goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"That isn't fair? That isn't- you wanna talk about fucking fair, Reed? Not knowing what's me and what's leftover of her! Remembering every fucking time I wake up that there's a whole person's worth of memories that aren't mine that I'm stuck with because I didn't DIE WHEN I WAS SUPPOSED TO!" And that's something he probably should've told his therapist forever ago but-

Well. It didn't matter. Now it kind of does.

"And you really want to stuff another person's worth of memories in your head to make it more confusing? She's still going to be gone, every second of every day!"

"I just want that hole gone!" Drinking hadn't made it go away, training did- kind of. And now he knows why and it's not-

It's not Malcolm's fault he's a mess. It's the war. it's the program. it's unintended side effects of Drift Tech biting everyone in the ass afterward. "Just be honest. You don't wanna deal with it. You don't wanna deal with me."

This whole thing had been fucking Delta's idea. Rehabilitate him. Help him get back on his feet. Help him recover, like there's any fucking recovering from what happened.

"You're not the problem here." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Yes, it's some of the problem. "Not the whole of it. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what this is. I've never been compatible with anyone. How do you get comfortable drifting with someone? Giving yourself over to someone wholly, fully? It's not you." With a sigh, "Big shoes to fill. Big hole to fill."

"Bullshit." He's part of the problem, he knows he is, like he's ever been anything but a problem for the people that know him since the fall. The only part of his life that felt right was when he was running with Carolina.

Now?

Now he's just something other people have to deal with.

It's a testament to how pissed off he is that York doesn't go for the innuendo. Doesn't even register it. "Well you don't pretend it's not happening for starters. Jesus Christ, Reed, I never would've pegged you as a coward."

"Well I am one when it comes to interpersonal matters, or, sorry, have we met?" He'd rather go into a battle full of level 4 kaiju by himself than face the idea of having someone know every nook and cranny of him, but no, it has to be two people or you get overloaded. "I'll talk to the Marshall. You talk to your doctor."

"I dunno, last night was the first time I saw you outside the shatterdome. I don't know what you do when you're not teaching people because you're always on!" As much as Mal says he isn't Clair- they have that in common.

It's part of why York never got a chance to say anything he wanted to. Why they never DID anything near as often as he felt they could.

Talk to his doctor. And what? Open this whole mess again? Whatever pleasant glow the night before an the realization that he was compatible with someone might've given him is gone. "Don't bother. Just- forget it."

What's the point of being compatible when it won't work?

"I'm not going to forget it; I'm going to talk to the bloody Marshall. And then we'll get tested. And then we'll put on those helmets, and we'll see if it's true or not."

"We'll get tested when I'm cleared for duty. We both know that's not happening." Not with Clair haunting him. Not with him clinging so damn hard to her ghost. "Forget it."

"I refuse to be the one to...to hold you back when I'm supposed to be helping you. I just didn't expect my help would be to this extent." He's still feeling like a replacement, but if this is what they both know deep down what it is, then this is a chance for both of them, and a rare one at that. Shouldn't squander it.

Malcolm grabs his towel to briefly dab off the sweat. "You kissed me." And he kissed back, but, main issue here.

"Get back on my feet, get back in the rig. Rah, rah, fight to save humanity." It used to matter. It still does in a small way but right now he's just too wound up and frustrated and jittering in his skin from a connection that's too new and too raw and-

What the fuck does he know about Malcolm? Really. Honestly. Next to nothing. He'd at least Known Carolina so.

Maybe they're not compatible. Maybe he just really wants to sleep with Malcolm. Which- well not unusual but not appropriate.

"I was happy." It's as good of an explanation as any.

"It...fit." He laughs at himself. "It fit when any other time it would have seemed inappropriate." It's thrilling and terrifying. "If that's what it's like without even being in the drift..."

"You see everything. You feel everything." He shrugs, walking back to where he'd dropped his shirt earlier and hauling it on. "You feel whole without ever knowing you were missing pieces of you to begin with."

"It's one thing to be taught that, to read about it, be told. Feeling is...something else altogether. Aren't you scared?" He looks to York. "I suppose you wouldn't be, if you've done it before."

"...I didn't just feel her fall, Mal. I felt her die. That's all I ever really feel anymore and- It's not fair. I know it's not fair but i'd give my good eye to have something there that's not-" He scrubs at his face before looking back over to Malcolm. "Death. I'm more afraid of that being my only real memory of her than I am of anything else."

"You have a lot more memories than that in there, and I can say that as a fact. You use her memories to help yourself out whether you realize it or not."

"Echos. Ghost Drifting." He waves a hand. "Different flavors of the same Koolaid."

"Still, it means you have more than just death."

"I'm sorry is this where we get into what is and isn't a rational fear? Am I suddenly in my therapist's office instead of on the mats?"

"...No?" He blinks, head pulling back in startled confusion.

"Then quit trying to tell me my fear's wrong or irrational. I already know that. Doesn't stop it from being a thing, okay?" Maybe they should just go find the helmets now and fire up the system and be done with it so Mal can get it.

"...Okay." Strange how incompatible they seem off the mat, but then, it's the fighting that matters, in the end, right?

"Go talk to the martial. I'll talk to my therapist." God help whatever team they get stuck with. As long as it's not a shitty jeager, though, he'll adapt.

"All right. We'll talk about this later." When they've both calmed down and the Marshall has an idea of what to do with them both. "Are you going to be fine?" Silly question.

"I'm going to talk to my therapist and then I'm gonna get a drink." Maybe ten drinks. "What do you think?"

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