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It wasn't like he was being reckless. Or maybe he was... a little.
This couldn't have happened if he was careful enough.
It didn't really matter anymore. Reed knew something was off the second he started feeling dizzy, lightheaded. He knew something was terribly wrong when he lowered his hand, after having covered his mouth with it during the previous coughing fit, and saw red staining his palm.
Oh dear.
He was a scientist, thus it was alarming that Reed couldn't determine what type of poison was currently running in his bloodstream. Or whom it came from.
He was being careful (to some degree, at least), and he didn't leave his drink out of sight. But that didn't really matter anymore either. What was...
There was an unknown substance in his body, and Reed didn't expect whoever poisoned him to only want him to suffer a small cramp that'd go away with the help of acetaminophen.
He was still at the ball, the gala, surrounded by chatter and people slow dancing in the hall. Reed couldn't even begin to assume who might be the suspect. Everybody was a suspect.
His friends — the Fantastic Four — weren't here with him. There was no one at this ball that Reed trusted enough to turn to for help, his life lay bare in their hands, especially when taken into account he had no idea who spiked his drink.
The dizziness grew stronger. Reed knew better than to let any hint of weakness — of pain — show.
No, he couldn't do that, couldn't let them know — whoever they were — that their plan was working; the poison was kicking in, and it was starting to get harder for Reed to remain upright.
He knew his skin was turning paler, and felt layers of sweat begin to form on his forehead. Reed gave the gentleman he was chatting with a polite smile (although there was, as of now, no way to know for sure if he wasn't the one behind this), and excused himself.
Where to go?
The bathroom would be too risky. Reed didn't know who was trying to kill him, but he figured they must be watching him, waiting to see how his body reacted to the drug. Knew he was only growing weaker, more vulnerable. If he went to the bathroom and they cornered him there where there was no one else...
He couldn't stay in the hall and waited until his body collapsed either.
The alleyway outside would equal suicide. Reed could, with the thoughts that nearly made him grimace, picture himself laying on the ground with his organs shutting down one by one.
There wasn't any place at which Reed could imagine himself seeking shelter and coming out of alive.
Reed realized then, it was less about where to hide and more about who to turn to.
Ben, Sue and Johnny were away.
Though there was... one other person Reed could think of, as absurd as the idea was in his head.
One other person...
Victor.
You've lost your mind, Reed, even the voices in Reed's head sounded like Victor. Or maybe it was the poison getting past his blood-brain barrier and into his brain, clouding his thoughts, rendering him unable to think rationally.
Victor wasn't at the ball, so at least that meant he couldn't be the one poisoning Reed. At the very least, Victor wasn't the one hurting him this time...
That Reed and Victor were archenemies...
Going to Victor's front door when you were utterly defenseless and at his mercy would be the biggest mistake you, or anybody, could ever make. Reed knew that.
Victor wouldn't even have to lift a finger to get his claws on you. This would be like the best Christmas present for him, you handing yourself to him on a platter. Might as well put on a ribbon on your head while you're at it.
But the dizziness started turning into a burn that made it difficult for Reed to hold back a whimper, like someone were twisting his insides and setting them all on fire.
Whatever you're doing next, do it fast. You're running out of time.
Reed gritted his teeth to suppress any sound from escaping his throat. Going to Victor — submitting himself to Victor — was a terrible idea. But not as terrible as dropping dead right here on the floor.
Reed knew that'd be his fate, the tragic end of Mister Fantastic, if he still couldn't make up his mind. What are you going to do to save your life now, Reed?
He needed someone. And there was no one Reed could turn to.
No one but Victor.
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When his trainee — his nervous trainee — informed him he had a visitor at this time of the night, Victor almost shouted at the boy to tell them to get lost.
That was until he heard the name.
No. There must be some mistake, some misunderstanding. His stupid, inexperienced trainee must've mistaken someone else for Reed Richards, because there was no way...
It was too good to be true.
There was no way Reed came here, asking to see him.
There wasn't any mistake.
Victor, still in his pajamas, had to blink twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Reed was here, as in flesh and blood, in a fine tuxedo.
It only took Victor a couple seconds, after he managed to process this was real and Reed was really here, to realize something was wrong with Reed; skin damp and pale, legs unsteady and body all trembling, like Reed was having a difficult time trying to stay on his feet.
"Vic," Reed said, standing on Victor's doorstep, and even Reed's voice sounded wrong; hoarse and weak. Barely an audibly whisper
"Reed," Victor breathed out the name, "what is thi—"
His sentence was cut off when Reed slumped forward, like a puppet cut clean from its string, and onto Victor's chest.
Victor rarely ever was taken aback by anything , but right now he was completely caught off guard. His reaction was mostly out of instinct, but before he knew it, he was already holding Reed in his arms to keep Reed's body from hitting the floor. Reed's head against Victor's chest —
"Reed," the alarm was clear in Victor's voice.
Reed stayed still and unresponsive.
And Reed's body — Victor had only just now realized — was ice cold. Like a corpse.
"Reed," Victor's voice grew more urgency. Why do you care? Why do you care if he's dead?
"Reed!" Victor shook his shoulders frantically. Reed wouldn't wake up.
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When darkness took over all his senses, no, just the moment before darkness completely took over all his senses — and Victor's face was the last thing he saw — Reed half believed he wasn't going to wake up again.
He woke up again, it turned out.
Although Reed was a man of science who didn't really believe in the afterlife or heaven and hell, he couldn't say for sure that this wasn't the afterlife...
The incident earlier. His memories slowly came back to him: the ball, his drink, the poison. And Victor.
Victor...
That should be more alarming than the poison in his blood. Not as alarming as the fact Reed chose to come crawling to Victor on his own free will (What were you thinking?), but still...
"For the smartest man in the world, you weren't smart enough to keep yourself from being poisoned, hmm? You certainly weren't smart enough to know to stay away from your enemy when you're hurting and vulnerable. A prey."
Reed flinched, eyes suddenly grew wide.
He jerked upright, and realized three things: one, he was on a bed — Victor's bed — two, the pain — the burn — in his abdomen was still present, but it was a lot less severe than it was before, only a lingering throbbing and discomfort sensation now, and three, he wasn't wearing the tuxedo he wore at the ball anymore. What he was wearing... Reed knew they weren't his own clothes, the comforting pajamas that surprisingly fit him well enough.
The thoughts of Victor putting him in his bed, treating him and dressing him in his pajamas...
"Vic..."
"Who did this to you?" Victor sat in the shadow, not too far away from Reed's — Victor's own bed on which Reed sat, back against the headboard.
It took a while for Reed's still-a-bit-foggy brain to process Victor's question — who did this to you? — and the unexplainably possessiveness in Victor's voice.
"I... don't know," Reed admitted, truthfully, and felt somewhat like a child.
"You don't know who poisoned you?"
Reed opted to letting his silence answer Victor.
Victor sighed. "You... made the right call to come to me when you did. Your heart stopped twice. But I managed to bring you back. You'll live."
"Thank you," Reed said, quietly, without actually meeting Victor's eyes. Pride was never the thing Reed fed on, but right now he supposed he'd prefer to have some sorts of dignity, no matter how small. Didn't mean he wasn't grateful for Victor. He just felt... weirdly exposed and vulnerable like this.
"Whoever it was that tried to kill you," Victor got up and walked out of the shadow (Reed didn't notice how tall Victor actually was, especially when Reed was this helplessly weak), "they were at least smart enough to not try to come in here and finish the job, if they followed you here and saw me. You were both stupid and smart enough to come to me, Reed."
Desperate is the word I'd choose, Reed thought, but didn't say it aloud.
"Why did you come to me?" Victor hovered over the bed, hand on Reed's shoulder, and Reed — suddenly realized how vulnerable he really was — forced himself not to flinch or move away and, as a result, show Victor more of his weakness.
"I... didn't know who else to turn to," Reed said, which was the truth. He only wished saying it aloud in front of Victor didn't make him feel as weak as it did.
"Is that all?" The way Victor said it — like he was purring...
Reed felt his cheeks burn and mentally cursed at himself for blushing.
"I knew you wouldn't kill me," he said, without looking up to hold eye contact with Victor.
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because I'm still alive." You saved me. Reed tilted his head upward until he was looking Victor in the eyes now. "You don't want me dead, Vic."
"I don't?"
"You can't live without me," maybe Reed didn't mean to say that out loud. There was still some of the drug lingering in his system as of now, making him say... things. His mind.
Victor was silent.
"I... can't live without you," Reed went on, knowing too well he should've kept his mouth shut.
"That's the drug talking, Reed," Victor said then. But he didn't deny. Victor didn't deny that he couldn't live without Reed...
"I'll find out who did this to you," he continued, like he was deliberately changing the subject.
"And then what?" Reed asked.
"Then I'll make them pay," Victor sat on the edge of the bed and gave Reed a smile. His voice was soft, but Reed knew — as much as it was a promise and a reassurance to Reed — Victor's words were both a warning and a threat to whoever did this. Doom never gave out an empty threat.
"Vic..."
"It was a nasty poison in your blood. I took care of that, but there's still a long way to go and it won't be a pretty road towards full recovery, Reed," Victor rubbed his thumb against Reed's shoulder, his hand never actually left Reed's shoulder. "Rest," he added, voice firm but soft.
And Reed knew he should at least try to protest when Victor's other hand came to rest on his other shoulder. Both hands on Reed's shoulders, Victor was pushing him back down onto the mattress — not so much a push as it was a firm but gentle easing, actually.
Reed, against his own better judgment, let himself be manhandled and thoroughly tucked in.