Chapter Text
"Hank."
"Doc."
A mutual silence between the two. What a fantastic day. If he had been anyone else, he would have been utterly terrified, but no. He did not happen to be anyone else. 2BDamned tsked thrice, eyeing Hank up and down with an unimpressed look before settling his gaze on the other's face. He stood from his desk, folding his arms, brow furrowed.
Something was odd. Out of the ordinary. He couldn't tell if his goggles were fogging or if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if he was just severely sleep-deprived, but Hank did not seem weary. Well, not nearly as weary as he normally was. If anything, he was hyper. The slightest tremble in his hands told him that.
Not to mention how he was completely covered in blood. The smell was honestly disgusting, even through his air-filtered mask.
"Enlighten me, Hank, you seem awfully chipper. What's the occasion, hm?" 2B waited for a response, taking his time. Hank was never one to talk much, nor answer fast. A texter's worst nightmare, in the flesh. This was expected. The seconds of silence would've been intimidating, but again, he was not anyone else. He'd long learned to be unafraid of the guy, even if he towered over him and could rip his jaw right off. He wouldn't dare. And he knew that.
"Doc. Send me on another mission to that building soon."
"Oh?" That was new. Hank got bored quickly when he ran out of targets to maul, as well as if he memorized a layout, so for him to request it again... Something truly extraordinary, probably. 2B then noticed a bit of red leaking out from under Hank's mask, trailing down his chin and onto his neck. "Is that yours?"
Hank nodded slowly, pulling the mask off, as well as his jacket. 2B had to sigh, the heavy, dramatic kind. Of course. Really had to make his job even more of a pain, huh? Bullet holes and lacerations peppered along his arms and torso. Fantastic. The slash on his cheek could wait.
At least he didn't die again. That would've been quite annoying.
2B left for a moment, wheeling in a medical cart. Why he even had this, he had no damn clue. He wasn't a real doctor, and he didn't know why they called him Doc.
"Sit," he instructed, to which Hank obliged. He pulled on fresh latex gloves with a snap, and took a pair of tweezers and a glass dish from the tray, beginning to remove the bullets lodged in Hank's arm. The guy didn't wince or budge or complain, as expected. His pain tolerance had gone up significantly over the years.
"I counted... around seventy-something eliminated."
"Good to know. Consistent with our data. Now tell me. You seem jittery. Did something happen?" asked 2B as he placed the deformed bullet in the glass dish, quickly plugging the wound with gauze. He paused for a second, blinking tiredly. Yeah, he needed sleep. But whatever.
"Doc, there was a fucking blender. And a paper shredder, th—"
"Keep still," he interrupted, sighing again. Hank's obsession with blenders and whatever was both understandable yet confusing. The guy did not in fact keep still and no matter how hard he tried, 2B's hands would not be accurate as he accidentally tugged on a bit of flesh inside of another bullet hole. Hank winced and finally stayed still.
"I got to shred agents into slivers. Ribbons. Do you not understand how satisfying that is?
"You are psychopathic." 2B removed another bullet after finally grabbing it. Hank merely shrugged, invoking a scoff from him. The man truly did not care that he slaughtered people in such a painful fashion. 2B was tempted to hit him upside the head, to be honest. But it was also his fault that they died—he'd sent the mission, after all, to clear the building. Perhaps he should've sent Deimos and Sanford, the more merciful ones—But they would've spent time goofing off, maybe, and Hank was far more efficient. Efficient and thorough. He wasn't sure if that was a positive thing or not.
"By the way, MAG Agent. Shredded. Just thought you should know."
He gave an affirmative nod. He'd have to take note of a Magnification Chamber for that building then. The next few minutes passed with no words exchanged, silence broken only by the sound of clicking and ripping and wrapping. Honestly, they weren't that hard to dress. Hank probably could've done it himself. He set the tweezers back on the cart, tossing his gloves in the trash and handing Hank his bloody jacket.
"You're done. I hope to not see you here again soon. If you end up here again, make sure you're not dismembered first. Where's Deimos?"
"... Went out with the other one. Said something about a supply grab." The mercenary merely shrugged and paused for a second. His excitement about the blender seemed to have been forgotten. "And don't worry, Doc. I'll make sure you don't have to piece me together again."
"I should hope not," 2B said drily, not believing that for a second before Hank shut the door with a soft click. Since when did he actually care about the door hinges? He always slammed the door way too hard. Well whatever. Nice change of pace. He wasn't going to complain.
He should've, to make the man stay for a little while longer.