goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"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?"

"I thought you were on water, not alcohol?" He can still look after York; that's not weird.

"And I thought you were ignoring this. We're both fulla surprises." The best kind, the worst kind. The kind that really annoys him. He's already grabbing his boots and heading away from the mats, not even gonna grab a shower. Just. gonna get this over with and hide in his room with a bottle.

"Ranger Murray--Taylor--"

All right then. All right. This is a thing. Just face it with more dignity than he's faced in the past few days...and with more decorum, more pride.

He scrubs up quick, a true navy shower, puts on something more respectable, and heads for Marshall Archer's office. Malcolm is stiff, militaristic, crisp as he delivers his report, eyes ahead, because deviating might lead to slipping might lead to other things slipping out. Like emotions or fears or doubts. This is no time for that. But Archer's always had this habit of being interested in what his subordinates think and feel. Something like drift compatibility is not to be taken lightly. Murray was a damn good ranger they could use back on the field--if he's ready. Reed's a good teacher with fighting and tactics in his blood but no practical experience outside of simulations.

He knows this. He knows this all too well. This could be a disaster, or it could be the new dream team of the dome. It depends on them.

He goes to seek out York afterward, knocking on his door in a plain black undershirt and crisp trousers, looking entirely too sheveled (as opposed to dis-).

Right. Found a potential partner and he does just what he says he does. No scrubbing up, no time to think about what it means, right up to his doctor's office. Flops down on the carpet and lets everything tumble out. Last night. This morning. How it felt to be human. His misgivings, his certainties, his quiet terror and his absolute resolution that this is going to end badly. that this whole thing was a mistake.

That he should've died and Carolina should've walked away.

Survivor's guilt is an old friend and they end up spending more time on that than his resolution to get absolutely wasted later. He'd mentioned it and got nothing.

Course when he leaves there's Delta just. Waiting for him. That won't leave him alone, that ends up shoving his way into York's room while he's showering (and drinking yes he had a flask stowed in the bathroom that Delta didn't find no he isn't ashamed) and they may or may not still be arguing about that and other things when there's a knock on the door. Any distraction is better than none even if it's Malcolm and York doesn't so much open the door as wrench it open, teeth clenched and snarling around his last line of the argument. "-just upset it's not fucking YOU! So either be here and be fucking compassionate about it or take your codependent ass and fuck off!"

D, for his part, is sheet white. Angry, mortified, or hurt- Right now? York doesn't much care. The thin tech mumbles- something- and shoves his way past Malcolm to scurry back to his room.

He'd anticipated yelling, but yelling directed at him. Not one of the techs bolting out and the tail end of an argument. To his credit, he manages to close his mouth and retain some posture until it feels safe enough to speak.

"I would offer to leave, but it doesn't appear that you're in the middle of something anymore."

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