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.

To leave a call back number, press eight. 

To repeat this message, press nine.

Press zero for other options.

To mark this message as urgent, press eleven.

Thank you for calling, have a nice day.

BEEP

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Mal..." He dares to reach up, now. Curl his fingers around Malcolm's, a sole line of contact. "How about a hotel instead? Just- somewhere different. Somewhere quiet."

"So I can lose my mind somewhere else?" His laugh is wet, coughs out of him. "Until something else happens to keep me from being me?"

"We're working on the- the port thing. They're fixing a cure for this." Still it's that question. The one he'd responded to on the way here. He swallows back- everything. Every fucking little thing and tips his head forward, resting it against Malcolm's knee. "...are you sure?"

He didn't want to freak York out, but this is the opposite reaction he expected. He's so...soft. Doesn't accuse, doesn't--doesn't judge. Malcolm bends, curls over him, cradling both of them.

"I don't want to leave you alone. I don't want to do that to you. I should be stronger, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, we can--go somewhere." He wants to stop and he wants these tears that have slipped out to stop, but he'll try to put those disquieting thoughts aside. This is temporary. Everything is...well, some of it is temporary. He just has to get through to the other side. Even if he can't see it. Even if it sounds like a fairytale.

He's been there. Yelling, asking, begging- it doesn't- it wouldn't have helped him. He cant' imagine what it's been like for Malcolm and he just-

he said he would. He said he would if Malcolm was sure. And he's keeping his end of the bargain, making sure that Malcolm is sure. No gun here but he can- he can take him home and make it quick. God then the apologies. The fucking apologies that Malcolm can't help and he sucks in a shuddery breath. "Home. Hotel. Spa. Fuck'n- I don't care. As long as you're with me and you- whatever you want, Mal. Whatever you need."

"I need to be myself. I don't-I don't know who I am." He's too angry, he's too happy, he's got voices in his head telling him what to do. He does things without realizing. He loses limbs, replaced with fakes. He can't handle meat because all he can think of is fucking cannibalizing monsters who were once people, and those monsters feasting on those who still are people. He thinks about turning, the feeling of turning, even once upon a dream. Craving people around him. "Who the hell am I?"

"Malcolm Reed, Tactical officer of the USS Enterprise. You love pineapple even when it could make you sick, love explosions even when you're more concerned with discretion. You're terrified of water but are the bravest man I know for looking at that and going 'fuck drowning, i'm going into space.' like it's nothing." He leans back to look Malcolm in the eye, his own bright. "You're a soldier first, a tactician, a spy, a fighter."

These are all facts. Facts that are true or were once true about him. He wants to go back, how everything was when he got here. How things were before that. How things were before the war. Forever ago. Too much looking at the past. Trying to remember the last time he gave an honest smile.

"Sounds like someone I'd get along with. I hope to meet him again one of these days."

"We'll get him back." Nevermind that he's technically been with this warped version of Mal longer than he's been with the original. Nevermind that he's quietly terrified that when, it's gonna be a when, they get everything fixed Mal won't- want anything to do with him anymore.

Nevermind any of that.

"You're my best friend, here."

He holds his breath for longer than he'd care to admit. Swallows around the massive lump in his throat. "More than that. Right?"

"I love you." Easy as breathing. Honest as anything. "You know that."

"I'm bad at saying--I don't express--" So many excuses. He's full of bloody excuses. "I'm sorry I'm doing this. Putting you through this. You've had worse. I shouldn't--" no, do not go there, he doesn't want to go all compliance in the middle of all of this. "Thank you."

"I get the feeling it makes you uncomfortable. When I say it. Because you can't." He slides his hand to the side of Malcolm's face, running his thumb along his cheek. "We'll be okay."

"I think it makes you uncomfortable when I don't say it back. But I wouldn't still be with you if I didn't." And that's that. It has to be.

He leans into York's hand, sniffling, trying to sort himself back under some guise of control. Can't tell if York really believes what he says, but better for one of them to at least pretend. For a little while. "Do you think this will go away with a little time? This...feeling. This want. Of stopping."

"I grew up in the south and I'm a soldier." he shrugs, leaning forward to bump their foreheads together. "It's okay. You're you. If I didn't like you just how you are I would probably have a problem with it. You're still with me after- after everything. So I don't need to hear it."

Not as badly as some people might think.

"...It fades, for me, if i find something in the here and now that makes me happy. So I usually just- go find you."

"You're really very sweet, Taylor." It's not a smile, but it does spark some kind of warmth somewhere in him. "Far sweeter than I deserve. For someone as miserable and maligned as me."

"Ma had a lot of candy when she was pregnant with me. Or, well, so she said." He slips a hand free from Mal's and cradles his other cheek, framing his face easily. "You're not always miserable. or maligned. It's just been a shit coupla months."

"Moment of weakness. I'm very tired." Tired. It's all come to a head, a last straw. "Guess," he says, clearing his throat, "I should probably go find someone...professional to talk to. Like you've suggested. Before I do anything we'll both regret. Anything else."

"I think...that's a good idea. I can find you a number if you need a referral." His doc wouldn't- it wouldn't be the best idea. "As for the tired...maybe we should spend a few days somewhere nice? somewhere not home. With a big jacuzzi tub and room service."

"People who start seriously contemplating suicide should probably have professional help." He says it straight, somewhat clinical. That way it doesn't sound so close. It doesn't sound like the howl of emotions inside. It sounds like it's happening to someone else.

Spending time somewhere in with all the nice amenities tight and quiet with his boyfriend. He supposes he can't say no. "What use does a closed off city have for a hotel?" But that's beside the point. "Okay. A few days for us. To settle and relax and...forget. A bit." He licks his lips. "North should know. If we're going to get the kitchen fixed. That the kitchen is a mess right now."

"Yeah well you know me. I don't like to push." Clinging still and he wants- everything in him wants to lean in that last little bit and kiss Mal. Give him that connection, that comfort. The rest of him has no fucking idea if that's going to help or not, if it's welcome or not.

"I'll have the nurses leave him a note. He's still out cold." No change on that yet. "I'll have a guy come over and clean up. So that it's not as awful."

All fixed up as best as they can manage. It's the least he could do.

"He might wake up." Any day now. Maybe. Malcolm closes his eyes, glad to have York's hands holding his face, that solid feel of him there.

"You did try to get me to before. And so did Whiskey. I just didn't think I needed it. I suppose that's no longer true." He'd like to stay. Just like this. "We should get out of here so they can use this room for someone else who's been waiting as long as we have." Now that a lot of that fountain of sadness has washed, he's a little more numb about it all. Doesn't really want to get up but can go through the motions. The motions of being. Kind of like a robot. They can comfort each other later. "I'll drop Carolina a line." A slightly frantic text, at least.

"I got an autocab on the way. You wanna pack something or just go straight to the hotel?" He may have had his eye on one for a rainy weekend but this- seems a bit more immediate. He stands slow, tugging on Malcolm's hands to bring him up alongside. Standing this close he can't...he loops his arms around Malcolm's shoulders and squeezes. Holds on for a long, long second.

"...Straight--right now?" His look is somewhat dazed, though leans into the touch. "I imagine we'll want to pack some of our things for a...short getaway."

"Whatever you want, Mal." And he means it. This'll be good for him but- Malcolm? Malcolm is who he's most concerned for.

Voicemail 2.0

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