Dax stood at the wide window of their private sitting room, his phone in hand. The city stretched beyond the glass, layered in desert dusk and distant lights.
He was still half feral with the need to do sothing.
Behind him, Chris had sunk into an armchair by the fire, clutching a cup of hot chocolate that Killian had nearly bribed the oga to drink. He watched Dax the way one watches lightning, not necessarily afraid of it, but profoundly aware of what it ant.
Rowan had left minutes ago.
Killian had left with him.
Which was when the phone finally rang.
Dax answered on the second ring and put it on speaker.
"Fitzgeralt."
Trevor didn’t waste ti on pleasantries.
"We had a situation," Trevor said, voice cool in that terrifyingly composed way that ant the world was burning sowhere and he was already rebuilding it. "An illegal detention site outfitted for dical sedation and transfer. Ogas and alphas were stored. "
Chris straightened slowly in the chair.
Dax’s fingers tightened around the device.
"Where," he asked, voice low.
Trevor nad the city.
"What happened?"
"Demolition was planned," Trevor continued. "Charges already staged. My n arrived thirteen minutes after I received a call from Ethan Miller. They would not have arrived to survivors if Ethan had not bought them that ti."
Chris’s breath caught softly.
Dax’s jaw clenched. "Ethan."
"He infiltrated before I could stop him." Trevor’s tone didn’t change, but for soone who knew him, the fracture was there. "He docunted everything. Sent it to in real ti. Located Leon Stuart, an oga friend of his. Prevented his sedation. Physically engaged one of the dical staff. Extracted Leon. Then turned back for another oga in the collapse zone."
’Of course he had.’ Chris thought, his hand tightening around the cup.
"And?" Dax said.
Trevor exhaled once, controlled.
"He pushed them clear. The wall and ceiling took him instead. A steel beam penetrated his right shoulder. He was also doused in multiple unidentified compounds from a ruptured cabinet. According to the doctors, so of those substances should not have been in civilian possession, much less over unconscious ogas."
Chris closed his eyes.
Dax didn’t blink.
"He’s alive," Trevor continued, because he knew what silence on this line ant. "He’s conscious. Stable... for now. But the physicians are... unsure. They don’t yet know how the chemical mixture will interact in the bloodstream or if there are latent compounds triggered in contact with his blood."
Chris swallowed. "Trevor..."
"I know," Trevor said softly. "We have already proof that is... a part of Vivienne’s experintal ring remained after I disposed of her... Dax, as you already guessed, soone was manipulating Vivienne and Benedict."
Silence lingered a fraction longer.
Then Dax spoke.
"Send him here."
Trevor took so ti to respond. "You want Ethan in Saha."
"Yes," Dax replied. "When he is stable enough to survive transport."
"Why," Trevor asked, not challenging, just requiring the logic spoken aloud.
"Because your doctors are talented," Dax said. "Mine are monsters."
There was nothing arrogant in it. "Because the compounds Vivienne was experinting with belong to military-grade scent-interference and neural-behavioral conditioning programs that should not exist outside black archives. And because if soone is experinting with that level of chemical manipulation on ogas and alphas, Saha has seen a version of it before. We have data others do not."
Trevor didn’t argue.
He just went quiet for a heartbeat too long. Then he drew in a breath and let it out in sothing close to resignation.
"I’m aware," Trevor said. "And I agree."
Chris’s fingers curled into the robe.
Trevor continued, his voice firm.
"Ethan will be on his way to Saha the mont the doctors approve him for transport. I don’t trust the stability of his condition enough to move him sooner. But I also don’t trust the system around him enough to leave him where he is any longer than absolutely necessary."
Dax inclined his head, even though Trevor couldn’t see him.
"Understood."
"He’s..." Trevor slowed for a fraction of a second, as if the word hurt. "...stubborn. In pain. Irritated by dical supervision. Disgustingly alive. And conscious enough that I had to threaten to sedate him again to stop him from trying to get out of bed."
Chris let out sothing that was neither a laugh nor a sob.
"That sounds like Ethan," he whispered.
Dax’s gaze softened.
Trevor’s tone dropped again.
"We’ll keep him stable. We’ll keep him breathing. And then... he’s yours. Tell your doctors they are permitted to be monsters as long as they bring him back in one piece."
"They will," Dax promised.
The line clicked.
Silence swallowed the room again.
The phone lowered slowly from Dax’s hand.
He didn’t move. He didn’t bark new orders. He didn’t reopen the comm line.
Chris hadn’t noticed when his hands started shaking again.
He only realized it when he saw Dax properly. When he looked up and saw that the fury had dimd in his husband’s eyes, banked into sothing colder.
Dax crossed the room in three asured steps.
He went to one knee in front of the armchair and simply frad Chris’s face in his hands.
Chris’s breath stuttered.
The robe swallowed him in dark fabric. Damp hair clung to his temples. His eyes were dry but bright, holding too much. Dax leaned his forehead gently against Chris’s.
"He’s alive," he murmured.
Chris swallowed hard.
"Yes," he whispered.
It should have soothed sothing. It did. But only partway. Relief only did half its job when love ca with history and scars and too many scenes where "alive" had been a miracle rather than a guarantee.
Dax didn’t move away.
He stayed close, breath warm against Chris’s skin, the world narrowing again to touch and quiet reassurance. One of his hands slipped from Chris’s cheek to the back of his neck, thumb pressing slowly, rhythmically, holding him the way he’d learned Chris needed grounding.
"You did nothing wrong," Dax said softly. "You didn’t drag him there. You didn’t put him in that building. You didn’t light the fuse."
Chris closed his eyes.
"I know," he whispered.
He did.
He knew.
But knowing and feeling were often enemies.
Dax exhaled slowly, then simply gathered him up.
He lifted Chris carefully, almost effortlessly, and sat back on the couch with him, drawing the smaller man onto his lap. Chris didn’t protest. He just let it happen, curling into the impossible safety of a man who could choose to destroy nations and instead chose to be gentle with him.
Chris tucked into his chest, forehead against his collarbone, hands fisting in his shirt.
"I keep thinking," Chris murmured, voice thin, "that this might be because of ."
"It is not." Dax said and kissed the top of his head. "Trevor would find everything, and you can see Ethan soon."
"Thank you." Chris said, pressing his face into that impossibly large chest.
"Everything for you, my moon."
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