i had fun with this! i like thinking of new ways for these two jerks to end up hurting themselves (and then being taken care of)

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They say it takes a few days to regrow an organ—yes, even with the money and resources of Handsome Jack backing it. It’s a hard pill for Rhys to swallow, considering he’s so used to any of his own hurts being treated within the day, sometimes even the hour of when he first brings it up to Jack. But he doesn’t have the energy to fight them on it, not while he’s still recovering from seeing a mercenary’s blade slash open his boyfriend’s throat.

Those first, horrible seconds where he’d felt absolutely sure that Jack had died still swirl around his mind as he tries to listen to the doctor. He holds Jack’s hand on the hospital bed, unwilling to let go now. He’s heavily sedated and his throat is covered in white gauze and medical tape instead of blood and strings of flesh, but Rhys can’t forget, no matter how much he just wants to focus on the path ahead.

The bleeding has stopped. Now the hard part begins.

The hospital lets Jack go home as soon as he’s stable, other injuries well on their way to healing. They reverse his sedation, leaving him groggy and loaded on pain meds but otherwise awake. Rhys helps his boyfriend into the Hyperion-branded wheelchair, taking last minute instructions from the doctor before an armed entourage leads them back to the penthouse.

Rhys may not have the clout of his injured boyfriend, but he can be commanding enough in a pinch.

Once they’re back home Rhys finally lets himself relax a bit, the comforting scents washing away the smell of disinfectant and residual blood the former hasn’t managed to scrub away. He carefully wheels Jack into the bedroom, murmuring soft encouraging words that he’s not sure his boyfriend comprehends as he steers the chair over the carpet and to the bedside.

Jack murmurs unintelligible in response as Rhys carefully slides one hand under his knees and the other under his back. Usually, it’s the other way around Rhys’ brain unhelpfully supplies as he hefts his boyfriend up into his arms with as much care as he can muster. Jack’s definitely a lot heavier than the stacks of paper and cups of coffee Rhys is used to carrying around, but with the cybernetic he manages, situating Jack in the middle of the bed with pillows propping up his head.

Dull blue and green flicker beneath Jack’s eyelids as he struggles to keep them open. Rhys leans over him with a quiet shush, leaving the chair at the bedside in case Jack needs to use the bathroom.

“You can go back to bed, okay? Don’t force yourself to stay away if you don’t want to.” The doctor told him Jack needs two pills every six hours, and he’d taken one right before they left. He can afford to sleep.

Jack mumbles something Rhys can’t understand before his eyelids slowly start to slid shut. Rhys waits a couple seconds, watching his boyfriend, before he straightens up and makes to leave with a hundred preparations for the days to come spinning in his brain. But then Jack starts and his hand clumsily flails out, knocking against Rhys’ wrist. The young man turns back, alarmed, to see Jack’s eyes wide open now, and filled with something he doesn’t want to see—not twice in one day, not after cradling his boyfriend’s body in his arms and watching his pulsing throat bleed out.

Fear.

“Hey no, no,” Rhys tries to soothe as Jack’s throat works futilely underneath the bandages. He pushes away the chair and sits on the edge of the bed, cybernetic palm firmly planted on the mattress as he strokes the side of Jack’s face. “I know you can’t talk right now and uh, please don’t or your doctor will be mad…”

Jack seems to relax a bit at his touch, his face turning to the side to nuzzle more against Rhys’ palm.

“I just want you to know though, that I’m not going anywhere. Okay? I’m not leaving you.”

It feels corny, like Rhys is making a promise in a vintage movie, but Jack seems to take it at face value. His eyes go to flutter back closed, and after a moment his shoulders properly relax as he gives into the pull of exhaustion once more.

Rhys doesn’t leave his side, though, not until a few hours later when he wakes Jack up for his pain medication.

---

The next day is both harder and easier.

Jack’s far more lucid than before, and freaks out a little less when Rhys has to excuse himself to use the bathroom or make some food. He takes his pills obediently and drinks water when Rhys presses a glass to his lips.

But Rhys can tell he’s not comfortable with not being able to speak.

He keeps opening his mouth, expecting that commanding tone and “sharp” wit to come flooding out, and though he understands what’s happening there’s still always a moment of bemusement before reality hits back in, and that moment is as painful for Rhys to watch as it surely is for the CEO to experience.

It must be hard for a man like Jack, who has always tasked himself to fill his own silence. There’s nothing now to keep the space around him occupied, to speak aloud in attempt to feel less alone.

Thankfully, Rhys is here.

There’s an old ECHO tablet he has from back before he got his cybernetics installed. It hasn’t been touched in years, but thankfully still boots up when connected to the wireless charger. Jack raises his eyebrow when Rhys first slips it into his hand, until he switches over to the text function.

“See? Maybe it’s not the same, but it’ll do for right now, you think?” Jack’s other eyebrow joins the first one, creasing his forehead. “Give it a try?”

Jack smirks, before tapping his fingers against the screen. Rhys sits patiently on the edge of the bed until the CEO turns the tablet towards him.

Hi cupcake, the glowing blue letters on the screen display.

Rhys snorts.

“Hey, Jack.”

For the first time since the incident, that gets him a smile. Rhys can’t help but grin back as Jack turns the screen back towards himself, tapping out a longer message before flipping it back for Rhys to see.

Kind of quiet without me, huh? You’re gonna have to work on being more entertaining.

“Entertaining, huh?” Rhys puts his hand to his chest in mock affront. “I’m a little more focused on making sure you’re properly washed and clothed and fed, mister.”

Jack clicks his tongue in a amusement, propping the ECHO on his chest as he snuggles deeper into the bed. His whole demeanor seems brighter as he types, grateful to have a proper means of communication outside of frustrating gestures and expressions.

Speaking of food, I’m starving. What did that quack say I could eat?

“Uh, soft things mostly? I had them deliver a lot of stuff so I didn’t have to go out…mashed potatoes, apple sauce, protein drinks…”

Jack wrinkles his nose, adding ew, I’m not a baby after the end of his last message.

“So you say…” Rhys teases lightly before rubbing his chin. “Well, uh…what do you want? As long as it’s not too solid I can get you whatever.”

Jack’s expression crinkle in thought for a moment, before a wide, toothy grin spreads across his face. He quickly deletes the previous message before turning the screen back to Rhys.

Ice cream. Jack’s eyes twinkle with delight over the top of the tablet.

“Oh, you’re really milking this aren’t you?” Under normal circumstances Rhys might be offended over Jack asking him to sacrifice a portion of his super hard-earned ice cream stash. But, well. He had survived an assassination attempt, hadn’t he?

And if a little bit of ice cream is the thing to keep Jack happy and healthy then well, Rhys is more than willing to take the hit.