They get changed into the pyjamas Sami left for them. Soft cotton, old but well-kept.

Gray only puts on the bottoms, pulling the drawstring around his hips. Zef opts out of the shirt, too. He turns out the light, lays down, head on the pillow. With his heart in his throat, he holds open the covers in invitation.

Gray stands next to the bed like a swift, new to flight and clinging to the edge of a cliff. Stiffly, gingerly he sits and eases down next to Zef. Maybe his hands shake because he needs another cigarette. Maybe they do because he's unused to touch in this strange context.

He lays feather-light fingers against Zef's chest. "Doesn't hurt, does it?"

Oh. Or it's that. In the intensity of the moment, Zef forgot his scars. "Doesn't hurt anymore. Healing technology works good these days."

Gray lays his head on the pillow, the tip of his nose kissing Zef's shoulder. His thumb lightly traces the spot where gold meets stainless steel and becomes a starburst of scar tissue. A wake of shivery goosebumps follows his touch.

"This is what my nightmares are about."

Zef catches his breath. "It's over now."

Gray's eyelashes brush a butterfly kiss against Zef's shoulder. "Not over when I sleep. You don't know what you looked like bleedin' out in my arms, darlin'."

A wave of nausea passes him like a ghost over his grave. Zef hadn't thought of that. The photograph of Gray sopping wet with gore in a destroyed factory comes to mind. He carried Zef from the warehouse to Damo's operating table. He'd showered Zef's blood off not knowing if he'd survive.

"I'm here now. I'm okay."

A derisive noise, but Gray relaxes by a fraction. "Not sure about okay. But alive." His head lies heavier against Zef's shoulder. "Better stay that way."

A little firework erupts in Zef's heart. A pop of burning cheer. "I'll do my best if you will."

A grunt of affirmation. Then, so painfully cute Zef thinks his chest might burst open with affection, Gray nuzzles closer.

"Comfy?" says Zef.

"Don't know if I can sleep like this."

Stubborn. Zef wonders if Gray fears it will work more than he fears living with perpetual insomnia. A discomfort so well-worn he's mistaken its familiarity and survivability for as-good-as-it-gets.

Suddenly, it makes sense what Sami said about her care being a treatment, not a cure. 'Cause this isn't as good as it gets. It could be better.

Zef says, "If it doesn't work, least we tried."

"Sure."

In spite of his cynicism, Gray's tension unwinds, a sensation Zef can feel physically as the body lying perpendicular to his moulds itself closer.

A month ago, Zef would have to contend with the dysphoria of his pre-op chest ruining the moment. Instead he luxuriates in the warmth leaking through their clothes wherever they touch. Gray doesn't seem the cuddly type. Too spiky. But he carves himself into a shape that matches Zef's like they're two delicate pieces of a watch fit together precisely by an horologist's steady hand.

Contrary to Gray's doubts and all the things holding him in suspended terror for so long, his eyelids drift shut, and before long, the count between one breath and the next grows long.

He sleeps.

Zef watches with a sense of awe as the lines of tension around Gray's eyes smooth away. He admires the dark sweep of lashes against an unfairly exquisite cheekbone. Nobody in their right mind would ever apply the word 'angelic' to a man like Gray.

Zef thinks that's because they've never seen him sleeping.

They both wake hours later to a knock at the door. Gray stiffens, eyes flying open. He sits bolt upright, back to looking roughly unangelic if not for the charming pillow creases imprinted on his cheek.

Zef says, "It's probably just Sami. I'll get it."

Gray looks at the holo-clock flashing noon on the bedside. He'd slept for three hours.

Sami's voice—well, one of them—comes muffled through the door. "We can return later if now is inconvenient."

Zef opens the door. Sami bows her way inside.

"We want to apologise for causing you distress earlier. Everyone's treatment needs are different, and the fault lies with us for pushing you outside your comfort zone too quickly."

"Oh, uh, no, I'm sorry—" Zef starts. "I'm still not...sure what happened there."

Gray, still staring at the clock, says nothing.

Sami takes him in. Then Zef. Her forensic stare draws Sherlock-ian conclusions in an instant.

"I'm glad to see you've gotten some much needed rest."

Gray returns to the present with a twitch. "Uh, yeah. Found a— workaround."

His ears blaze bright red. Zef has to strangle a scream. Gray with blushing ears and bed head after sleeping in Zef's arms was not on his bingo card, but it is the single cutest thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he thinks Gray wouldn't take kindly to any words normally associated with kittens being applied to him.

Sami continues, "We're still concerned and might like to discuss gentler alternatives. For now, you have a visitor."

Damo bursts into the room wearing a purple moo moo. "'Sup sluts. Did you miss me?"

A swell of relief almost compels Zef to rush forward and hug Damo, who must read the intent in Zef's body language, because the next second Zef finds himself enveloped in a bear hug anyway.

"I knew it," Damo says. "We bonded."

Sami gets squeezed to death, too. Only Gray is spared, offered a respectful salute.

Damo says, "Thank you for babysitting my monkey children. I hope they weren't too much of a handful."

Sami opens her mouth, but takes too long to respond.

"They were a nightmare, huh?"

It's unilaterally decided breakfast is required before they discuss Phase Two of their plan, only two days away. Sami leads them to an industrial kitchen where a half dozen other Samis fry eggs, bake croissants and blend smoothies. Damo flies into action. Before long, they're parked on tall stools with pastries in hand.

Zef tucks into his food with reckless abandon. Big Emotions were exhausting. Gray, in contrast, eats with wincing difficulty.

Damo says, "Now that I have you as a captive audience, I'd like to announce some revisions to our plan."

Gray frowns. "We ain't gonna spike the desserts anymore?"

"I know patience is your weakest virtue, but wait for me to finish. No, all the technicalities are still the same."

Gray huffs. "Good, 'cause I was lookin' forward to that."

"The new parts of the plan are as follows: step one," Damo says with sanctimonious pomp. "You get some rock-a-by baby sleep."

Gray's spoon clatters into his macaroni. "For fuck's sake."

Sami says, "It will increase your chances of success by a not insignificant percentage. Sleep deprivation decreases your concentration, reaction time and judgement. It could mean the difference between failure and success."

"Step two," Damo continues. "We find a treatment plan for your gild, because this shit ain't sustainable. Could have got you killed if you'd fainted a moment sooner. We don't have to make a move on our plans until Sunday evening, so you might as well enjoy a little TLC this weekend. Baby Jesus knows you need it."

Gray's lip curls, but he doesn't deny it. At this point, the evidence stacks against him. "Zef 'n I had some thoughts on that."

Damo's eyes dance brightly. He gestures as if to say 'be my guest.'

"Treatment. I'm willing to try again. But— I still ain't— I'll do yoga, but none o' those massages unless—" He pauses, face colouring. "Unless you can teach Zef."

Samis, all seven of them, puff up like delighted birds and say in unison, "It would be our pleasure!" Then the one in front of them clears her throat, and the others go back to busily preparing breakfast for the hotel guests. With more neutrality, she adds, "Of course, we are happy to accommodate. We can start with yoga before moving onto more challenging treatments, if you prefer."

"Yeah... Yeah, sure."

"In the meantime," Damo says, "I'd like a lil chitchat with Zef."

Gray manages to finish more of his breakfast under the surveillance of three overly fussy mother hens. Before he departs with Sami, Zef nudges him with a shoulder and says, "Good luck."

Gray, turning an uneaten apple over and over in his hands, peels the sticker off. Then, inexplicably, he pastes it to Zef's forehead.

"Fruit," he says.

Zef watches him depart with Sami, affection threatening to make him squeal like a rubber chicken.

"That was so fucking gay," Damo says smugly.

Zef glows with pride. We are pretty dang gay.

"Now I've got you to myself, time for a private conversation. And I do mean private. Like, about privates," Damo says.

Zef darts his eyes toward all the Samis.

Damo, catching his meaning, reassures him, "Oh, they help me source this stuff. Communication network, remember? The patient-doctor confidentiality thing extends to them. Trust me when I say, they don't care. If it's a problem, though, we can—"

"It's not," Zef says. "I'm just...easily embarrassed."

"You need have no shame. You are not the only one I've helped with his dick before." Before Zef can inquire, he bulldozes ahead. "I wanted to check in. Had any more thoughts about what you might want down there?"

Zef chews his lip.

"Also, if you want me to back off and let you ponder, tell me. I only ask 'cause I've known a bastard or two who felt like they were imposing by taking me up on the offer and never bothered to follow up."

"That's..." Exactly what Zef would have done. "Appreciated."

He'd contemplated bottom surgery a little. Well, a lot. While they'd gathered disguises and dug into Damo's plan, a nagging voice in Zef's brain insisted he should go for it. Not only because he'd never before had the opportunity and the idea enticed him. Not only because a thrill of pleasure went through him at the idea of pissing standing up or dicking someone (Gray) down.

The other, darker reason was because their mission against Rylan came with more risks than listed on the back of heavy pharmaceuticals. No telling what might happen or what regrets he might have if, once again, he found himself bleeding and blacking out.

"Yeah. I had some thoughts. You got that tablet with you?"

An hour later, Sami comes to fetch Zef for his massage lessons. He follows her to another treatment room, this one all warm ochre tones and honey-scented candles.

Gray sits on the edge of the massage table fully-clothed. He gives an awkward salute.

"If you're ready to begin, Gray, would you please start by removing your shirt and lying down on your front?" Sami says.