A/N: Ever get an idea stuck in your head that bugs you until it's typed out? Here's mine. c: I don't usually write outside of school work, but I figured it wouldn't hurt. Also, this pairing doesn't seem to get much love. So. Here is my little contribution.
This was written just for fun, I apologize for any OOC-ness and grammatical errors. orz;
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, bro.
Regret came hard and fast when an action's consequence reared it's head. Two more steps and his back would be against a wall. The sense of deja vu rolled in, had the situation not been so terrifying, he could have laughed. Instead, he side stepped into a chair.
He tried to smile. "You don't, do you?" Another question. Spirit had to stall, had to change the subject, had to dodge another bullet, or in this case, surgical instrument. A slice of silence indicated Stein had stopped stalking toward him.
"Don't what?" Both of Stein's hands slipped into the pockets of his coat. His left hand found the plastic surface of a lighter, half full, cheap and reliable, his favorite brand. The other hand met the cool metal extension of his fingers. There was no helping the twitch in his lips that formed a smile. "You asked, and I answered. I wasn't joking. I do." And it's been a while. Memories bubbled up, fingers found the sharp edge of a scalpel, he kept the lighting perfect and the tables clean.
Spirit bit his lip. Smiles like those were unnerving. They made his stomach twist and his hands turn cold. Cold like the chill of the sterol lab that bit at his skin and gnawed at his heart. "You don't love me. Not like you said."
Stein's smile faltered for a moment. He strode forward, quick, long steps. The distance between them closed before he spoke. "Of course I do." Leaving the lighter and scalpel in his pockets, Stein pressed both open palms against the green material of Spirit's shirt. Warm pads worked over the swell of an increasingly nervous heart rate, pausing to feel the synchronization between beats and breathes. A glance up assured complete attention and interest, his audience was captured. There would be no escape. With all the care of an experienced tailor, Stein worked down from the heart and traced the threaded scars he had stitched and memorized.
Gentle curves following the sweet arch of ribs, sharp lines and angles born from excitement or indecisive cuts, invisible incisions little more than skin deep, Stein knew them all. Especially the one of particular interest; a Y shape, just below the rib cage. His left thumb gently emphasized the tip of the scar. Spirit's breath hitched, an audible little gasp. He knew these stitches, what was beneath them. These were the only markings on his body he remembered and knew. Stein's fingers gathered and ran the length of the yet tender skin beneath fabric as he leaned forward. "Why else would I patch you up?"