AN: I love yaoi lemon, but even more than that I love a good bromance. There's something about a strong, platonic male bond that is beautiful to me. And just because Link is fabulous doesn't mean he's gay.

But he is fabulous.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Office mail is just that, a piece of business to deal with - usually boring and mundane. It's generally paperwork to be filled out, filed, and forgotten. Or that's what Link used to think before...

Before.

Rhett and Link had a way of working that kept their creative thoughts flowing while allowing them to get the most out of their day. When they were working separately, Rhett tended to focus to the point of being oblivious to his surroundings, and Link would talk through whatever he was working on, not noticing or caring if anyone was actually listening. It was the process that mattered.

It was proving to be a frustrating day for Link. Writers' block is no laughing matter, and Link let loose with a groan that turned into a yell of frustration.

Rhett looked up from his computer. "Go to your safe place," he said, and he smirked.

Link leaned back in his chair and spun slowly, looking up at the target he had haphazardly painted on the ceiling.

"This is my safe place," he said. He flicked a pencil upward while spinning, barely hitting the edge of the target. Little did he know that his safe place was becoming less safe by the second.

"Do what I do," Rhett said. "Make it Zen. You can do it Serpent King!" He snickered again.

Link deleted what he'd been working on, a full two hours of work that he was completely bored with, and he stared at the screen as he tried not to think about the snake box.

"Don't call me Serpent King," he said. "It doesn't help. I don't ever want to do anything like that again."

"If the public wants snakes they get snakes," Rhett said.

"They could get liver next time," Link said. "How about that?"

"Or blood," Rhett said. "I was thinking about doing something for Halloween with blood - like, we could drink our own blood." He watched Link for the familiar reaction to decide how well it might go over on camera.

Link couldn't stop the mental picture of Rhett with fake vampire teeth and blood running down his chin.

"Ugh," he said. "That's just not right." He gagged slightly and then made a face at Rhett.

Rhett began to type again, and Link turned back to his screen, determined to beat the block.

Not going to think about blood, he thought. No blood. Calm blue ocean. Pretty wife. Kids with footballs. Peeps. That's it - Peeps. Little pink peeps - no blood.

But somehow the more he tried not to think about blood, the more he came back to the same mental picture.

His stomach was already queasy, but when he thought about himself with a medieval chalice full of blood, the warm thick copper-tasting fluid touching his lips and rolling over his tongue it was too much. He managed to grab his Mythical Barf Can and dry-heaved over it while Rhett howled with laughter.

"Not funny," Link managed to get out between stomach spasms. "Save talk like that for the show. Better yet, never mention it again."

"Ok, we'll let that one go," Rhett said, but Link wondered when it would pop up again.

He put the can down.

"Nothing came out," he said, holding his stomach. He grimaced. "I wish it would."

"I bet you can work now though," Rhett said. "I took your mind off whatever was blocking you."

"Are you saying you planned that?" Link asked.

"No, but it's funny."

And then - as sometimes happened - Link's world closed in on itself, and his head felt fuzzy. His vision clouded and then cleared, and he pulled off his glasses and wiped his face, which felt pale and clammy.

From a distance he could hear Rhett typing, which meant he probably didn't even know what was happening.

He held onto the edge of his desk and then leaned his elbows on the desk and his forehead on his palms to steady himself. The weakness didn't leave, and he began to be afraid.

It wouldn't have been so bad except that he'd already cut himself that morning while shaving. It hadn't been a bad cut, but seeing the blood on his lip had made him just queasy enough to make him lay down for a few minutes until he could move freely without worrying about falling.

No such luck this time. His vision clouded again, and spots formed in front of his eyes he tried to talk.

"Rhett," he said. It was all he could get out.

Rhett didn't answer, and Link realized he hadn't been loud enough to be heard. He felt his balance leave him, and he wasn't sure if he was sitting straight or leaning to the left.

He'd felt faint a number of times, but he had only actually fallen twice during an incident, and both times he was lucky enough to have someone catch him before he hit his head, or broke his jaw, or damaged his face in any of the many ways a person could injure themselves falling.

Everything turned black and he fell, still conscious enough to know he was about to be in a lot of pain. His last conscious sensation was large hands stopping his fall and lowering him to the ground. I guess he noticed, he thought.

He came to in stages, first feeling the cool wetness of a cloth on his forehead, and then his sight came back - as much as it ever did without his glasses. Someone had unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and placed a pillow under his head.

"You ok?" Rhett asked. "You've been out for a few minutes."

"Yeah," he said. "I'll be fine." He wasn't so sure. With everyone leaning over him he felt like he might faint again. He waved a hand. "Get back," he said. "Let me breathe."

Everyone stepped away but Rhett, who knelt beside him. He usually laughed when someone hurt themselves, but then he laughed when he hurt himself too. Now he looked worried.

Link felt his strength returning slowly, and with it the embarrassment of being watched by the whole crew after swooning. "I'm always fine," he said. "How many times has this happened? A lot."

"I've seen you get faint, but I've never seen you just pass out cold like that," Rhett said.

"It's happened a couple of times," Link said. "Just the blood pressure dropping. Let me alone. Need to..can't think."

"What?" Rhett asked. "You're mumbling."

"Go away!" Link said.

Everyone stepped away but Rhett, and when Link sat up Rhett put a hand behind his back to support him. He helped Link stand and leaned down so he could pull an arm around his shoulder. He led Link toward the staff room, letting him think he was walking but really almost carrying him as he stumbled constantly. He ignored the growing pain in his back and focused on getting Link somewhere comfortable and private so he could recover.

The staff room was casual, with an old TV, fluorescent lighting, a dingy fridge, and an ancient-looking but comfortable couch. More importantly, it was the only room besides the bathrooms that was likely to be private enough.

Nothing had ever looked better to Link than that couch, and when Rhett lowered him he immediately felt some relief.

Rhett grabbed the blanket from the end of the couch and pulled it over Link, then pulled off his shoes.

"Your glasses are on the table. Do you need anything?" Rhett asked.

"I think we have some juice in the fridge," Link said. He had reached the point where he just needed to sleep and let his body recover.

Rhett got him some juice in a paper cup, and Link was able to sit by himself this time. As Rhett handed him the juice Link noticed that his hand was shaking.

"Sorry," Rhett said. "I didn't know what it was like."

"You've seen me faint before," Link said. "I know you think it's funny. It isn't. It's hell."

"I've seen you get queasy and stumble around, but this was worse. I always kind of thought you were playing it up."

"Just don't do it again," Link said. He lay down and closed his eyes, hoping Rhett would get the hint.

Rhett patted him on the shoulder in what Link supposed was a comforting gesture.

"It won't happen again," he said.

Link opened his eyes and saw that Rhett looked more miserable than he'd ever seen him, more even than during their experiments that had involved peppers.

"It's ok," Link said. "No harm no foul, right?" Although he felt harmed, a lot.

Rhett laughed uneasily. He turned off the light. "Sleep as long as you need to. I'll tell the crew to stay out."

When he woke he felt almost well, still weak but ready to face the world again - mostly. Rhett was working at his computer, and Link sat at his with a sigh. He'd forgotten about his writing problem, and now he was only further away from getting any work done than ever.

"You feeling better?" Rhett asked.

"Yeah," Link said. He looked at the clock on the screen. "Did I really sleep three hours?"

"I figured you must need it. Why don't we call it a day and head home?"

"You're driving," Link said.

"Ok," Rhett said. It struck Link that Rhett wasn't talking nearly as much as usual.

"Don't worry about earlier," Link said. "It isn't that big a deal."

"It is though," Rhett said. "I thought you were dead at first. You looked dead. I thought I killed my best friend."

"If offal doesn't kill me, I don't think you can," Link said. "It's forgiven. Can we stop talking about it? I just want this day to be over."

The rest of the staff had left, and as Link turned off the office light he noticed a plain white envelop in his mail slot with his full name and address. There was no return address. He picked it up, turned it over, tossed it on the desk, and promptly forgot about it.