#QUEEN OF ATLAS MEL MY WEAKNESS

[strongfuck]

Melissa didn't have the same abilities to scan another being as Rhys possessed - but she could read the man very well after being at his side for all these years. First, as a misguided priestess of a made-up religion; then later, as a reformed bounty hunter and glorified healer.

Now, if all went according to plan - a good subject for study and inspiration, too. Smiling softly and running a hand over the side of Rhys' face, Melissa softly titled his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. Not that the CEO had been hiding from her - but it was just so easy to see his hesitation and even concern. In many ways, it was endearing that he cared so much.

"Rhys, it's going to be alright. I volunteered, remember? And besides, your science team was handpicked for this - I am sure you didn't accidentally allowed some Nakayama clone to participate," the brunette grinned to lighten up the mood, knowing that Hyperion had its fair share of crazy, unethical scientists - maybe the original Atlas had those too; but the new version of it, with Rhys at the helm, was not the same thing.

Melissa knew and she was terribly proud to contribute in any way she could to the good work that it tried to offer back to the universe.

"Now, give your wife a kiss and tell me I look good in these dull hospital gowns. I will be back from the tests before you miss me."

For all that Rhys loves logic (in a lot of cases, logic is hysterically freeing), the knowledge that there is literally nothing for him to worry about regarding Melissa's examination is suddenly absolutely not enough.

The night before he hadn't slept much-- nothing new, of course, considering Rhys' proclivity for hard work-- and now, having had two big mugs of coffee, his mind is running wild with possibilities. This is unfair to many people: to his scientists, because they're professionals; to himself, because he'd hired them; and, perhaps more importantly, to Melissa... because he trusts her, he really does, and yet somehow that trust isn't enough to keep him from fearing the worst.

It is the most uncool thing in the world that he ends up pouting at her, leaning into her touch with his bottom lip jutting out. If he were a normal person (if, perhaps, he could manage being away from Melissa knowing she's going into testing like this), her comfort would be enough. But because there's something fundamentally screwed with him-- and an age-old mix of possessiveness and protectiveness of his wife to boot-- her attempts to ease him only make him frown.

"You look good in anything," he says, sounding more petulant than he intends. "But that isn't...

"Ugh, I just hope you don't get hurt."

She might get hurt anyway, even with all the promises of well-being. Rhys has seen the list of tests done to her and knows it won't all just be scanning in the comforts of a simple container. There will be needles (more than one, even), there will be some light drugging, there will be some potential radioactivity, and... oh, why did he have to have a superhero for a wife?

"Or hurt enough that I'm gonna want to hug you. I already want to hug you. I'm--" Rhys does just that, arms wrapping around Melissa for a squeeze. His cybernetic hand touches the back of her head as he kisses her temple, then her cheek, and finally, just as she'd asked, he pulls his head back enough to press a kiss to her lips, too.

Rhys' forehead meets hers, and quietly, he whispers, "...if anyone does anything weird, I will kill them."

A beat.

"I love you. You're the strongest person I know, and... and you're gonna be okay. You'll be okay."

So he pulls away, drags his teeth over his lip, and gives Melissa one last, longing look. One last, ridiculous kiss, because he knows it's all they can afford before the tests start becoming delayed.

"Bold of you to think I won't miss you as soon as I let you go, though."

And true enough, as Melissa is led away, Rhys feels immeasurably colder. He'll be able to watch every test through glass, and he'll be taking note of each completed step with his eye, but the absolute lack of control he has in what's to come makes him sick to his stomach all the same.

It'll be fine. It'll be fine.

But, God, if he isn't going to be cranky until it's all over.