Having Hank around to help wasn't so bad. It made things like changing, cleaning up, and laundry a lot faster. The only problem was, Hank treated him like he was made of broken glass. Half the time Richard felt incompetent. No matter what he was doing, no matter how small the task, Hank stepped in and to take over. The only time he didn't take over was when he was playing with Pop Tart and Treacle. Hank did the more active play, like running around with the feather ball and racing them around the living room, but Richard was the one who brushed their fur, stroked them in his lap, and sometimes flicked soft toys across the floor for them to fetch.
The days Hank went to work were often a blessing. Richard could finally do something useful and prove to himself he hadn't forgotten how to take care of himself. Even the simplest tasks took twice as long as usual with only one hand, and that included things like going to the bathroom. He'd taken to wearing sweatpants around the apartment because a button and zipper was too much hassle. He wasn't really used to such loose clothes, and only kept them around for the gym. That was something else he'd had to stop. Hefting weights was out of the question with his shoulder.
There were days, like the weekend, where Hank stayed all day. Those were the days they did a deep clean and caught up on laundry. He might disappear back to his own house for two or three hours, but he was always back by lunchtime. Connor even visited sometimes, much to Pop Tart and Treacle's delight. They'd never had an android friend before, and Richard was surprised to learn they could interface. It wasn't detailed conversation, just an exchange of surface feelings, but it was enough that Connor could usually figure out what they wanted. He'd also been able to give them a brief examination and confirm they were both in full working order. Richard had never doubted it, but it was nice to have it confirmed.
At night, strange as it was, he and Hank had started sharing the bed. For the first two days, Hank had slept on the cramped sofa, but he was far too tall to sleep comfortably. Richard had offered to change with him, since the sofa was more his size, but Hank insisted that it was his house and his bed. The next compromise had been Richard insisting he could pass the night without him, and that Hank didn't have to stay over. Hank disagreed. He knew what a workaholic he was. If he didn't have a keeper, he'd try to take on more than he should and end up hurting himself. The only other option was to have Hank share the bed, which wasn't a big deal. It was a king-sized bed, so there was more than enough room. In fact, there was a valley of space between them where Pop Tart and Treacle curled up at night, enjoying the novelty of being warmed from both sides.
That morning, like many others, Richard woke up first. The ache in his shoulder was always worse in the morning. Even after three weeks, the moment he opened his eyes there was a dull throb. He lay awake, wincing and contemplating movement until his bladder insisted he do something about it. After that, he headed to the kitchen to make some tea. There was no point in returning to bed. Being up and active helped take his mind off the pain until it subsided. Pop Tart and Treacle stirred at the usual time and scurried after Richard as he headed into the kitchen.
"Morning," Richard grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. There was a series of answering squeaks as the ferrets ran around his feet, clearly excited by the prospect of another day in his company. They were quite smart, so it didn't take them long to make the connection between him only having one arm and him being at home more. They'd also noticed that Hank had only arrived since Richard lost the use of his arm. Pausing in the kitchen, Richard smiled as he watched Pop Tart and Treacle wrap around each other and roll across the linoleum. "Silly noodles…" The ferrets didn't seem to hear him as they squeaked and scurried off into the living room.
With the ferrets occupied, he busied himself with brewing his tea. The tea pot was clean from the day before, and he set out two cups ready for later. He had a teaspoon, but the next thing he needed was tea leaves. Upon opening the tin, he found it empty. There was nothing left but black dust in the bottom. Hank must have used the last of it yesterday…That meant he'd need to fetch a new box down. He used one bare foot to scoot the step stool across so he could reach the higher cupboards. Things he needed regularly were stored on the counter or the lower shelves. The top ones were mostly used for extra plates and glasses, and stores of dry food. Rice, crackers, pasta, coffee, tea, sugar, flour, and other products, all of them unopened.
Stepping on the stool, Richard moved to the top step and stood on tiptoe, craning his neck to look at the crowded top shelf. It had been a while since he'd needed a fresh box of tea, so it had inevitably been pushed to the back. Where is it? He pulled down a bag of rice and shuffled a few other boxes about as he searched. He was pretty sure he had a spare tin. Whenever he opened the next one, he made a point of buying a replacement. His fingertips finally landed on something smooth and cold. A tin. It was either biscuits or tea, and he knew which was more likely in his own kitchen.
"What the hell are you doing?" Richard gasped, startled by the sudden interruption right behind him. Leaning over as he was, the sudden fright also threw him a little off balance. Off balance enough to make him slip. The yelp had barely left his lips when a muscular arm looped around his waist to sweep him off the step. His body turned in an arc and his feet soon touched down on cool linoleum.
"Hank! You almost gave me a heart attack!" He wasn't joking either. His heart was fluttering like a caged butterfly, though it was a little hard to tell right now whether it was from the shock or the fact that Hank still had his arm around him. Perhaps it was due to his larger size, but Richard always felt that Hank was warmer than he was. Heat seemed to radiate along his arm where it was trapped against Hank's side. Despite how quickly he'd caught him, Hank had been careful to grip low on his waist so he didn't jostle his injured arm too much. Now that his feet were on the floor, Hank's grip had loosened, but his hand still lingered on the small of his back, fingers barely teasing the surface.
"Right back at you! What were you doing up there?" From Hank's tone, one might think he was scolding a small child for climbing irresponsibly. Richard clicked his tongue and scowled. You'd think he'd been crawling around on the countertop with the way Hank talked!
"I was just getting a fresh box of tea leaves!" Hank immediately took over, barely lifting his heels as he easily reached up and plucked the black tin from the back of the cupboard. Richard couldn't suppress his glare. Of course it took him two seconds flat. Snatching the tin, Richard turned it this way and that, looking for the edge of the tape. New tins were always properly sealed to keep the contents fresher for longer. Hank folded his arms and lounged against the counter, not bothering to hide his amusement as Richard balanced the tin on its side and ran his nail along the sealed edge.
"Need help?"
"No!" Hank maintained a smug air as he watched Richard stubbornly picking at the tape. Even once he'd picked the edge enough to lift it, he couldn't get the right purchase on the tin to pull it free. Gripping the tape, Richard shook the tin, trying to use the weight of the metal to remove the tape, but the tin was too light with the stickiness of the tape. Richard tried not to huff as he continued shaking, glaring at the tin as it swayed back and forth.
"Don't be so damned stubborn!" Hank chuckled as he took over, taking the tin with one hand and pulling the tape free with the other. "Come on, it'll only be for a few more weeks." He didn't bother to argue further. If there was one thing he'd learned about Richard Perkins over these past few months, it was that he had a rotten temper before his morning tea, much as he might try to deny it. Hank said nothing as he ripped open the foil bag inside and pushed the tin across to Richard. A bacon sandwich would also improve his mood, so Hank left Richard with the tea and pulled out the frying pan.
They worked quietly, Richard boiling the kettle and Hank buttering some bread. Hank kept one eye on Richard while he worked, ready to step in and help with the kettle or lift the teapot as necessary. It was probably a mark of his stubbornness that Richard managed to fill the teapot and move it to the breakfast bar without incident. Within a few minutes, they were sitting side by side munching their way through their sandwiches. Richard wouldn't say it, but Hank's bacon sandwiches were probably the best he'd ever had. He always managed to get the bacon just right, so it was chewy, but not overcooked or raw, with the fatty edges just starting to crisp.
Richard hummed, cursing under his breath as he felt a drop of warm butter trickling down his chin. Dropping his sandwich, he immediately looked around for a tissue before the oil got on his shirt, but Hank was already one step ahead. He was gentle as he pressed a folded tissue over his chin without comment, trapping the butter and letting Richard wipe his lips clean. Keeping the tissue close by, Richard returned to his sandwich and tried not to think too much about how quickly Hank had noticed.
"Thanks."
"Feeling better now?" Hank teased as he cleaned up his plate and mug. Richard tried not to glare after him too much. Since eating his sandwich and having his morning tea, he actually did feel a lot better. Usually he'd be getting ready to start the day, but since his day currently consisted of sitting on the sofa doing nothing, there wasn't much for him to do.
"Yes and no…I feel pretty much useless." Hank chuckled softly as Richard balanced his empty cup on the plate and carried it to the kitchen. He wouldn't be washing up. Hank insisted on doing that. With the dishwasher, it was really more rinsing than washing, but Hank still insisted that he be the one to do it. It wouldn't do to get the sling wet. "Treacle, what are you doing?" The dark brown ferret was dragging himself across the floor using only his front paws, wriggling and scooting on his fluffy stomach. Further behind, Pop Tart was doing the same. It seemed Treacle had more experience with this little game they were playing. Not one to lose, Pop Tart screeched and rolled over as if wounded before scurrying up Richard's pant leg.
"Oh? A sore loser, hm?" Hank teased as he reached out to pet Pop Tart, only to receive a curt nip in return. Richard tried to hide his amusement as Pop Tart hissed and scurried up his chest, where he clung and glared at Hank. Of the two, Pop Tart was far more possessive when it came to Richard than Treacle. It was actually sort of cute that he went so far as to attack a being almost fifty times his size to defend his owner. Hank grumbled as he sucked his sore finger and almost glared at the cream noodle. "Nippy little fucker."
"Sorry…I could program it out of him-"
"What? No! No, you don't have to do that, are you kidding? He has the right not to like me, it's fine!" Hank knew how Richard felt about his ferrets. The only things he'd programmed in were restrictions to keep them safe. He prided himself on letting them develop freely, and Hank wasn't about to make him change that over a few little nips. It might have been his imagination, but he felt like Pop Tart warmed to him a little more after that. It was probably silly, but he could have sworn those beady little eyes blinked at him as he clawed his way into Richard's sling, making him wince. "Still hurts, huh?"
"Yeah…Not as much as before though." That was something, at least. No longer getting the attention he craved, Treacle soon returned to run around screeching at Hank's feet. Apparently, he was in the mood for some active play, and he knew he wouldn't get that from Richard; especially not while Pop Tart was snoozing in his sling. Hank grumbled softly as he filled the dishwasher, scooting Treacle aside with his foot more than once to stop him from climbing inside.
"Hey! Get out of it, you little menace, or you'll make yourself short circuit!" Hank chided as Treacle finally hopped inside the dishwasher and rustled around with a squeak. "I'll leave you in there!" It was an idle threat. Treacle seemed to know as much too as he squeaked and wriggled all the way to the back. Kneeling, Hank reached inside and made a grab for the fluffy noodle but, like a snake, he slipped away and disappeared behind the rack. Uh-oh…Hank didn't want to pull the rack out in case Treacle crawled beneath and got caught in the machinery. "If you come out, I'll run around with you for a whole thirty minutes."
Squinting, Hank thought he could just see a soggy silhouette right in the back corner. There was no way he could grab him there, and if he tried, he'd probably get bitten or scare him deeper into the machine. Thirty minutes seemed like a good deal to Hank, and Treacle was pretty smart. He was sure he understood the offer. There was a little shuffling and a dark snout appeared over the edge of the metal rack, accompanied by a series of squeaks. Four squeaks. Hank blinked in disbelief. Is he…bartering?
"Alright, forty minutes! Will you get out here, please?" With an almost smug sounding squeak, Treacle clawed his way back into the rack with a rattling thud. As soon as the damp noodle flopped on to the floor, Hank whipped the door shut and started the cleaning cycle. "See? That wasn't so clever, was it?" Hank teased as he watched Treacle shaking off. Grabbing a tea towel, Hank wrestled the ferret into his hands and took him to the sofa, where Richard watched with great amusement as Hank dried him off. There was much squeaking and indignation as Treacle rolled around on the cushions and pretended he didn't enjoy every second of it. Once he'd had enough, Treacle rolled to his paws and caught the tea towel between his teeth, shaking his head and tugging it like a dog with a rope. "Oh, yeah?"
Hank played along, pulling him this way and that. Richard chuckled as Treacle threw himself down and rolled, letting Hank pull him across the cushions. The moment his jaws loosened, Hank pulled the tea towel free with a triumphant flourish and waved it above his furry head. Treacle stood on his hind legs and hopped, clawing at the material and squeaking as Hank hurried away. Treacle followed, hopping down from the sofa and streaking along the floor after him as he ran circles around the living room. Richard watched what he could, but otherwise remained where he was, gently stroking Pop Tart's head as he continued snoozing in his sling.
Hank was still running around somewhere in the apartment a few minutes later when Richard got to his feet to go to the bathroom. He knew that because he could hear Treacle's squeaking and Hank's bare feet slapping the linoleum. Chuckling to himself, Richard reflected that Treacle had probably never had so much fun before. He really seemed to like his new playmate. How will he feel when Hank stops staying over though? This was only temporary, after all. Once he'd healed, and with the case done, they'd both go back to their normal lives. It was a shame. He was getting used to him being around. Shaking his head, Richard finished up and washed his hand, with some difficulty, before stepping into the hall.
"Shit!" Hank's curse was all he heard before pain seared his shoulder and his body tumbled. He expected to hit the ground hard, but after being knocked sideways, muscular arms wrapped around him, somehow keeping him on his feet long enough to twist their bodies. Hank hit the floor first, holding Richard up so he didn't crush his arm, along with Pop Tart, who awoke with a screech and streaked down the hall. "Fuck, are you okay?" Richard's heart fluttered as he rested his good arm on Hank's chest to support himself. With a little shuffling, he got his knees on the floor and ended up straddling Hank, whose hands came to rest on his small hips, soothing the area apologetically.
Hank's blue eyes were riddled with concern as Richard panted and clenched his teeth. Pain seared his shoulder, the ache throbbing all the way through. There were light scratches on his wrist where Pop Tart had leapt to safety, but their sting was nothing compared to his shoulder. His dark eyes watered, mouth watering as he chewed the inside of his cheek. It took a few shuddering breaths before he could shake off the worst of it and contemplate his current position. Hank's thumbs were still rubbing soothing circles, keeping him in place, his body warm between his thighs. Richard's mouth suddenly felt dry as their eyes met.
"Yeah, I'm…Never better…"