Title: Martyr
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: David, Mayko
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Uhm... colourful language? Can't have David without it.
Summary: After David is released from the hospital after his car accident, Mayko leaves for Denver to find out what the deal with the Spanish flu is. However, before she does, she pays David a visit in his office. Episode tag to 1x13.
Author's Note: I just hated seeing David wallow in his post-accident martyrdom without anyone making a real effort to offer some comfort, or at the very least talk some sense into him. So this is my wishful thinking little missing-scene interlude to rectify that. I hope it still fits with canon. Time-wise, it should be placed between the scene where Mayko leaves the conference room to say she's going to Denver and Caroline talking to her on the phone when she's already there (around minute 13:30).
I'd like to dedicate this one to Tom Third for being unexpectedly generous and making my day. Thank you! (I can almost imagine a more mellow variation of the David theme playing over some of this.)
Thanks also to kanarek13 for a first sanity check and frith_in_thorns for the beta.
Also, yay! First ReGenesis fic on FFnet ever! My first ReGenesis fic too. I feel like such a pioneer. Let's hope it's not the last. I certainly had lots of fun writing this.
Disclaimer: ReGenesis, its characters and its settings belong to Christina Jennings, The Movie Network, Movie Central and Shaftesbury Entertainment. No copyright infringement intended, plus I'm not making any money from this. (Cuz if I did, do you think I'd be working a stressful office job?)


She worries about him. She can't help it.

Mayko idly turns the printout in her hand that serves as her e-ticket for the flight to Denver. Shit. She needs to go out there, needs to prove what she desperately wants to believe. Fuck Murphy's Law. David didn't cause this. It's a freak occurrence, an untimely coincidence. Nothing more.

She closes her eyes, but it only channels his silent, martyr-like suffering that was all too apparent in the conference room just now. She doesn't understand why he does this to himself. Or maybe part of her does, but that still doesn't make it any easier watching him do it.

A sigh finds its way from her lips and she gathers her resolve, gets up from the desk chair to rummage in her purse for her car keys. She comes across a clear plastic bottle that he handed to her in the car earlier. "Dammit," she whispers almost inaudibly.

She finds him in his office, sitting at his desk, his good arm propped up on it, his hand rubbing his no doubt aching head. The other arm is protectively cradled across his ribcage, his eternal stance since she drove him here from the hospital.

Sympathy roils in her stomach at the sheer thought of the physical pain he's feeling. A careful step forward takes her into his office, where she greets him with a soft, "Hey."

She can see that the mere lifting of his head takes the pain level up a notch and she walks over and puts the pill bottle on the desk in front of him. "Here. Take one."

He makes a grimace, is about to protest, but she's faster. "David, I swear to you, if you don't take one of the damn painkillers, I'm gonna force it down your throat."

He sighs, holds up the bottle and twirls it between his fingers. There is no decisiveness there at all, and she knows he's just being stubborn. There goes the martyrdom again.

"Why the hell do you do this to yourself?"

"Mayko..." he says, and the resignation is his voice is crystal clear.

"No. I'm not leaving before I've seen one of these make it down your oesophagus."

"They make my brain go all numb and shit. I don't need these."

"Bullshit!" she spits. "They make the pain go away. Or, you know, at least make it bearable. David, you need to rest. Just a few hours ago, you were in a coma. You're pushing yourself too hard."

"What—are you my fucking mother now?"

She's learned not to take his verbal lashing out personally. She knows it's just an outlet, that he's wearing his emotions on his sleeve and doesn't quite know, or care to filter. Especially when he's vulnerable.

She stands behind him, softly places a hand on his right shoulder. "David," she tries again, her voice gentle. "Please. You're in pain." She takes another few steps around him, sits next to him on the edge of the desk. "Look, I get it. You think this is the punishment you deserve. But what if you're wrong? What if you didn't cause this?"

"What if I did?"

"Jesus, David, we won't know that until we... I don't know. Find proof."

He holds up the two RT-PCR films. "This is not proof enough?"

"No," she says defiantly. "This proves exactly what? That the PCR comes up with the same bands for both flu strains. We won't know for sure they're actually the same until we've fully sequenced them."

"Yeah," he says, and there's another disbelieving sigh hidden in there, "You keep telling yourself that."

"David. Just take the fucking pill, okay?"

She looks at him and he looks up at her, his steel blue eyes clouded over with more than one layer of agony. She snatches up the bottle, uncaps it and shakes a tablet out of it, holding it out in her flat palm. "Please," she says again, and this time it's a real plea.

His gaze is fixed on the tablet for a few, long seconds, then he takes it from her and dry-swallows it. She breathes a small sigh of relief. "Please don't make me check under your tongue."

He forces a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, then turns into a wince. She softly squeezes his shoulder. "Promise me you'll get some rest."

He nods slowly, carefully. "I will," he says in a low voice that is a far cry from convincing.

Pushing herself away from the desk, she walks towards the door. "I'm gonna go out there and find out what the deal is. Maybe we were looking at the wrong patient zero. Maybe you're making the link to Nunavut up from thin air simply because it's the logical assumption."

"Occam's razor, Mayko."

"Yeah, well, sometimes the simplest solution isn't the right one."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"No, David, not whatever. This is more important than 'whatever'." She stands in the doorway, hesitates before she goes. "I'll call when I have something. Get some rest. Don't play the hero."

His mouth curves into a faint but genuine grin now. "You know I don't make any promises."

"Yeah, I also know you don't listen to well meant advice. Just... sometimes I wish you would."

"Well, maybe this time I'll listen. For once."

She nods and gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile. "See you in a few days, David."

"Yeah," he says, closing his eyes, no doubt hoping for the relief of the analgesic to kick in.

As she walks down the stairs, she contemplates what a strange relationship she has with her boss. And even though the job is damn hard and demanding and a pain in the neck at times, she knows she wouldn't want to trade it for a regular nine-to-five job for the world.


THE END.