piper90npcs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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goneawayworld2020-12-08 08:41 pm
piper90npcs) wrote in goneawayworld2020-12-08 08:41 pm
Entry tags:
Better not cry...
Who: Everyone
What: Missions
Where: Ranging from the Rig to the North Pole and back
When: December
Warnings/Notes: Combat.
Sometimes, the holiday season passes without note. Sometimes it's the most eventful time of the year, capable of giving a poor stock worker PTSD. Fortunately for the Rig, they don't work in customer service. No, they're troubleshooters, which means that it's up to them to solve whatever problems Jorgmund points them at.
It just so happens that, this month, Jorgmund's using them less as a tactical nuke and more as a shotgun.
What: Missions
Where: Ranging from the Rig to the North Pole and back
When: December
Warnings/Notes: Combat.
Sometimes, the holiday season passes without note. Sometimes it's the most eventful time of the year, capable of giving a poor stock worker PTSD. Fortunately for the Rig, they don't work in customer service. No, they're troubleshooters, which means that it's up to them to solve whatever problems Jorgmund points them at.
It just so happens that, this month, Jorgmund's using them less as a tactical nuke and more as a shotgun.
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"Come on, let's get you to medbay."
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South takes his hand on instinct and then immediately freezes as her conscious mind catches up, her muscles tensing and air hissing between her teeth.
For a moment, it's like she's deciding if she should let go and push him away, but... she doesn't. She lets him pull her to her feet, stumbling a little as he does.
She's angry, not stupid. Dying of an unnoticed brain injury because she didn't go and get checked out wouldn't help anything.
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"Can you walk?"
He moves a bit, to allow her to test out the response to his question.
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Stubborn as South is, she manages to take a couple of steps towards him before a wave of dizziness, exhaustion and nausea hit her all at once. She stumbles again, barely keeping herself from actually falling with her grip on North's hand and a reflexive grab at his arm.
It's obvious she won't make it far like this, undermining her grumbling response of: "I'll manage."
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He pauses then. Not because he's in any doubt about what the best course of action is, but only because he knows how unhappy it'll make her when he says so.
"I think you'd better climb on my back."
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South's grip on his arm tightens, perhaps painfully so, as her teeth grit with frustration. Fuck. Fuck. She hates this. She hates that she needs his help, after everything.
So it speaks to how rough she feels that her only protest is, "I can't fucking believe this shit..." before she groans and pushes him a little, indicating for him to bend enough that she can climb on.
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Once she's on his back and safely balanced, he starts to walk.
"Try not to go to sleep or anything," he tells her.
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She clings on, tight. Tells herself that she's only doing it because she has to, that she'll slide off otherwise, but North has her perfectly secure and she knows it.
"M'not gonna," she grumbles, pressing her face into his back. She's still shivering. "I know the drill."
She breathes out, slow and shaking. She breathes and she clings, buries her face into the space between his shoulder blades, almost trembling in a way that's different from the shivering and yet easily excused.
Wonders when the last time it was they did this, or hugged, or anything, before everything changed irreparably. Isn't sure if she can't remember because it's been too long, or because of her scrambled head.
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He really ought to keep you talking, too, but he doesn't know what to say to her. So he pesters her with the occasional "doing okay?" but otherwise leaves it at that.
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She almost wants to say something, anything. Break the silence, break the stalemate for real, even if that means starting another fight— anything to make this end, to stop feeling like she's lost the ground beneath her feet.
Because she knows what happens now. She knows that he'll take her to medical and stay long enough to be sure she's not going to die from some brain bleed or something. She knows that he'll make sure she's okay after, that she remembers how to take care of herself with a concussion.
And she knows that then they'll go back to how things have been since she arrived. That nothing will change.
What she doesn't know, refuses to know, is why she cares. She's free from him, isn't she? As free as she can be, with nowhere else to go. Isn't this what she wanted?
(It's a question she asked herself a thousand times back home, after everything ended. After he died. She never found an answer then, either.)
But she doesn't say a word, not any that mean anything. She answers every time he asks if she's okay, muffled in his back, and she grumbles. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.
let me know if this is okay!
"Feeling all right now?" he asks once it's been consumed.
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South puts up a little fuss as the nurses do their thing, but is otherwise well-behaved. Let's them do their examination, tests, whatever, if sometimes with a scowl on her face or grumbling vaguely under her breath.
She does feel much better than she did, wrapped up and with the broth in her. Warmer, at least.
"...better. Alright would be pushing it." She shuffles, adjusts her position. "Head still hurts like a motherfucker."
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"You feel confused at all? Disoriented?"
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"...thought you'd have left by now. Does that count?" she says, the attempt at bite in the words dulled by the very real disorientation that still has her noticeably off-kilter.
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They're still very much at odds right now, but he doesn't intend to leave until he knows her prognosis, at the very least.
"And it does, yes."
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She huffs quietly, huddles more in the blanket. "Then yeah, I'm confused and disoriented. Don't even get how you found me."
She doesn't look at him, just keeps her eyes out towards the rest of the infirmary, keeping an eye out, waiting.
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"Ugh. Course he fuckin' did. Why can none of you ever just be assholes. Follow through, for once." She grumbles, rubs her face. Not that she wanted to be left out there to die, of course. "Whatever. Woulda found my way back."
She wouldn't.
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She scowls and gives him a look, but before she can open her mouth and say anything one of the nurses comes back to pass on results.
"It's definitely a concussion, but it isn't anything immediately life-threatening. Still, we're going to keep you in here overnight, just in case, then you can go free tomorrow."
South huffs again. "Ugh, fine. See, North? I'm fine. You can go."
A little part of her doesn't want him to, but what does that little part know? That little part can fuck off.
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"I don't need a babysitter when there's fuckin' nurses and shit," she says, giving him a look and then looking away. "So yeah. You can go."
That isn't a 'I want you to', but he'll know it's also far from an invitation to stay.
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He doesn't want to leave but she is clearly done with this situation.
He turns and walks out.
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He leaves and she huddles down more in the blankets, not watching him go and not looking at the poor nurse still standing there.
Not for the first time since her arrival, she tells herself she's fine with this, with being alone. She didn't want him to stay and baby her. But it's a long lonely night in the infirmary, and it gets harder and harder to convince herself as the hours go on.
Whatever. Too late now.