A/N: I swear, all of you who follow me and read my Star Trek stuff and who haven't watched this show yet- DO IT. Oh my goodness. It's basically an AU with grumpyhead McCoy and a weird mix between Spock and Jim and I don't know what I'm saying, but I love this show with a burning passion.
"Hey, man, I think that's enough," Dorian said quietly, reaching out and tapping the back of John's wrist with two fingers as he raised his glass again.
John ignored him and shook free irritably, draining the glass in one swallow and banging it down on the counter with a loud clunk. The bartender drifted over warily, his shock of spiked blue hair bright and distracting in the half-gloom of the club. There was a deep throbbing in the air, a pulse that crept up the legs of the bar stool and made John's synthetic leg go nuts. "One more," he rasped, squinting blearily at Blue Hair. He could practically feel Dorian's disapproving stare, but he didn't give a shit. Not tonight.
"I think your bot's right, mister. You oughta take it easy and call it a night, huh?" The kid tugged idly on the monstrosity of an earring dangling from his left lobe as he spoke.
"M'not on the job. S'okay." Kennex tapped the glass against the counter again insistently. "One more."
"Look, man, I ain't complaining about the business, but we've got rules here, see?" the bartender said impatiently. "And the rules say you've had one too many."
"I've got him," Dorian said to the bartender, laying down a credit chip and taking John firmly by the arm. "Come on, let's go."
John grunted in displeasure, but let his partner haul him unceremoniously to his feet, blinking dazedly as the flickering strobes and discs of colored light enveloped them. "Whooaaa."
"Definitely enough for one night," he thought he heard Dorian mutter exasperatedly, and he felt an arm tuck around his side, steadying him as they limped their way through the crowded floor. He was sure he felt a grope or two on the way to the door, and possibly made an attempt to grope back, but Dorian moved like some sort of serene truck, bulling his way through without causing so much as an offended expletive, and soon John found himself outside with a faceful of cold night air.
Dorian was still hanging on to him, and he tried to pull away clumsily, pushing at the arm around his waist. "Leggo…"
If anything, the damn bot clung tighter and began the stubborn process of towing them to the cruiser.
"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?" John slurred deliriously, stumbling over his own feet and clutching automatically at Dorian's jacket before he could faceplant the pavement. His partner finally stopped and turned, propping his sorry self up against a wall with one hand and holding him there. The brick was cold and clammy and scraped against his back through his jacket.
"You want to talk about it?" Dorian asked quietly, and it was both stupid and sad how his blue eyes were steadier than the rest of the spinning, crazy world.
John plucked at the arm holding him up halfheartedly, then gave up, tilting his head back until it thunked dully against the wall. "No."
Dorian studied him critically, a flicker of blue circuitry running briefly down his cheek. "It would help, John." He still sounded strange whenever he said the name, relishing the sound of it in his mouth like it was some kind of treat. "Bottling it up's no good."
"The hell would you know," John snapped, feeling sick and sour and like he was going to cry. "Let me go, damn it."
Dorian ignored him, and John realized with dawning horror that his nausea wasn't going away. "Dorian, I'm serious!"
The DRN blinked, then hastily released him, stepping back as John bent over and hurled majestically over the curb. He coughed and wheezed, dry heaving a couple of times before wiping his mouth shakily on the back of his hand. "God, that's awful."
Dorian glanced down with slight interest at the mess of violently colored liquids draining away down the gutter, then fixed his gaze steadily on John. "Would you like a cracker?"
"...What?"
"A cracker. It's on the list of recommended human foods to ingest after vomi-"
"You have crackers?"
"I can get some crackers," Dorian said calmly, still watching him unblinkingly. "Would you like one?"
John squinted at him for a long moment, decided this was all a product of the seventeen drinks he shouldn't have had, and straightened wearily, only swaying slightly. "I'm done. I'm headed back to the station."
Dorian fell in step easily beside John as he staggered off to the lot, matching lurching stride for stride comfortably. "It's late," he pointed out. "You're off duty."
"Paperwork," John mumbled, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. "Gotta sort out-" Autopsy reports. Notification of the next of kin. He suddenly felt like throwing up again, the taste of bile still sharp in his mouth.
"It can wait."
He shook his head in frustration, wincing as his already throbbing head twinged in protest. "No, it can't. I need to-"
"John." Dorian grabbed his arm again as he reached for the car door and spun him around so that they faced each other. "You need to rest."
"Don't touch me," Kennex growled, getting right back into his face belligerently. It was cold, he was sad and angry and had seen too many things that day to deal with this. Too much blood. A pang of something sharp and bitter pierced his chest, and he gritted his teeth until it faded.
Dorian backed off, but his expression remained stubbornly set. "You are going home, Detective, or I'll be forced to report this to your superiors." He'd do it, too, the little snitch, John realized, recognizing that mulish expression.
Too tired and drunk to kick up a fuss, John threw up his hands and turned to unlock the cruiser. A hand reached over and closed over his, plucking the keys from fumbling fingers. "I'm driving," Dorian said firmly.
"Seriously, I give you an inch and you're taking the whole ten miles?" John exploded drunkenly. "It's my car, damn it-"
"You're in no condition to drive," Dorian reminded him sharply, his voice taking on that dry mechanicalism that he knew John hated. "Your blood alcohol concentration is at fifteen point six percent, and as an enforcer of the law, I'm obligated to-"
"You," John said resignedly, "are a pain in the ass when you go all cop-mode on me, you know that?"
It was a quietly smug Dorian that slid in the driver's seat and reminded John to put on his seatbelt twice before reaching over and clicking it into place for him, giving the strap a secure tug afterwards and ignoring John's clumsy attempts to swat him away. It was Dorian who somehow made it back to John's apartment based on a set of practically incoherent instructions and unbuckled John and dragged him out of the cruiser. And it was Dorian who manhandled him up the elevator and patted him down until he found the key card in his back pocket and let them both into the dark apartment.
By the time Dorian tossed him on the unmade bed and reached for his belt, John had recovered enough of his senses to make a fuss.
"The hell are you doing?" he growled, slapping Dorian's hands away and guarding his zipper suspiciously.
The android straightened and looked upon him with infinite patience. "Your leg, John. You'll sleep better without it on."
John stared at him blankly, then down at his legs. "Uh."
"Let me help." Dorian bent again and John grabbed his wrists in exasperation.
"Dorian, I think I can take off my own damn pants."
"Of course," Dorian said dubiously.
"Hey, it's only easier with one leg," John snapped, and he had no idea what he was even saying anymore. He busied himself with kicking off his pants instead, deliberately ignoring Dorian's critical gaze as he hurled the offending fabric into a corner and sullenly climbed into bed. "You need to plug up or something?" he had the presence of mind to ask as he settled down against his pillow.
Dorian shrugged offhandedly. "I'll be fine. I'll charge up in the morning."
"But we've got wo-"
"It's our day off tomorrow." Dorian tapped his temple. "Captain's orders."
"Meddling woman," John tried to grumble, but exhaustion mixed with alcohol slurred his words into an incomprehensible slush.
"I'll be around," he thought he heard Dorian say.
...
"We've got you surrounded, Ortiz!" Kennex shouted, his voice echoing over the loudspeaker. "Let them go."
The woman clutched her young child, to her chest and gave a teary squeak as Ortiz jammed the barrel of his shotgun harder under her ribs.
"Ortiz," John warned, an edge of panic entering his voice. "Drop the weapon."
The gunman's laugh contained a harsh rasp of hysteria, his wide eyes flicking feverishly from side to side as he examined his options. The lobby's exits were plugged with uniformed officers and their MX's, the other hostages safely evacuated to the medics waiting outside. The bank's black marble floor was smeared with the blood of one of the three other gunmen, his body still lying crumpled against the gleaming tiles. "You shot my brother," Ortiz said disbelievingly, sweat beading his face as he backed away, dragging the woman with him. "You killed him."
"Please-" the woman whimpered, and flinched when the arm around her neck tightened.
"Orders, sir," the MX at John's elbow said, tilting its blank face towards him.
"John-"
"You killed him-"
"Detective Kennex, your orders-"
"John!"
He jerked awake abruptly, sucking in a startled gasp of air as he tried to sit up and tangled himself in the sheets, panic threading through his veins. It was so dark, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe-
Something heavy caught his shoulder, pressed him down effortlessly to the bed. He flinched, arms swinging out instinctively, and his hand locked around a solid forearm.
"John, it's me." Dorian's quiet voice sliced through his confused haze abruptly. John squinted up, saw the faintest of silhouettes in the shadows.
"Dorian...what…"
"Your vitals are off the wall, man. Breathe." The hand on his shoulder gave him a reassuring pat before pulling away. John lay still, trying to do just that while Dorian shuffled around in the darkness.
A moment later, the lights snapped on at half capacity and he blinked up at the ceiling, feeling both exhausted and completely awake. A shadow fell over him as Dorian leaned across the bed, peering worriedly into his face.
Crazy. A bot worried about him.
"Hey, you all right? Heard you thrashing from the couch."
"'Heard,' my ass," John rasped hoarsely. There was a terrible fuzzy feeling in his head, the beginnings of a bad hangover rearing its ungodly head. "Not with those damn scanners of yours."
A casual shrug. No denial. "Whatever makes you feel better."
"A beer," John decided, "would make me feel better." He sat up with a heartfelt groan, kicking off his sweat-damp sheets irritably and scowling down at the empty gap next to his left leg. Damn nosy bot must have taken the prosthetic off after he fell asleep.
"It's late," Dorian said doubtfully, as John tried to calculate his current range of mobility into his chances of getting to the prosthetic in one piece.
John grunted sourly. "It's four in the afternoon somewhere." His palms suddenly prickled with the sensation of drying blood, and he wiped his hands on the sheets unthinkingly.
Dorian's eyes flicked down to the movement, but he didn't mention it, saying instead, "Stay here. I'll get you a drink."
Surprised and more than a little suspicious, John attempted to hold his ground. "I can get my own-"
"Stay. Please."
So John sat there reluctantly, staring blankly down at his hands as he listened to Dorian clanking around distantly in the kitchen. It had been a long time since he'd had a nightmare like that, but he remembered those first few nights after waking from his coma. He remembered bits and pieces of the beginning, the smell of antiseptic and white cleanliness and the feel of cold hands pressing him down. A dry gust of oxygen hissing as a mask clamped over his face, the beeping of monitors and his own racing heartbeat, the terrible feeling that something was wrong, wrong, wrong-
A large mug, a red and white striped monstrosity he didn't remember ever owning, suddenly appeared before him, and he blinked at it with a predictable bewilderedness, the murmuring of long-past voices fading away. "What's this."
"Tea," Dorian prompted helpfully. "It's supposed to help."
"I don't drink tea," John spluttered indignantly, glaring up at him. "Get me a real drink, damn it."
Dorian looked slightly exasperated and twitched the mug closer to him menacingly.
"Bully," John muttered, taking the mug reluctantly and scowling into the fragrant steam rising from the golden liquid. It smelled like flowers, for God's sake. He held the tea so Dorian wouldn't nag, but he didn't drink it and the android surprisingly didn't press the issue. He leaned his shoulder against the wall instead, eyeing John with a genuine kind of concern that not even half the flesh-and-blood people John knew couldn't pull off.
That had bothered him, at first, looking into those synthetic blue eyes and seeing something undeniably human peer out. Like looking in a reverse mirror at everything he was and everything he wasn't, and wondering if he was repulsed or envious. He wasn't over it completely, not yet, but damn it if the android wasn't the only one who understood him at times like this.
"You shouldn't sleep in the dark like that." Dorian almost sounded disapproving, and John swallowed a dry, startled laugh.
"I'm not a kid anymore, you know."
"Don't have to be a kid to get scared," Dorian murmured, lowering his eyes to the floor.
John snorted derisively. "I'm not scared."
That quieted the android for a few moments and John took the opportunity to sip cautiously at the tea.
"I'm afraid of the dark," Dorian said suddenly, not looking up, and John fumbled the mug badly before managing to set it down upright, a trickle of hot liquid dripping over his fingers.
"What?" he asked stupidly, staring at the android suspiciously. "Why?"
Dorian did look up then, his eyes unexpectedly bleak and raw, and John faltered slightly at his expression. "I...don't know," Dorian said finally, his voice tilted in that way that it did when he tried to lie, and left the bedroom before John had even registered the words.
John sat there for a long moment and listened to the sounds of Dorian returning to the kitchen, cupping the cooling mug between his palms and feeling inexplicably guilty. He grunted dismissively and took a gulp, grimacing at the bitter mix of herbs. But it was hot, and it cleared his head just enough for him to realize what a complete ass he was. He set the tea down on the nightstand and shifted his weight grimly, eyeing the charging port where his leg lay and steeling himself to lurch upright.
The drunken fool he was, he completely miscalculated his trajectory and ended up falling majestically on his ass with a startled grunt.
There was a hasty pattering of footsteps and he peeled his face off the floor in time to see Dorian drop to his knees beside him. "John, you okay, man?" He felt a hand on his back and the other wrap around his bicep, and he shook Dorian off gruffly.
"M'alright. Just trying to get my leg," John mumbled, avoiding Dorian's worried stare. He felt a flush of mortification creeping up the back of his neck as he pushed and rolled himself into a sitting position against the side of the bed. He was pathetic, really, a wreck of a man who couldn't even stand up on his- well...on his own foot.
"I'm sorry," Dorian said sincerely, sitting back on his heels, and his voice lacked any indication of pity or condescension. John peeked up at him warily.
"What for?"
Dorian blinked at him slowly, and was that guilt he saw? "You need to sleep, John. It's my job to take care of you."
John squinted at him. "What?"
"The drugs must be working faster than I calculated," Dorian continued, almost apologetically. "I was hoping you'd be back in bed by then." Something was wrong here, John knew, but he couldn't...quite...get it. His head felt oddly fuzzy and muffled, as if his thoughts were swaddled in cotton. "But hey, I'm only human, right?" There was a bitter sort of irony there, but John couldn't open his mouth to call him on it.
You bastard, you drugged me? John tried to yell, but all that came out was, "Mnmnsdffn."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dorian said soothingly. "I'm sorry, man, but you looked terrible. This is for the best, I promise."
Blackness threatened to overtake him, and he felt a thin chill of panic. No. No, he couldn't go back to sleep. Cold dead eyes were waiting, and so much red-
"John, it's okay. Relax."
Nononono. He moved with the last vestiges of his strength, fingers clutching weakly at the front of Dorian's shirt. He probably made some sort of sound, though he couldn't quite hear himself anymore, but he felt cool, artificially smooth fingers gently disentangle his hand and hold it still. "It's all right. I'll be right here."
That's not what I meant, asshole, John thought blurrily, and then he was gone.