lostsoldier | ic contact ★ i'm just a shot away from you

[ she feels awful, but in comparison to a lot of the people aboard, she feels just fine. ( she can feel their sickness and pain pressing in on her, but forces herself not to focus on it. ) given that she feels comparatively fine, given that she's still functional, she's making rounds, checking up on people, that kind of thing.

no one's asked her to check up on him, the initiative for that's all her own. so she's knocking on his door and then settling against the wall next to it, because any moment that she doesn't have to carry the entire weight of her own body is a blessing. ]

[ For a few bleary moments he's not sure where he is — or who he is, whether there was a sound or what the sound meant, how he's meant to respond, until like gear teeth the pattern of expected reactions slots into place. He's in there, but it takes a minute.

When the door finally does slide open, he doesn't look much clearer. Still red-eyed, unfocused, and with his hair sticking up on the left and some kind of red marks across that side of his cheek, an alternating hash-mark tread — not unlike the one on the floor at their feet, in fact. He plants a metal shoulder against the door frame like it's the only thing keeping him upright and squints at her in the light. ]

Hey.

[ It's dry-throated, somewhere between a croak and a whisper. ]

Did I wake you?

[ it's the first thought that crosses her mind upon seeing him that isn't you look awful or you feel awful because he does, exhausted and disoriented. he looks awful, but also like he's been sleeping and it takes more discipline than she'd care to admit to move on from the thought of how great an idea a nap seems right now. ]

[ He looks down at himself, as if his jump suit will hold the answer to that question. It doesn't look great either, hanging loose and sweat-soiled and smelling of death after more than a few days on, and the holes in the fabric aren't from wear but from small, sharp glints of silver peeking through little slits and tears down the line of his right side when he moves.

Oh, right.

His right arm, still bandage-wrapped to the fingers, pulls in toward his center, but his chin promptly lifts to level again. It's fine. Everything's fine. ]

Don't worry about it. Shouldn't've been sleeping.

[ Not when there's work to be done, is the implication on the forefront of his mind, but not when they're burning through calories faster than teenagers mid-growth spurt, either. His metal hand comes up to rub at his face, willing his vision to steady. How long was he asleep? ]

How close are we to the jump?

[ everything is definitely not fine- he doesn't look fine, and the confusion, the sense of displacement, those tell her that also mentally, he definitely isn't fine. ]

About 28 hours away.

[ she's worried. her fingers move at her side, but she doesn't reach for him. then she remembers that touch grounded him, when they'd sparred ( when he'd let her hit her because pain was real- ) and so she does reach for him, a deliberate gesture that's slow enough for him to stop her or to back away.

her hand lands on his shoulder. ]

Did you hear about the extraction?

[ He doesn't pull away, although the air catches in his chest. She'll touch him and it will feel like it did in Xenogen, like it's happening to somebody else, even though he can see it happen to him, his shoulder, knows it ought to feel like it's happening to him and it doesn't—

But her hand lands on his shoulder, and it hurts. Relief spreads across his brows on the tail of a wince, air hissing between his teeth. The skin doesn't feel right under the cloth, too soft in places and dappled with small, hard protrusions, but then, they're all changing. He doesn't say anything about it.

Instead, he shakes his head. Extraction calls to mind rendezvous points, handlers, debriefing — focus. ]

Of the nanites?

[ there's relief, but first and foremost there's pain and her hand drops away from his body almost immediately, an answering wince on her face. ]

Sorry.

[ for causing him pain. also for causion that distraction; extraction is a word that means something very different in a military context and for all that she's not military, judges are combat-trained.

she doesn't feel guilty for not having thought of that, though. can't anticipate everything, certainly not given the state she's in. ]

Yeah. Needs to be done before the jump.

[ He watches her hand retract, only belatedly registering its precise intent — and she succeeded in that much, in grounding him a little; he's not unhappy for that.

That she's sorry for hurting him earns the faintest quirk from his lips. (People keep apologizing to him like he'll ever deserve it.) He shrugs it off. Metal thumb and forefinger click softly as he rubs at his eyes. Yeah, okay. ]

They can't just take them all out, can they?

[ How tired is he of nanites right now, just saying. ]

I don't know. [ a beat, and she doesn't comment on the fact that she thinks he deserves the apology, even if he doesn't. ]

I don't think so.

[ and it would be so easy to just stay here, leaning against the wall next to his door and managing to stay upright with relatively little effort thanks to it, but that isn't what she came for.

the expenditure of energy is required, however much she might wish it wasn't. ] Let's go. [ she forces her weight to rest solely on her feet, forces her shoulders to square. ]

ic contact ★ i'm just a shot away from you

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