goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

We get a say. Also hi. Welcome to pilot to pilot connectivity. Say hi. "York- how are you adjusting?"

"Everything's green, Delta." It takes effort to say that out loud, but he manages it. "We're good for a sim drop if everhone's on board."

no nononono let me out It's like a warning spike, a continuous record scratch. no drops no drops too soon

"Or not. Belay that D." York rolls right on over D's commentary on starting up the sim. Ok. No drops. Another time, okay? Okay. Breathe with me Mal.

Part of him, the part that is York, wants to breathe easy and steadily. The part that is him is frantic. Find a happy medium. Find--or just take deep breaths that are all York, okay, that works too. It's beginning to feel a lot like failure, even though they're here, they're drifting, because it's not perfect and he's not perfect at it.

You're doing great. Really. We're not chasing rabbits, we're in alignment, we're communicating. They're perfect. They're doing so much better than he thought they would. He didn't get caught up in her. They're good. Hey. Wiggle a hand for me.

If I vomit in my helmet are you going to, too? It's an extremely pertinent question right now okay.

Let's not test that theory. Deep breaths. Slow and even and through the nose and oh hello, nausea. Where have you been all his life? How about you go away. Far. Far away.

How long does it take to disengage, we should be done by now, everything should be green.

You want out? Okay. Okay, we'll disengage. He comms through to Delta to shut the system down and it's like-

Well it's like falling. Dropping out of his bones to something small and hollow and half blind. Something broken. But it's his bones and there's still the whisper of her in the back of his mind, comforting him. Helping him breathe through it. He peels the helmet off and blinks at the lights in the test podd. Swallows back the lingering bile in the back of his throat.

Okay.

Hadn't that been extremely obvious? Dropping back into himself and out of thoughts voices memories is also disorienting. He tries not to look too desperate to get out of the apparatus, and he drops on all fours as soon as his helmet is off, retching, limbs quivering. And when his stomach is done rebelling, he drops to his side, sucking in breaths.

Sulk or take care of his partner.

Well that's an obvious choice. He disengages entirely and crouches down, hand rubbing up and down Malcolm's back. "Easy. Easy, it's okay. D, can we get cleanup in here. And a bottle of water?"

There's a crackled affirmative over the comm, but he's too busy minding Mal.

The physical touch is like an electric shock at first, but not terrible. Grounding. Grounding. Ground. Here. He's here. I'm here. But, wait, they're not connected like that anymore, are they?

Shit. He's an embarrassment. He covers his face with a shaky hand, huffing out a sigh when he's got enough breath to do so.

"Shh. You're good. You're good. You did good." He peels off his glove with one hand and combs his fingers through Malcolm's hair. Pets the sweat slick patch at the nape of his neck. Pretty much what Carolina did for him the first time. "Hey. Hey- you didn't pass out! Good job man."

He takes this opportunity to wiggle a hand for York, because it hits him that he didn't do that like requested. Better late than never?

It's really empty up here in his head. There's room to breathe, but maybe there's too much room. There's so much he saw. Everything's bouncing around. No, don't think of bouncing, god. Sit up slow. Slow slow slow.

He wiggles his hand. He wiggles his fucking hand and that? That has him cackling with laughter. Bent over and gasping through it, goddamn tears dripping down his face from laughing so hard because he. He wiggled his hand.

"oh my god you're awful."

What did he do? What did he do wrong? Something went wrong. He's being made fun of. Should he not have done that? He crosses his arms over his chest, pinning his hands down with biceps. Would be red if he wasn't already from exertion and panic and sickness. At least the floor won't judge him. And it's good ground to stand on. Yeah. He should be friends with the floor.

"No- no mal no you're- it was funny. The hand. You wiggled your hand you REMEMBERED what I asked you to do when we got out. Usually the last fifteen seconds are static when you disengage and you remembered. You're fucking amazing." He hooks his arm around Malcolm's shoulder and nuzzles his cheek, squeezing him. "You're magical."

He's not convinced this isn't still making fun of him. That York's just pulling his leg trying not to make him feel bad. Patronizing. Nothing feels amazing or magical right now, least of all himself.

"Mal. Mal. Lookit me Mal." He gives him a shake and turns enough to look Malcolm in the eye. "We did it. You did amazing. You did fantastic. You didn't seize or anything= shit, my first drift? I passed out afterward. For like. An hour. I didn't even disengage I just passed right the fuck out."

~~Okay...that sounds fake but okay.~~ Malcolm shrugs his shoulders. Maybe this is good. Maybe next time will go worse. Maybe the second he gets up he'll pass out. Maybe he's having a seizure right now. Maybe he's dreaming. This could be a dream. Maybe in an hour he'll realize that this was good.

"You wanna try standing up?" He holds his hand out for the bottle of water Delta's offering over, cracking the top to hold it for Mal.

He'll take the water first, a tentative sip, but it's so refreshing. Not as much as the sea breeze on the open waters, but still. He's careful to keep to small sips. Then gets his legs under himself to try standing. A little dizzy. Okay, a lot dizzy. He throws a hand out to lean on something, but like hell he's going down.

York's there, right there, slipping under his arm to help him stand. To help him stand and to help him get his feet under him. "We're gonna head to medical, awright? Awright. Quit hovering D, I got this."

The Marshall might call after them and he might tell him to shove it but for now he's more interested in getting Mal somewhere quiet and private and calm.

He shakes his head, a little bit. Medical? No, no, just...let him lie down and sleep forever. Doctors are just going to poke him and prod him and he is not a huge fan of doctors. But he'll go where York leads.

To medical. To a quiet room with someone that'll give him a hand scanner and fuck off. He lays Mal out on the cot, they can worry about getting them out of the suits later. He turns down the lights, closes the door, and settles in a chair next to him, curling their fingers together. "You did good."

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