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!
"Ended it pretty abruptly. If you need something for it, I might need, too. We'll see how it goes. Maybe it'll ease up with practice." A hand ghosts along York's cheek. "What can I do?"
On his blind side and he should twitch away but- it's Malcolm. He's seen in his head. Seen his life. Lived it with him for a little while. He'll be doing more of that soon and- if he can't trust Mal with his bad side, his blind side? Who can he trust?
"Shower. Shave." He does still have stubble from the night before the night before. "Food. Real food. Not gonna wanna spar for- awhile. A week? A month. Kind of just- 'm afraid I'll jump ya."
Hell he's all but vibrating from the need to do that NOW.
His grin is slow, a little lopsided, a bit of still trying to find normal in a post-drift world and a bit of York. "I've seen both sides of your rodeo, cowboy." He might still be sorting through the details, but he knows it's all there.
"..." Okay so there was that one drunk night after Casbah where he and Clair did- they couldn't NOT have 'holy shit we didn't die' sex after that drop so. Both sides.
And Lina had made a point to have him every which way in the three hours they spent in that cabana. So. Both sides.
Now that he flips back through his mental filter he's able to match that smirk with one of his own. "Seen your game too, Mr. Smooth Operator."
"Not bad for a couple of can't-be-tied-down, one-night-standers like us." Certainly a not insignificant number of people between them. "I think your fear's a little misplaced." Maybe not given their conversation last night, but...that was last night.
"Maybe...see where we're at when we're both normalized?" Rather than both of them being not quite all here. Here, yes, and with each other, yes, but still settling back into their bones and their own skin. But he's up for the suggestion of now, in this recovery time.
"I dunno. I've heard the sounds you make and there's a trick you do with your tongue that's got me real curious." It's easier to laugh and- yeah, the weight is still there, his eye still hurts and he feels like ass but- he's not alone. He's got Mal. He's GOT Mal and mal's got him back and that- that's more than enough.
"Okay. I'm gonna clean up here. Might wanna let a tech know your shit's in this room before you go wash up in yours." The idea of being away from Mal is thoroughly enticing for all the wrong reasons and a pain in his gut for all the right ones.
But they're not at the 'showering together' stage yet. So. Break.
No, definitely not yet. Everything's too new. Needs to settle down. He leaves, lighter on his feet and not just because of being stripped down. Nabs a tech, says a few words. A shower feels like a miracle, and shaving the overnight stubble makes his face feel like he wasn't just drifting like a homeless person or puking up a night of coffee not terrible long ago.
And being away from York means that he's more himself. The drift falls away bit by bit, and, like York leaving his side to steal some food, he is better able to feel himself and not them as a singular being. His own thoughts in his own head. Better that way, to have time apart.
Food, actual food, and no, not pizza. Actual cooked food from the galley that is meant to be eaten and not swifted out in the middle of the night. He drops heavily onto a bench and can't help but still feel tired despite the rest full of dreams he got. But he's present, more present than he's been since he stepped into the pod.
He turns his shower to scalding so he won't get lost in the chill. Scrubs himself till all the gunk and funk from being in the undersuit for fucking ever is gone, leaving him pink and his scars a stark white against his skin. Actually shaves for the first time in awhile- doesn't even knick himself though the memory is overlaid with having a jaw that's more narrow and a chin that's more pointed and he has to stop for thirty seconds before he cuts himself using Malcolm's muscle memory.
It passes, like it always does, and he finishes cleaning up. Dresses in the usual 'fuck it' uniform of bdus and an oversized sweater (not his fault he's always feeling cold) and gets a tray of veggies. No meat. He doesn't need the protein right now and something fresh'll help. He doesn't actively try to avoid or find Malcolm but he ends up dropping onto the table across from him anyway.
Carolina hovers at his elbow, peering at the assortment with a wrinkled nose. You don't even like broccoli.
While York's gone momentarily vegetarian and fresh, Malcolm apparently had a hankering for the greasiest, fattest meat available. The closest to a fast food burger that was being offered.
There are, of course, looks. Furtive glances over shoulders, of those in the mess. Low conversation. It's the biggest event since the last kaiju that came near this shatterdome, of course there's talk. Malcolm has chosen to try to ignore it all as best as he can. When York arrives and finds himself sitting across the table, the conversation only increases in intensity.
He smiles. A little pale yet, a little light and dreamy, but here, and smiling.
"Oh, that was a joke? So hard to tell." Moving on. Or, well, he'd move on if he had anything to move on to, but instead, he moves on to silence and food.
Silence and food sounds great, honestly. It's not sullen. Nope. Just. Quiet. He doesn't have words to fill the space and right now? He doesn't really want to. FOcuses on eating his vegetables and his salad instead.
Quiet is nice and beats bad not-jokes. Especially since it's so loud in his head. Carolina is nearby. He can see her. It's distracting, but he doesn't say anything about it. Digs into his dessert because damn right he got something sugary and sweet to go with everything else.
Food. Food is good. Tea is better- since when does he drink tea? But it's. Comforting and familiar and he ends the whole thing with an apple. One bite, sit, chew, sip, two bites, sit chew, sip. Sighing. "You can still see her."
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."
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"Shower. Shave." He does still have stubble from the night before the night before. "Food. Real food. Not gonna wanna spar for- awhile. A week? A month. Kind of just- 'm afraid I'll jump ya."
Hell he's all but vibrating from the need to do that NOW.
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And Lina had made a point to have him every which way in the three hours they spent in that cabana. So. Both sides.
Now that he flips back through his mental filter he's able to match that smirk with one of his own. "Seen your game too, Mr. Smooth Operator."
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"Maybe...see where we're at when we're both normalized?" Rather than both of them being not quite all here. Here, yes, and with each other, yes, but still settling back into their bones and their own skin. But he's up for the suggestion of now, in this recovery time.
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"Shower. Shave. Food. Yeah?"
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But they're not at the 'showering together' stage yet. So. Break.
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And being away from York means that he's more himself. The drift falls away bit by bit, and, like York leaving his side to steal some food, he is better able to feel himself and not them as a singular being. His own thoughts in his own head. Better that way, to have time apart.
Food, actual food, and no, not pizza. Actual cooked food from the galley that is meant to be eaten and not swifted out in the middle of the night. He drops heavily onto a bench and can't help but still feel tired despite the rest full of dreams he got. But he's present, more present than he's been since he stepped into the pod.
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It passes, like it always does, and he finishes cleaning up. Dresses in the usual 'fuck it' uniform of bdus and an oversized sweater (not his fault he's always feeling cold) and gets a tray of veggies. No meat. He doesn't need the protein right now and something fresh'll help. He doesn't actively try to avoid or find Malcolm but he ends up dropping onto the table across from him anyway.
Carolina hovers at his elbow, peering at the assortment with a wrinkled nose. You don't even like broccoli.
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There are, of course, looks. Furtive glances over shoulders, of those in the mess. Low conversation. It's the biggest event since the last kaiju that came near this shatterdome, of course there's talk. Malcolm has chosen to try to ignore it all as best as he can. When York arrives and finds himself sitting across the table, the conversation only increases in intensity.
He smiles. A little pale yet, a little light and dreamy, but here, and smiling.
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It's not a question.
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