Fic: Another Road Leading to the Same Destination [Hank/Boris]

[jade_dragoness]

Amnesty is over today for au_bingo!

Title: Another Road Leading to the Same Destination
Author: J.D. aka jade_dragoness
Summary: When Hank had decided to go to the charity function the last thing he expected to see was a man suffering with heavy metal poisoning.
Pairing: Boris/Hank
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Vaguely for events up to season 3.
Word Count: 6,150
Disclaimer: Never ever will be mine. *sadness*
A/N: Sneaking in one more fic under amnesty. Written for the au_bingo Card prompt #21 - Activists.
Feedback is hugely welcomed.
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AO3 Link
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“You‘re sure you‘ll be alright?”

Hank looked up from the medical journal in his hands to shoot his brother an exasperated look. “I‘m fine, Evan. I can survive alone for a couple of days without you to hold my hand.”

Evan shifted on his feet, looking nervously back at his brother. “You wouldn‘t say that if you could see how you looked like right now. Seriously, you’ve been here two days and you still look like crap.”

“Thanks,” Hank said dryly. “All I need is rest and relaxation. And what to you know… with you at that accountants‘ conference, I should be getting tons of peace around here.”

“It‘s not an accountants‘-- you know forget it,” Evan said exasperated. “If you‘re fine enough to snark than you‘re clearly well enough to be on your own.”

“That‘s exactly what I‘ve been telling you,” Hank said amused. He got up from the couch and shooed at his brother with both hands. “Go! Have fun. Make numbers dance, or whatever you CPAs do to have a good time.”

Evan rolled his eyes and tugged his rolling green suitcase out the apartment. Hank started to push the door closed behind him. “Your ban on accounting humor is a lifetime ban, pal.” Evan poked his head between the doorframe and the door to shoot his brother a concerned look through lowered brows. “You‘ll call me, if you need anything, right?”

“I’ll be fine! Now go! Before I decide I need to spend my vacation in Las Vegas and I mug you for your plane ticket.”

“Ha! As if you‘d be able to fool anyone that your face is anywhere close to my attractive--”

Hank shut the door, smiling. He waited until he heard the faint squeaks of the luggage wheels heading down the hallway before he rejoined the couch. He opened up the medical journal to begin reading from where he left off. Half an hour later, having managed to read exactly one page, Hank gave up on the journal, switched on the TV and accessed Evan’s Netflix account. He got a good laugh out of his brother’s viewing queue before he switched on the latest superhero movie he missed out by being overseas. Halfway through the movie as explosions bloomed red-orange on the screen, Hank fell asleep.
*-*-*-*

Two days later, Hank was ready to climb the walls from boredom. He wasn’t used to being so inactive. Three years of being with Doctors Without Borders had left him pretty used to always been on the move, always looking for ways to fix the innumerable problems which cropped up on site. And before that he’d been an ER doctor in one of the busiest hospitals in New York City.

Sitting on his ass for the first couple of days he’d gotten back had been bliss, but now it felt like ants were crawling under his skin. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen if he didn’t get a move on. Maybe, his supervisor --Charlie Casey-- had been right when he’d told him to take the summer off.

Bored and desperate for human interaction which wasn’t digital, he called up Jill Casey, Charlie’s nearly ex-wife (it was apparently complicated) and a good friend to Hank.

“Hank!” Jill said enthusiastically as soon as she answered her cell phone. “I was wondering when you‘d give in and call me.”

“Am I that predictable?” Hank groaned with embarrassment as his cheeks heated.

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Jill teased. “So… what can I do for you? Please don‘t ask me about putting you to work.”

“Well…” Hank trailed off sheepishly.

“Hank!” Jill scolded. “You‘re supposed to have the summer off! Charlie said you needed it. And if he‘s saying you need a break--then you need a break!” Her voice gentled with concern. “He told me you‘ve been having trouble sleeping, you‘re underweight and--”

“Jill!” Hank cut her off before he got a litany of all the symptoms which got him shipped back stateside. “Right now, I‘m just bored. My brother‘s out of town on a conference. Most of the people I know in New York are from the hospital or friends of Nikki and…”

“Oh,” Jill said with soft sympathy. “Well, unless you want to come to the Hamptons and meet my brothers...”

Hank winced. “Thanks, but I‘ll skip crashing the family reunion.” He liked Jill very much, but he also didn’t think their friendship was at the stage were he could horn in on her rare family time.

“Good choice,” Jill agreed, amused. “I love them but my brothers can be overwhelming all at once. Well…if you‘re serious about putting yourself to work…”

“I am,” Hank said firmly.

“There‘s this charity function in the city I had to skip out on. They‘re full of potential donors.”

“And you want me to go and round some up for you,” Hank said.

“Yup,” Jill said cheerfully. “Just introduce yourself, make small talk and mention Water for Women whenever you can. You don‘t have to extract promises, just get the name out and into donors‘ minds. Because if they recognize it later when I‘m handling the charity drive…”

“Then they‘re more likely to donate,” Hank agreed, nodding even though Jill couldn’t see him. “That‘s pretty sneaky.”

Jill laughed. “You know how it works; every cent matters.”

“Yeah.”

“The function’s black tie but won‘t be for three days,” Jill said. “I‘ll overnight you the invite and I‘ll make sure your name is in my place.”

“Thank you!” Hank said relieved.

“You’ve really been bored, haven‘t you?”

“You have no idea,” Hank agreed, as he eyed Evan’s apartment. He’d actually dusted and was considering vacuuming when he’d decided to call Jill.

Jill laughed, and distracted him by chatting about her family, how she was looking forward to the annual HarborFest and the family obsession with lobster rolls.
*-*-*-*

Three days later, Hank was wearing a tux and smiling as he held a champagne flute. To his surprise, he was having a good time. The food was tasty, the champagne was bubbly and the music didn’t demand he make any fancy moves. He’d never thought himself as a small talk kind of guy but the last few years had left him with a passion for charity work and in this function he fit right in. Once, he wouldn’t have thought that smooching people with money was in any way a part of medicine, but all these years he’d spent with Doctors Without Borders had forced him to acknowledge the importance of donors who funneled money so doctors like him could help people in impoverished countries.

Tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying smoothed out of his muscles as he danced with several lovely ladies. It took his shoes pinching his toes and getting filled up with champagne to excuse himself to go find a bathroom.

On the way out of the men’s room, Hank paused and turned his head as his instincts demanded he pay attention. A man, older and taller than him, was walking down the hall to the hotel’s balcony. He was stumbling badly, and was being helped by a large suited man whose demeanor all but screamed ex-military bodyguard while another bodyguard scanned the area around them. A smaller man wearing glasses trailed behind them.

Hank frowned and paid closer attention.

The man being supported by the bodyguard wasn’t drunk. He was walking like his feet hurt. Sweat beaded at his temples and he was blinking rapidly with one hand out before him like he couldn’t see. Hank set off after them at once. He categorized the symptoms he observed, eliminating several possibilities. Abruptly, Hank wished he’d thought to bring his medical bag, but it wasn’t like he expected to need one at a charity function.

Next time, Hank silently promised himself, he wouldn’t be so caught off guard.

“Excuse me,” Hank said politely as he walked through the double doors to the balcony. The bodyguard who’d been scanning for threats slid his hand into his dark suit jacket, no doubt going for a gun. “My name is Hank Lawson, I‘m a doctor,” Hank continued firming his expression with determination even as he raised his empty hands. “I can see something’s wrong. Let me help him.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Dr. Lawson,” The German accent was a surprise, but only a momentary one. Hank shifted his gaze to the man with the symptoms. The first bodyguard had him seated on the balcony chairs, his black shoes where on the floor. “There is no cure.”

Hank frowned. “What do you have?”

“I don‘t know,” the man said as he looked towards Hank. His blue eyes weren’t tracking quite right and they looked too much to Hank‘s left. “I‘ve talked to experts. No one knows,” he said, his voice thick with despair.

“Would you let me examine you, anyway?” Hank asked softly. “If only to settle my own conscience? I can‘t see you like this and not try to help.”

“Ja, fine,” the man said after a moment. He nodded and both bodyguards stepped back, allowing Hank to get between them. The small man in the glasses looked at Hank with a stiff expression and surprisingly hard, cold eyes.

Hank ignored him as he crouched by his patient’s side. “You‘re feet are hurting you, you can‘t see very well and you‘re having difficulty breathing. What other symptoms do you have?”

“Muscle spasms.”

Hank frowned harder. That eliminated the most likely candidate he had. “How bad is your vision loss?”

“It‘s partial, like black spots floating in front my eyes,” the man said bitterly. “Doctor, there is nothing you can do. My father died of this, and it’s merely my turn.”

Hank sat back on his haunches, stricken by the thought of losing his first patient since he returned to New York. He dropped his eyes, feeling sick. This is when he saw the white ring blemishes in his patient’s fingernails. Hank blinked in disbelief and reached out, grasping the older man’s right wrist.

The man flinched at Hank’s touch then stilled. “What is it?”

“Have you by any chance been to any third world countries recently?” Hank asked urgently.

“Not for a couple of years,” the man said. “Why?”

“Call the hospital,” Hank said looking up at the nearest hovering bodyguard. “He needs immediate treatment for thallium poisoning. Make sure that they have Prussian blue on hand.”

The bodyguard’s eyes widened but he reacted without hesitation and pulled out a sleek cellphone from his blazer.

“Thallium poisoning?”

Hank turned back to his patient. “Thallium poisoning presents itself with several symptoms, including: a burning sensation on the soles of the feet, muscles spasms and degenerative cognitive function as well as loss of vision and rings of white in the fingernails. I only recognize it because I‘ve been to country where they still use it to kill rats. It‘s odorless and tasteless and I once had a patient who accidentally ingested small amounts over a period of several weeks before he sought treatment. Your fingernails are just like his, with rings right above the cuticle.”

The sound of the double doors closing abruptly made Hank jerk his head around as the small man with the glasses power walked out of sight. Hank frowned after him for a second before turning his attention back to the person who needed it most.

“I have been tested for everything. I have a mutation. It was discovered years ago.”

“I don‘t know what your doctors have been looking for,” Hank said quietly, even as he heard the approach of sirens. “But if they‘ve been looking for a genetic cause then there‘s no reason anyone would think to test you for a heavy metal poisoning. Yet from seeing your symptoms, this is my diagnosis.”

The clamor of the medics coming through the doors made Hank get to his feet. He rattled off every symptom, his diagnosis and emphasized the importance of his patient getting Prussian blue at once as well as hemoperfusion and hemodialysis.The medics nodded, bundled Hank’s patient into a stretcher and were out the door in less than three minutes. Both bodyguards kept pace.

In the aftermath, the balcony rang with silence for a second before the sounds of New York City traffic blared. Hank looked down at the expensive black leather shoes left behind and suddenly --and ridiculously-- he felt like oddball Prince Charming. A normal guy who ended up with both pairs of shoes from the mysterious wealthy stranger who had to leave before the party was over. On impulse, Hank checked his watch and had to smile in bemusement at how both hands showed it was five minutes past midnight. Then Hank picked up the shoes and went to go find his patient to make sure he survived the night.
*-*-*-*

To his discomfort, Hank found out the nearest hospital was Brooklyn Heights Mercy Hospital. It was the last place on Earth Hank wanted to be, considering his history with the hospital, but his responsibility to his patient, however briefly he was a patient, gave Hank the incentive to push beyond his own discomfort to make his way in.

Fortunately, however much he’d pissed off the hospital administration, Hank had left the hospital in good graces with most of the staff which included the nurses which manned the stations. So he was able to convince them to give him the name of the man who’d come in with thallium poisoning.

Boris Kuester von Jurges-Ratenicz was a mouthful, but Hank rather thought it fit the man. Hank also got the name of his doctor, a Doctor Alex Duran. Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz was still in emergency care so Hank went to wait until his doctor came out with news. Hank found the bodyguards, standing around on their feet as they waited. They’d multiplied since the last time he’d seen them because now there were four of them. The small man with the glasses was missing.

There were also two police officers in plain clothes with the bodyguards. Hank could tell from the badges clipped to their belts. From the bodyguards’ body language, they weren’t happy at all, whether it was the questions or their boss being treated for poisoning, Hank couldn’t tell just from looking at them. He went up to one of the bodyguards he recognized who was a man with light brown hair who towered over him by nearly a foot and with twice as much muscle mass to boot.

“Hey,” Hank said.

The bodyguard jerked over at him, twitching with tension. He stared at Hank with a hard expression before recognition lit up his pale hazel eyes. “Hank Lawson,” the bodyguard said. His faint accent pinged a memory and Hank upgraded his estimation of the bodyguards’ skill from ex-military to ex-Mossad agents. Which meant that Boris Kuester von Jurges-Ratenicz was not only a rich man, but a very rich man to be able to afford having four of them on his payroll.

Suddenly, Hank felt ridiculous for coming here with Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz’s shoes which the man could, no doubt, easily replace. Hank held up the large brown paper bag which held the shoes. “I have his shoes. I‘d figured he‘d want them back,” Hank said quietly.

The bodyguard nodded and took the bag.

“Has Dr. Duran come back with any news yet?” Hank asked.

“Excuse me, who are you?” One of the police officers asked with a frown. He and his partner both looked at Hank with evaluation in their eyes.

Hank automatically held out his hand for a handshake. “Dr. Hank Lawson.”

The cop’s eyes flickered up and down as he took in Hank’s tuxedo but he shook the offered hand. “Detective Jack Vega and this is my partner: Detective Julie Cuvias. Do you work with the hospital, Dr. Lawson?”

“Oh no, I was at the hotel,” Hank said. “I diagnosed Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz with thallium poisoning.” His answer earned Hank the complete attention of all the bodyguards. “I stopped by to follow through on the diagnosis. I wanted to make sure he got the antidote in time.”

“It seems he did,” a female voice broke in.

Everyone turned to see Dr. Alexandra Duran, standing before them.

“Hey, Alex.”

“I never thought I‘d see you here again, Hank,” Alex said, staring up Hank.

“How‘s Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz?” he asked.

“Lucky, that‘s what he is. Damned lucky,” Alex said somberly. “He‘s reacting well to the Prussian blue and the hemodialysis.” Every bodyguard reacted with soft sighs of relief. “But we won‘t know for 12 hours if his organs have been damaged,” she added.

“When can we talk to him?” Detective Cuvias asked. “When you called us, you said that the poisoning couldn‘t be accidental. So the sooner we question him, the sooner we can find out who‘s trying to kill him.”

Hank saw how the bodyguards exchanged looks, so subtly that the detectives didn’t notice.

“Not for another couple of hours,” Alex said frowning. “He needs to be closely monitored and stress is the last thing he needs right now. Nearest we can tell Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz had been systematically poisoned over a period of several months.”

“Can you tell us how?”

“No,” Alex flatly.

“Thallium is both tasteless and odorless so he could’ve been exposed to it in quite a lot of ways,” Hank cut in.

“Thank you, doctors,” said Detective Vega, nodding to them both before he turned back to the one of the bodyguards. “We‘ll be needing access to Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz‘s home to find that source of thallium.”

The expressions on the bodyguards’ faces were stiff before one nodded. “One of us will need to be with you at all times. Our employer values his privacy,” he explained at the surprised looks on the detectives’ faces.

Hank turned away from the following discussion and tapped Dr. Duran’s shoulder before she could leave. “Alex, I know I don‘t have a right to ask, but I was hoping you could update me on his condition.”

Alex frowned. “I can‘t give you details, you know that.”

“I just want to know whether or not he makes it through the thallium treatment with or without organ damage,” Hank said, he raised his hands. “Just a text will be enough.”

“Give me your phone number,” Alex sighed as she fished out her phone from her lab coat pocket. “I‘ll see what I can do.”

Hank grinned and rattled off the number, thanking her again before he turned and walked away. He was so relieved that Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz was reacting well to the antidote and the hemodialysis. He wasn’t going to lose his first patient since coming back to the U.S.

The next day, Hank got a text from Dr. Duran, with a simple: No permanent damage. He spent all day smiling.
*-*-*-*

“So what‘d I miss while I was gone?” Evan asked as he popped out of his bedroom after dropping off his luggage.

“Nothing,” Hank answered as he looked up. He couldn’t help but grin at Evan’s sun-burnt face. “I take it you forgot the sunblock?”

Evan rolled his eyes before shooting his brother an exasperated look. “Don‘t tell me you spent the entire time being a couch potato?” Evan asked, as he plopped himself next to Hank on the couch.

“Hey, I went on walks and I even dusted!” Hank protested.

Incredulous, Evan looked around, and the scattered empty plates, beer bottles and clothes. “Right,” he said skeptically.

“Now, you look like you‘ve got plenty of stories to tell,” Hank said before his brother began ragging on him for being a slob.

Evan’s eyes lit up and he began excitedly recounting his travels and stay at the Las Vegas conference. Hank grinned, nodded and drank down another beer.
*-*-*-*

A week after Evan came back from his conference, Hank decided on impulse to take a walk through Central Park to enjoy the cool shadows of the trees. He ended up sitting on a park bench with his eyes closed as he tilted his head back so the light breeze could run over his neck. Hank wallowed in a rare feeling of contentment. This was the first time he’d set foot in the park since he’d been back. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until he’d sat down to enjoy a bit of nature which wasn‘t full of mosquitoes or people who wore assault rifles like some people wore trendy scarves. Now, he was the most relaxed he could remember being in… well, he didn’t know how long.

He was so limp with bliss that he didn’t even tense up when he felt someone settle down on the park bench next to him.

“Dr. Lawson, you are a surprisingly difficult man to find.”

Hank’s eyes opened open at the German accent and he raised his head up to see Boris Kuester von Jurges-Ratenicz sitting next to him. Hank straightened up all the way as he evaluated him. The other man looked a lot better than the last time Hank had seen him. There was color in his cheeks, a bright alertness in his blue eyes, and he looked cool and collected. He didn’t look at all like a man who’d nearly died over a week ago. In his expensively cut suit, he looked like a business man taking a mid-afternoon break to enjoy the park. Although, the six bodyguards surrounding the park bench destroyed that harmless image.

“I‘m glad to see you‘re looking better,” Hank said with a wide smile. Then he blinked as the other man’s words filtered through and his smile weakened. “You were looking for me?”

That earned him a small smile. “You saved my life. Is it really a surprise I wanted to thank you in person?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Hank said as his smile widened again.

“I owe you more than words of gratitude.”

“You don‘t, you know. I‘m a doctor.” Hank tilted his head to the side. “Helping is kinda in the job description, Mr. Jurges--” Hank cut himself off. “You know, I‘ve been meaning to ask, is it Mr. Kuester, Mr. Kuster von Jurges-Ratenicz or Mr. Jurges-Ratenicz?”

“Call me Boris,” Boris answered, amusement crinkled fine lines around the corners of his eyes.

“Then you have to call me Hank,” Hank replied. Boris nodded and made gesture with his left hand. One of the bodyguards stepped close and held out to Hank a black leather briefcase. Confused, Hank took it. He clicked it open, stared at the stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills before he abruptly closed it. Hank jerked around to stare at Boris with huge shocked eyes. “I can‘t take this!”

“It isn‘t enough?” Boris asked lightly. His blue eyes damned near twinkled as he watched Hank.

“No, seriously, I can‘t take this. I won’t take it. Not for doing my job,” Hank said. He held out the briefcase by the handle in mute plea for him to take it back. “Boris, I don’t need your money.”

Boris settled his right hand on top of Hank’s hand. His thumb swept back and forth on the sensitive underside of Hank’s wrist in an intimate caress which made Hank blink twice in surprise. Hank looked down at the broad fingers and manicured fingernails with lingering rings of white. The sight choked back his explanation of how he didn’t date patients before he looked back up again. He didn’t jerk away. It didn’t even occur to him.

“I spent decades living under, what I thought, was a genetic disease which would claim my life before I turned fifty,” Boris said somberly. “When the symptoms began I was certain my death would be approaching soon. I settled my affairs. I even thought to make my death easier by--” Boris took a deep breath and looked down at where he was now tightly gripping Hank‘s hand. He forced his hand to relax and loosen the hold. “--it doesn‘t matter now.”

Hank could fill in the blanks. Some terminal patients sought a death which wouldn’t leave them in lingering agony. He blinked in surprise as he realized. “Who else died of thallium poisoning?”

“My father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather,” Boris answered quietly. “Tests confirmed it. Apparently, thallium lingers in the bodies of the deceased.”

“I--I--I don‘t know what to say to that,” Hank said stunned and horrified at the deaths. “That‘s horrible. Actually, horrible doesn‘t even seem to cover it. No wonder you thought it was genetic…” Hank looked up at Boris and settled the briefcase between them so he could return the grip. “I‘m sorry.” And all over again he was horrified by the depths of malice and patience implied in the murders of Boris’ family. The poisonings spanned generations.

It was nightmarish.

Boris inclined his head in acceptance of Hank‘s sympathy. “I’ve spent more money than what is in the briefcase looking for a cure, for a reason as to why death followed my family. In one night, you found the cause, solving a mystery which dozen of medical experts missed and saved my life. So accept the briefcase, Hank. Keep it or donate it to Doctors Without Borders. Either way, it is yours to do with as you will.”

Hank read the depth of determination in Boris’ eyes and nodded. “When you but it that way…” he trailed off. “Okay.”

“Good,” Boris replied and again his thumb stroked the underside of Hank’s wrist.

“Boris… um, you‘ve heard of the Florence Nightingale Syndrome?” Hank asked, as he looked back down at Boris‘ hand. He really had to say something. “I think you‘re feeling the reverse of it. Give it a couple of weeks and I doubt you‘ll feel the same.” Hank looked up again. “You wouldn‘t be the first patient who thought they had feelings for their doctor.”

Boris’s expression stilled into a stoic mask and Hank’s chest gave a painful thump at the idea of causing him pain.

“I just don‘t want to realize that you don‘t actually feel anything for me, after all,” Hank offered.

“And if I still do?” Boris asked softly.

Hank swallowed. He wasn’t a zero on the Kinsey scale, but he usually preferred women to men. It was rare for Hank to feel that flush attraction for another man. And with his question he couldn’t help but be abruptly aware of how attractive Boris was, with his strong jaw, and striking intelligent eyes.

“Contact me again in fourteen days,” Hank offered as his cheeks heated under Boris‘s gaze. “And find out.”

Boris stroked another caress against Hank’s skin before he released him, standing up. “I‘ll see you in two weeks.”

“Um,” Hank said. He held up the briefcase. “Could you donate this for me to Doctors Without Borders and Water for Women? I don‘t exactly think it’s a good idea for me to ride the subway with it.” Hank smiled a crooked grin. “It doesn‘t really match my outfit.”

Boris stood up and gave Hank a long lingering look, taking in worn denim jeans and blue polo shirt. He nodded at the bodyguard who’d handed Hank the briefcase in the first place, who promptly stepped forward again and took the briefcase back from Hank.

“Thanks,” Hank said.

“14 days, Hank,” Boris repeated. He walked away, surrounded at once by his bodyguards.

Hank watched them leave until Boris’ straight back was out of sight before closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. A couple of minutes later, as birds chirped in the trees his eyes popped open as he considered how Evan would react to learning Hank had given away what had to be over a million dollars. Hank groaned and promised himself to never mention it to his brother. After all, Hank could claim it fell under doctor-patient confidentiality. Okay, so that was stretch.

Hank was never telling his brother about the money.
*-*-*-*

Hank pretty much forgot about Boris over the next two weeks. His nightmares had resurfaced so he was sleeping about 2-3 hours every other night or so, not enough to affect his health but enough the dark circles returned and took up permanent residence under his eyes.

So when the fourteenth day came and went without a sign of Boris, Hank wasn’t surprised. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a patient think they felt something more for him. Although this time, he was more than a little disappointed. He’d been attracted to Boris, a flush a feeling he hadn’t felt in too long. War-torn and poverty stricken countries where he usually ended up weren’t exactly conducive for romance. Boris had been the first person to hit on him in far too long. But he wasn’t the first patient either which Hank had had who’d then realized that they weren’t actually attracted to him. Hank put him out of his mind and got on with his life.

So he could honestly say he was taken completely by surprise, when sitting on the corner café from Evan’s apartment, Boris showed up again with his multiple bodyguards.

Hank lowered his half-full cup of dark roast coffee and looked up as Boris sat across from him. “Boris! Um,” Hank said in surprise. “Hi, I wasn’t actually expecting to see you again.”

“Hank, my apologies for being two days late from our agreed scheduled meeting,” Boris said quietly. “But I‘m afraid an unavoidable situation arose which required my attention.”

“Oh,” Hank said relieved. His interest piqued. “Can you talk about it?”

“The man responsible for the thallium was apprehended,” Boris explained.

Hank straightened. No wonder Boris hadn‘t met with him two days ago. “Was it the small man with the eye-glasses?” Hank asked.

Boris looked at him with surprise. “Dieter, yes. How did you know?”

“He was with you at the hotel. And when I first made my diagnosis of thallium poisoning, he ran off,” Hank explained. “It seemed strange that he‘d do that.”

“Your instincts were right,” Boris said somberly, his eyes growing distant. “He was responsible.”

Hank looked at him carefully, staring at the tight lines around Boris’ eyes and mouth. He reached out and settled his hand on the back of the other man’s hand. Boris looked at him and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Boris rotated his wrist until he returned the grasp on Hank’s hand.

“I take it; I am forgiven for being late?” Boris asked as he leaned forward slightly towards Hank.

“Yeah,” Hank said, smiling back. “I think I can find some forgiveness in my heart,” he teased. The smile which widened across Boris‘s face, cheered Hank up to no end.

“Good,” Boris said quietly but with deep sincerity.

The relief which Hank could read in his expression told him how much Boris wanted Hank’s forgiveness. It was an expression which dissipated the last of the hurt Hank had been feeling.

Boris continued, “Because I was hoping that you would consider spending the rest of the summer with me at my house in the Hamptons.” Hank blinked twice as he was taken aback by the sudden invitation.

“I normally spend the summer there,” Boris explained. “And I would like you to spend it with me.” Boris read the surprise on Hank’s face and assured him. “If you feel uncomfortable sleeping in a guest room, I have a guest house which you could have.”

Hank looked off to the side, idly watching the barista at the counter take another order as he considered the idea. Evan had been great this last month, he hadn’t made any noises about Hank finding a place to stay other than with him… but… it would be a good idea not to outstay his welcome. And as much as Hank loved getting to spend time with his brother, Evan had his own life to live and Hank really liked the idea of the spending the rest of his days off on the beach, maybe he could actually start up his exercise regime again and go for runs on the sand. And Jill was there. So wasn’t like he had no friends at the Hamptons.

He looked back to Boris and smiled. “You know, I‘d like that.”

Boris’ entire expression lit up with warmth and his eyes nearly glowed as he looked back at Hank. “I leave on Friday, would you come with me?”

“Okay, yeah,” Hank agreed, nodding.

“Good,” Boris said. Boris released Hank’s hand with obvious reluctance. “Very well, I will send a car to pick you up at 8 in the morning.”

“I take it you don‘t need the address?” Hank asked, although certain of that answer.

“No,” Boris answered at once. He hesitated for a second. “Does that bother you?”

“Boris, considering someone was poisoning you when we first met, I‘d be very surprised if you hadn‘t had me checked out,” Hank said with understanding. “It doesn‘t bother me.” He shrugged. “So now you know the worse things in my past and you‘re still here, so I‘m taking it as a good sign.” Hank tilted his head as he looked at Boris. “It just means that I‘ll be the one questioning you since I haven’t run a background check.” Googling his name hadn’t yielded a lot of results.

“Of course,” Boris agreed, amused. Then in a move which thoroughly took Hank by surprise, Boris raised their joined hands and kissed the back of Hank’s hand in such a natural and graceful gesture that it took a long second before Hank reacted.

He blushed scarlet.

“Until Friday then, Hank,” Boris said, releasing Hank’s hand before he stood up and strode away. His bodyguards collected around him like iron filing around a magnet before he was out the door.

Hank touched the skin on the back of his tingling hand with his fingertips. The sudden thought of exactly how good Boris’ lips would feel against his mouth made heat pool in his cheeks and low in his belly. It was like his body had woken up from a long nap with those thoughts. Abruptly aware that he was a in a public place, Hank forced to think of innocuous non-sexy things and quickly drank his coffee around a grin which refused to fade away.
*-*-*-*

By the time Evan came back from work, Hank thought he had himself under control. This assumption was blown away the minute Evan took at look at his face.

“You‘re happy!” Evan said in surprise. “Why are you practically glowing?”

Hank hid behind another of his medical journals. “I‘m not glowing,” he said firmly.

A split second later, Evan pulled down the journal to look at him suspiciously. Hank blinked at him. Evan’s eyes widened. “You are glowing! Did you get laid?”

Hank fervently wished he could control the blush which crawled up his cheeks.

“Oh god, you did get laid!” Evan shouted.

Hank winced. “No, I didn‘t and will you keep your voice down. I don‘t want the entire floor to hear you saying that.”

Evan’s eyes narrowed. “If you didn’t get laid, then why are you so happy? You‘re not leaving the country again, are you?” he asked in dismay. He gestured wildly at Hank. “You can‘t! You still look terrible! You‘re not sleeping and you‘re still underweight and--”

“Evan, stop!” Hank said cutting him off. “I‘m not going back to work. I‘m just leaving you.”

Evan paused mid-gesture and blinked several times at his brother. “You‘re leaving me?” he asked in bewilderment.

Hank laughed. “Yeah.” He blushed. “Um, I didn‘t tell you this before, because I wasn‘t sure it was going anywhere, but I‘ve met someone.”

Evan plopped himself next to Hank, his eyes bright with interest. “Really? Tell me everything.”

Hank gave him a sideways look. “There isn‘t much to tell yet. But he‘d invited me to spend time with him so I‘m packing and leaving on Friday.”

Evan only briefly startled at the mention of the gender. He knew Hank too well to be really surprised.

“A romantic weekend getaway? Good for you,” Evan said happily.

“Um… it‘s more like the rest of the summer,” Hank explained. “If it all goes well.” He added. Because if it didn’t and he had a falling out with Boris, he’d be back on Evan’s couch.

“All summer?” Evan frowned. “Exactly where are you going?”

Hank raised his medical journal nonchalantly, “Oh, we‘re just going to be his house in the Hamptons.”

The silence which met his response nearly made Hank drop the journal to check out Evan’s expression but Evan tore it away before he could made the decision to peek at his brother. Hank looked into Evan’s huge pleading eyes as he stared at him from barely a foot away.

“I love the Hamptons,” Evan breathed. His eyes seemed to get even bigger as he pleaded, “Take me with you.”

“No, not gonna happen,” Hank said at once.

“But Hank! I love the Hamptons!”

“No!”

End

a/n: There is not enough Boris/Hank fic in existence!