heyfreemagic | Cabin Fever [Open to Wash's friends]

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Cabin Fever [Open to Wash's friends]

[Wash sat on his bed, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded, staring at the wall. There was exactly one book in the room, and he'd finished it yesterday. No point in rereading it - not when he could remember the whole thing down to the goddamn word if he wanted to. The network was fairly quiet. There was no TV or radio in here. He was bored out of his goddamn mind and had been for - he checked the clock - the past two hours, at least.]

[Bed rest was bullshit.]

[Bones had insisted, and when Wash had insisted he was well enough to at least walk around the damn apartment, Bones had lifted him straight off the floor with his magic and hauled him back down the hall. There was no arguing with that.]

[Well, no, there was plenty of arguing with that. There was just no winning.]

[So he was stuck in his room, rapidly running out of distractions and reduced to staring at the wall. Great. Just great.]

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[ Once the migraine passed- carrying Wash back to bed by the scruff wasn't easy dammit- he stalks back in with an armful of books, what probably passed for a newspaper, and a small bundle in canvas. There wasn't much to do while resting up but something that wouldn't stress wash out was what he was aiming for.

God willing he'll find at least one thing that'll work. ]

How're you hold'n up?

[ Like he hadn't banished Wash to his bedroom like a petulant kid. Man could sulk better than Kirk. ]

[Wash's gaze flickered to the door when it opened, then turned very pointedly back to the wall.]

Oh, I'm great. Never been better.

[Amazing that a tone that light can convey that much sarcasm.]

Keep on sass'n and I won't give you the new books.

[ That's a lie, he's not that sort of an asshole. ]

[If there was one thing Greg had learned while living with the guys, it was that the rest of them absolutely did not share his lifestyle of taking things as easy as possible. He didn't mind hanging around doing nothing for long stretches--it was how he liked things, really. Things around here were a tad more active than he was used to. Naturally, flipping things on Wash wouldn't be easy.

Greg peeked in, first, just to make sure Wash wasn't sleeping, before opening the door, a small case under one arm.]

Looks like I'm not interrupting much. You doin' okay?

[He slowly looks back at Bones, one eyebrow raised as high as it will go.]

Mm-hmm.

[Sass sass sass sass sass]

You are worse than Kirk. And that's not easy t'do. [ He mutters, handing over the bundle of books and pulling a chair up to Wash's bedside, canvas bundle in his lap. ] Seriously, how are you feel'n? Exhaustion brought on by magic ain't exactly somth'n I've run into before.

[As a rule, Wash didn't handle idling very well. Letting his guard down and his mind wander left him wide open for the pieces of Epsilon left in his brain to rush in and overwhelm him; focus and activity prevented that, for the most part. In that aspect, bed rest was not doing him any favors.]

[He looked up when footsteps started down the hall and had his eyes on the door when Greg opened it.]

If your definition of "okay" includes "terminal boredom," then yes.

What about you?

I try.

[He takes the books, stacking them neatly on the bedside table and scanning the titles. Why is there a dime store romance in there. He's desperate, but he's not that desperate. ~~Yet.~~]

[He drops the sarcasm, because that will get him absolutely nowhere in this conversation.]

I'm fine. I recover quickly, and I've had a lot worse than this.

[ He grabbed one of everything, that just happened to be one of the things he grabbed. Tricorder in hand he gives Wash another scan just to be sure that he didn't miss any bruises, lacerations, or breaks. ] That does not instill me with confidence, I hope you know that. Be'n used t'somth'n does not mean I'm gonna treat you different when you walk away from it.

[He was really starting to hate that scanner.]

[He closed his eyes, trying to rein in the temper that flared up at those words. He'd run out of patience a good long while ago, and trying to scrounge any up now wasn't working very well.]

Did you ever think that maybe I know how my body works? I have a pretty good idea of what helps me recover, and staring at the walls isn't part of it.

Wash you got more scars than good sense, a heap'n help'n of PTSD and triggers that range from combat to medical and more grey hairs than anyone your age really ought to have. You're a man in his prime with stress levels of a grad student in finals week.

[ He flips the tricorder closed and sets it aside, leaning forward to level with him. ]

This ain't just the most recent exhaustion catch'n up to you that I'm try'n to treat, Wash. This is an extended cycle of hyperactivity, injury, and stress I'd expect from a man that's spent the past two decades in a warzone that I'm try'n to level out. And sure, the war ain't over, we got a whole new set of things to keep us up at night and leave us twitchy, but if you don't recover from the past however the hell long you've been liv'n like this? You are gonna burn out before we get to anything here.

Yeah, it's almost like I spent half my life fighting a war against aliens and trying to prevent genocide.

[Okay, so the sarcasm wasn't gone for long.]

[His expression went carefully blank as Bones laid out what had essentially been his life cycle since he joined Freelancer - the physical side of it, at least. Evidently that scanner couldn't read his mind, which was where most of his problems were. As for burnout, he should have been getting frequent flyer miles or a punch card or something for how often he did that.]

[When he spoke again, the sarcasm was once again gone.]

Do you always spend this much energy on lost causes, or am I special?

And that kinda life takes a toll. One you got time and space now here t'do somth'n about.

[ He doesn't have a whole crew to worry over here. Just Casey, Wash, and Greg. The others that the Lux pulled in. The strangeness of this place hasn't settled him at all, his magic isn't useful enough to be trusted in a fight consistently (acts of valor performed under extreme fucking terror do not count in his book), and he's still not sure what happened to him for a whole goddamn MONTH underground. But this is something he can do. Something he can lay hands on and treat.

The question catches him only half off guard, causing him to blink. ]

...Wash the last great medical breakthrough I took part in and can never publish is reviv'n someone that died from crawling around a heavily radiated warp core and suffered massive organ failure as a result of radiation poisoning.

[ This is not a story he would tell Greg. It is not a story he will ever tell Casey or- well. Anyone else. Wash is a soldier. It makes what is and what isn't acceptable to discuss with him different. It also explains- more than a little of how vehement he is on keeping everyone patched up. On keeping them healthy, on keeping them alive.

He is nowhere near certain he can do anything like that here. He doesn't have the equipment or the means. ]

T'me? No cause is lost. A long shot, sure. But not lost. You need time t'rest. And maybe someone you're will'n to discuss what in the hell is in your brain, there is circuitry there, Wash, and that ain't normal, and why you had a goddamn panic attack over a routine medical procedure- albiet one you weren't informed of ahead of time.

Ahh, holding up well enough. R-and-R's my natural state of being, after all, hah.

[He pulls up a chair, and fixes Wash with a lopsided grin. Honestly, he's a little bit excited, and just a tad nervous.]

And, I've got something that'll cheer you up!

[At this point, anything is better than staring at the wall. Plus, it's Greg - it's either going to be thoughtful or entertaining or both.]

Okay?

[What. The fuck.]

You cured death.

[What. The fuck.]

[By the time Wash has wrapped his head around that revelation, Bones has moved on. He listened, expression carefully neutral again when Bones finished.]

I already have someone who knows the whole story, and no, it isn't Greg. The neural implants are UNSC standard issue - you don't have to worry about those.

Look. I have my own way of dealing with things, and it works. Keeping me in here after I've recovered is fucking it up.

[He's going to skate on past needing time to rest, because he's had it already - he's been stuck in this room for days, and he can't sleep for pent-up energy and fear of memories that aren't his. More important is convincing his doctor-slash-gatekeeper to let him out.]

Under highly specific circumstances with incredibly specialized equipment us'n shit that I'm pretty sure breaks five to ten kinds of intergalactic law and ethics. Yes. Damn near killed me t'do it, but yes.

[ Because he bleeds for his people. He cuts out every piece of him that he can if it will help find a cure. ]

The hell do you mean that- THAT ain't standard! The hell kinda army puts PORTS in the back of a man's skull and rewires his brain?

[Luna's no fan of bed rest herself, and she knows perfectly well Washington won't be either. So she may or may not have just let herself in, because od the other people here even know about Wash's sparklehorse friend?]

Washington? I heard you had been injured.

All right, check this out...!

[ He pops open the case, facing it away from Wash. Pausing a second for suspense, Greg's grin widens, and he holds out--]

Tum-ta-tum!

[It's a ukulele!!! ]

[Oh for fuck's sake they've talked about this.]

Eventually you're going to remember that we're from different dimensions, and maybe then you'll get off your high horse.

[You can afford to be a pacifist when you don't have a war to fight.]

[It's a ukulele.]

[Why does Greg have a ukulele.]

It's...nice.

[Wash is fairly certain there's a point to all this; he just has no idea what it is.]

No, idjit, I come from a reality where that kind of augmentation? Ended in a genuine world war, genocide, and a lot of genetic tampering that damn near wiped us out after the fact. Maybe hav'n antagonistic aliens t'fight against kept it from happening where you're from so far, but it don't take that much for someone to look at mak'n man better and end'n with gett'n rid of everyone else.

[ His hands are actually shaking, the visceral, violent reminder of Khan never all that far away. The war that created him. The new war Marcus wanted to kick up- for what? Glory? To get a head start?

Leonard takes a moment to scrub at his eyes and breathe through it. Lets it pass. ]

Know'n the end of a story makes hear'n the same beginn'n, no matter the variation, disturb'n, Wash. Tricorder reports the wir'n as benign. It's standard issue mean'n it's been done often enough that it's been tested, right? I'll make a note to ignore 'em aside from trauma induced deviations.

Right?!

[He presses it, gently, into Wash's hands. Take it. Take the ukelele.]

I, uh. Couldn't afford the nicest they had, but it's a solid make. Perfect for while you're learning!

[Wash definitely brightens up when Luna walks in the room. Boy, is she a sight for sore eyes.]

It's better than it looks.

[And he looks perfectly fine, if a little stir-crazy.]

[Iiiiiit's a ukulele.]

[Evidently it is now his.]

[Wait, what?]

Wait, what?

[But he still takes the ukulele, holding it gingerly while that information processes. Kind of.]

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Cabin Fever [Open to Wash's friends]

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