( 014 ) Ω ( VIDEO + SPAM )

[semifreakingnormal]

[Okay. He learned from the last time. He doesn't have to apologize. That doesn't mean he's not struggling with the memories of what he did.

Scott's eyes aren't quite red rimmed, but he is far from relaxed. It's obvious he's broadcasting from the infirmary: there still some structural damage around as the Admiral slowly fixes things.]

I'm, um.

[Sorry sorry sorry sorry. He swallows it back, draws in a shaky breath.]

I'm in the infirmary. [He looks around over his shoulder.] Obviously. I know there's not a lot the doctors can do for people who are death tolling. But one of the things I learned at home can help. I can take away pain, when I touch people. So, I'll - I'll be here. I'l be around. Just let me know if you're hurting, and I'll make it better for a while.

[He doesn't mention that he takes the pain on himself. He hopes Stiles and Dean won't say anything, either. It feels like penance, though that's not the only reason he's offering. If he can help people and feel like he's scouring away his guilt, well...then he's going to.]

[Private to Peter]

You were right. I'm definitely thanking you after.

Are you okay?

[Spam for Stiles and Lydia]

[He's been at her bedside in the infirmary since they reappeared back on the Barge, waiting for her to wake up. He knows she will. Knows it deep in his gut, because the Admiral hasn't failed them like this. He won't leave her there, and he won't leave her dead.

There's a whisper of doubt in his thought, and he's doing the best he can to banish it. It leaves his throat and mouth dry, and he doesn't know what to do.

Looking over the bed at Stiles, he draws in breath to say something, anything, but he can't. It wasn't him, but he remembers tearing her throat out, he remembers Stiles' face when it happened, and he has to look down at his hands again.]

Comments

Private

[shakenandlimp]

For more reasons than one, too. If we were ever properly introduced I don't recall. Captain William Bush. [ He extends a hand to shake before the other. The death was kind, few phantom pains from that, but the toll itself is, to him, like am exhaustion so profound that it becomes physical pain, combined with the ache and sensitivity of a really vicious hangover.]

Private

[semifreakingnormal]

[He manages a small smile, and slips his hand into Bush's. He's not really used to handshakes, they're just so unnecessary in a world of fist bumps and high fives, but he shakes gently.]

Scott McCall. It's good to actually, you know, meet you.

[While he talks, the veins around Bush's hand, where their skin meats, turn black and travels toward Scott. The black...whatever it is fades from Bush's skin, slips into Scott's and travels away, up his arm. He feels the aches, the phantom pains, he feels the exhaustion. And he knows if he's feeling it, Bush is feeling less of it.]

Re: Private

[shakenandlimp]

Likewise. Ain't it que... odd to be always talking but not often-- oh. [The easing of the pain is comparatively blissful, and his eyes close in relief, though he tries to keep one open to watch the strange blackness in his veins. His voice is easier and less strained when he asks:]

Is that healthy for you?

Private

[semifreakingnormal]

[Scott smiles and nods. The pain is muted, and it has always been worth it to him, to hurt in someone else's place.]

Yeah. Don't worry, it goes away.

[When he lets go, he pulls up his sleeve so Bush can see the last of the black traveling up, no more following it.] See?

Re: Private

[shakenandlimp]

It's not every man who would share it with his shipmates, just the same. I'm in your debt, Mister McCall. Thank you.

Private

[semifreakingnormal]

You can just call me Scott. [He smiles, ducking his head.] It's okay. If it starts hurting again, let me know. I'll come back.

Re: Private

[shakenandlimp]

I'll manage. [And won't forget his debt, even if the soft-mannered young man seems to think he should.]

Take care, Scott.