleeding heart at least an iota happy, I have not been working on the re-agent," Herbert explained.

Dan rolled his eyes. "Because you need the ingredients for your Lazarus soup."

"Partially, yes. But not entirely, no."

"Oh? You always slaved over your work, so this is something new."

"Because I'm tired."

Dan widened his eyes. He didn't expect that. Instantly he knew the fatigue of which Herbert spoke of. It wasn't a physical exhaustion. It was something deeper, something that Dan had never suspected would effect the mad scientist's work. Looking upon him now, really studying him, he could see the exhaustion ooze off of him. He was more pale than usual, unwashed, his clothes too big and his skin feeling too tight; hair a greasy mess, glasses cracked, wrinkles more prominent around his eyes and immortal frown.

Herbert was so damn tired.

"I'm not the same bright eyed, bushy-tailed med student I was thirteen years ago, Dan," Herbert mumbled. He sighed and slapped a hand on the bag. "While I don't intend to quit my experiments, I... believe a break would help put my mind back together. The recent chaos has unhinged it quite a bit."

"Over a decade in prison didn't give you that break?" Dan asked. He wasn't trying to taunt or hurt his old friend. He legitimately felt sorry for him.

"Isn't it natural, when you're cornered, when you're trapped, all you can think about is escaping? I don't break that easily, you know. What else could I think of, could I ponder and mull over in my brain to keep myself sane?" The corner of Herbert's mouth turned into a crooked grin. "Though the prison psychologists told me I need not concern myself regarding my loss of sanity. Since I apparently had nothing left to lose."

"I don't think, even after all this time, that I can call you completely insane," Dan confessed. "If anything... passionate."

Herbert chortled. "Well, that's something new." He swept a hand through his hair, still receding a bit. "We've gotten off track," he stated. He met Dan's gaze. "You still haven't told my why you're here. You were always so modest; you wouldn't track me down just to gloat."

Dan quietly picked the flashlight off the floor. "I told you," he said, shrugged, "I don't know why." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "You don't believe me. You don't believe in things that cannot be resolved and answered with swift and firm logic, even if some of the... things you do are totally void of logic and understanding." Herbert's eyes twitched, looked foot to head again. "But I'm telling you I don't know why I'm here, but I am here. And... Well, so far it's been pretty good. You haven't tried to knock my teeth out."

"Please," Herbert scoffed, "I would not resort to petty violence to express my rage." His eyebrows lifted. "The best corpse is a fresh and intact corpse."

Dan laughed despite himself. "Well, we don't know what we're doing now, but..." He eyed the flashlight in his hand. Rolled it along his palms, back and forth. Tell Herbert goodbye, so long, fuck you, I'm still a bit mad at you for ruining my whole life and career and just about everything and don't miss your train if you aren't caught that is I know I won't miss you. "You shouldn't stay here." That... wasn't what he wanted to say, but it was vague enough to work.

Herbert stared. "I am quite aware of the obvious, Dan. Trust me, I will be more than happy to rid this place of small and juvenile minds."

"No, but I mean." What did he mean? What was he trying to say that wasn't "welp, I'm going, bye"? "You shouldn't stay here. Tonight." He gestured at the floor.

"What are you suggesting?" the smaller man inquired. "I can't exactly check into a hotel."

Nope, so uh, enjoy sleeping on the cold ground and it's so dreary down here, so don't get sick. "I have." What?"I mean," he continued when he got that confused look again, "I'm staying. At a hotel in town. Some miles away." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Herbert couldn't look more confused unless he had amnesia and was wearing a bikini right then and there. "... Why are you telling me this? And far it be for me to ask, but why are you here? In Arkham."

"I, well. I'm moving, I guess."

"You guess?"

Dan snorted. "I'm moving to a new place just outside state. I got tired while driving and checked in." He rubbed his eyes. "I did not want to step foot in this town again. Not after I left it so many years ago. But unless I wanted to add ten more hours on my cross country trip, this was the only route I could take."

"It's... funny, almost," Herbert mumbled. Dan peeked out between his fingers. "How... life has a way of bringing you back." He hummed. "Perhaps not to your origins, but to something that was... important. Life altering."

Well, what had happened was quite life altering indeed. Death, too, Dan would add jokingly if he wasn't irritated at being reminded that he was here. "Don't talk like this is fate or destiny," he scowled, "that I'm here because you and I are meant to be like some sick, twisted Romeo and Juliet with voodoo science."

"Destiny and fate are interchangeable and yet they cannot be changed," Herbert stated. Dan blinked. "In a way, they are contradicting, in a way. Your fate is what you make it; you can change your fate, but if fate is inevitable, how can it be altered? Fate says door one, you take door two, so you've changed fate but still you have made fate. It's just the mystical word for 'ending.' All things have an 'ending.'" And Dan just stared at him like he was listening to his psychology professor back in school. "As I see it, death is the same as fate. It is inevitable, but it can be changed. The thing with death, however, is most people use it as an excuse for quitting and stopping; if your fate is death, and if fate can be changed, then, well. Who is to say death can't be changed to a different fate? Death can be ended."

Dan kept his mouth shut for a few more seconds. "Wow," he said, "did you get philosophical in jail or was that a poem you saw carved into your cell wall?"

"Do you know you're about this close to using Bubba and prison rape jokes? With the speed you're going in your useless comebacks."

"It's just different from the usual you, that's all," Dan explained.

"It has been thirteen years, Dan. I'd think you would have forgotten any of my quirks and habits."

"Look. We need to stop getting off track here." He thrust a hand forward. "I don't know why I'm saying or doing this. I don't know why I'm still here. But." He gave a resigned growl. "Come back with me. To the hotel. At least for the night, until we part ways again." And hopefully for good.

Now it was Herbert's turn to play the mute. He didn't move, not an inch. Eyes bearing deep into his ex-partner's soul. "None of this," he said slowly, "makes an ounce of sense. And that enough should make me turn down your offer."

"If we're gonna be stuck in the Twilight Zone, we might as well be stuck in it together," Dan replied. He nodded back to the locked doors. "I promise I won't throw you to the dogs-"

"Again?"

"-Just give you a place to sleep and some food that isn't beans. We say our final farewells in the morning."

"How do you know I won't do anything? Won't report you for harboring an enemy of the state? Leave you with hard evidence that you're still getting your hands dirty?"

"Because I know you, even after all this time," Dan said, firmly, locked eyes, "I know you would not do that."

Herbert frowned, jaw clenching. "You were always the type who seemed trustworthy and loyal. Then I ended up wearing an orange jumpsuit and spending my days getting mentally castrated by a lecherous, single-minded warden." He clenched a fist at his side. "If anything, it's what I should do. Take you out after you've so willingly presented your head on a platter to me."

"Is that what you want, Herbert?" Dan asked. "Revenge? You think revenge will make up for all your anger and pain the past thirteen years?"

"No," Herbert confessed, "but it would make a lovely bandaide."

Dan smirked. "As far as I see it, we're always going to hate each other. Always regret having helped the other. It's never going to go away, the loss of Meg and the knife wound in your back."

"You always do that. You assume incorrectly based on what you see right in front of you," the smaller man grumbled, "you never bother to look beyond and beneath."

"What are you implying?"

"You're speaking for both of us."

"And you're saying I'm wrong?" Dan inquired. He cocked a brow. "You're saying you don't hate me, don't regret being my partner?"

"I just said you're speaking for both of us. I didn't imply if you were right or wrong," Herbert said smoothly. "You're putting words in my mouth."

The frustration finally hit its limit. Dan hissed on cold air between his grit teeth, wanted to crush the flashlight in his hand. "Circles, Herbert! Circles!" he snarled. "Look, everything said and done put aside, are you coming with me or not?" He glared down at the glowering, apprehensive doctor. "So maybe you'll shove the scalpel in my eye while I'm out, whatever- No matter what I say or do, you're going to argue with me. So let's just cut the bullshit and go with 'yes' or 'no.'" His arms went akimbo. "What's it gonna be, Herbert?"

The offer might have been translated into something in the same vein as, "Do you want to live or die?" Herbert remained still in his silence. He stared down his former friend, his once colleague. Searched for any reason to turn away or turn on him. But Dan, despite the exhausted aggression, was not trying to blackmail or deceive him. He was figuratively holding out his hand to someone he ought to be pushing away.

"You've always had a penchant for charity cases," Herbert murmured. Dan knitted his brows. "I guess I'm no different."

"Yes. Or. No."

Herbert stared at the ground. Between them, a line that separated two worlds. Light and darkness, Heaven and Hell, freedom and fear. He glanced back at his papers and bag of re-agent, gathered them quickly in his arms and crossed the threshold.

III

The hotel room was small. It fit a tiny, rigid bed, TV, night stand and an uncomfortable looking sofa with an even smaller bathroom attached. The wallpaper was an ugly brown, but hey, at least the random portrait of a sailor holding a fish lightened things up. Besides, the roadside motel was outside town, away from the general populace; away from eyes that might recognize him.

The door opened with a creak, and Herbert shuffled in first, Dan's jacket over his bowed head. Dan followed in quickly, locked the doors and made sure they were locked twice. He quickly closed the blinds. "It's pretty dead out," he murmured, "I don't think anyone saw us."

Herbert tugged the jacket from off his head, creating a small cowlick in his hair. He studied the tiny room. "The walls must be thick as paper here."

"As far as I know, no one's in the units next to me," Dan replied. "But we should keep it down."

Herbert nodded and quickly placed his things on the sofa. Dan watched him as he made sure his re-agent and papers were still in place, as illogical as it was. He then noticed just how... small Herbert looked. He'd never really taken that into account, but now... Herbert was so tiny in those baggy clothes. The shirt hung off of him like a blanket, and Dan could only imagine how many belts kept those pants up. He took notice more of his physical features then; he'd grown an inch or so, sported crow's feet and thinner frames around his lenses. Hair still dark, though there appeared to be speckles of gray at the edges just barely brushing along his nape.

So much changed, and yet it all felt the same. Somehow, some way. If Herbert was in a suit and tie, Dan would probably think they were back in their home in the bad lands.

"You're dissecting me."

Dan blinked. Herbert had turned, was staring him down again. "I would say you were eye fucking me, but we both know your taste in sex," he added.

Dan chuckled. "It's just. You look sort of ridiculous in those clothes," he said, "no offense."

Herbert would ask why he was apologizing for commenting on his clothes when he had him thrown for over a decade in the death house, but... Circles. He was tired of running in circles. Herbert looked down at his shirt, tugged the edges. "Well, it certainly does not fit my profile."

"And when's the last time you bathed?"

"Two days ago. A couple went out camping for the weekend, and-"

Dan raised a hand, smiled and shut his eyes. "No details necessary," he said. He moved to his own suitcase at the foot of the bed, threw the lid open. "I may have some clothes in here that will fit you."

"They may be too big as well. Besides, can you afford for me to go out and about in your clothes? If I got caught, it wouldn't look very good on either you or me."

Dan frowned. "Good point." He slammed his suitcase closed and stood, hands on his hips. "Well, um, why not take a shower? There's still some soap and shampoo."

Herbert hesitated before slowly moving toward the bathroom. Dan stepped back, gestured forward like his guest was royalty. Herbert peeked into the bathroom; small sink, shitty shower, linen curtain. He braced a hand to the door frame and glanced back at his old friend, feigned concern on his face. "Am I going to have to worry about you doing something... Hitchcockian?"

Dan laughed. "You know, I never did see that movie." He waved at the shower. "Um, amazingly, the water heater is pretty good. So, you got that going for you."

Herbert tugged off a towel from the nearby rack. "It would be nice to come out of the shower and not have to face a squad of police officers with their guns on me. In case your conscience is second guessing itself."

"Noted."

Herbert shut and locked the door. Dan waited until he heard the water running before swaying back to his bed. He stared at the sofa, at his ex-partner's only remaining articles. His hands ran down his face, paused at his cheeks as they tugged down his eyelids. He stared for a good minute at that bag, knowing inside it was something he'd tried to forget for years.

Even Herbert's possessions had a way of, well, possessing Dan. He couldn't help but let curiosity lure him to the bag, fingers fumbling with the lock as he opened it. He reached inside, slowly removed a vial of the re-agent. That hideous, ichor liquid that had caused him so much grief and loss. There were only two other vials besides the one in his hand and part of him wanted to run outside and pitch them out into the field. Even if he did destroy these, Herbert could always make more.

There was no denying the power of admiration, however. As terrible and highly unstable the serum was, its effects were unique and like no other. Even man would stare upon the devil in awe. He rolled the tube in his hand, watched the liquid slosh inside as it cast a gloomy green glow on his face. The sight of it only reminded Dan of Meg; the last time he had one of these in his hands, so overpowered with its potential, he had not only shamed himself but desecrated his fiance's remains. What's dead is dead and should stay dead. Maybe Herbert should have watched Pet Semetary for some tips. Or maybe it would only inspire him, God knowing alone.

Dan jolted in his seat, head lifting as soon as the bathroom door unlocked and opened. He hadn't even heard the shower go off. He quickly shoved the vial back in the bag, closed it, but by then it was too late. Herbert was watching him from the other side of the small room, wearing his baggy stolen clothes and towel wrapped around his neck. "'Absolute power corrupts absolutely,'" he said, toweling off his damp hair.

Dan smiled lopsidedly. "I'm afraid the only way to rid the world of your serum is to throw it and yourself into Mount Doom." He smacked at the bag. "Should I even ask how you were able to make this in prison?"

"I had a little help. From someone much like you," Herbert explained. He crossed the room. "Though I fear he, too, was unable to withstand its power." He made a comical frown, almost. "Unlike you, however, he suffered a mental breakdown after everything was said and done."

"Yeah, well, I thought about sending you my psychiatry bills," Dan snorted. He watched as the smaller man sat at the sofa, adjacent of him. Their knees barely touched. "I am assuming the riot broke out because it had something to do with your re-agent."

"Actually, it was more or less the warden being unable to keep his sex life and work separated," Herbert explained. He locked the bag. "It all sort of spiraled out from there."

"Nothing new then."

Herbert's response was quick and curt, so much so it surprised Dan. "You're wrong," he said firmly. "I was able to find the missing piece to my puzzle. A way to bring back personality and coherent sentience to the revived." He cursed. "I have no samples with me. But, I discovered that-"

"Herbert," Dan sighed, "I don't want to hear it." He sat back and shook his head. "I know I invited you here, but not for business."

"What's your idea of pleasure?"

Dan shrugged. "Some sort of fucked up excuse for closure would do."

"I have nothing to apologize for," Herbert insisted, "and you have nothing as well."

False. Somewhat. Dan did feel a little guilty. Just a teaspoon. "You were my friend, Herbert," he murmured.

"I believed that once. Not anymore. You're right on 'were,' however." He pushed up his glasses. "You were my friend as well."

The silence was awkward, naturally. Dan gripped and rubbed his hands together. "Hey, you hungry?" he asked suddenly. He stood and walked to the small mini-fridge. "I've got some leftover Chinese." He opened the door, held out a Styrofoam doggy bag. "C'mon. It's still a little warm. Don't tell me you robbed a Chinese restaurant recently and got your fill."

Herbert's expression was between consideration and confusion. Nonetheless, he took the offering, opened and picked at it with his fingers. Until Dan tossed a plastic fork in his lap. "If you intend on stabbing me while I sleep, that won't do you any good, by the way," Dan added playfully, the beer can releasing a hissing gush as he snapped it open.

Herbert picked and dissected his food as he would a test subject. Took small bites at first before quickly shoveling more down. Dan just watched him, smiling; it was like giving food to a starved cat. He took a swallow of his beer, said, "Careful now, don't upset your stomach."

Herbert mumbled something around a mouthful of noodles. Continued eating without a care in the world. So much better than cold pork and beans. Dan took another beer out of the 'fridge, nudged the cold can against Herbert's knee. He paused, looked at his old friend then the can, a noodle hanging from the corner of his mouth before taking it. Opened and guzzled it down because Christ, it had been forever. "Did they feed you in prison?" Dan humored.

"Not a proper topic for dinner discussion."

"You know, I recall telling you the same thing some years ago when we were eating pizza and how you felt the need to describe its texture and color to that of human muscle."

"You brought up the subject of 'street pizza.'"

"Yeah, an hour before we ate."

"What does it say about you, however, that you felt like ordering pizza right after you talked about roadkill?"

"It said you were rubbing off on me."

Herbert snorted. "It's too late to make up with flattery," he said. He finished off the meal, sat the box aside. "I'm going to be hungry in another hour." Suddenly, something small struck his chest, bounced in his hands. He looked down, back to Dan.

"It's a fortune cookie," Dan chortled. "Open it."

Herbert humored his host and unwrapped the cookie, cracking it open. He pulled out the small slip of paper. "There are a thousand and one jokes I could make, but I'm tired," he said. "According to this cookie's prophecy, I will have 'good luck in financial investments starting next month.'" He flipped it around. "Also, how to say 'purple' in Mandarin." A pause. "'Zǐ sè."

"It's not too late to start believing in some higher power helping you out."

"Hmm," Herbert replied. He crumbled the fortune in his hand, tossed it at the trash. Made another 'hmm' when he missed. "I am pretty sure every religion, regardless of their god count and levels of forgiveness, would probably condemn me."

"God forgives He who repents. Man, woman and child."

"God also enjoyed lots of smiting. Man, woman and child."

Dan shrugged. "Worth a shot." A yawn suddenly took hold of him, infecting Herbert with one soon to follow. "I guess that's our white flags." He stood and stretched, loosened the buttons along his shirt. "It may not be the most comfortable, but it is better than a nest of plywood," he said, referring to the sofa. Dan gathered a pillow and blanket in his arms, dumped them next to Herbert.

"It is sufficient." The smaller man stuffed his bag beside him, between the sofa and his body. As if the traitor would do something with his precious serum. Dan just rolled his eyes and ignored it. Herbert shoved the pillow under his head, pulled the blanket almost over his face. "You have my word I will not attempt to kill you or tie you to the bed and leave you for the police with information of you aiding me."

Dan flopped on his side along the bed. "That's comforting," he murmured. He wriggled under the covers, one arm slung beneath the pillow. "And I promise not to do the same."

"Good."

"Night."

Dan flew out a hand, smacked the switch and everything went black.

III

Dan would have checked the time. However, the hotel room's clock was busted and his watch was in his suitcase. Either way, he knew it was in the wee hours of Holy God in the morning when he felt the bed shift. He hadn't woken, not entirely, still between slumber and consciousness. He did not react to the movement along the mattress, the sudden weight beside him. Dan's eyes, half-lidded and blurry, opened; the sight of Herbert's face so close to his did not strike horror or shock as it logically should. Maybe his brain had not caught up yet.

"H'urm," Dan mumbled, throat dry as the desert, "wha'."

"I'm not going to smother you, don't worry."

Dan yawned, rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. "Dinnit til now."

"The mind is constantly processing information, even as we sleep."

"Tha's nice."

"What goes on in our minds and our bodies while we are unconscious do not disturb our slumber."

"Okay."

"But."

Dan cracked his eyes again. It hadn't set in yet, that he should probably shove Herbert off the bed. He was met with eyes that seemed so large in the dark, but their color standing out like a shadow in daylight. It was mesmerizing, and his own eyes squinted. "You don't have the answer. You admitted that. But I cannot sleep without it."

"Wha-what are you talkin' about, Herbert?" Dan grumbled. He was half-awake now. Still didn't push Herbert away, let him lay there, so close, face to face. He could feel his breath on his skin, warm; smelled the faint trace of chow mein and liquor. "God, what time is it? Don't tell me-"

"I need to know why I'm here."

Dan blinked one eye. "... Because you wanted to?"

"But why?"

"That's... more a question for you to answer."

"But surely you're thinking the same."

Dan frowned. He had been, all night, until the moment he drifted off into sleep. "You don't have to say you 'don't know,'" Herbert said before his ex-partner could open his mouth. "But 'don't know' isn't good enough for me."

"Nothing open ended ever is."

"Death... You think it's open ended?"

"Huh?"

"What you said just now."

Dan groaned and rolled onto his back. Nearly sent his elbow in Hebert's face. "Oh, maaan, it's too late, or too damn early, for this conversation."

"In the morning, we won't have the time," Herbert reminded. "It's now or never."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Facts. Reasons. Logic. Hell, make something up." Hebert closed his eyes. "I came to a few conclusions myself, but I don't like any of them."

"You have this way of hitting dead ends."

"One theory is I missed you. Miss, perhaps. Can't decide."

Dan jerked his head back. "You..."

"Where is the logic in that?" Herbert demanded, genuinely upset. "I should hate you. For all intents and purposes, I should loathe you. You turned on me, you pushed me away. Just like all the others. When you were cornered, you were quick to point the finger of blame. I rotted in jail, my mind stagnant, because of your cowardice." He pursed his lips. "But here I am now, and one reason is because I missed you."

Dan frowned. He didn't know what to say.

"Is it safe to hypothesize you missed me as well?"

Missed him? Dan's life was a complete wreck and waste thanks to the bastard. "... I dunno," he murmured a few seconds later. Herbert sighed heavily. "Look, I can't explain it. I really want to know why, too. Why we seem to... be here, even though we hate- should hate one another."

"I don't think I've ever hated you. Not completely."

"I've hated you."

"I know. That's a normal reaction."

"I hated that I hated you," Dan continued. "I hated it because that means you still had something over me. Some power. To feel hatred instead of nothing. Then I hated it because I guess I realized the blame wasn't all on you. That I played my part, and I agreed and I fucked up royally just as well. Maybe even more so for following along. So I guess I stopped hating you-to remove any piece of you from me and to... forgive you, in a way."

"You make me sound like a malignant tumor," Herbert mumbled. His friend snorted but smiled. "I suppose I was mostly disappointed. Perhaps..." He trailed off.

"Perhaps?"

"What I say now won't matter. By tomorrow, we'll go on living as if this night had never happened. But we will remember it did happen, and we have no idea why."

Dan studied his face, shadows seeming to mask any signs of aging. Any features or wrinkles or marks that Dan had missed. "Up there with what came first, chicken or egg," he said, but there was no humor in his tone. He moved closer, their noses nearly brushing. "Maybe it's just really simple. Maybe we do know why I found you and brought you back, why you agreed to come with. But we can't say it."

"I don't want to." If he did, he might be forced to kill him.

"Neither do I."

It was nothing hot or ravishing, crazy and heated like intimacy would be after thirteen years of whores or nothing at all. Nothing like one would expect for two people who hated or disliked one another; no hitting, struggling, flipping, knocking over lamps and breaking the bed. It was not to say, however, there was no passion. There was passion, nearly as immense as hot, heavy sex, but in a way that was beyond physical.

Dan let his fingers slide through Herbert's short hair, clench and hold him still. Herbert leaned forward, returned the kiss with the same intensity. The quiet, soft kind; fragility, yearning, confusion, need and a sense of dread. Like there was no tomorrow, but to fuck up against the wall would only demean the final moments together.

Their hands wandered, carefully, studying, remembering. Dan's ran along the length of his arm (brachialis anticus, anconeus, coracobrachialis, pronator teres, flexor carpi radialis, ulnaris, digitorum profundus, extensor carpi ulnaris, extensor carpi radialis longus...); the muscles were stiff, seemed to relax under the soft strokes of his fingers. He curled them around his wrist (carpal tunnel, flexor retinaculum...), thumb stroking in smooth circles over the soft side (right over the ulnar artery, a cluster of peripheral veins), Herbert's own fingers twitching (extrinsic, intrinsic) at the strange, smooth sensation after years among grit and grime.

The pads of Dan's fingers were rough around the edges; it was sad to think a brilliant physician in the making had been forced to resort to menial labor fit for those who would never make it out of high school. Thumb slid up along the palmaris longus tendon; when Herbert clenched his hand, it protruded and Dan could feel the faint beat of a shallow, rapid pulse of a timid, nervous human being. Yes, even with all his coldness and cruelty, Herbert was still undeniably human.

Herbert was more hesitant, hands clutching and loosening under the soft, peculiar touches. He had never been accustomed to this type of affection. He'd experimented-it was only natural. But never before had he been reduced to this state of consensual helplessness. Fallen beneath his partner as if they had completely conquered his free will. Herbert's breath was ragged, hot against Dan's mouth as they parted every few seconds for air, sucking it in like it would be their last, locked lips again. Dan's lips were smooth, and no wonder Meg was always trying to steal kisses whenever possible; the orbicularis ori was really working itself. Herbert's lips were slightly chapped, dried from the cold outside, and at first the temperature was a shock to the warmth of Dan's flesh.

Finally working over the unnecessary jitters, Herbert cupped one hip (coxal bone, gluteus medius), stroked in small strides. The tension practically rolled off the smaller man in waves, and Dan looped his arms beneath Herbert's, dragged him until they were flushed together. Herbert gasped into his mouth; the human touch, let alone presence, so close daunted him. His personal space wiggled, attempted to push them apart, but he did not fight. His hands slipped up the length of his ex-partner's back (tight tendons, nerves, lumbar, multifidus, the beads of vertebrae...), stopped to rest over bulging shoulder discs. Herbert's stubbed nails bit down into the fabric, hard enough to give Dan a small jolt. Fingers were patting at the nape of his neck, slipping into his hair and shaping around the base of his skull.

Herbert tried to keep his eyes opened. Was not sure if this was a fever dream from the cold finally taking over his immune system or just bad Chinese. But Dan was real; he was a doctor, a scientist, he knew this heat, this skin, these muscles and nerves and tendons, the saliva that wasn't his but was in his mouth with a tongue that was pressing against his own, this was all very real. Why it was happening... Well, so many unanswered questions that probably need not be addressed right now.

Herbert pressed his chest to Dan's, as if trying to match heart beat to beat. As if there was a way they could possibly come together, become one. Wouldn't that have been interesting? Herbert had sewn two people together before; they functioned, although barely, and turned out as crazy and incompetent as the rest of his failures. But they worked together, over time, when he stopped to monitor and analyze the flaws in his past mistakes so as not preform them again. He had never really thought about it, but the idea haunted him; might have been the lack of oxygen as they devoured one another, but wouldn't it... Wouldn't it be funny, if they could die and be reborn together; sharing one body, one heart and perhaps one mind. But where was the challenge and passion in a hivemind? Herbert liked Dan for his insufferable human feelings which he figured had been thrown out during his own assembling.

It was almost complimentary. The mind and the heart. When Dan inhaled, Herbert exhaled; vice versa. Taking in carbon dioxide, hardly clean oxygen in between. A body needed both the heart and the brain to survive. If Herbert believed in the concept of a soul, then he might have called their work together their soul. The very essence that bound them together.

That was gone now. Their soul had never been clean or pretty but by God, it was breathtaking. Then it was sold away and Herbert was packed straight to Hell. Dan was to blame; they would have been okay if only that same admirable adoration for the human spirit hadn't ruined everything. Herbert hadn't noticed biting his ex-partner's lip rather hard, sucked until he tasted copper. Dan didn't seem to mind; maybe he did, but Herbert could hardly care. Why should he.

Their bodies ground against one another. Rode the vibrations of systems hard at work. Nothing went deeper; no hands slithered under clothes, though once Dan's knee did twitch and graze his groin. Herbert grunted against his lips and pulled back with a heavy exhale. Dan watched him, eyes glazed, lips bruised and wet. "Sorry," he murmured tiredly.

"Did you know," Herbert paused, licked his lips, "I spent three years of my sentence in solitary confinement."

Dan widened his eyes. "What? Why?"

"It was run by a sadist, you see. Which is inappropriate for me to say, all things considered."

A hand stroked along his shoulder. "You are not that inherently violent," Dan murmured, "what did you do to earn lock up? Or was the place really that terrible?"

"It was, but I... Well. It's not to say I didn't do anything not worth punishment. But the extent of said punishment should not warrant three years in solitude." Herbert wiggled forward, let his face drop back against his old friend's. "The warden was rather fond of randomly unleashing his childish temper tantrums on inmates. I so happened to be at the wrong place, but his right time when he was in a bad mood. Raised his cane to strike me. I grabbed it." His eyes shifted aside. "Might have hit him a few times in the kneecaps."

Dan stifled his laughter. "Well, that was just self defense, right?"

"Somewhat. I had been rather unnecessarily violent by the third and final stroke." Herbert looked sheepishly back at Dan. "I was suffering from a minor head cold and the infirmary was run by a staff of second-hand doctors who couldn't tell between cervical and cervix."

Dan smiled at that. "He deserved it in any case," he insisted. He traced a finger along the shell of Herbert's ear, the cartridge tough, to rest against his jawline. "Were you... lonely?"

Herbert stared. He didn't answer.

"It must have given you plenty of time to think."

"Oh, yes. About many things."

"Mostly your re-agent?"

"Mostly."

"And?"

"Wishing it was your kneecaps I had bashed in with the warden's cane."

Dan was hardly offended, smiled lopsidedly. "You don't seem the type bothered by solitude. You would embrace it, perhaps. Don't need or want interaction."

Herbert frowned. He, however, was offended. "After all our work together, you truly believe that?"

"Huh?" Dan blinked.

"Nothing." What a meathead. He placed a hand against Dan's chest, pushed slightly. "Doesn't matter. Ever since my last three partners folded on me-Gruber, however, not much of a choice there, I've decided working alone is perhaps the best option. Though it will leave some tasks more difficult, it is for the best."

Dan held his arms firmly around Herbert. Pulled him back that empty inch. "Now, wait," he said, expression serious, "you... You were lonely, weren't you?"

"What does it matter? I'm just a heartless machine, aren't I?"

"Who said that? I never said that. Now you're putting words in my mouth." Dan drew fingers along his waist. "You don't have to be ashamed. About being lonely. It's... normal. Human."

"It's disgusting."

"I bet you didn't miss me."

"I did," Herbert outright confessed, spat slightly. Dan widened his eyes. "I hated every moment of it. But I could not replace you with anyone else." His mouth tightened against his clenched jaw. "Now are you going to accuse me of being wounded you didn't think about me, that in all that time away I never once crossed your mind in a more positive light."

"I... don't know," Dan whispered. He continued petting. "I don't want to lie to you."

"Don't. You were fragile. I knew that from the start. So your emotions would keep your hate in check."

Dan sneered. "Thank you, Herbert."

"What a strange conversation with your arms holding me like a lover."

"Well, tonight we're doing all sorts of crazy, inexplicable things, so..."

"You don't have a girlfriend now, do you? Francesca was the last, I take it."

"No one wants to date an ex-convict that experimented on corpses. Who woulda thunk it?" He nudged his nose to the smaller man's. "Besides, I'm not the only one holding on here."

"You're such a simpleton," Herbert snorted, squeezed tighter, "but you evoke complicated reactions. I don't understand it."

"Bet it bugs you to Hell."

"You, too."

Dan sighed and dropped his forehead to Herbert's. "I just... finally settled for one explanation," he murmured. He closed his eyes, wide ones watching him closely with intrigue and curiosity. "It's a magnetic force. It's chemistry, but it's not love or affection."

Herbert swallowed the lump in his throat. "... I see."

"Unless-"

"-No. Besides, you're not my type."

"Is it because of my pulse or my genitalia?"

"I'm not a necrophiliac, Dan." He pressed closer. "Obviously."

The air between them was thick, humid. Dan's thumb traced over his ex-partner's knuckles; Herbert caressed his stomach, felt the rise and fall of air circulating in and out of the body. "A magnetic pull is still just a theory. A good one, but..." Herbert mumbled. He met Dan's eyes again. "Hardly an explanation."

"I can only think of one other reason we're here, doing this, but... It doesn't make any sense. Totally ruled it out at the get go."

"Really?" Herbert replied. "'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'"

"Yeah? Who told you that?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

Dan smirked, eyes lidded. "He's never wrong, if I remember correctly?"

"I could argue against that, but now is... Well, most of our topics at this junction in time are unsuitable to our... situation."

Dan slid his hands up along Herbert's cheeks, held his face. Leaned in just an inch to seal space, kiss his mouth delicately. Herbert's breath was shaky on his lips. "None of this has to mean a thing," he whispered, "and in the morning, it won't."

Herbert's eyes lowered, lashes fluttering in a quick blink. "Ultimately, that is how the human mind will process everything which cannot be conventionally revived."

Dan frowned, genuine disappointment in his eyes. "We can't go back."

"No. We can't."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. Not really."

"You need this as much as I do."

"Yeah... Yes. I guess I do."

The conversation ended. They would only repeat and loop the same words over and over. The two pressed against one another again, limbs tangled and holding on for dear life. Breathing, kissing, rubbing, and petting. They did not sleep until a few hours later, just before the dawn crept over the horizon. Laid wrapped in each others arms, unsatisfied, discontent, on a hard mattress, in a cold room of a roadside motel.

END

PLEASE IGNORE HERBERT'S LITTLE CONFUSING RAMBLES THERE. If anything is off with muscles and bones, well, ppbbbt. :P And noooo, not all the muscles were included, hence the ellipses.