goddamngrenades | Voicemail 2.0

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voicemail

Voicemail 2.0

You have reached the voice mail system of Officer Taylor Murray.

When you are finished recording, just hang up or press pound for more options.

To request a locksmith or report a crime, press one.

To hear these options in Spanish, press dos.

To send a verbal confirmation of a written command, press three.

To send a written confirmation of a verbal command, press four.

For delivery options, press five.

To page this person, press six.

To locate your nearest operator, press seven.

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Press zero for other options.

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Thank you for calling, have a nice day.

BEEP

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No. I'll handle it. Just- don't ask unless you're sure."

"You aren't sure. So I'll manage." Maybe York's right; maybe he's being too quiet. A little short on words. Lord, what if he loses it here? What kind of damage could he do? They would have to lock him up if they didn't put him down. Throwing things around doesn't sound half bad now in comparison.

"What makes you think I'm not?" The laughter eases down till it's just the bare, manic twitches at the corners of his mouth. He's here. He's solid. He's in his right mind for the most part, as much as anyone can be these days.

Here, York. Have a look that says are you serious, because crazy hysterical laughter doesn't seem to indicate general okay-ness. He opens his mouth to reiterate once again that he'll manage but thinks better of it.

A beat or two later the twitching fades, all hysteria tinged amusement gone in the place of- nothing. Not even resignation. For a moment York feels terribly hollow. Voice even and low as to not disturb anyone else waiting, he murmurs. "I'm not okay with it. I will never be okay with it. But I'll do it. Because you asked me to. I'll do it. Don't doubt that."

"It's all right," he returns in a much more soothing voice than even he expected of himself. "You aren't going to need to. If there's still enough of me left, I can take care of it. And if nothing happens we can forget about all this."

"That is incredibly reassuring." If he sounded more dry he'd- well he'd sound like Carolina.

He's not sure if York really understands or not. York shouldn't have to put up with everything Malcolm goes through, and the dry spell, and literally everything. Getting a wrecked kitchen and getting hit. No significant other should worry who his boyfriend is at any given point.

He shifts, looking around for a distraction, anything to make him think of anything but how close he is to losing his control in a public space.

"...do you need air? I could use some air. Lets get some air." The hemmed up tension in Malcolm's frame is a little familiar to York. He's not sure right now if it's Mal or the thing in his veins making him tense but- outside is better than inside. Besides.

You can't smoke inside.

He pushes himself out of the chair, one hand steady on Malcolm's shoulder. "We got awhile before they get to us anyway."

He'd like to wave it off and stay here, stay here by himself, then there's less chance he'll hurt someone he cares about, but...that might hurt York more. Best to avoid that. A smile twitches across his face that he stamps down on. Not good timing, compliance.

Limping out gets him, just him, a few looks but he doesn't wait for Malcolm to follow or look back. Go or stay, it's his call. He's a grown man. York, for his part, leans against the wall and pulls a cartridge out of his pocket, fiddles with one of the tubes from it. Not the same as a regular cigarette but this is cheaper and less likely to kill him in the long run.

So.

The first drag is like a goddamn balm, why'd he quit again? He can't remember.

Malcolm stares. It's not a straight up cigarette, but it's close. Is...he even allowed to do that in front of a hospital?

Is this his fault?

Another twitch of a smile. "Hiding a smoking habit from me?"

"I quit 'bout a year ago." He shrugs, tipping his head back to blow out a stream of smoke. "Can't remember for the life of me why."

"Healthier lifestyle. Nurse might come say something to you." As a warning. Maybe. ...Smells kind of sweet and not like secondhand smoke, though.

"Of everything on this rock I don't think my bad habits are gonna be what kills me." He snorts a laugh, taking another drag.

"Just for saying that, you'll live long enough for a little lung cancer to take you out." Is that funny? It sounds funny to him, so he doesn't mind laughing. Be used to his gallows humour.

"I thought they cured that here? With their nano injections and biological doohickys." Still he's laughing all the same, something less pained and manic. Something more him. "C'mere."

He lets out a little hum. He isn't sure; that would be a question for Whiskey. But it wouldn't surprise him.

At the suggestion to come closer, not a thing he's sure he wants lest he body slam his boyfriend through a plate glass window or worse, Malcolm takes a little side step closer. That's about it.

"Why so shy, boo? It's just you, me, and the cigarette." And whoever's walking into the hospital lobby but hey, details. Nevermind them, nevermind what happened to bring them here, nevermind compliance. Malcolm's gotten to the point that he knows when it's happening- York can't imagine how frustrating that must be.

But what he can imagine is one of his favorite tricks with a pretty person and a cigarette. If Mal gets close enough.

Is he being deliberately obtuse? Hard to say with York. First it's not true, they're hardly alone; second that isn't the point; third he should damn well know what the point is.

Fight that good old compliance smile. Although he's really starting to think maybe it would just be better to let it happen. He'll be happier and not nearly so exhausted.

Communication time, clearly. "This." He flicks the end of the cigarette that doesn't need flicking since there's no ash involved. "Is to help my nerves and help me relax."

Not the best reason to take up the habit but hey, not the worst either.

"I'd like to help you do the same. If you want. No pressure." Because god knows insinuating that he might possibly be disappointed in anything ever kicks up that damn compliance thing and- he's honestly not. Hasn't been. Disappointed in Malcolm.

"I doubt you'll find many smokers who say it's for anything else." He gives the not-cigarette an eyeballing. "You want me to smoke?"

"I was going to be smooth and shotgun you some but you've kinda stalled my groove here." Said with a laugh because no, no groove is not killed, groove is very much on. "So I wanted to kiss you. Basically."

"...Shotgun," he echoes plainly. "Now isn't...a very good time."

"Noted." He shrugs and takes another drag, kicking himself for the suggestion. Right. Timing. His is for shit.

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