Agent Washington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unrecovered) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2016-11-08 09:27 am
unrecovered) wrote in legionworld2016-11-08 09:27 am
Entry tags:
Recovery [Open]
Who| Wash, whoever wants to join him
What| Wash is still recovering from Murder World. Come bother him.
Where| Various places
When| Several days after the end of Murder World.
Warnings/Notes| He's kind of Not Okay, so approach at your own risk.
As it turns out, Wash is having a pretty terrible week. Being stuck in a murder arena for a few days on end will definitely do that to you. Seeing a dearly departed friend back from the dead with zero warning or preparation doesn't help either.
Chief had intercepted York and given Wash a chance to get the hell out of Dodge, and he'd taken it, all but sprinting through the threshold gate back to Legion World. He doesn't stop for anyone until he's outside his door, locking it behind him once he stumbles in. Only then does he check his omnicom - still disabled, dammit - and then decide that if anyone wants to come looking for him, they damn well know where to find him.
He takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and then takes another. Breathe. Slow down. It's over. Legion World is secure, for the most part, and he'd Reaper-proofed his room as best he could. It's fine. He's safe-
His brain stutters over the last phrase, and his breathing gets erratic until he forcibly smoothes it out again. No. It's over. He doesn't need to panic - he just needs to calm down and work through this.
He needs to clean up. He needs to get out of the clothes that Arcade had forced on him and into something that belongs to him. He needs to sleep.
He doesn't usually like the sonic showers - seriously, they're just weird - but right now he's grateful for them, namely that they're a lot faster than water showers. He abandons his clothes in a heap on the floor and is in and out of the shower fairly quickly. He digs through his closet to find pajamas - and it had taken him a decent amount of time and effort to try to convince the Anthramites on the ship to make him a plain t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, and even then they'd gone overboard and gotten too complicated and he'd resorted to shopping for one and ordering it for delivery. He finally finds them and pulls them on, tying the drawstring with some difficulty, as his hands have started to shake. Dammit.
He stares down at his bed for a moment, trying to will himself to get in it and rest. He knows he's exhausted. He knows he needs sleep. He's also fighting the urge to look over his shoulder, to turn all of the lights on as high as they'll go and check every square inch of his room to make sure it's secure. It's illogical, and detrimental, and a waste of energy, and he's having a hell of a time shaking the urge to do it anyway. Turns out paranoia is dead useful when it's keeping you alive; the rest of the time, it's a bitch.
After nearly a solid minute of steeling himself and muttering reassurances that he's fine and the room is secure and everything is fine, he finally forces himself to lie down on the bed-
And gets right back up again, shaking worse than ever. Nope. He can't do it. Even in the safety of his own room, it's still too open, too exposed. But there's a few feet of space under it...
This is stupid, he realizes. It's ridiculous. It's probably not healthy. And it's the only way he's ever going to get any sleep with his paranoia keyed up as high as it is.
He yanks the blanket and pillow off the bed, drops to the floor, and scoots into the space under his bed, wrapping himself in his blanket once he gets settled in there. He's sleeping under his bed. It's patently ridiculous, but the extra surface just above his head makes him feel better. It's a small space. He can watch it easily, and it's more difficult to get into than the room itself is. He's hidden. He's safe, or at least as safe as he's ever going to get.
And that's the issue, isn't it? He's spent days on his guard for a spying mission, and days after that in survival mode in Arcade's death arena. This is the first time he's felt safe in a while, and it's what he's been looking for.
It still takes him a long time - too long - to slow his breathing and stop shaking. Finally, his eyes close, and for the first time in days, he sleeps - deeply, dreamlessly, and uninterrupted. It's a rarity in Wash's life.
He wakes up groggy and sore from having slept on the floor for...for...huh. He wiggles out from under the bed, or at least enough to see a clock. According to the date and time readings, he's been asleep under there for about sixteen hours. Evidently he'd needed the rest.
An hour or so later, he can be found in a myriad of places: in the mess hall trying to figure out just how many types of fresh fruit it has and what would taste best; in the training room, pounding away at the punching bag; on the nature deck, in that same wooded area, sitting by the rocky shore of a lake, staring out across the water and thinking. He still looks a little tired, but at least he's not visibly twitchy anymore. He must be feeling better, right?
What| Wash is still recovering from Murder World. Come bother him.
Where| Various places
When| Several days after the end of Murder World.
Warnings/Notes| He's kind of Not Okay, so approach at your own risk.
As it turns out, Wash is having a pretty terrible week. Being stuck in a murder arena for a few days on end will definitely do that to you. Seeing a dearly departed friend back from the dead with zero warning or preparation doesn't help either.
Chief had intercepted York and given Wash a chance to get the hell out of Dodge, and he'd taken it, all but sprinting through the threshold gate back to Legion World. He doesn't stop for anyone until he's outside his door, locking it behind him once he stumbles in. Only then does he check his omnicom - still disabled, dammit - and then decide that if anyone wants to come looking for him, they damn well know where to find him.
He takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and then takes another. Breathe. Slow down. It's over. Legion World is secure, for the most part, and he'd Reaper-proofed his room as best he could. It's fine. He's safe-
His brain stutters over the last phrase, and his breathing gets erratic until he forcibly smoothes it out again. No. It's over. He doesn't need to panic - he just needs to calm down and work through this.
He needs to clean up. He needs to get out of the clothes that Arcade had forced on him and into something that belongs to him. He needs to sleep.
He doesn't usually like the sonic showers - seriously, they're just weird - but right now he's grateful for them, namely that they're a lot faster than water showers. He abandons his clothes in a heap on the floor and is in and out of the shower fairly quickly. He digs through his closet to find pajamas - and it had taken him a decent amount of time and effort to try to convince the Anthramites on the ship to make him a plain t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, and even then they'd gone overboard and gotten too complicated and he'd resorted to shopping for one and ordering it for delivery. He finally finds them and pulls them on, tying the drawstring with some difficulty, as his hands have started to shake. Dammit.
He stares down at his bed for a moment, trying to will himself to get in it and rest. He knows he's exhausted. He knows he needs sleep. He's also fighting the urge to look over his shoulder, to turn all of the lights on as high as they'll go and check every square inch of his room to make sure it's secure. It's illogical, and detrimental, and a waste of energy, and he's having a hell of a time shaking the urge to do it anyway. Turns out paranoia is dead useful when it's keeping you alive; the rest of the time, it's a bitch.
After nearly a solid minute of steeling himself and muttering reassurances that he's fine and the room is secure and everything is fine, he finally forces himself to lie down on the bed-
And gets right back up again, shaking worse than ever. Nope. He can't do it. Even in the safety of his own room, it's still too open, too exposed. But there's a few feet of space under it...
This is stupid, he realizes. It's ridiculous. It's probably not healthy. And it's the only way he's ever going to get any sleep with his paranoia keyed up as high as it is.
He yanks the blanket and pillow off the bed, drops to the floor, and scoots into the space under his bed, wrapping himself in his blanket once he gets settled in there. He's sleeping under his bed. It's patently ridiculous, but the extra surface just above his head makes him feel better. It's a small space. He can watch it easily, and it's more difficult to get into than the room itself is. He's hidden. He's safe, or at least as safe as he's ever going to get.
And that's the issue, isn't it? He's spent days on his guard for a spying mission, and days after that in survival mode in Arcade's death arena. This is the first time he's felt safe in a while, and it's what he's been looking for.
It still takes him a long time - too long - to slow his breathing and stop shaking. Finally, his eyes close, and for the first time in days, he sleeps - deeply, dreamlessly, and uninterrupted. It's a rarity in Wash's life.
He wakes up groggy and sore from having slept on the floor for...for...huh. He wiggles out from under the bed, or at least enough to see a clock. According to the date and time readings, he's been asleep under there for about sixteen hours. Evidently he'd needed the rest.
An hour or so later, he can be found in a myriad of places: in the mess hall trying to figure out just how many types of fresh fruit it has and what would taste best; in the training room, pounding away at the punching bag; on the nature deck, in that same wooded area, sitting by the rocky shore of a lake, staring out across the water and thinking. He still looks a little tired, but at least he's not visibly twitchy anymore. He must be feeling better, right?
no subject
"You're welcome, Delta." She sobers and looks from York to Wash and back again. "I'll let you schedule your own sessions, but I expect to hear from Dr. Ryk'rr within the next two days that you've done so, or have approached her about finding someone else."
She runs a hand over her hair, looking, for a moment, tired. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you what's at stake here. We can't afford infighting. If you can't figure out a way to co-exist on the same team, we'll have to talk more. But if there's nothing else you need from me now, you're free to go."
no subject
Preferably before anyone else wants to talk to or at him about.
Anything.
He's up, snapping a salute partly out of habit and entirely out of respect, and out the door asap. He can work around Wash fine, yeah. Doesn't mean he wants to talk to him anytime soon.
no subject
He stands when York does, but doesn't salute - Legion World isn't really that kind of place, from what Wash has learned during his time here. He then follows York out the door, waiting for it to close before speaking up. "York, wait." York may not want to talk, but Wash still has something to say.
no subject
It might be. Fuck if he knows.
no subject
And if he does that, he'll be doing exactly what York did to him a few days ago - chasing him down despite the fact that York wants nothing to do with him right now. Wash has been a hypocrite before, flagrantly and without shame, but this...he can't afford to be one now. Not for this.
So he stops, and breathes, and lets York walk away.