Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything. PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with Tag and go, baby!
His eyes are tracking her. She's not staying still this time, like a ghost of her wandering between tables, checking out their compatriots. "You deal with this all the time?"
"This is only the second time. I saw her--you know when." He loses track of her, somewhere. Maybe she's...gone, for the moment. Maybe she doesn't like being talked about. "Needs getting used to. Like everything else."
"She might start following you and let me sleep." god that'd be amazing. NOt that he minds her or resents her it's just- it hurts. Having her there when he sleeps. Waking up with her gone.
He can't tell if it's a joke. "That's an unsettling thought that I'll not bother overthinking for now. Maybe when it's discussed with the doctor, it'll resolve itself."
"So soon? Shouldn't we...get debriefed or..." He trails off. No, he supposes not. The drift was, for a given definition of the term, a success. Not much more to be said about that.
"I could...go. I can't promise I'll say anything."
"Your head, your call. I kinda haveta go. I should've gone in right after but..." Mal needed tending. Even if they've leveled out his doctor's gonna be worried.
Okay sudden but- alright. He leads Mal back through the halls to his doctor's office, knocking lightly. Dr. Ramirez is less than pleased with how LATE he is but- Mal's there with him and that's. probably good.
"Come in, sit down. Coffee, tea, fruit juice?" Something to get them comfortable and get York hydrated.
"You got any pineapple juice?" York slumps in the nearest sofa, massaging the bridge of his nose against another headache.
What, he wasn't going back for seconds, and apparently York was plenty late enough as it was. But in the office, he doesn't...know quite what to do with himself. Does he sit? Maybe he'll just stand over here by the door. Sure, therapists are important. And with all the shit in his head, he might need one. Doesn't have to like his own advice, though.
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"I could...go. I can't promise I'll say anything."
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"So I should finish up so we can go? We can go. We should go."
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"Come in, sit down. Coffee, tea, fruit juice?" Something to get them comfortable and get York hydrated.
"You got any pineapple juice?" York slumps in the nearest sofa, massaging the bridge of his nose against another headache.
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