legionworld | Doctor Doctor Give Me the News [Open]

[Day Of]

It turns out Wash's healing factor can only keep up with so much, and a full-on fight with Validus is beyond what it can handle. He remembers the fight with the Five finishing, and the dust settling; he remembers asking someone if it was over; upon affirmation, he remembers collapsing to the ground and passing out, because that's what happens when the sheer willpower that's kept you running for the past God knows how long gives out.

He remembers being carried into MedBay by...Chief, he thinks. He remembers protesting that he'd be fine, ignoring the injury readouts on his HUD because he's survived so much worse than this, he's fine...and he remembers passing out again.

Well. That's not embarrassing or anything.

He's awake now, and just this side of exhausted, but he doesn't want to sleep just yet. He's stable, and his healing factor is finally starting to lessen the worst of his injuries, and his brain is foggy in a way that tells him he is absolutely on painkillers and they are the good kind. He hears the nurse at the door trying to shoo someone away and raises his voice just a bit. "Hey, no, no, I wanna talk to them." Whoever it is. He won't know until they walk in.

[A few days later]

The morning Wash can breathe again without pain is the morning he decides he's done with mandated bed rest. He's up and dressed and arguing with the nurse bringing in his breakfast, and he manages to win, with a caveat: he has to stay in MedBay. He agrees, wolfs down his breakfast, and heads into the halls of MedBay. He has people to see, and if it means he doesn't have to stare at the four walls of his room anymore, so much the better.

He knocks on the doorframe to a room and looks in. "Hey. You holding up okay?"

Grif doesn't walk in so much as limp, collapsing without preamble into the nearest chair. He's making his rounds, checking in on people. This is more effort than he'd like to put in. He's tired and sore. But he's also sort of worried, and he can't quite settle until he knows for sure that they're okay. And of course nobody's answering comm pings right now, he has to do it in person.

"Hey Wash," he says. "Guess who has two thumbs and had to have a lung reinflated?"

Wow, Grif looks bad, even for Grif. Wash sits up a bit more and looks at him, trying to gage just how injured he is. Grif is part of his team. He should be on top of this. Somehow.

"Me," Wash replies, vaguely wondering how the fuck Grif knows that. Grif doesn't have access to medical records, does he? Wash wouldn't put it past him, but...

Wait. He's talking about himself, isn't he. "Wait, you too?"

The bad news was that her ankle had been thoroughly crushed during all the fighting. She'd been thoroughly roughed up but it was her ankle that had gone through the worst of it. The good news? She was still in the future, with all sorts of futuristic medicine and equipment available.

It was actually pretty damn amazing. Her ankle had been literally crushed to pieces but one injection and a couple of scans later and she was already on the mend.

The future was awesome. Heck, even the cast was discreet enough that she could hide it under a pair of jeans. She's actually just about getting ready to leave the medbay. A little shaky and wobbly on the balance, but otherwise looking pretty good to go.

Grif snorts. Laughing hurts. He's battered and exhausted, but he's still able to move, if ungracefully. Because of course Grif would be the one in good enough condition to go pester everybody.

He gives Wash a thumbs up.

"I mean, technically it's Simmons's lung, but no takebacks."

What...oh right the weird surgery that Sarge somehow managed to complete successfully. Wash is still fairly certain that it wasn't physically possible, but Grif and Simmons are both alive, so...

The end of that thought trails off into the fog, and he lets it go. Not worth pursuing.

"I won't tell him if you won't." Namely because nobody really wants to listen to that particular flavor of Simmons freakout, though Simmons not being physically present certainly helps.

"Tell him if you want. He'll freak out. Comedy gold." Grif does. Apparently. Grif's tastes in entertainment will never cease to amaze.

That will have to be after this is all over, though, however far in the future that may be. Grif hasn't been worrying about it too much. Unlike many of the other new Legionnaires, he has nothing time-sensitive to return to, or anyone who would really notice or care if he came back a couple years older. Or at least nobody whose opinion matters to him. Hell, if he misses months or years that's still going to be fine because all he's going to miss is more stupid space war, probably. He'd worry about Kai, but Kai's been managing without him for years now anyway.

He thinks about going back an awful lot for somebody who's claimed he's not going to.

He leans back in the chair, head resting against the wall.

"You know. If you go back. I'm sure I'll appreciate it. If I'm around. Somehow." He stops for a second, then waves an arm wearily as if to brush the confusion away. "I'm way too tired to figure out this time bullshit right now, fuck."

Edited (i lost half of a sentence there) 2016-09-09 03:23 (UTC)

Pidge really needs to bring the cryo-pod tech from the Castle of Lions, because Wash's voice doesn't sound quite...right on whatever meds they've got him.

She got out of that fight relatively unscathed, all things considered. A few bandaged cuts and salved scrapes, a lungful of dust, a ringing in her ear that took a few hours to go away. Nothing compared to what Wash got.

"Well...at least you didn't die," says Pidge, and she means it.

"You'll come back." Delivered with all the confidence that really good painkillers could provide. "I wouldn't have met you if you don't. It's logic." Delta would probably have a bone to pick with that statement, but Delta didn't get an opinion, on account of not being here.

And also being dead. Deleted. That too.

Those are dangerous waters to navigate without complete control of one's faculties, and Wash changes course. "Are you doing okay? Aside from the lung."

Wash gives Pidge a smile when she walks in. Good. She made it, and it looks like she's not badly hurt. "Yeah. Turns out I'm really good at almost dying and I suck at actual dying." He shrugs. He's been almost dying for years - he would have had to get good at it eventually.

It occurs to him, slowly, that he doesn't actually know who made it back, or whether any of the civilians survived, or...anything. Huh. "Did everyone make it back?"

Fuckin' time bullshit. Grif doesn't like this weird sense of inevitability that seems to be a package deal with meeting a guy from the future. He doesn't believe in fate, that's for people with more important and interesting lives than his and even then it's probably wishful thinking.

I don't have to go back.

But maybe he does.

"Like... physically or as a person?" Grif asks. Keep talking. Talking is better than thinking about things.

Talking is so much better than thinking about things. "Both?"

((Time in relation to the ambush is whenever your heart desires.))

[A: Visiting Grif]
Just after the fighting, Grif's in rough shape. Even after they patch him up, though, he's still easily worn out and not supposed to leave for another day or two. He complains about it a little, possibly whining to anyone who'll listen to him on the comm, but really? Grif doesn't mind being on orders to sleep a lot. That's the kind of medical advice he's happy to take.

He still perks up when someone comes to visit, though. After a little bed rest he's just not tired and honestly pretty bored. He may or may not have been chased back in here to stop him from pestering other people who are trying to heal.

"Sup?" he asks.

[B: Grif Visiting]
Grif seems to have made it through the worst of things without debilitating injury, which is more than can be said for a lot of the crew. He was down for the count after the fighting, barely able to breathe and walk at the same time, but has recovered enough to drag his carcass around medical and harass his way into visiting the other Legionnaires. The staff aren't always happy about this, because he's supposed to be resting and so are the other patients, but Grif is very stubborn.

He limps into the room, eating some kind of snack bar in a crinkly wrapper, and plunks himself down in a chair like it's nothing and he's fine and he's not tired at all.

"So, how many pieces did you come back in?" he asks, tone conversational.

The scene that Wash comes upon isn't one he probably expected. Hiccup, laying back in a chair, is mostly fine, with nothing beyond a few bandages at patches covering his body. Toothless is the one in the bed, with his left wing immobilized.

"I've been worse," Hiccup replied good-naturedly, tapping his prosthetic against the chair for emphasis. "Couple of cracked ribs and a few scrapes. Nothing to worry about."

"Toothless took the brunt of the crash. They say he'll be fine, but wing injuries are tricky to deal with, so they want to keep him here for another couple days to make sure everything heals right." The dragon grumbled at that, highly annoyed that he was still stuck here.

"I hurt everywhere and I could probably eat a moon, but I'm fine."

He's been alternating between bitching extensively and insisting he's fine, depending on if he wants something brought to him or to be allowed to roam the halls and harass people. He really is hungry, though. The Speed Thing™ takes a lot out of a guy's metabolism.

"As a person?" He makes a face and a flippy floppy hand motion. "I'm... also good? I don't know. I'm me."

He's not worried about people being hurt, he's not worried about someone infiltrating the Legion so it could be ambushed like that, he's not avoiding thinking about the future and Chronoblivion and why he, of all people, was chosen.

"Extra awesome. At all times."

Nope. Definitely not any of those things. And not a bad liar for sure.

The Chief backed off after he got Wash back to medical. Hanging around doesn't help, and he had problems of his own.

He can be a frustrating patient. It doesn't matter what just happened to him, the Chief wants to be up and doing. He's been worse off. He's been worse off often, running on burns and breaks and contusions with minimal sleep no time to stop. This is so small to him by comparison, and frustrating. Once they peeled him out of the Mjolnir suit and stopped him from worsening, there wasn't much they could do to keep him down. While he's mostly been polite, if cool, he still has one hell of a stare and an iron will. He understands they're motivated by concern. He understands his safety and wellbeing are important to them.

But they're not important to him. Certainly not as important as figuring out why the hell all this happened and what he's going to do about it.

Unfortunately for him, though, the Chief has no intel to work with. The Legion hasn't found its lead yet, and no amount of hating it will change the fact he's been left to spin his wheels.

Spartans don't idle well. He can do worse things with his time than check on Wash.

"Starting to catch up with it yet?" he asks. He's talking about Wash's healing factor, though he doubts Wash remembers the sparse conversation they had while the Chief hauled him back. For his part, he's up but he really looks like he shouldn't be. He's bruised and battered, with the outline of a dressing on his ribs (probably to keep something from moving) pokes up against his shirt.

He'll stand. His right knee doesn't like him bending it right now, and he could if he wanted to, but it's not mission-critical.

Edited (grammar and a couple missing letters, woops) 2016-09-10 03:38 (UTC)

"No you're not." The problem is, while talking helps, Wash can't really turn off the thinking about things part of his brain. The painkillers dull it significantly, but underneath that cloud it's still chugging along. What the painkillers have disabled completely is his filter.

"We just went through an ambush. We watched our leaders fall and we all stood a very real chance of dying. It doesn't matter what you do in that sort of situation - it's never going to feel like enough. So even though you're limping and it probably hurts like a bitch to walk, you're making the rounds. You're going to tell people you're bored, or you want sympathy for your injuries, or some other bullshit, but really, you're just trying to make sure nobody you care about died on you." It's all very matter of fact, and delivered much more calmly than Wash actually feels. He hasn't had the presence of mind to open his omnicom yet; he doesn't know what happened after he collapsed. What he does know is that, despite his constant protests, Grif has a tendency to give a damn about people, and while he might complain about it, he's going to act on it.

"I'd be doing the same thing if I weren't too injured to get out of bed."

It's a very good thing that Wash has a perfect poker face, because a dragon on a hospital bed with one wing extended and a very disgruntled expression is possibly the funniest thing he's seen today, in a 'my cat is stuck on a screen door' sort of fashion.

So he doesn't smile - because he's fairly certain Toothless will make him pay for it later if he does - and looks back at Hiccup. "And I'm sure he loves it."

Wash definitely remembers that conversation - there are upsides and downsides to having an eidetic memory, and remembering that conversation is somehow both at once. He processes the memories, and Chief's question, and the fact that Chief is injured but somehow still up and about, and whatever answer he would have had to Chief's question gets lost in the fog that has settled over his brain.

So he finds something else to take its place.

"Okay, if I'm not allowed to wander around after getting my ass kicked by Moby Dick and his brain lightning, then neither are you," he says, almost petulant. "Go back to bed."

The Chief eyes Wash speculatively.

"Are you going to make me?"

Really, that's what it's come down to. Is anybody going to make him?

"Yes."

The degree to which that statement is impossible to enforce borders on the absurd, but dammit, that's not going to stop Wash from trying.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll have a nurse wheel a cot in and we'll have a sleepover." He is absolutely being sarcastic, which is not going to stop him from putting his money where his mouth is if Chief tries to call his bluff.

"Wow, you're really good at this reassurance thing." Wash is...probably not going to pick up on her sarcasm if he's out of it as he seems. She pulls up a chair by his bedside.

"Anyway, yeah, everyone's alive and accounted for." She can...probably leave the 'there's a mole' thing for when he's better able to handle it. "Not for lack of trying. What happened to you?"

"That's great, coming from the person who opened with, 'at least you didn't die.'" Wash may be out of it, but he's not far enough gone to miss sarcasm that blatant.

He does relax at the news that everyone came out intact, at least. That's good. "I got in a fight with Validus. I don't recommend it."

"There you go, that's better." What a relief it is to hear him grouse.

While Wash relaxes, Pidge tenses. "What?! Tell me you didn't try to take him down alone."

For a moment, Wash just stares at her. What kind of idiot does she think he is? "No," he finally answers. "I was with Master Chief. The Abominable Snowman came after us."

Doctor Doctor Give Me the News [Open]

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Gwen

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Grif

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