The gunman blinked a few times, then thought about it. He hadn’t heard the Doctor actually call him anything else but Sniper. He hadn’t actually corrected him the entire night either.

“Oh,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He chuckled. “Yeah. It is. But no one calls me that.” He motioned for Doc to go back to the camper and opened the driver’s side door. When Doc sat in the passenger seat, he let out another chuckle.

“What?”

“Well, I’ve been calling you Doc…but that isn’t really your name, is it?”

“On the contrary,” Doc said, shrugging and crossing his arms loosely as he leaned back into the chair. “It is my name. I wasn’t called anything else the entire time I was at the Facility.”

Sniper let out a rueful snort. “Surely, you had a name before Surgeon got you, right? Or doesn’t he have a real name neither?”

Doc leaned his head back against the window and was quiet for a long time. “He has one. I was the only one who used to use it.”

Sniper saw his body stiffen slightly, and decided to stop pressing that matter. Yet, his curiosity for the Doctor was still unsatisfied.

“So. Everyone just…called you Doctor at the old place,” he said. “No questions?”

“That’s correct.”

How uncomfortable. He rolled the idea in his head like a pencil on a desk. 

“The Doctor is who I am, though. So to be fair, it’s a more accurate name than anything else I’ve had.” 

Sniper felt another pang in his chest. That was why Doc so easily let go of that watch, that symbol of an old life. He’d already let go of his old identity so many years ago.

That didn’t feel right. But he couldn’t bring himself to press him further. A part of him feared pushing Doc away from him, making him close himself off. Even as passive as Doc acted, there was always a possibility that something would hit his limit, whatever it may be. It was none of his business, to be honest, and this tenuous companionship they shared in this moment could shatter or snap. Why he worried so much about it, on the other hand, was unusual. But he pushed that to the back of his head with the rest of the ordeals they’d gone through.

He’d have time enough later to untangle everything. When they weren’t so worried about being dragged back or worse.

“…It was Felix.”

Had it been anyone else, he’d have barely heard Doc whisper it. As if that old identity bubbled up to the surface of a quiet, still pond, and reached out. The old Doc was down there somewhere, and, for a moment, met the present one. Then he was gone.

“Felix?”

He nodded. Glanced at the gunman with his lilac-lavender eyes sadly. “I’d honestly almost forgotten it.”

Sniper gave him a small, encouraging smile back. “Like the cat?”

The lilac eyes clouded in confusion. “Cat?”

He laughed to mask his pity because this went beyond sheltered. He was downright isolated. Isolated from the world outside, isolated from the other staff, and isolated—most painfully—from who he used to be before he became the Doctor.

“It’s a character. I’ll show you when we get back home. Uh, well, back in the states I mean.”

“Oh. Ok.” Doc sighed and stared without focus at the ceiling of the camper. “….is Lex exclusive…to your friend?”

“Yeah, kinda. Everyone before I got this job called me Alex. But it's been a long time since I used it.” He chuckled quietly. “I guess it’s kinda like you. I’m called what I am.”

“Do you mind if I keep calling you Sniper?”

Sniper shrugged. “I mean…loads of people do actually call me that. So I don’t mind. Do you want me to call you Doc still?”

Doc nodded and gave a rueful exhalation. “You’re probably the only one who ever called me that. …I like it.” A tiny smile of fondness graced Doc’s lips briefly. 

That felt right, for once in the insanity of the situation. It felt right.

~~~~

A few hours to kill, they were somewhat fed (barely), and they were uncovering unpleasant and lost things about themselves. All things considered, Sniper and Doc could be worse off. Of course things could be much, much better, but they wouldn’t even be here now if that were the case.

They drank some more tea, occasionally stepped outside to get fresh air, stretch their legs or relieve themselves, and staved off the exhaustion to nap. They moved from the front seats to the back in idle boredom when being outside was off the table. Despite the size of the vehicle, moving back and forth was natural to the Doctor now. 

He was back to note taking, though a lot of it was mainly him writing and long pauses of him staring off into an unseen distance. He wasn't as voracious in his questioning of Sniper's experience as he had been earlier, but it wasn't as if Sniper didn't have questions, and rightly so. Doc explained the "normal" things to expect while on the drug when Sniper asked. It was mainly the accelerated healing, and immunity to most diseases. Everything else was the roll of the dice.

"You're telling me enhanced hearing and stuff...that doesn't always happen?" he asked, puzzled. 

Doc nodded with a small frown. "They do, however, not always to the same degree. Many other side effects and enhancements vary wildly subject to subject."

"That sounds wildly inefficient...like I figured someone like Surgeon bragging about medical genius woulda ironed that out by now."  The gunman crossed his arms and bounced his leg aimlessly. It was a habit Doc noticed when Sniper was chatting or waiting. He had a bored yet restless energy.

Doc sighed. "Normally I would say you're right. And in fact many other pharmaceuticals made by the Family are much more tightly controlled and have very direct outcomes. But the immortality serum just...works differently. A great many of our medicines and treatments don't have such wild variation, but the narrower the scope, the more controlled outcomes we get."

Our. We. It'd been only a day, so he couldn't have expected Doc to start changing how he referred to himself now that he was no longer a part of Surgeon's world. But it still bothered him that Doc still so automatically associated himself with the Family. 

Doc watched Sniper watching him. He sighed again. "I know you don't believe it, and you shouldn't, after everything we've gone through, but...the Family has done a lot of good with their medicines over the years. I wouldn't go as far as say they're responsible for miracles...but a great many treatments have been synthesized from this base formula."

"Miracles, huh?"

Doc could hear the bitterness. There was a part of him that wanted to defend his work, yet, at the end of the day, Doc never felt proud of it. Not when it had ended so many lives, and ruined far more others, present company included.

"Sorry. I mean...I've prolly had something of theirs at some point in my life," Sniper said, shrugging. "Like an anti-biotic or cough syrup."

"Perhaps. Most of the treatments are for more serious conditions, but I won't pretend to know all the variations Surgeon has ever had a hand in."

They were silent again, thinking about the idea of a drug so harmful still having some good in the world.

"I wish I had a more definitive answer," Doc said softly. "It's almost supernatural sometimes, the way the extra abilities come to people who need or use them the most." He scooted back onto the bedroll, to lean against the wall, crossing his legs. Picked nervously at the dirt patches and small holes in his slacks. Kept his gaze low.

Sniper sensed there was more, but as curious as he was, he didn't press. 

"There's also a chance that you'll gain new ones. Abilities, I mean." Doc looked up finally. "Like for instance, increasing your stamina. A higher tolerance for lactic acid maybe. Your skin getting a little bit more resistant. Or the ability to hold your breath for up to 30 minutes. Or even something as mundane as a sharpening of your sense of taste."

The gunman made a face. "That's...uh...mental. Absolutely bananas. Will any of them wear off?"

"They don't tend to. If they change in intensity, it's from other factors. Like your night vision. That doesn't always manifest right away, sometimes it takes time. But it seems like yours developed almost immediately."

Sniper thought back. He could recall with clarity how the operating room was even after the lights went out. Even accounting for what he was assuming his now more reliable memory, he remembered Doc fumbling around in the room while he was able to beeline for his discarded shoes. That was from the get-go.

"Yeah." He shook his head in disbelief. "Mental."

Doc gave a long look at the refrigerator. Sniper followed his gaze.

"I have 7," he said quietly. 

The gunman nodded. "What are you planning to do with them?"

He was quiet a long time. "I don't know. Perhaps I should destroy them."

The other man frowned. "So you're...not gonna give them to someone else or sell them?"

"Certainly not!" Doc retorted, louder than he expected. He started at his own forceful reply.

Sniper gave him a worried gaze. "Yeah. But you still brought them with you. Wouldn't it be a waste?"

Doc opened his mouth, closed it, then let his gaze flick aimlessly in thought. He hadn't given much thought to what he was going to do with the rest of his formula. All he knew was that it wasn't going back to Surgeon's hands. He would do everything he could to avoid that.

But for now, they sat, cooled in the fridge, untouched.

Doc pulled his knees to his chest again. He leaned his forehead against them and let out a long sigh.

"I'm so tired," he whispered. He knew Sniper could hear him but he kept his voice low because he didn't want to admit it aloud to himself.

Sniper leaned over his knees, clasping his fingers loosely. What was there to say? What was there to do in that case?

"We need sleep," he said, sighing. "But I know that isn't an option."

"Later on, it will be," Doc said, still curled into his knees. He took a long, slow inhale, then exhaled and lifted his head. His eyes were a bit more focused, despite the circles beneath his eyes and the still languid line of his shoulders. 

He's trying so damn hard, thought Sniper, his eyebrows contorting in dismay. How long can he keep this up?

"We must be getting to the next call window soon." The Doctor scooted to the edge of the bedroll and slid off to leave out the back. "We can at least look forward to that. I'm going to stretch my legs again."

As he shimmied out from the covered doors, Sniper sighed and leaned back until his head bumped lightly into the wall behind him. Staring at the dingy ceiling of the camper, listening to a surprisingly lively forest and the sounds of Doc wandering about in the cold February afternoon. Time trickled by like a tiny stream, and Sniper was thirsty for a change.