outsiderslogs

Entry tags:

OPEN;

who. York and YOU!
what. for anyone who wants to talk to, see, or run into York since her injury
where. anywhere in Zeta District -- The Quad, York and Wash's apartment, somewhere in the markets, etc
when. anytime this week!
warnings. probably lots of feelings :(

It hasn't been a good week for York. It's the understatement of the century, really. The mission on Saturday with Garrus and North had gone so fantastically awful, she's still reeling from it a little. It's too fresh in her mind, still, even the admittedly blurry memory of the incendiary grenade going off in her face. Garrus and North had had to drag her out of there to the clinic, and she'd lost a good day to emergency surgery and recovery. And in the end, they'd botched the job. Nobody had even gotten paid.

Mordin had done his best, and honestly, considering the limited resources, he did a pretty damn good job. Especilaly for an alien. She wouldn't have figured a salarian could fix up a human face this nice. No, nice isn't the word for it. It doesn't look even close to nice. The wound is healing, but it's still fresh, an ugly red swath of skin around her left eye, pulling down her cheek. Even when it's bandaged, it's impossible to hide the way the damaged skin pulls unnaturally tight around her eye. And she can't hide the eye itself. Even once the skin heals -- if it even heals all the way -- her eye will still be that awful, milky white. She'll be lucky to get it back to fifty percent functionality, at this point. Last time this'd happened, she'd had UNSC medical facilities available to her; better equipment, more staff, more resources. Last time.

York's starting to feel like the butt of some cosmic joke.

It's bad enough to have a job go so fantastically wrong like this one did, to have her ass land in the hospital with such a severe injury. To have it become something permanently debilitating, to have to wear it like she does. It's bad enough that it hurts. But it's even worse that this has happened before.

The similarities are too eerie, so much they make her feel a little sick. She'd gotten the eye fixed back on Sacrosanct because she didn't want to be a liability. She wanted to be able to watch her own back, and without Delta, she couldn't do that, not with a busted eye. And now she's right back where she started -- worse, even -- and this time, she doesn't even have somebody else's Delta to understand. Maybe six months with a new eye and she'd gotten used to it. She'd gotten used to looking in the mirror and seeing the perfect symmetry of her face, to smoothing her hand over her left cheek and feeling only smooth, soft skin. She'd just gotten used to the delightful ease with which she could read and focus and see, with no headaches, no strain. She'd only just gotten comfortable with it. And what -- that's it? That's all she gets? Well, joke's on her for ever thinking things might be easy, for once.

But there's nothing York can do. She doesn't have Delta to help her compensate and Mordin's got the best care she can receive on the station on her paycheck. So York does what she does best -- she keeps moving forward, making like nothing's happened, because what's she gonna say, anyway? She goes back to work at The Quad as soon as she's able, because she can only stand to be laid up for so long and it's just her face, it's not like she can't walk, and her boss comments on her face in a way that's maybe supposed to be funny, but maybe she doesn't get krogan humor. She keeps going about her business, just like before, and she doesn't look in mirrors much anymore these days, but at least she's still moving.

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"Wouldn't have helped, you already missed curfew."

The jokes aren't getting any better, and they both know it, but that's York for you. Back in his timeline, it hadn't taken any time at all for York to start cracking jokes and acting like it was no big deal he was half-blind. He can only figure it was the same for this York. It's just... different.

And he can't keep that weight out of his eyes as he looks at her. Sets his hand on hers, keeps the touch gentle. She matters too much for him to take this lightly.

"What do you need?" Wash asks, softly.

It's unnerving, is what it is. Wash's hand on hers is comforting in a way, sure, and in a way she needs, but the way he keeps looking at her, the tone of his voice, it makes her a little uneasy. It's not like she and Wash haven't ever been frank and honest with each other like -- like they've never had a heart to heart -- but Christ, it's not like she's a sobbing mess in the bed. This doesn't have to be a big deal.

She makes as if to shake Wash's hand away, but she just shifts, letting out a quiet snort. "For you to stop lookin' at me like I'm made of glass, for one. I'm not dyin' and I don't think I even came that close, anyhow. I'm getting outta here later today. I'm gonna be fine, man." The drugs don't make her too hungry, but York knows she hasn't eaten much in the last couple of days. By the time she gets out of here, she'll probably be starving, and food's an easier topic than how she feels right now. "You could order pizza later, or somethin'."

"I know. Doesn't stop me from worrying."

God, his heart had leapt straight to his throat when North had called. Far as he can tell, this place is nothing like Sacrosanct. If they get injured, if something happens -- they're not coming back. There aren't any teleporters to pop out of in a couple days, good as new.

It's funny how painful mortality is after so long without.

But York doesn't want to think about this. Probably won't want to talk about it, either. And though they're sitting at the tip of his tongue, Wash doesn't know how to say these things.

So he relents. Gives her a half-smile. "I'll get Hawaiian, if I can find it."

York had only ever come close to dying once, on Sacrosanct, and she doesn't want to think about that again. If Garrus and North hadn't pulled her out of there when they did, it would've been a hell of a lot dodgier. Those vorcha weren't messing around.

She looks relieved -- tired, but relieved, and she lets out a slow, long breath through her nose. "Thanks," she says, her voice still a little creaky. "I'm not really hungry now, but I bet I will be later. Hey, maybe pick up a movie or somethin', too. Gotta have somethin' to do around the house."

She doesn't want to, but she has to take it easy for at least a day or two. She can't go back to work in this condition, anyhow. She's got painkillers in her system now, but later, it's gonna hurt. She remembers what it's like.

"Guess I should go ahead and get Blasto," Wash says with a shake of his head. They'd gone back and finished watching the one they'd started on his birthday, after the mess with the adjutants was taken care of, and though it had been patently absurd, Wash can't say they didn't have fun.

He looks York over again. He knows how she is. Knows she'd rather brush this all under the rug and forget about it. And maybe he should do the same, maybe he should let her get past it on her own, but the fear, the rush of horror when he'd heard is still too fresh to just let go.

He curls his fingers around hers, turning her hand enough to get a good grip.

"Hey," he says, meeting her single eye without the slightest hesitation. "I'm glad you're okay. I..." He swallows. Gives his head a shake. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

i've lost everyone else. i lost him twice. i can't lose you too.

Things are solid between them, and it runs deep, after all that time on Sacrosanct together. York knows that, Wash knows that. But it's rare he ever acknowledges it so openly -- it's rare he ever looks at her like that, with that kind of intensity, and even though it makes York uneasy, somehow, she can't just blow him off, not when he's being so genuine about it.

She can't match his gaze for long. Her eyes fall on his fingers curled firmly around her limp hand. He's never held her hand before, she's pretty sure of that. Not even the last time she'd woken up in a hospital bed with him asleep in the chair next to her, when they'd gotten into that scrape with the dinosaurs. When those raptors had almost gutted her like a fish. She's still got the scar on her stomach.

Then again, here, people can die. They die all the time and they don't come back. York's vision wavers for a long, nauseating moment, and she closes her eyes just to get the room to stop spinning. "I know. It's okay," she mumbles, her lips still feeling a little numb, and if Wash thinks her voice sounds a little thick, she'll just blame it on the drugs. Clumsily, tiredly, she tries to squeeze his hand. She opens her good eye, and it's a little unfocused, but she really looks at him. "Don't have to worry, though. You don't have that problem right now."

Despite the worry, Wash smiles.

It's rare to see York like this, acknowledging the concern instead of assuring him she does't need it. That comes too, of course, but later. After she's said the part that matters.

I know. It's okay.

And when he feeds her fingers curl tighter around his, he squeezes back. Meets her eye and makes sure she sees that smile. Makes sure she knows he believes her.

"Yeah," he says. "I don't."

Maybe he will, someday. Maybe he'll have to cope with losing her like he's lost so many other people he cared about. Maybe he'll have to lose someone who means more to him than he's quite realized himself. But right now, she's here, he's here, and they're okay. It's all he can really ask for.

It takes some convincing, but York manages to kick Wash out, telling him to go get some rest in a real bed. He's got a way of wearing himself out just worrying, and she knows that well enough by now. She's still a little unsteady on her feet when they let her out with a generous fistful of pain pills she knows are probably not totally legal, but she shrugs off any suggestions for an escort when they offer. The last thing she needs is to be walked back to her place -- she's a grown-ass woman, and after a day or two of operating tables and clinic beds, she's glad to be on her feet. And that last dose of drugs they gave her doesn't feel half bad, either.

Of course, by the time she makes it to the front door, she's exhausted. She doesn't remember walking being so difficult, or her legs being so weak, and she can feel the thin sheen of cold, greasy sweat that seemed to have sprouted all over her skin on the way here. God, she needs a shower. Yeah, shower sounds good.

Except that when once she manages to get in the front door, calling out, "Hey, I'm home," in a creaky voice, it's all she can do to make it to the couch. Screw the shower or even her own bed -- York staggers in on wobbly legs and immediately crawls onto the couch, letting out a relieved groan once her head hits the armrest.

In hindsight, it's not really surprising that York had decided to tough it out and make her own way home, but christ. It wouldn't kill her to at least tell him when to expect her. But for once, Wash bites back the reprimands and goes to get her some water, pushing the glass into her hand before she can up and disagree with him.

"You idiot," he says finally, sinking into the chair by the couch. He can hear the cat moving around in the next room, probably working her way out of the pile of clothes she'd decided to sleep in to see what's going on. "Stay put, all right? No arguing."

Edited 2013-05-17 20:58 (UTC)

"'m fine," York croaks with a wan smile, but she doesn't bother trying to get up. She's down now. The couch is totally hers. She sips at the water, a little clumsy, reaching with her free hand to try and dig the pills out of the pocket of her sweatpants. She doesn't need them now, not when she's still riding that last boost they'd given her at the clinic. Right now the pain is kept to a quiet, dull buzz in the back of her mind, easy enough to ignore. But the salarian doc had given her some ointment for the burn, too -- just like last time -- and she figures she'll need that later.

She's got that fresh out of the hospital look, her skin tinged a little yellow and her lips paler than normal, a dark, bruised ring under her good eye. Hair already going lank and and a little greasy from sweat and a couple of days without a shower. God, she hates getting out of the hospital. She swears she can taste sterilizer in the back of her mouth.

"I'm just lyin' down for a few minutes," she tells Wash, her voice a little thick, feeling with one foot to see if one of them left a blanket or pillow on the couch. The armrest isn't really the most comfortable place after a minute or two, and she can't bother to lift her head to look. All that gauze must be weighing her down. "Then I'm gonna shower. I could use a shower."

"Course you are," Wash murmurs. He sees her foot move and reaches to tug the blanket down from the back of the couch and over her. Stays next to the couch to help steady the glass, reach for the pills.

"Here," he says, holding the glass to her lips so she can take a drink, and then strokes a hand back through her hair to get it out of her face as she settles her head back down on the armrest. He realizes it's a pillow she wanted and turns to grab the one from the armchair, tucking it under her head with a smile and a quick squeeze of her shoulder.

"All set," he says.

Edited 2013-05-24 19:54 (UTC)

"Mmmrgh," York says, a combination of a satisfied gurgle and a tired groan. She shifts a little on the couch, getting more comfortable with the fresh pillow under her head, and gives Wash a lidded, tired smile. She keeps one hand loosely curled against the glass, letting it rest against her chest. "See? I'm fine. And once I get a shower, I'll be...perfect. Mmmh." She lets her good eye droop closed for a moment, smiling in satisfaction to herself at the thought of a hot shower. The whole standing up issue could be solved. Nothing better would feel than a hot shower right now.

"Mm-hmm." Wash shakes his head and brushes his fingers over her forehead again. He doesn't expect to get through to her much when she's like this, but so long as he can keep her from doing too much, he'll be satisfied. The last thing he needs is for her to strain herself. "How about you stay right here for now, huh? You can shower in a little while."

"That's what I said," York says distantly, but her eyes slide closed, and she smiles wanly. Even the couch feels like heaven after that clinic cot she'd been lapsing in and out of consciousness on. Sleeping might be too generous of a word. And the fingers on her forehead feel mostly nice, kind of soothing. "I'm gonna shower after. But for now, I own this couch."

"Hey, I'm not getting in your way." Wash shakes his head and reaches to tug the blanket up and over her, tucking it around her. He pauses over her a moment, as if considering something, and then draws back, settling for stroking over her forehead again. "Shh. Just get some rest, okay?"

"I am," York says, almost petulantly, but it just comes out a tired mumble. She shrugs comfortably, though, settling in with the blanket. She's really starting to feel tired now, enough to overpower the greasy, unclean feeling she's got all over from staying in the clinic for a few days. "Mmmgh. I didn't even know our couch was so comfortable. C'mon, you should siddown. There's room." She shifts a little, like she's trying to wriggle onto the couch to make more room for Wash, but she doesn't wind up moving much at all.

Edited 2013-06-04 19:46 (UTC)

Wash shakes his head with a quiet chuckle to himself, but he moves her feet at the end of the couch, pushing them so she's curled up a little more. He tucks the end of the blanket up over his lap and reaches to squeeze her shoulder, giving her a half-smile. "There. Happy?"

"Mmmh," York mumbles, and if she means to get any actual words out, she doesn't quick make it. There're still enough drugs in her system to keep her calm and quiet while she's as comfortable as this, and now that she's settled in with a pillow, a blanket, and Wash right next to her, she's already fading into sleep.

Wash reaches up to stroke over her forehead, affectionate, and smiles as she finally settles down. Recuperating will be rough on her, he knows, but... she'll pull through. She always does. And he'll be here for her every step of the way.

Wash settles back into the couch and finally lets himself relax.

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