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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"...Mal you realize that is a specific brand of crazy, right? Phobias may be irrational but fear in and of itself isn't. Putting yourself in that kind of position when you're supposed to be in charge is fucking stupid, I'm sorry. If he had it as bad as you did and decided to go down anyway? I wouldn't have wanted to serve under him. That is a shit choice for him and his crew." He squeezes Malcolm's hand just a bit tighter, trying to get him to look him in the eye.

"You made the right call. Obviously you made the right call, you make history according to Jim. Isn't that worth more?"

"I know I did. I've had a good deal of time to realize that. Still, some things unexpectedly stick with us. Like phobias." His mouth twitches into a more sardonic smile. "I told that story to my captain once because he's chatty and really had had enough of not knowing much about me." That gets a laugh. "There's more to it than that. I was pinned to the hull by a live but damaged mine, he was trying to disarm it, we were...chatting about why I wasn't in the navy and this all came up."

Let him take a breath and shake it off. "Sorry, I'm...rambling a bit. Not very like me, is it, to ramble. The point is, I tried. I wanted to. I was going to be in the navy if it killed me, but I couldn't, and then I made a different choice for myself, and things, well...things happened as they did. It was the right call in the end. I'm glad I stuck with it."

"...I think we're going to have to double back a bit to the part where you were pinned to the hull by a space mine while chatting away with your captain." Because- what? What the FUCK even? "How- but. Space. Space ship. How were you pinned? Do I want to know?"

He's concerned. That sentence is concerning. Malcolm's being concerning. It's- wow. "No, you're not rambling. You're talking about yourself, which you don't really do and that's fine. I don't mind it. Ramble some more. I'd like to know about your life, your captain, your ship. A force for good. It's- nice to think that there's a place where humanity meets aliens and it goes well."

He scoffs, looking up at York for once. "Not always. I can't even tell you how many times we got into fights with first contacts. Not the friendliest bunch out there. Or sometimes too friendly. Remind me to tell you about the time Trip got impregnated."

Good times.

But right, mines. "I was pinned because I went out to dislodge it, and one of the spikes it used to attach to the hull decided to do so straight through my leg. The captain had invited me to breakfast to get to know me--which was predictably a disaster--so when he came out to help, he wanted to continue the conversation. He said it helped to settle his nerves." Another scoff. "And it didn't calm mine, but what was I going to do about it, get up and walk away? Add to that was that the minefield was generally invisible and there was some kind of cloaked ship that wanted us out of the territory as soon as possible, and they didn't really care who was still out on the hull so long as we went to warp. Do you want to know what happens to a person if they're outside a ship and that ship goes to warp? You don't."

"....what." No, no, he'll come back to that later. For now? Mine. Mine with a spike through his LEG. That's both incredibly hardcore and horrifying because space obviously he lived but jesus christ.

And he's so nonchalant about it. 'Oh a spike through my leg, bit of a bother'. If anyone ever questions how much Mal would fit with them in the new group he'll just mention that. A casual disregard for personal safety in the midst of explosives is a requirement. Damn.

"How did you- I mean. You didn't die. Obviously. How?"

That's what space drugs are for. Delicious, tasty space drugs. "Well, after trying to disarm the mine failed spectacularly--it was too damaged, and we didn't have the time to go about it the right way, not with that angry ship looming. So the captain decided to detach the plating of hull the mine--and, subsequently I--was attached to, cut me loose to set the mine on the ten second countdown, grabbed some reinforced shuttlepod doors, and we used them to shield ourselves from the blast while being flung back toward the ship in time to get snatched up by the transporter and warp away."

There's a thoughtful pause. "If in the very unlikely event that Captain Archer ever shows up here, he's going to argue it was twenty seconds, and he is respectfully wrong."

"...that's insane." Suddenly he knows what everyone else who ever heard about the bullshit ops he and the other Freelancers ever ran felt like. That's insane. That doesn't make sense. There's no- the margin for error, he'd be panicked and checking Mal over if it weren't for the fact it apparently happened years ago, not just a little while ago.

"I. You. He. That's the point of contention. That's all you have to argue about?" The countdown. Not the batshit insanity of the rest of the plan.

Malcolm blinks innocently. A Freelancer thinks that's insane? "We certainly had other arguments during the mine disarming, but afterward, yes, that's more or less it. His casual command style does have its perks."

Yes, Mal, a freelancer thinks that's insane. You don't fuck around with SPACE. Space is scary. Space is deadly. "What other arguments were there to have?"

"About his casual command style, for one." Malcolm shrugs, trying not to look meek when he looks away again. "If he was the kind of captain I, at the time, thought he should be, he would've cut me loose without ever bothering to set foot on the hull himself. About chatting or sticking to business. About heroics We had quite the heart to heart in some ways."

"...so it's not just us that don't talk unless we hit emotional landmines?" Oh good. He thought maybe he was incredibly insensitive and unobservant or something. Knowing it's a pattern in Malcolm's life is kind of a relief. "Do you still think Captains should cut their losses?"

"I'm not exactly very open about my feelings or...anything about me. I've been getting better through the years, of course, but I thought that was...abundantly clear by now." Where have you been, York? "And that day hit a few emotional landmines. It wasn't very pretty."

But that was then. Here and now is more important, at least to the immediate future. "No, no, I grew very fond of the command structure that he set up. He acted more like a supervisor sometimes than a captain. Sometimes. At the time I thought it was in his best interest to let me go, and I was more than willing to make that sacrifice. Stories of my great-uncle not helping matters much."

He's been here, which is why he narrows his eyes at Malcolm for a moment, considers their respective mentalities, what's trained into both of them, weighs everything around for a moment and...

"Did you do anything to convince him it was in his best interest, or just argue the point?" Or did he do something stupid like attempt to achieve the objective without an extraction plan or considering how he was going to land. He's done that. It was dumb.

"I," he starts, giving a half scoff, half laugh of surprise, "wasn't very convincing. Thankfully."

"Obviously." still peering at Malcolm for a moment more- but if he's not bringing it up? He's not bringing it up. "Sounds like you had a good captain."

"Not one that let me get away with forcing the issue by pulling my air hose." Might as well get it out. It's clear that York is curious, although he doesn't imagine the added information will help matters. "Like I said, not very convincing. He's a good man, one of the best. You'd like him. You'd like a good lot of my crew, I think."

"...What?" Okay that- wow. He'd probably do the same thing in Malcolm's position. Suffocation vs exploding to death kind of- not a choice he'd want to make, normally. "Mal you are one hardcore motherfucker."

"...Is that what you think, after that?" He's honestly surprised. He'd expected--well, not that. Definitely not that.

"It's the same call I would have made. It's not the smartest call-" Make no mistake, they both know that "But it's the call I would have made."

He gives his hand one last squeeze and lets go to pat his back. "Shit idea. Hardcore, yes. Still a shit idea."

The smile that ends up on his face is boyish and lopsided. "I suppose I can take that as a bit of a compliment. Hardcore but stupid. Sounds very...Freelancer." With a nudge of York's side.

"You'll fit right in. And the way your crew sounds I'd like to think I'd have fit in with them. Not sure where I'd end up- probably security. Would that mean I'd have to follow you around, call you Sir?" He is fine with this idea- and that's a good look for Malcolm. York could stand to see it more often.

"That's exactly what that means. Might end up doing that anyway if you really want me ranked so high up on the food chain. Besides, unlocking a door is sometimes more useful than blowing it open. Nothing wrong with a few theatrics, of course..."

"If that's what you say, Sir." Yeah just gonna poke at that a bit. Especially if he keeps smiling. "Ain't a lock I can't crack given enough time, Sir, so whatever you need I'm good for."

"You're incorrigible, plain and simple." One of the best and worst traits York has. Locksmith and overall troublemaker of the group."

"You know you love it." He answers with a grin, wide and easy and real. Not that empty thing from the night of the party. "That's me. Locksmith and troublemaker. I should put that on my businesscard."

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