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[biocomposer]

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[biocomposer]

"I feel the same," he agrees. "Maybe the three of us should have dinner sometime? So we can....form a more mutual understanding."

That isn't a euphemism for anything, though he realises that Betelgeuse might take it as one if that's how he's told.

[therushingsky]

"I'd like that." Rhys confirms, "Just-- be prepared to try out every single way of telling someone that you don't want a threesome beforehand."

Pause. Then, because hope springs eternal:

"Unless you really got along with him."

[biocomposer]

Elijah just coughs out a laugh and indulges him because he's death tolling.

"It wasn't that long a conversation."

[therushingsky]

"Time isn't everything. All you had to do to get me to follow you around like a puppy was sing a fifty second song."


About wanting to sleep with Robots. Rhys has preferences.

[biocomposer]

"About fucking robots, on my first day here, only to be verbally attacked by Bill Cipher by having not been here long enough to earn the opportunity."

Yes, he remembers.

[therushingsky]

"You were a handsome man with stage presence, who I shared a common interest with."

Rhys also wanted Kamski to fuck a robot.

Or a cyborg, but close enough.

[biocomposer]

"It worked out well for us," he concedes, with a small thin smile. "I don't think I would have been quite that explicit about my level of comfort with your prosthetics, otherwise."

[therushingsky]

"I don't know, all those long steamy days in the cybernetic maintenance lab, I'm sure we would have gotten there eventually."

Rhys tries to shoot Elijah a lazy smile, but ends up having to stifle a yawn instead. It's hard to be sexy when his whole body just wants to pass out.

[biocomposer]

Elijah shakes his head.

"You're going to throw out your back if you sleep here. Do you think you can stand so I can help you back to my cabin?"

[therushingsky]

Rhys mumbles his assent, carefully pushes himself up into a sitting position, shifts his feet around off the bench and onto the floor.

Blinks once.

Twice.

And immediately the tension drains out of his limbs as he slides sideways again, fully unconscious.

It's a pretty painless death toll, but no less incapacitating.

[biocomposer]

Fortunately for both of them, Elijah works out and Rhys is missing his heaviest limb. He'll wake up in the much more comfortable environment of Elijah's bed, later.

[therushingsky]

The next few days, Rhys weaves in and out of consciousness. The lack of pain is deceptive enough that he makes the mistake of heading out to try and grab food for himself too quickly, and catches himself waking up in one of the stairwells an indeterminate amount of time after.

After that he doesn't try again. Just lets himself stay down and be doted on by Elijah.

He waits until the first day that he finds he can stay awake for more than eight hours. That's why he leaves it until the evening before he suggests to Elijah:

"Uh, hey I was thinking-- the sooner I get used to having the weight back on my shoulder the better. You think you could help me fit that new prototype I've been working on? "

[biocomposer]

Elijah hasn't been around constantly - Rhys won't get better faster for him being underfoot, after all. He does curtail his hours at the lab slightly, though, and leaves a note to let his handful of potential patients know how he can be contacted.

Mostly he just doesn't want Rhys to pass out, hit his head on an unfortunately located piece of furniture and end up having to undergo all this again.

The request, when it comes, isn't much surprise.

"Yes, of course. Tonight?"

[therushingsky]

"Yeah. If it's not too late? I mean, It's easy for me, I've not been in the lab all day..."

And he's only going to be operating one out of the three arms potentially helping with the reattachment.

[biocomposer]

"It's not too late," Elijah tells him, and doesn't try second-guessing whether Rhys is up to it. He says he is; Elijah can trust that. "Is the equipment in your cabin?"

[therushingsky]

"The arm is, but it's kind of an upgrade from my last model. Should be more compatible with your tools-- better at connecting to tech from other worlds, and once the shoulder's fitted the main arm'll be detachable."

So that he doesn't have to rip out the whole thing hopefully ever again.

[biocomposer]

"Good. Shall we?"

If he can't walk to his cabin, Elijah is going to question the rationality of doing this now.

[therushingsky]

"Let's do this."

Rhys rolls up to his feet, and while his movements are still a bit slow and lethargic, he's steady enough as he goes.

[biocomposer]

"It's an - odd coincidence that the three of us were assigned cabins on the same floor," he reflects. "But it's worked out well, I suppose. Have the two of you spoken?"

[therushingsky]

"I texted him a bit on Monday." Rhys answers, "Told him you thought he should come for dinner, which-- he immediately freaked out about, but also was completely up for. He wants to know when to come over."

[biocomposer]

"Tomorrow night?" Elijah wonders out loud, stepping back to let Rhys unlock the door to his cabin as they reach it. "We'll have had the chance to do any necessary fine-tuning by then."

And he won't have had the opportunity to start a mental inventory of reasons to not invite Betelgeuse into his home.

[therushingsky]

"Tomorrow night would be perfect. Maybe I could do the cooking?"

Don't let him do it, Elijah.

It's sooner than Rhys thought it would be, but he's not about to argue. He pushes open the door to his room, and steps in, holding the door for Elijah to follow him in.

[biocomposer]

"...Maybe you can help me with prep," he offers, by way of compromise, while he follows Rhys inside. "It'll be a useful test of fine motor skills, and it keeps you away from high temperatures in case of problems."

[therushingsky]

"Sure. That makes me your sous chef, right? Or, wait--"

Inside his horribly decorated rose gold and black glass cabin, Rhys has a horrible, gaudy mahogany desk which is covered in mechanical mess that he's managed to scatter across it. In the heart of a hundred other projects, the prosthetic arm lays in wait.

"Is the sous chef the boss? Or like, the underling?"

Rhys carefully clears off some of the desk, then glances around, then back to Elijah,

"Uh, you good to work here, or should I just grab the parts and head back to your lab?"

[biocomposer]

"The sous chef is the second in command," Elijah says, more generously than 'underling'. "I can work here. Do you have sterile gloves?"