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"I hate you!" Ray bursts out, regretting it immediately.
He doesn't mean it. But coming home after a three-week mission to find homeless bum shock fights happening in his house, and having to chase them out himself, and then being argued with about it, sort of shot his filter to hell.
"Well I hate me more!" Krieger snaps back, lab coat billowing as he sweeps tech and notes off the table.
Ray can hear the tearful strain in his voice. What's left of his flare of anger evaporates.
"Oh honey-"
Krieger tries to storm towards the door, but Ray catches him by the shoulder. They're not matched in strength. Krieger stops.
"Honey, we've talked about this." Ray's voice is soft, laced with concern and hurt.
Krieger stiffens, but doesn't turn to look at his boyfriend. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know. You told me not to. I know. It's one thing, one simple thing you asked of me, and I screwed up again."
A tremor runs through him, a sign to Ray that Krieger's adrenaline has converted to chills, and he's breaking down a bit. Ray lets go of his shoulder, not wanting him to feel trapped, and Krieger spins around in a panic at the loss of contact, two notebooks tumbling from his arms.
"Ray, please," he says, pale and white-knuckled. "I can't even promise I won't do it again, because I probably will. I try and I try to- to just be normal, but I- it starts eating me up inside, and my brain goes all wonky, and before I know it I'm doing some fascinating thing, and it makes my soul fucking sing- and yet even through the high of it I'm aware it might make you despise me. I don't even know which things are which, what you're willing to overlook."
To Ray's increasing distress, there are tears welling in Krieger's eyes, and one spills over, trailing down his cheek and getting lost in his beard.
"You were gone so long. I never know what's going on if I'm not involved in the mission, and even then, there's a chance you could die. Every time. Really die, completely, in a way I couldn't figure out how to fix." He's definitely trembling now. "You've lost your legs already. Your hand. Appendages, at least, not organs, or more. And your prosthetics-- they're an improvement over the base human form. I'm not bragging and you know it; I do damn good work. But even those are liabilities. Either way, I could- lose you. And it would be my fault. I didn't want to think about it. I was good until today, I promise, but I couldn't- my brain kept imagining- I couldn't-"
His breathing's been increasing in rate all this time, while Ray stood frozen, trying to unravel what Krieger's talking about, and now he's sucking in deep, panicked breaths, clutching his shock gloves and monitors and sensors and notes like a lifeline. It's painfully ironic. "Please don't leave me," he begs, "give me another chance. You're so good to me, too good, you always give me another chance, so please-"
Ray steps in close and draws Krieger to him, strong arms holding him to his chest like something precious, despite the bulk of Krieger's equipment between them.
"Shhh, shhh, honey," he says, "breathe, match me, okay?"
"R-ray-" Krieger gasps, but focuses enough to follow instructions.
They stand in the living room for a while, just breathing, until Krieger's no longer hyperventilating, though he's still riding out his tremors. Ray releases him and takes everything from his arms, piling it back on the table. Krieger watches him, wide-eyed.
"First of all, I'm sorry." (Krieger whimpers.) "I shouldn't have said that I hated you. I didn't mean it, not even a little bit, and it was a shitty thing to do."
Krieger's head drops, and he makes a mumbly sort of sound at the floor.
"Second, I think you misunderstood me," Ray continues, reaching for Krieger's hand. "I wasn't talkin' about the bum fights. I mean, I definitely didn't expect to be coming home to that, nor was I hoping to, but I was infinitely more upset by your response to my stupid comment. I was lashing out, but you- you sounded like you meant it."
Krieger's fingers curl in his, twitching slightly.
"When I said 'we've talked about this', I was referring to your self esteem. I love you, honey lamb, and it makes me so sad when you don't love you too."
Krieger raises his head slowly, incredulously. He looks vulnerable as hell. "Really?"
Ray nods. "Yeah, sweetheart. If anybody else talked about you like that, I'd chew 'em out at least."
Krieger squeezes his hand harder this time, more deliberately, settling down a little. He's probably drawing strength from reassuring himself of their connection. He isn't clingy, exactly, but he might be the most insecure person Ray has ever met.
"So you're not breaking up with me?" he asks quietly. Ray squeezes back. "Lord no, where else would I find a pretty, clever doctor like you?"
Krieger flushes, and Ray congratulates himself silently. "Oh." And then, "Sorry." And then, shyly, after that, "Thank you. I don't deserve you."
Ray pulls him in and kisses him, tastes coffee and metal and some strange sweet tang that probably belongs to some crazy drug, and pays it all no mind, focused on the press and glide of lips, and on sucking on his lover's tongue.
When he pulls away, Krieger's pupils are blown wide, eyes bright and lively, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
"Baby, you deserve the world," Ray purrs, and Krieger pounces.