Work Text:
The moment Zeno caught wind of you getting injured during a mission, his world immediately stops. A weight as heavy as the pouring rain outside the window bears down on him and a surge of unrepressed, unfamiliar feelings come rushing through his entire being like a rude awakening. In this trancelike state, fear takes over unforgivingly. He can’t help it when the sudden realization hits him. He's terrified of losing you.
“Mr. Zeno?”
The soft spoken voice of his secretary unexpectedly pulls him out of his stupor. That’s when he becomes awfully aware of the prolonged breath he’s been holding and the tight grip he has on the electronic tablet partially resting atop his desk.
“Mr. Zeno, today’s scheduled meeting is with Dr. Gideon.” His secretary continues, her gaze darts to the dark colored designer suit he chose to wear today. “Shall I book a conference room?”
“Cancel that.” Zeno abruptly stands up from his seat, seemingly agitated but conscious enough to not let it show completely. The work tablet and official matters are all forgotten as he circles the desk to stand right beside her and when he mentions your name, it almost burns his tongue. “Where is she? Tell me.”
Taken aback, Zeno’s secretary slightly backs away from him, eyes trained downward and unsure if she should implore him to rethink the decision to cancel such an important meeting. Nevertheless, with a nervous tone, she gives him the answer he desperately seeks. “In the medical ward.”
Time appears to blur afterwards, in which Zeno barely feels present in his own body. From storming out of his office to the moment he’s standing all alone in an elevator, his fingers clumsily fumble with an unlit cigarette before he ultimately decides to shove it in his pocket. He knows that wouldn’t help much with the swirling doubt and endless train of thoughts haunting him. Out of all the things that could have happened to you, his heart wouldn’t be able to handle the worst case scenario, because you cannot be so cruel as to leave him all alone in this world, he won’t allow you to. Zeno shifts his weight from one foot to another, his composed exterior on the brink of shattering into a million tiny pieces as a looming sense of dread washes over him and with it, memories of the past come flooding back. An unknown, wicked voice in his own mind whispers, blaming and shaming him to no end. That day, when you looked up at him so endearingly and foolishly promised to follow him and his selfish ambitions, no matter how dangerous and outrageous they sounded, he shouldn't have let you. How could he not get attached to the happy glint in your eyes whenever he complimented your abilities? To become a suitable agent for the Connections meant enduring arduous physical and mental training, yet it only served as motivation for you to strive forward, a silent motivation to work harder if it ensured working beside Zeno. That was years ago and you haven’t exactly changed since then, still the ever so kind, resilient woman he first fell in love with. He’s undoubtedly so proud of you, so enamored by the way you never fail to exceed his expectations every time he thinks you’re already too perfect, but is it truly all worth it when the risk of losing you is always present? That day, he really shouldn’t have let you.
It’s not until the sharp sound of the elevator doors opening that Zeno comes back to reality with a startled look, which quickly morphs into an obvious scowl, brows tightly knit and a tightened jaw. He shuffles his feet, walking out of the enclosed space towards the fairly empty medical center, exclusively built for the organization for privacy and secrecy reasons mostly. Zeno strides forward, his eyes following the figure of a nurse before promptly calling her over with a simple request to be shown to the room you’re in. Without any questions from her end, the nurse compliantly leads him there.
In spite of Zeno’s best efforts to keep his anxious thoughts at bay, when the nurse scans her work ID card and the door to your room opens, his breath unexpectedly hitches, heart pounding in his burdened chest. Once he sets foot inside, the first thing his senses pick up is a blend of strong-smelling antiseptic, deodorizer and clinical chemicals. The light fixture mounted on the ceiling engulfs the surroundings with a blaring fluorescence. Zeno’s shielded eyes desperately search for you and when he does find your slouching figure sitting on the edge of the bed, a sigh of relief leaves his lips.
“We finished running the necessary tests for her, but the injuries haven’t all been treated. There’s still-” The nurse stops mid-sentence at the sudden movement of Zeno raising his gloved hand.
“I’ll take care of it. You can go.”
Those words left no room for discussion, the nurse could see it in the way he angles his head enough to peer at her through dark tinted glasses and the authoritativeness in his tone. Knowing the position Zeno holds in the organization, there’s no other option for her but to abide by such orders, thus leaving the room, causing the door to shut with a soft click, indicating the instant activation of the locking mechanic.
A deafening silence hangs in the air while Zeno chooses to approach you slowly, careful not to make any sound, somehow afraid he might scare you off. Rounding the corner of the bed to stand where you are, his eyes widen at the devastating state of your appearance. Disheveled damp hair, blood stained clothing with dirt spots scattered all over, bruised skin drenched in sweat, ragged breathing, a tired look in your eyes and a small smile painted on your lips.
Sinking to his knees right in front of you, the tangy metallic scent of fresh blood evading his nose swiftly sways his composure and he falters to regain even the slightest bit of control left in him. A shaky exhale escapes Zeno, gloved fingers softly wrap around your cold, clenched fists as his worried gaze travels upwards to meet your own. When he manages to speak, his usual calming deep voice clearly wavers. “Baby, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt anywhere?” These questions fall from his trembling lips at a hurried pace, his eyes warily scanning each and every part of you for any sign of serious injury.
“Are you here to scold me?” The hoarseness in your exhausted tone of voice shatters his heart, the hold on your hands tightens.
“Why would I?” Zeno’s lips quirk into a small grin, a breathy nervous chuckle leaves him. “Sweetheart, why would I be mad at you? I was so worried, I thought…” He cuts himself off, unable to even utter the next words. “Nevermind. Tell me, are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”
Seeing Zeno being this attentive and delicate, a special privilege only you get to experience, makes the aching pain in your limbs seem distant. The rubbing motion of his thumbs over the back of your hands is soothing to your scarred, tender skin. “I’m okay.” You lie, still smiling like a fool despite the agonizing soreness circulating throughout your body. “The job I was assigned gave me instructions to follow a target, catch them discreetly and bring them back for interrogation. It was supposed to be quick and simple, but..” You trail off, your thoughts drift to the distressing situation you were in just a couple hours ago. “I got ambushed out of nowhere by a group of unidentified individuals.” You sigh, shaking your head to get rid of those unpleasant memories. “I managed to get rid of most of them, but I guess I wasn’t so lucky as to come out of it unscaved. It would’ve been really bad if I didn’t have back up on stand by.” A cheeky giggle escapes you, somehow unbothered by such an implication.
Zeno stays quiet for a minute, silently processing the information you’ve just given him. A bubbling anger viciously simmers inside him, his jaw tenses once more, brows creased in a frustrated facial expression where his pronounced dark veiny marks throb in perfect harmony with his boiling ire. But it isn’t the time for this, not when he urgently needs to look after you and nurture you back to health. So, he closes his eyes for a short moment before opening them as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. Zeno carefully leans forward, his lips press to your knuckles in a faint, gentle kiss. “I’m glad you’re safe.” He whispers against your skin, gradually calming down.
Separating himself from you, Zeno stands up to remove his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders afterwards. The heat from the expensive woolen suit engulfs you in a comforting warmth, a contrast to the chilly air you had to endure outside today. You watch him adjust his clip-on glasses by flipping the dark tinted lenses upward, leaving only the prescription ones underneath, his golden irises briefly glance at you, this thoroughly examining your debilitated state.
Zeno gets to work right away. He retrieves a couple clean towels from the bedside table, using one of them to prudently dry your hair for a while, during which a pleasant silence dances between you two. Drinking in the sight before you, it’s unreal to think how far Zeno has come since you’ve started dating. He’s not as reserved as he used to be, not so afraid to open up about his feelings and certainly caring more than ever. A powerful businessman who deals in lethal bioweapons for a secret corporation and a mere clone living in the shadow of the person he was designed to be, is now nothing but an affectionate boyfriend tending to the woman he so profoundly loves.
Zeno gingerly wraps the towel around your hair, hoping it would help absorb the rest of the moisture. Then, he makes himself comfortable by cautiously sitting beside you, causing the mattress to slightly sink under his weight. Reaching for the other unused towel, he folds it in half for more precise handling so he could wipe away all the dirt and sweat away from your face, neck and hands. It makes your heart flutter with the way he’s so concise and focused on not trying to hurt you, the patting motions along your skin feels almost featherlike.
“I’m sorry. I lost the target.” You pout, hot tears threatening to fall from your eyes, maybe the exhaustion made you more emotional than usual. “Are you gonna stop me from taking more missions now? Am I gonna have to quit? Oh, right. I know too much, they’ll just get rid of me.”
“I’m inclined to believe you wouldn’t accept that outcome. Nor me or you. If anyone dares lay a finger on you, it’ll be their last day alive.” He casually assures you, and he means it wholeheartedly. “I’ll take care of the matter. Do not worry about it. Miscellaneous concerns like such should be irrelevant to you right now.”
Zeno’s words dripped with confidence, tenderness twinkling in his eyes as your gaze interlocks with his, it melts your heart further, cooling down the bitter tears that were about to fall and with it your anxious state. Your body relaxes underneath his soft touch, though the forming headache and stinging burn from your wounds are still painfully present.
“Take off your shirt. I need to see if there’s any critical injuries you’re probably hiding from me.” Zeno spoke with a calculated cadence, hastily slipping the leather gloves off his hands, revealing alabaster skin adorned with the same intricate dark marks you absolutely adore. Albeit, the alluring sight doesn’t last for long as he grasps a pair of nitrile gloves from the medical kit atop the table, making sure to slide his fingers in a sterile manner while still sealing them for a snug fit. His hands hang upward.
“Why, take me to dinner first.” You cheekily quip, a playful smile dancing on your lips, yet when you get no reaction from him, you sigh. “You’re no fun.”
Peeling off his suit jacket, a wince slips from your lips as you wiggle your upper body to remove your muddied shirt, throwing to the side haphazardly before one of your hands flies to cover a deep red cut across your forearm, breath ragged once again.
“Show me.” Zeno’s voice drops an octave lower. You know he’s not messing around anymore.
Breathing in a good lungful, you muster up the courage to lift your hand up, uncovering the extent of the damage to his unyielding stare. He’s not exactly furious, simply assessing the situation. The peculiar, extraordinary intellect ingrained in him since early development has all the medical knowledge Zeno requires.
Meticulously, Zeno slides a gloved hand under your arm, bringing it closer to him. His glowing amber eyes carefully inspect the angry raw edges of torn skin. “How did you get it? Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, tilting his head to scan every possible angle.
“It was a knife, I think.” Your face twists in a grimace. “I guess, yeah. It hurts a little.”
A slight yank of your wounded arm makes you yelp. He really had to prove you wrong so unexpectedly
“Ah! Zeno, you fucking-”
“Don’t lie to me.” His steady velvety voice drifts through your ears. “I have to know everything in order to help you heal perfectly."
Regardless of the hurtful hit your pride has taken, you resign to faithfully answering his previous questions. “I remember it was a sharp, pocket knife. Yes, it hurts very fucking much. Is that enough for you?” The cutting edge to your tone is evident by the growing irritation from all the mental strain of aching pain and heavy fatigue.
However, Zeno takes no offense to it, fully aware that your current mental state is obviously not at its best. Instead, he tries to focus on gathering his thoughts to prepare for the right treatment. He can tell it’s a laceration. Whether it has been infected or not, he has no idea, but he’ll keep it in mind either way. No visible major blood vessels are damaged and there’s little to no blood oozing out from it. Zeno lets out a subtle sigh of relief. “Did you put pressure on it? Any other symptoms?”
“Yes, of course I put pressure on it. It stopped bleeding like a while ago.” You answer. A wave of tiredness washes over you. “Symptoms… I’m dizzy, nauseous, my head feels pressurized, I have goosebumps all over, my throat is dry and this stupid light above me is way too bright.” You cough a couple times, cringing at the way it tickles your throat. “Pretty sure it’s a fever.”
He actively listens to you talk as his other free hand reaches for the bottled saline solution placed on the tray kit. “Sorry, baby, this will hurt a bit.” His gentle voice and sympathetic gaze align so dreamily with his attractive facial features.
The several Zeno vigorously squirts the liquid solution over the ragged wound to remove any debris or bacteria, it sends a shot of electrifying pain through you. “Damn it!” Biting your lower lip to stifle a sob, your eyes glisten, bleary with tears.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon. I promise.” Zeno reassuring words fill the surrounding air as he immediately sets the bottled solution aside to stretch his arm and fetch a handful of non-fluffy gauze from the kit, which he instantly uses to pat the area dry. Thankfully they seem to soak all of the blood that has been left. Irrigating is done.
Zeno worryingly peers at you through clear prescription lenses, observing each shake of your shoulders in a failed attempt to suppress your sobs. His chest tightens again, his next question comes out in a weak whisper. “Darling, are you okay?”
At this point, you barely realise you’re panting until you speak. “Yeah, yeah, I am. Just continue.”
By elevating your arm over your heart level to reduce blood flow, Zeno applies a thin layer of antibiotic ointment over the sensitive cut skin before covering it with a non-stick pad. To secure it, he firmly wraps a gauze roll over your forearm, ensuring by the end it’s not too tight or uncomfortable for you. A snappy sound of elastic stretching crowds the air as Zeno peels off the nitrile gloves, discarding them absentmindedly. He stands up, offering you enough space to lie down.
The worsening fever causes you to drift in and out of consciousness. A vague sensation of strong, muscular arms helping your trembling frame recline against the cushiony bed feels almost distant. Words are lost on you, finding it hard to even thank him for his kindness. Your unfocused gaze tries to follow Zeno’s superhuman speed motions where he strips the rest of your clothing down, taking the chance to wipe all the dirt and blood away. He disappears to grab a change of clothes and shortly comes back to tentatively help you slip into them. In the blink of an eye, you’re already tucked under a cozy blanket, the room now dimly lit with the only source of light emanating from the bedside lamp. Your head is spinning, heart violently thumping at the rising temperature of your fatigued body.
“Sweetheart, you need to take these.” Zeno’s voice is above a whisper, he snakes an arm around your back, aiding you to lean forward so he can feed you a couple of anti-inflammatory medicine and the necessary antibiotics. Slowly setting you back down, he makes sure to properly cover you with the smooth, cottony blanket.
The calloused palm of his naked hand gently caresses your cheek, the pads of his fingertips run along your forehead, the heat emerging from it seeps into his own skin. His saddened expression deepens as he watches you fall asleep, still frightened he might lose you in some way overnight.
Zeno leans down to plant a sweet, tender kiss on your lips. “Rest, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He murmurs against your soft skin, words spoken to comfort rather than be heard by your sleeping figure.
He has no plans to leave this room until you’ve woken up anyway. He’ll stay right here by your side, because you are and always have been his first priority.