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There’s an old myth or metaphor about a frog in a boiling pot. A frog is capable of adjusting its body temperature so well that if you put one in a pot of water and slowly raise the temperature degree by degree you could boil it alive without it even noticing.
This tale could very well describe one Dr. Gears, both as an analogy for the Foundation slowly heating up the ground beneath him, but also very literally. He has very little feeling in his body physically. He never gives the temperature of his area much thought until someone points it out to him or it becomes unbearable.
The last time a room felt unbearable, or really felt like anything at all to him, was in the confines of a collapsed room that was slowly filling with snow. The breach of SCP-882, the one that left him and Iceberg trapped in a blizzard for nearly a week.
He remembers it all so clearly. The unrelenting cold pushed through the numbness like daggers. Sharp and cold and agonizing. The cold was all encompassing, it burned and penetrated his skin until it felt like even the blood, the very fiber of his being, was frozen inside of him.
He remembers how his clothes stiffened, and then his muscles, the agonizing effort it took to walk, to bend his frozen joints. How painful it was even to open his eyes and expose them to the dry winds around him. He kept his eyes open anyway, just to watch as his stiff fingers turned purple and black.
It was beautiful. The feeling of the cold, how it indiscriminately tore through his body and left him nothing. Without hesitation, without thought, it broke him. And it was so beautiful, to be broken, to know he still could be broken. He would have gladly let himself die there if it meant he could stay like that forever.
He tries not to think about that too much, though the frostburn scars that still cover his body make it hard to forget. Besides that extreme case, he rarely takes notice of most other physical sensations around him. He doesn’t notice the pain of his twisted ankle, only that he has a little more difficulty walking than usual, nor does he notice the cut on his cheek, only the vague feeling of something running down his face.
He does notice, as he helps his friend Kondraki out of a pool of his own blood, how warm he is. You never really think about how warm blood is until it’s soaking into your clothes and skin. The human body is constantly producing heat that it’s easy to forget how much heat until someone is right up against you.
While one doesn’t usually think about the indiscriminately destruction of the cold, the destructive nature of heat, of fire, comes to mind much quicker. While Gears has never been severely burned, he imagines his fingers would look much the same as they did in that night he spent in the snow.
He follows after Kondraki and he finds himself once again drenched in blood as he helps Kondraki away from the half eaten corpse of the guard. Kondraki leans on him, his breath heavy and stinking of copper. Gears can feel Kondraki’s heart hammering and the heat coursing through his veins.
Kondraki leans in, tongue out, equally sure of what he’s doing as Gears is. His tongue slides across Gears’s cheek, across the cut Gears wasn’t even aware of, his scratchy beard brushing against his skin. It’s warm. Warm. That’s the only way Gears can describe it.
Blood is smeared across Gears’s face and he can feel it running down his chin and dripping into his mouth and he is once again reminded that he is breakable.
…
The exact series of events that lead to Gears stepping into Dr. Mann’s office on his day off aren’t important. If pressed he would cite a particular request Mann made to him via Email. He wouldn’t technically be lying, but he would be carefully omitting the longing he felt seeing the long stitches that entangle Kondraki’s body.
Surgical tools are displayed openly on a metal tray next to the examination table. Gears watches as Mann wipes them down with a sanitized rag, noting how they shine in the warm light.
“Ah! My dear Charles! I’m so pleased you responded to my inquiries! I was beginning to worry you were avoiding me!”
Gears winces at the use of his first name. Mann was not a particularly high ranking doctor, only clearance level two. But, while he has very little access to the actual database of SCP objects, he has complete freedom over something that Gears does not.
The complete and total personal information of every patient he sees.
“Hardly,” he replies. “I simply did not have the time to schedule an operation.”
Another half truth. He has possibly the busiest schedule in the Foundation, rivaled only by the O5s themselves, but he also had a certain amount of karma he is always free to spend. He’s done such a perfect job creating an image of productivity and professionalism that he could get away with much more unprofessional behavior simply because it’s him.
For example: spending one of his stockpiled sick days for recreational surgery.
“Get comfortable! Is it too cold in here? Because if it is, you ought to tell me now before we get started!”
“The temperature is fine.” Gears sheds his coat and takes his place on the examination table. He feels awfully… out of his element. If there’s a certain etiquette to this, he’s unfamiliar. Should he ask or await instructions?
“Would you like anything to eat before we get started? I still have some fresh meat in the fridge!”
“Your offer is appreciated, but no thank you.”
“Very well! Would you undress for me?”
Gears slowly strips himself, folding his clothes up and leaving them in a pile on the floor. He tries not to look at himself too long, tries not to think about his body. Mann watches him with a keen eye.
“I assume you’ve washed up before this?”
“I have.”
“Wonderful! Now let me see here…” Mann opens up a cabinet full of pill bottles. One thing the Foundation was willing to look over given Mann’s track record was his unlicensed pharmaceuticals. Gears has already gotten this far so it’s not like it bothers him.
Mann hands him a bottle of water and a paper cup of pills. Gears shifts the cup around to observe them all.
“I would like to be awake for this procedure.”
“Awake you say?” Mann perks up, eyes wide. “Interesting. I take it, you would like to watch?”
“I would. I would also ask you to forgo any painkillers or other suppressants.”
“No painkillers?”
“I want to feel it.” He wants to feel everything.
“I see…” Mann takes the cup of pills and returns to his cabinet. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t want any painkillers? I certainly appreciate your interest in observation but I would like you to reconsider.”
“I’m sure. I can handle pain.”
“Very well then!” Mann returns with a different set of pills. “These will help you stay awake for the procedure, as well as a few things to keep you from tensing too much. Alright, dearest?”
“I see.” Gears tips the cup of pills and swallows them dry.
Mann scoots a tank of numbing gas over to the examination table. “I would like you to know that, if at any time it comes to be too much, I can help you sleep with this.”
“I assure you it won’t be necessary.”
“Well! It’ll be there! Lay back for me, won’t you?”
Gears lays down and stares up at the ceiling. Mann takes his wrists and ankles and straps him down with thick leather straps. The straps bite into his skin, not tight enough to cut off circulation but enough to keep him down.
A shiver runs down his spine.
Mann pulls on a pair of latex gloves and fetches an item. He washes it under the sink and returns to Gears’s side.
“Open your mouth for me.” Gears obeys, allowing Mann to jam the item between his teeth. “Just so you don’t injure your lovely teeth. Is that comfortable?”
Gears attempts to move his jaw and get a feel for the mouthguard. Comfortable isn’t the word he would use, but it’s acceptable. He offers Mann a curt nod.
“A verbal response, if you can.”
“It’s fine.” His voice is muffled but audible.
“Good! Good. And you can breathe just fine?” Mann puts a hand on Gears’s chest, feeling it rise and fall in the rhythmic manner that it does.
“I can.”
“Wonderful…” Mann cups the side of Gears’s face, gently brushing his thumb across his cheek, across the spot where a few weeks ago Kondraki licked him. His hand runs down, feeling along Gears’s neck and down to his exposed chest and stomach. Gears swallows.
He wasn’t the type of man to squirm, but feeling so exposed like this he’s tempted to. He finds he can’t move at all, barely able to clench and unclench his fists. Mann’s drugs work their magic fast.
From his tray of beautiful tools, Mann snatches up his scalpel and gives it a look over. He slowly brings it down, resting the tip on the center of Gears’s chest. Gears’s heart rate quickens, sweat beads up on his forehead, he clenches down on the mouthguard. He’s ready, he can take it, come on.
“I would like to offer pain medication one last time before we get started.”
“Please, please just do it!” Against his will, desperation creeps into his voice.
“Understood!”
The blade sinks through his skin like nothing. A weak gasp, barely even that, escapes him. Mann drags the scalpel down and Gears can feel everything. And oh does it feel. The very seams of his body torn open.
Gears was never a particularly emotional child, even before his father took him in. Under his father’s roof, he became intimately familiar with exactly how much pain his body would take/ He learned that the consequences for complaining about pain were always more unbearable than the pain itself.
He learned to never make a sound when in pain, and he doesn’t make a sound as Mann peels his skin back and exposes his inner workings. Mann uses some thin pins to hold him open. He looks beautiful like this.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you were the type to smoke.” Mann grasps one of his lungs and gives it a gentle squeeze, forcing the air out. The action makes Gears light headed in a way he would almost describe as euphoric.
“I indulge occasionally…” he forces out. Mann lets go and the air has never tasted so sweet. He’s tempted to ask him to do that again but he’s not sure how.
“Do let me know if you’re ever interested in a new pair of lungs! Indulging me, so to speak.”
“Okay…”
Mann pokes around some more, slicing through more skin and tissue and muscles, observing every little piece of him. While he works, Mann talks to him. Gears wonders if Mann always talks while he works or if this is a special case.
“I’ve always held a great deal of respect for you, doctor.” Mann says, running a finger along Gears’s large intestine.
“Is that so?”
“Of course! I would struggle to find someone who didn’t find you fascinating!” Gears grimaces. “Though, I believe my interest in you goes beyond simple workplace respect. Are you quite alright?”
Gears’s heart was beating so hard they could both hear it. Mann wriggles his crafty fingers under Gears’s ribcage, gently curling his fingers around the muscle. He drags his bloody knuckles across Gears’s exposed cheek.
“You’re trembling.” If it weren’t for the mouthguard Gears’s teeth would be clattering. “Is it too much?”
“No.” Too much was the full body bite of the cold, this wasn’t too much. It was close, but he can take more, he knows he can take more.
“As I was saying, you have a very interesting body! I’m so glad you’ve allowed me to get this close! And might I say you’re doing a fantastic job right now! So calm for me!”
“Th-thank you.”
Mann smiles. He continues his examination, taking his time with every piece of Gears. “Beautiful,” he whispers, dripping in blood.
That’s what breaks him. Years of carefully built up resolve snap under the small, whispered complement. Gears chokes as a whimper escapes him. Tears pour from his eyes, a fix of pain and joy and something else he can’t identify.
“Oh, Charlie…” Mann takes a cloth and dabs the tears away.
“S-sorry…” He was doing so good. “Please… don’t stop.”
“I won’t, I won’t.” Mann keeps his tone soft and cheerful. “Most of my patients begin crying before I've even started my operation! I’m very impressed with you!”
Impressed? With him? Under all the searing pain, Gears feels warm. He’s so used to the weight on his shoulders that, with the weight gone, he feels like he’s floating. That could also be the severe blood loss making him dizzy.
His balatent show of emotion is humiliating. He wants to curl up and hide away, but for obvious reasons he can’t. At his most exposed, both physically and mentally, Mann says nothing. He only continues his work unimpeded.
“I’m going to close you back up, alright my dear?”
“Uh-huh-” he’s not sure if he has the capacity to say much more.
Mann pulls out a spool of silky red thread. Gears watches, vision blurry, as Mann lovingly seals him shut. His mind is so perfectly blank. He lets his eyes close, sinking into the inescapable wave of everything.
“Look at you! You did wonderfully! Did you enjoy yourself?”
Gears tries to nod.
“Would you like to sleep now?”
Gears struggles to grasp the question. He’s been pushed past his limit and held there. The closest to bliss he’ll ever reach. Warm and safe under Mann’s care, he allows him to fasten the gas mask to his face. The world slips away from him in moments.
…
His bed has never felt so comfortable. Nothing has ever felt so comfortable. Gears set up all his spaces in a very tactful way, never allowing himself more comfort than he needed.
He opens his eyes… He’s met with the darkness of his own room. There’s some noise in the nearby room. He tries to sit up but his body is too weak to move. Feels like he’s crushed under a weighted blanket.
Mann enters, wheeling in a cart of food. “Good morning! I hope you don’t mind me letting myself into your home! Your place was closer than mine!”
“It’s alright…” The words are soft and raspy, the product of him sobbing his lungs out earlier.
“I’ve put together a meal for you! I tried to use what you had, but your cabinets are very barren.”
“Thank you.”
Mann adjusts Gears’s blankets and pillows and props him up. Gears examines the mystery meal, prodding at it with the provided fork. It’s good whatever it is, possibly the nicest thing he’s eaten in a long time.
“Thank you,” Gears repeats, failing to find anything more eloquent to say. This is… quite unlike him. “I should return to my work.”
Mann’s eyebrows furrow, though he keeps his tight grin. “You will do no such thing!”
“I’ve wasted enough time, I would not like to fall behind.” He sets the plate to the side and attempts to get up. Mann pushes him back down with no effort. A pained whimper escapes him.
“You’re a hard working man, Charles darling! But, you’re certainly in no state to be working! Not on my watch!”
“You have no authority over my actions as site director,” Gears says, in a warning tone.
“Actually! As head of the medicale department, I can relieve anyone of active duty! I’m afraid you’re on house arrest until I can assure your health!” Mann leans in, ruffling what could very generously be called Gears’s hair.
Gears wants to say something, but his body is far too heavy, his mind still foggy with agony and pain killers. He runs his fingers across the stitches on his chest, biting back every noise his body wants to make. Mann only grins at him, his benevolent captor.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you until you recover!” With that, Mann leans in, pressing his lips to Gears’s forehead. Gears loses consciousness before he can even register that action.