Work Text:
Pentious's behavior during their fight had been utterly childish.
Baxter had told him so as he retreated -- Storming out, really? Like a child? -- but had barely been able to get the words out as the door had slammed, Pentious hurrying to leave their argument with the stupid egg experiments that he'd suddenly gotten so attached to. Ridiculous, and yet somehow something Pentious had seemed to think worth denouncing the scientific method entirely for, all of their research, and wielding ironically venomous insults.
(Ironic because, despite his cobra hood, Sir Pentious had no venom to his actual, literal bite. Baxter had checked when they'd started sharing lab space, when they hadn't had any reason to trust each other yet.)
Baxter still wanted to bite something, frankly; if Pentious had gotten close enough he might have done so. He wrangled and pushed down that furious, cornered impulse, deciding instead that he would rub this further in his partner's face the moment he returned. Probably singed, bruised, and bleeding from letting out his anger in that frivolous, unnecessary turf war he was so enamored with. And possibly with a few broken eggs despite his ludicrous protectiveness.
Baxter made a mental note to point out the hypocrisy of that if it indeed came to pass, and as he watched Pentious hurry away through the rain (the idiot hadn't even taken an umbrella, despite the telltale screaming they'd been hearing from the sky all evening!), he forcibly righted the unhappy set of his earfins and turned back to his work.
He ignored Pentious's half of their lab, the complete state of disarray he'd left it in. He wasn't going to clean up after the man, even if some of those inventions could potentially punch holes in their walls if jostled or malfunctioning; Pen could still take care of that himself. Serve him right if anything on his side got destroyed anyway!
It sat untouched for days.
It really wasn't a surprise that Pentious was electing to stay away, sulking and sleeping in his ridiculous dirigible, giving Baxter the silent treatment. Their fight had been a bad one, and Pentious had left in an absolutely foul mood, and was obviously more than willing to continue being as immature as possible. But as days stretched into a week, a week and a half, two... Baxter felt a prickle of agitated doubt.
"He isn't that stupid," he muttered to himself. Pen had left everything here! All of his blueprints and research notes and half-finished projects. Disrespect for science or not, it would be a complete waste to turn his back on all of that. The clearest indication that the idiot was just throwing a tantrum was that he had left literally everything here to inevitably return to.
Everything except for those eggs. And even if his partner had suddenly started treating them as the most important thing in Hell for some reason Baxter couldn't fathom, they weren't the only thing that mattered. They both knew that!
He was coming back. Even if he'd had the ridiculous idea of actually moving out, and Baxter was certain that such an idea would fade as soon as his temper flared less red-hot, he'd be back for his things, at least! And then they could continue that fucking argument and he could actually talk some sense into Pen this time.
Baxter placed a gloved hand absently over his chest where the worst of that feeling was, pressing down the rising tide.
He didn't touch Pentious's side of the lab. He worked. He threw himself into his work and the days passed so much more quickly when the only things he took any breaks for were answering the door for the food he occasionally had delivered, and picking at said food. It was a waste of money, really, but they did it more often than they should, because they both--
He found it more convenient to not have to prepare anything himself--
He wrenched his thoughts back into order. The plural was accurate, there was no reason to correct himself. They both found it more convenient to not have to prepare food themselves, and so they found that the extra expense was, on the whole, worth it.
He fell asleep at his desk a few times, but was so caught up in his work that he only really pulled himself away when he ran out of fucking ethylene. He growled, patience shot even further than usual with his exhaustion, and cast around for one of his clipboards, tearing a piece of paper from it and scribbling a note:
I've only stepped out, I'll be back in 20 min.
The odds that Pentious would choose then to come back were minuscule, practically microscopic. But Baxter taped the note to the inside of the door stubbornly, where Pentious couldn't help but see it before he could try running out again. He slammed the door behind himself as he left, hurrying to restock what he needed.
...The odds that Pen would, by sheer chance, return home in the short amount of time that Baxter was out really were too low to give any actual credence to.
When Baxter came back, the snake's side of the lab was empty. When he turned, after several long moments struggling to take in the sight, there was a small mark on the door where tape had been. The note was balled up in the trash. Further inspection showed the key to their front door, left in one of Baxter's glass beakers, where Baxter couldn't help but see it before he could get back to work.
His fingers curled painfully around the matching key in his hand.
Baxter was silent, but there was something uncontrollably loud inside of him, and the sound of glass shattering against the wall at least came close to matching that volume.