OPEN | he's just LIKE that (redux)

[groupiedrifter]

CHARACTERS: Newton Geiszler groupiedrifter and you!
LOCATION: The Ximilia Station; see each prompt for details.
DATE: Post-mission and onward.
CONTENT: Newton's time after the mission is... something. Don't worry, the Pizza Party's coming soon enough.
WARNINGS: nightmares, talk of possession/bodily autonomy kinda, nothing too wild; newton is currently struggling with the beginnings of alien possession/brainwashing from post-PR1, just as an FYI!

I. Just Another Manic Monday | The Lab | OPEN

[Newton finally gets the rest he told people he would, after checking on those who'd ended up in the infirmary.

... Sort of.

The first night, he sleeps like a rock. It's plagued with strange, abstract dreams, of course — Newton's hands becoming monster-like and impossible to use to administer a serum to anyone else, or So-Yeon's brother demanding Newton bring her back or else he would rip him apart from the inside out with those black, shadowy tendrils. But they're strangely not so difficult to manuver, those dreams. It's not like he hasn't had nightmares from time to time after an extremely destructive Kaiju attack.

It's complicated, isn't it? They spent almost two months in that city. That's long enough for most people to fall in love with someone. That's long enough to madden a new convict in prison, just before the numbing can begin. That's how long it took him to really, really like his team and the people in it. So the dreams aren't weird. They're par the course.

The next few nights, however, are uncomfortable. Different.

He wakes up startled, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. Either way, he ends up so shaken with feeling on these occasions that he ventures to the lab when everyone else is asleep, trying to keep his mind preoccupied. The first week, he does so by slowly piecing together the wrinkled, written copy of the reports he'd made about the infection on the planet. He can be found there at his new favorite stool at unusual hours when most have retreated to sleep, too lively and hyper for someone who should by all means be sleepy. His knee jostles as his foot bounces the speed of a humming bird's wings.

Anyone passing by can hear someone playing the Ramones as loud as they can on their iPhone — and a certain scientist obnoxiously singing along:]

♪ Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane!
I can't control my fingers,
I can't control my brain,
Oh, no no, no, no, no! ♪

[It's not remotely unusual activity, if you've known him at the PPDC.

He's created a special cabinet in the lab where he has began a meager collection: behind one glass door, there's a few tiny jars marked 'GYEONGJE - MONSTER TISSUE SAMPLES H - L'. People passing can probably hear him speaking into his small recorder, putting his findings to spoken word, too. Some people can't read, after all. It's only fair.

The lab is where he lives, half the time. Maybe more, if we're talking cold hard percentages.]

... Note to self — [He says, into his recorder, looking at the very, very concerning boxes of different tech parts.] Build big-ass speakers.

II. It's Just a Jump to the Left | Mess Hall | OPEN

[So anyway, he builds a big-ass speaker.

Anyone walking by the Mess Hall at, once again, obnoxiously late hours will find the music playing much more loudly; for some poor souls, it may be reverberating in their brains if they're on the right-hand side of the Ximilia. His haphazardly created speaker, formed by what practically looks like Frankenstein's monster (actually, he's named it Frankenstein's Speaker, thank you), plays a playlist off his phone:]

♪ It's just a jump to left...!
And then a step to the ri-i-i-iiiight!
With your hands on your hips,
You bring your knees in ti-iiight!
But it's the pelvic thrust,
That really drives you insane!
Let's do the time-warp again,
Let's do the time-warp again! ♪

[Newton is very pleased with himself where he stands and studies his work in action, eating the last scoops of peanut butter straight out of a jar as he loosely, absently wiggles out the Time Warp dance (by sheer virtue of not being able to not move his ass a little). It seems, once again, that he's rather hyperactive and full of unparalleled energy. In fact, you might just, uh. Start to realize this isn't a rare occurrence. In fact, it's going to slowly become the norm. The expected. The anticipated.

Rest in peace, Ximilia crew.]

III. Not Under the Bed, Just in Your Head | Outside of Room / Communal Area | OPEN

[Newton wakes up asleep.

Wait, no, that's not it. He's asleep. He knows he's asleep. But he's awake.

He realizes it's definitely a dream when he reaches up to adjust his glasses and finds they're not there. Everything's crisp and lit a familiar, humming blue color at the edges. His hands are the pale blue of a drowned man's lips, and the space around him is practically empty, save for the pulsing, root-like growths that crack the smooth white floor. He stands there for a long moment, and then some frightening clarity comes to him.]

I've been here before. I've been here before, haven't I? In my sleep? [A long, awful shadow stretches out over him, casting him in the dark (he's always hated the dark). The veins in his wrists are glowing; the veins in the crease of his elbow, too. He looks up from the sight of it, eyes wide.] It's — It's you, isn't it? I drifted with you; I know what you are. You're —

Precursors. Yes. [It sounds like many voices at once, all bouncing around him. His blood feels like melting snow sluicing through his veins.] Very astute observations, Newton. How unfortunate it is, that you're apparently some of the best of what humanity has to offer; not very bright creatures, are you?

[Newt folds his arms. It's supposed to look like defiance, but he just looks frozen with chilled fear.]

... Fuck you, man. We met you, step for step. And we won. This isn't real. I'm just —

Like we've said: not very bright creatures. This is your mind, and it's a dream, but it is very real. Haven't you felt us?

[Newton swallows hard. Dozens of rows of beady, dead eyes look at him from high above. Outlines of unnatural, long-limbed beings lumber over him and smother out the lights. He shrinks, just a little. Just enough to lose. He never had the high ground, here. As he thinks back, his heart lurches in his chest; he can see the memories from that first drift as clearly as he could the beings looking back at him. He felt their coldness, their indifference to life; he felt the multitude of them, lurking in the shadows. He was terrified to tell Hermann the extent of it, that first time - the fear that still rattled him, right beside an exhilaration he didn't understand. He hated it. He wanted to do it again. The paradox doesn't escape him as much, now, knowing they're here.

In his head.]

... No. The — the Drift. The first trial run. You...!

Us. Yes. We'll admit, it is taking us an unfortunate amount of time to pull your feet out from under you; we've never commandeered a human being's mind before, after all. Even beings like us have... new and exciting ventures. This would be so much easier with the right equipment.

What do you mean, 'commandeered'? What the fuck? I thought we-

Killed us. Won the war. Stopped the threat. Right. Not very bright and unabashedly vain. But then again, we've already had this conversation with you, haven't we? It's a dull loop to entertain. To the point: we're not happy with you, Newton. We do value your mind, and we... had hoped you would be of greater use — as you tend to be — but it's clear you're too incompetent a species to be left to your own devices. It's not your fault, really. Just genetic misfortune.

What are you saying? What do you want from me?

Silly little man. It's easy to mock you during these talks of ours, but you are brighter than what they give you credit for. We want the power they're collecting, of course. These orbs, they're worth our time and effort, just as much as they're worth yours or anyone else's.

[His mouth parts with quiet realization.

They want to collect them, too. They want to use them; who doesn't?

He dares not imagine what they want them for.]

You failed us on Gyeongje by not completing your required task, though we do appreciate sight-seeing for potential new... 'workspaces', I think you'd call them? Future mining opportunities? Either way, we'll be giving you the proper pushes you'll need to not let us down again. You will be a perfectly respectable member of our army. You liked them, didn't you? What was it humans called our weapons? 'Kaiju'?

Well, this is your chance to be one for us. Is that not one of the greatest honors a human can receive?

... I won't... Fuck. I refuse! [He runs his hands through his hair and trembles like a leaf. Then blinking hard, he shakes his head, paces in a tight circle and mutters under his breath; his chin snaps up sharply, and he points at the beings that tower over him and spits:] This is insane! No, fuck no, I won't let you! I'll tell everyone about you before you can even do anything. I'll warn Hermann, and-

[A horrible peal of laughter drowns his thoughts out. He suffocates in it. A mental monsoon, one that makes him cower down like a child, the dignity draining out of him. He curls up with his hands over his ears, looking too much like the limp, whimpering mess that Otachi's offspring had almost devoured on the tangled streets of Hong Kong. The Precursors look down, and their voices drip with restrained amusement and hollow pity when he peers back up at them from the ground.]

Oh, Newton. You won't remember this.

You never do.

[Newt wakes up drenched in sweat, eyes peering around the room in a panic, as if trying to find someone lingering over him, but his memory always seems to fail him; whatever it was he had dreamt, he'd come up empty recollecting it. The dark shadows that cast all over his room become overbearing, and he turns on every light in his room before giving up on the prospect of staying in it, rushing out into the community area to pace his nerves away.

Only he'd forgotten his glasses, and he pretty quickly makes his presence known by bumping his knee super hard into a table and saying motherfucker! with feeling.

Maybe Newton Geiszler literally can't enter a room without being a beacon of physics in action.]

IV. Mission Impromptu Sleepover | CLOSED to Hermann

[Look, he's not particularly proud of where he ends up, but something just... pulls him here. He's not sure how to explain it, but the decision was... it was like being in a game of tug-of-war, only your arms are the rope, and you're just hoping nobody rips them off. One half of him said to go back to his room, to face the dark and the restless sleeping, and one half — the drift half — it said go on, it'll make you feel better.

Anyway, that's how he ends up sneaking into Hermann's room. Hermann's only just been cleared to leave the medical bay, albeit with a wheel chair and lots of teasing from Newton and reminders to not try to go using his cane until he's sure he's good (which dredged up a lot of fantastic bickering, thanks for asking). Point is, he doesn't wanna interrupt his rest, so he'll just... not bug him.

If he's quiet, he tells himself, he can go in, get some shut-eye, and then leave before Hermann even knows he's there.

It's foolproof.

So he does what any sane friend would do! He finds a spot on the floor, whips a blanket over him that just manages to cover those chicken legs of his, and tries to close his eyes and sleep from the comfort of... Hermann's bedroom floor.

It's fine. It's not weird at all.]

V. Wildcard

[I'M EASY TO PLEASE, hit me!

I'm open to PMs or simpledog PPs if you wanna plot something out that isn't on here!]

Comments

III

[unclesam]

[ There's a soft sound in response to Newton's cursing. An electronic beep, almost like a cheerful little chirp. A small red light that slowly gives way to Redwing gliding closer, the camera on his underbelly making a soft whirring sound as it settles on Newton. The drone glides closer almost noiselessly, the blue light of the thrusters all too faint. It stops in front of Newton, and for a moment just hovers in the air like that.

Then Redwing does a small barrel roll, followed by a short and a slighter longer beep.

The world's driest 'tadaaa'.

Reing circles Newton once, then glides away from him. Stops, turns around. Waits. Flies back when he doesn't move, circles him, and glides forwards again. Flies back once again, circles around and nudges against Newton's back to get him to move along with Redwing.

Of course, it's not the drone doing this. Redwing acts on Sam's commands. And sure, he could probably just message Newton and spell out 'follow redwing' or 'hey, I see you're up, come hang out with me'.

Instead Redwing's nudging under Newton's hand and coming back up with the guy's hand on his chassis. Then Redwing starts forwards again, to see if Newton's figured it out yet. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton jumps again like the world's most conspicuous final girl in a horror movie, turning to adjust glasses that aren't on his face — whoops, right. Should've maybe grabbed those. Why would he ever forget his glasses? That's asking to be murdered by a Scooby Doo villain, right there. (Newton, stop thinking so much so fast, you're gonna burst a vessel). When he recognizes the shape of the floating thing... and also recognizes that there's only one floating thing in the station that he even is aware of, he relaxes a bit with a deep breath.]

Oh, hey Red. How're you doin?

[He's still shaky, sweat on his brow, but he seems to get the gist of what's being told to him right now. Which makes him fluster a bit. Shit, is Sam seeing him like this? Embaaaarrassing. He clears his throat and begrudgingly puts his hand on Redwing, muttering petulantly:]

Yeah, yeah, take me to him. I'm fine, though.

[unclesam]

[ Sam's indeed fully aware, seeing the state Newton's in. Then again, Sam's awake at the same hour, and decidedly not in his room, in the presence of his friends and room mates.

They can be totally fine together, then.

Redwing beeps as if in confirmation, and begins gliding forward silently. Occasionally a small, dim red light tracks over the surroundings; Redwing scanning the environment. Long as Newton keeps his hand on the drone and lets himself be led, he won't run into any obstacles - unless he tries.

Sam's in the mess hall, perched on one of the tables. Dark arms crossed loosely over a white shirt, the red goggles softly illuminating his features. He takes them off when Redwing and Newton arrive, offering a grin. He looks tired, too - plays it off for now all the same. ]

Look what the bird dragged in. What a surprise.

[ They both know it's not a surprise, because Redwing acts on Sam's commands, but honestly, life's so much better when treating the drone like an actual bird. ]

( i )

[scarcastically]

[ definitely obnoxious. erik briefly entertains murder before dismissing it. can't murder people over musical taste. he side-eyes the monster tissue samples because he's not a big fan of that and black people historically don't have a great record there. ]

Bro, have you been here all night?

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton turns toward him, maybe a fraction faster than any normal person would. That's kind of Newt's problem, generally, one that people notice quick: he's bursting with life and energy, and that's sometimes a great asset, but also sometimes a surefire way to make people leave him to his own devices.

But that's the thing; he rarely ever wants to be alone. Serpent eating its tail kinda sitch. So he tries to wrangle it in, stopping that machine-fast foot from tapping and sitting a bit straighter in his seat, brightening at the sight of Erik.]

Heeeey, man!

Yeah, maybe. There's a lot of cool stuff in here to sift through. And I've got all these ugly notes I needed to put into something someone other than me can read. Hermannn wrote a lot of 'em for me, but... yeah. What's up?

[scarcastically]

[ erik assesses him coolly before speaking. ]

Not much. Gonna work on some metallurgic compounds and how they gel with magic.

Also got some energy weapons from down below I'm gonna look into redesigning.

III

[coordination]

[ It's late, but Yzak is still awake. Wound down, though, sitting cozily on one of the couches, back against a couple of pillows that he stuffed there, reading a book. Check him out, resting like he's supposed to while he heals. Right now he's reading about this, specifically because of course he is.

He hears Newton bang his knee and curse, snapping out of his focus and looking over the top of the book. ]

—What the hell!? Newton?

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton cradles his knee and stands on one foot for a second, before he looks up toward the familiar voice with eyes that are squinting far harder than usual. Oh, yeah, even when his vision's blurry, he can't mistake that haircut.]

Yzak, uh...!

[He puts his achy knee back down, stands there awkwardly in his white t-shirt and jeans-he-clearly-was-too-lazy-to-remove-and-therefore-slept-in, sweaty and disheveled like a man who had been alarm-blared out of a bed.]

Hey. How's it going?

[coordination]

[ One cannot mistake something so beautiful and perfect, it's true.

He stares for a moment, because, wow, Newt looks like shit. ]

You look like shit.

[ No sugarcoating coming from Yzak there. He straightens up in his seat, slipping a bookmark into the book he's reading for now. ]

Is something going on?

[ He tilts his head a bit, as if listening for something - like a sudden bustle of people moving around, signaling that there's some sort of event happening on the station. ]

iv.

[bijective]

["I swear Hermann, another orange, and your skin will match the peel."

"I’m sorry, mother."

"All I ask is you try something different. Be a little adventurous with your diet, eh? A little sugar and fat will do you some good for those hollow cheeks, Häschen."

How typical of Hermann to dream of his mother scolding him. The two sit quietly together at the dining table of their family estate. Not a soul can be heard from the halls. Merely the tiny clanks of cups and saucers as his mother takes a sip of her tea. He glances at his jumper, too casual for him to be caught dead at the lab. It’s his hoodie from TU Berlin. Peering over his reflection in his tea, he notices how he looks about five years younger. Perhaps even ten. The stressors of wartime can do a number to one’s complexion.

Sitting right next to his teacup is a letter. Newton’s letter. Decorated to death in colourful stationery and stickers. You think a child would be the mastermind behind such eccentric choices. But it’s difficult to make out the wording. Everything appears as a haze. The only line he can accurately decipher is:

Find me.

"Your friend again?"

He nods, picking up the letter with one hand. What in the world does ‘Find me’ mean?

Before he can muse more on this peculiar message, he feels a light tremble underneath his feet. Looking up at the ceiling soon reveals an inhuman cry overwhelming his ears. The plaster from above cracks and tears before it is ripped to shreds, the hungry maw of a Kaiju taking its place and then—

Darkness.

He doesn’t wake with a start. Instead, his eyes open wide. Total darkness. He’s in his bed. A nightmare. It was all a nightmare. Ignoring the single tear trickling down his cheek, he sits up and carries his legs over to the bedside.

With his free hand hovering over his heart, he can feel how fast it’s racing. The thought of going back to sleep is less than ideal. Hermann needs to clear his mind.

His hand traces along the safety rails on his bedside, taking one careful step at a time. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights. Hermann already knows where needs to go: The washroom.

Another step and he feels something…warm. A warm, soft, fleshy thing with coarse hair underneath Hermann’s foot.

No. Not again. Another nightmare, perhaps? Preposterous. That couldn’t be. Then who could this foreign thing be?]

Whoever you are… [He says, slowly reaching for his cane resting by the corner of his bed.] Reveal yourself before I have you compromised!

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton sighs softly at whatever bumps into his head, but doesn't stir quite enough — the restless sleep from prior nights to blame, really — but once Hermann's voice drifts through the air, his eyes snap open in the darkness. He sits up maybe too sharply as his heart lurches in his chest at the realization of where he is and who is speaking and what that means.

The world is, of course, blurry as fuck. He had put his glasses carefully under the bed, so he wouldn't roll on them in the night. Looking up and over, there's a familiar figure, and —

Oh shit, is that a really fuzzy-shaped cane hovering over my head?

He puts up his hands sharply, nearly toppling sideways and wincing back from what he feels might just be a thwack on the head, if he can't spit out the words fast enough. Panicked:]

Wait, it's me! It's Newt!

[PLEASE YOU'VE ALREADY ALMOST DENTED IN HIS NOSE THIS WEEK]

[bijective]

[The moment Hermann registers that high-pitched vocal fry, his cheeks puff up. If it wasn’t for the lack of lighting in the room, the comparison between Hermann to that of a frog in self-defence mode is indistinguishable.

He jabs the butt of the cane against the floor out of frustration.]

Bloody—!

[Before he goes off on Newton, he makes a gesture to signal the sensor to turn on the lights.

And low and behold, there he is. Laying on the floor like some hapless rat ducking under a pizza box.]

What in God’s name are you doing here?! You nearly gave me a heart attack. Goodness, are you drunk? Is that it? How many times have I told you to be responsible about your liquor intake?!

i

[skelepun]

Hey. Figured I might find ya here. Catch.

[ The space between Sans' greeting and his warning may as well have been nonexistent. The box of saltwater taffies is already lobbed toward Newt's face by the time the guy would get a chance to look up. ]

Found these tucked under my pillow. All yours if you want 'em.

[ The music was unlike any Sans had ever really heard before, moreso due to the quality than the instrumentation itself. Human cassettes washed down in the dump sometimes, but playing them with any sort of fidelity was a challenge. Working tape decks were worth significantly more than their weight in gold. ]

All they do is weld my mouth shut, so naturally I thought of you. [ He holds up a finger, indicating the song. ] What is this?

1/2

[groupiedrifter]

[Ah, yes, the sight of a box inches from his face.

BONK.

WASTED]

[groupiedrifter]

DUDE!

[No it's fine, he's got a strong face. Watch him now as he haphazardly juggles it around in an attempt not to drop it. Isn't he beauty? Isn't he grace? Whatever small well of exasperated nagging he's about to do is immediately stamped out by how much his eyes sparkle at the box in his hands.]

Duuude. Where'd you get these? Is this from Viv?

[She'll never escape the nickname.

He's only distracted away from his childish fawning of sweets by the question, of course, and he looks up with a grin.]

Some badass music, obviously! Just some of the classics. I got a charger for my phone, so I've been just blasting through whatever I've got downloaded.

[Which is a lot. Newton himself is often described as 'a lot', so it checks out.]

here lies lizard, rest in pieces

[skelepun]

That or I got a secret admirer.

[ Aka, he probably stole them from the teleportation room during his bender and promptly forgot about it. Sans plops down without much ceremony, making himself at home among the mess, tilting his head back a bit to listen closer. ]

Classics, huh? Guess I'm outta the loop, I've never heard anything that sounded like this before.

[ Way less robotic chirping. ]

II.

[spoilers]

[ It's incredibly late, not that River seems to take much notice. She leans casually just inside the entrance, as if he isn't playing obnoxiously loud music, watching him wiggle as he finishes off the peanut butter. ]

Do you ever actually sleep?

[ Look who's talking. ]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton turns around, the spoon still sticking out of the side of his mouth as his eyebrows raise high on his forehead. Quickly, he removes the utensil, gives her a little smile once he realizes who it is wandering in. The music is only turned down slightly. Enough that talking isn't a nightmare.]

Oh, hey River!

Who says I haven't slept?

[spoilers]

Have you?

[ She counters in a way that suggests she doesn't expect or need him to answer, but her smile is warm as she pushes off the wall and steps closer. ]

It isn't the first time I've heard you awake. [ She nods toward the monstrosity he's calling a speaker. ] And you've had time to build this.

iii.

[calmness]

[xichen is not a stranger to nightmares and being up late, not since his arrival. his own take him to coffins, to memories that shift and in which those closest to him lose limbs or find themselves at the end of his sword.

he never means it.

that's the problem though, he had hoped for balance and never taken a stand. when he had, it had been with the wrong side. staying in his room, where his own brother is sleeping peacefully, is often suffocating after a nightmare.

so, the common room it is. sometimes he simply drinks tea and meditates, at other times when he's alone he brings his flute or guqin and plays a soft tune to calm his nerves. it's often tempting to let that song turn into something bitter, but tonight the soft soothing tones drift through the quiet space. that is, until he hears a crash followed by profanity.]

Are you alright? [he's set the flute down in his seat on one of the couches, is already standing to see if his compatriot is alright.]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton rubs his knee miserably for a moment before lifting and waving an unsteady hand.]

No! I mean yeah! I'm good; my mind was just going faster than my body s'all, nothing to worry about.

[Standing upright, though, he looks — a bit haunted. The headache that sometimes plagues him thumps heavy in his temples, eyes scanning around nervously for a moment before he settles and breathes in deep.

Okay. Yeah. He's fine. Awake and peachy.]

... You, uh. Practicing?

[He gestures with a jerky, awkward gesture of the hand toward the flute.

Trying to play this all off and failing, surely.]

[calmness]

[xichen watches him, still worried and it shows. for better or worse, he's used to downplaying or a lack of straightforwardness when it comes to injury or discomfort. his own brother is terrible with this.] I could attempt healing it?

[he offers, head tilted slightly. he is not sure if a transfer of qi energy would truly be needed for such an injury, but the offer is there.

then he glances at the flute, giving the other a man a moment away from under his concerned gaze.] I was. I couldn't sleep so thought playing would help calm my mind and help me sleep. [a soft chuckle.] I've only been half successful.

iii

[bossily]

[Clara typically wouldn't just invite herself to fall asleep in his bed after dropping by for a visit (she absolutely refuses to call it frisking Newt, no matter how many times he may make the joke) but the mission's left Clara in a not great place and she finds his presence actually calms her enough she can sleep. Maybe tonight he's actually managed to tire her out, or she's just so stressed that she finally has collapsed in exhaustion. Either case, she's out cold until he turns on the lights and rushes out of his room.

It's then that she blinks awake, taking notice of his general state of panic. Which isn't necessarily an unusual state for him, but something about this is incredibly off. She hops out of bed and hurries to get dressed enough that she's decent and runs out of the room after him. She's barefoot and the sound of her feet falling on the cold floor as she runs echoes in the mostly empty corridors.

Her little legs run as fast as they can, not stopping until she finds him. Which, comically enough, is right after he's managed to bump his knee. Skidding to a stop behind him, she tries to ignore the fact her heart is racing because she thinks something is incredibly wrong. She focuses on something else instead, a very teasing:]

Language.

[Like she actually cares about any of the words that come out of his mouth.]

[groupiedrifter]

[Newton whips around sharply to look at her — or a blurry outline of her, really, which doesn't help whatever weird feeling is going on in his chest. He almost feels like was awake a second ago and dreaming now, but that's — no, his knee feels like it definitely slammed into a table. He stares at her like a anxious deer in the headlights for a moment, lips parted in unusual quiet considering who he is, breathing a little labored, a little panicked.

But then his mouth snaps shut and he slowly sinks to sit on the short table he'd smacked into, his hands bracing on either side of him along the edge of it. His heart's beating so fast, and his palms feel sweaty, but he's coming down from... that.]

... Sorry. Guess I forgot I wasn't alone in there.

[He looks up at her, smiling humorlessly and almost feeling a bit naked without his glasses.]

Um — give me a sec. I'm fine; just a bad dream.

[bossily]

[She studies him closely, anxiety creeping in as she worries something may be wrong with him after the mission. Her eyes are wide as she takes in just how quiet and off centered he seems, and she gives a light shake of her head to dismiss the idea that he needs to apologize.

It's not like many of them are alright after that mission, so she's not asking him if he's okay. She isn't even sure if she's okay just yet.

What she is sure of though, is that he needs a little something. So she reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out something he may need. His glasses are held in her hand, and she steps in close enough that she can hand them over to him.]

Do you wanna talk about it?

[Her other hand extends, palm up. If he needs something to grab hold of and anchor him to reality rather than a bad dream, she's here.]