thebetterhalf | 04 | [Action] (forward-dated to Monday!)

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04 | [Action] (forward-dated to Monday!)

[The first thing Marco becomes consciously aware of is that he's cold. No, freezing, even. The next thing he notices is a nausea that’d settled in the pit of his stomach, then that nausea turns into mild panic when a string of odd, blurry memories hits him and he gets the strong sense that he's in danger. That his life is in danger.

He awakes with a start, moving straight into a sitting position. Both hands shoot up to his throat, even if he isn’t sure exactly why he’d felt the need to do so. He's groggy, exhausted and disoriented. Where is he? What’d happened? What day is it, even? Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? In the back of his head, a few hazy memories are trickling away. Dreams, perhaps. Dreams of a crowded village and glowing green balls surrounding him. Dreams of pain shooting up his leg and his hand getting crushed. It’d seemed so real, but his hand is fine so there was no way it could’ve happened. He’d know if his hand had gotten crushed for some reason. …Just another nightmare.

His eyes scrunch shut for a moment, then open again to try and survey the area. Forest, with the moon high up in the sky. It's hard to tell exactly what time it is- likely somewhere early in the morning. Past the trees he can see distant lights, presumably from the village. His gaze moves down to his legs, noticing the odd pair of pants he's wearing. The standard type that New Feathers would wear upon arrival. His mind's unable to really piece everything together. Is he a new arrival again? …He still remembers the village. He can’t recall being sent home. A quick check confirms that his pockets hold the keys to his apartment and his journal.

What’d happened to him?

He manages to scuttle into a crouching position just in time to start retching. His stomach's roiling and the confusion only serves to fuel his nausea further. Not that he ends up spewing more than a bit of bile. Apparently, he hasn’t eaten recently. Retching turns to desperate gasping and shaking, both from the stress inflicted on his body and the cold. He has no idea how long it takes him to calm down again. Five minutes, maybe ten. During that time, he notices something else. No sounds are coming from him. Nothing vocal, anyway. His suspicions are confirmed when he tries to speak, but produces no words. Carefully, he raises a hand to his throat again. His vocal chords aren’t working. Why?

Despite the protest coming from his muscles, he manages to push himself to his feet and turns his attention to what’d been lying beside him. The 3D Maneuver Gear- all of it. The canisters, the blades, even the body harness is attached to it. Putting it on is too much trouble, but he can’t just leave it out here, so he grabs the leather straps and slings them over his shoulder. This way, he can support the gear’s weight with his back. He’ll have to be careful with his wings, though. Once he's sure he can keep his balance, he begins his trek towards the village. His whole body's still shaking, but he has to get home. Jean's going to kill him for this.]

[Action]

[By the time Marco’s up and about again, it’s late in the afternoon. He’s wearing a spare set of clothes from his wardrobe, but the absence of his uniform just stings something awful. That’s why he hopes he’ll be able to find a replacement in the store. After having a few bites to eat and assuring Jean that he’ll be fine, he’s off to run some errands. There’s a notebook under his arm, because now that he can’t speak, he’ll have to write his responses down.

First he needs to stop by the apartment belonging to Commander Smith and Captain Levi to let them know he’s back. Then, he’ll leave the flame building and head over to the plaza. He stops by the school to see if Professor Sage is still there, so he can apologize for missing over a week of classes. Then, the clothing store, where he ends up finding a replacement uniform just like he’d hoped. However, there’s just one problem with it. The insignia. It’s clearly his size, but it’s designated as Military Police. Are the Malnosso just messing with him, or is it meant for someone else? Until he’s decided on either, he’ll just stand there with the jacket in both hands, giving it a conflicted stare.

Finally, he’ll take a detour to the wind building to pay a visit to Ginia. He feels that after everything that’s happened, she’s the best person to talk to. Or uh… write to, now that they’re both in the same position.]

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[He stumbles a little from leftover drowsiness as he quickly covers the distance between his bed and the door, clapping a hand on Marco's shoulder with more force than he planned - his version of a hug, really.]

Are you okay? [His eyes check him over for injuries again, but aside from seeming like he just came back from running a hundred laps, Marco is in decent condition. Questions keep spilling out.] What the hell happened? Can you remember anything? Shit, you had me worried...!

[He flinches a bit at the hand on his shoulder and even that makes him feel more embarrassed. Some soldier he's turning out to be. He's made Jean worry far too many times already. If the instructor could see him like this, he'd probably be forced to hand over his diploma and go straight to the landfills.

The flood of questions isn't helping, either. He doesn't remember what happened. He doesn't remember a thing and he still feels sick to his stomach. What was left of his smile falters entirely and he ends up shaking his head. It's making him more dizzy, but he's still got his hand pressed against the doorpost to keep himself steady.]

[He can see that the pressure of all those questions isn't what Marco needs right now, and his hand recoils a bit, stuck hovering in the air between them uncertainly. Then he comes around to Marco's side, carefully sliding an arm around his shoulders. The wings get in the way, and for a second he thinks about anchoring Marco by his waist instead, but that's...a little bit awkward.]

Here, you should lie down... [He'll try to guide him away from the door, heading toward Marco's own bed.]

[Jean's arm brushing past his wings is more than uncomfortable. It's almost painful. He'd make a sound of protest if he were capable of doing so, but as it stands, all he can produce is a sharp gasp. No other objections will come from him though, as he'll allow Jean to lead him to his bed. The mattress has never looked more appealing.]

Sorry...your wings must be sore. You're freezing, too.

[Somewhere in the anxious humming of his mind, he finds it odd that Marco hasn't spoken a word yet. But he chalks it up to exhaustion, maybe borderline delirium - which only makes him wonder more and more about what happened. He doesn't know which question Marco was answering when he shook his head, and more questions prickle on his tongue, but right now, making sure he's okay comes first.

When they reach Marco's bed, he gently retracts his arm. Unless Marco asks for more help, he'll let him lie down himself.]

Does it hurt anywhere else?

Edited 2014-02-03 05:06 (UTC)

[He sits down heavily on the bed, then takes a moment to relish the feel of the soft mattress beneath him. Even the simplest things need to be appreciated right now. He'd like to go straight to sleep, but he knows Jean's still expecting answers and he can't give him any. He doesn't remember anything but a few nightmareish images that are likely figments of his imagination. They must be.

He starts shaking his head again. Shaking it at the question and at the way his body's trembling, and at the way his thoughts are racing through his head. He wants to keep his composure, but now that he's home and Jean's standing right in front of him, he gets the feeling he might break down into a pathetic mess.]

[He reaches for Marco's pajama shirt, lying beside his pillow at the head of the bed, and tosses it into Marco's lap. Then he's already halfway to the dresser, yanking open a drawer and pulling out the heaviest sweater he can find, and a thick pair of socks too, which he brings to his friend. He settles down next to him.]

How far did you have to walk? They didn't drop you way out in the woods, did they?

[He doesn't mean to keep rambling. It's just that he can't stop. Even as he asks, it sinks in him like a stone that the cold is not the only cause for Marco's violent trembling, and he feels helpless, and frustrated by it. He doesn't even know if Marco was kidnapped, or if he died, again with nobody knowing... Something would be missing...is there anything missing? Can Marco really not remember anything either, or is he like this because he does remember?]

[He manages to put the pajama shirt on with some trouble, but the sweater and socks are just too much effort for him right now. He's not that cold anymore, really. The temperature outside was awful, but that's what makes it so nice and warm inside the apartment building. Maybe his body just needs some time to adjust to the heat. He hopes that's it, anyway. He ends up rubbing the thick fabric of the sweater between his numb fingers, eyes on the floor rather than on his friend.

Jean just keeps asking questions that he can't answer. Not because he doesn't know the answer, but because... Well. Everything's a chore right now, even swallowing, because his throat feels like it's closing up and his stomach still hasn't really settled down either. He manages to draw a deep, shaky breath before turning to face Jean again. Then he taps at his throat with two fingers.]

Your throat...? [A pause, and then his eyebrows - already furrowed with concern, and now with concentration - unwind a little as Marco's intent settles in.] ...You can't talk. [He still hasn't spoken a word, and come to think of it, Jean hasn't heard him make a sound, except for his breathing and that gasp before.] You can't talk?

[He's found what's missing. Then...Marco had died? He had died, and there had to be a penalty, something to trade for the fucking miracle of bringing him back to life, because anything could be toyed with here. He had died and Jean didn't even know. His chest clenches like a fist.

Or is this just a side-effect of being experimented on? That happens, doesn't it? People return to the closure altered somehow, until the lingering experiment wears off. Then how long will they have to wait?]

[He doesn't like that look on Jean's face- not one bit- so he ends up turning his gaze to the floor again. During the walk home, he hadn't truly considered the implication of what might've happened to him. He'd been far too rattled to realize what was even going on. Now that he's seen Jean's reaction, however, he has to face the reality that whatever it was, it was bad.

His eyes scrunch shut as he remembers the state he woke up in. Terrified, fearing his life. Hit by a nightmare he can no longer remember, but he can remember how it made him feel. How it made him check a few of his limbs, because he'd been sure he'd been hurt. Was it just a nightmare?

Fingers clench around the fabric he's still holding and all his effort is on swallowing, now. His stomach's starting to roil again, his throat feeling like it's being closed by a thick paste. He probably hasn't had anything to drink in a while, but he's sure that if he tried to down any water, it'd just come right back up.]

[As he watches in silence, he can't help but remember how Marco had told him that he was good at judging any situation accurately, that he would always know exactly what to do. He's wondering where the hell that skill is right now.]

I can...get you something to write on... [The way he says it almost makes it sound like a question. It is rare for him to sound so uncertain, but it's hard to hammer out blunted matter-of-fact words when inside he's feeling anything but.]

[Something to write on... He wouldn't know what to write down. If he could speak, he wouldn't know what to say, either. Heck, he might not even be able to hold the pen properly. The only thing on his mind right now is finding a way to calm himself down. Nothing good will come from getting more upset.

All he can manage is a half-hearted shake of the head while he continues to draw deep, rattling breaths. He'll be fine. He'll be fine.]

[Ginia had told him to be prepared for whatever condition Marco might return in, to brace himself for whatever he could not prepare for. He's seen Marco homesick, upset, afraid before; this is different. This is what he was not prepared for, and how is he supposed to brace himself against it?

Words feel weak. His questions finally die on his tongue, souring in his mouth. Hesitantly, like a question in itself, his hand comes up to rest on Marco's shoulder.]

...You're okay now. [He starts rubbing his shoulder, slowly, rhythmically. His voice feels thin.] You're okay now, Marco.

[In a way, Jean's actions are helping, because they're reminding him that whatever happened, it's over now. It's over now and he's with a friend. He's safe. However, using virtually that same logic, they're just making Marco feel worse. He shouldn't be behaving himself like this in front of Jean, who's already had more than enough reason to worry. Jean, who might end up thinking he's just a weakling for breaking down like this.

His eyes scrunch shut and he tries to focus solely on drawing air into his lungs. To ignore the clenching feeling in his stomach that makes him worry he might end up retching again, and instead concentrate on slowing his breathing to a normal pace. He wonders vaguely what happened to the composure he'd still had while he was walking home.

He's being ridiculous and he needs to calm himself the fuck down.]

[It's because he doesn't think of Marco as being weak that this is so difficult to handle. He sees him as someone on whom he can depend, someone sturdy, who gives unconditional support. And here he is, huddled up on the edge of the bed, on the verge of panic, shaking. He doesn't know what to do but keep rubbing his shoulder and repeating what he hopes aren't meaningless reassurances.]

You're okay... You're okay. I'm here for you, okay?

[He gives a stiff nod of the head because that much, at the very least, he can grasp. Jean is here for him. The only other person from their trainee corps- his closest friend. He's not sure what he would've done if Jean hadn't arrived in Luceti a few months ago. He would've had to sit here by himself. That might've been unbearable.]

[That's the first time Marco has answered him with a nod. They're taking a step in the right direction, at least.]

Right...I'm here, Marco... You're going to be okay. [He's never thought of himself as much of a source of comfort - too abrasive for that. And even though he can't help but be honest with his feelings most of the time, being so direct in this way is a little awkward. But this is what he needs to do right now.]

[He nods again, his eyes still scrunched shut. His breathing is starting to even out now, at least, even if his throat still feels like it's being wrung shut.

Part of him wishes he could express his gratitude to Jean for being so understanding about this whole thing, but he wouldn't know how to put it into words. Now that he doesn't even have that much, the faintest idea of how to make clear on his feelings has gone out the window. Why did he have to lose his voice now? He hopes it'll come back soon.]

[He'll stay like this as long as Marco needs him to, stroking his shoulder, fingers spreading to reach a little bit of his back and upper arm, repeating the same refrains over and over again, working the words into him.]

Whatever happened...it's done. You're home now, alright?

[He wishes payback could be as simple as walking up to the bastards who caused all this and punching them in the face, but "simple" is far out of reach. He only has control over this moment.]

[Home? He can't help but be skeptical of that statement. He's in the only place remotely close to a home he can still have. He can never go back to his real home. Not that he can blame Jean for the way he feels about that statement. His friend means well.

He spends a few more moments focusing on swallowing and easing up his throat, then his eyes open again. That's when he realizes they're burning with tears that he's been holding back, but he refuses to shed them, so instead he raises a hand to rub at his eyes with his palm. Hopefully, Jean won't notice.]

[He doesn't have any strong attachments to the word "home" - when he had stopped thinking of his hometown as that shitty border town he wanted to leave without looking back, it was only because it became stained with memories of loss as if with blood - so he uses it loosely. This is where they live now; it's as much of a home as anywhere else.

As tuned in to Marco as he is right now, Jean can't help but catch the movement of his hand across his eyes, and he can't help but realize what he's trying to rub away. But he won't say anything about that.]

You're okay... I'm here, Marco.

Edited 2014-02-07 08:58 (UTC)

[He nods again, because he's at a loss for what else to do. What else to try and communicate. Maybe it'd be best for him to just go to sleep now. Maybe, when he wakes up tomorrow, he'll feel better and his voice will have returned. Or maybe he'll find none of this happened at all.

There's a barely audible sniff, then he raises his head to glance up at Jean again. He won't attempt to smile- there's very little point in that. He will, however, raise his right hand to mimic something. A gesture similar to holding a glass and tilting it towards his lips. He still doesn't know if he can hold water down, but he'd like to try, if only to get the bad taste out of his mouth.]

[Marco, if you tried smiling now, he just might be tempted to smack you.

The gesture registers immediately and he nods, letting his hand linger on Marco's shoulder as he stands, withdrawing only when he steps away from the bed. He's gone for a moment, returning with a glass of water and shuffling back to Marco.]

Here. [Holding the glass out to him.]

Edited 2014-02-07 22:52 (UTC)

[The brief moment where Jean's out of the room is a bit of a reprieve for Marco. It's enough time for him to quickly rub at his eyes again and sit up straight, spreading the sweater across his lap.

The glass is accepted with a quick smile. Nothing genuine, just a reflex of common courtesy, and it disappears as soon as Marco raises the glass to his lips. As expected, he does have a bit of trouble swallowing the water, but at least it feels nice against his throat.]

[He remains standing, watching Marco carefully. He's sitting up straighter; he isn't shaking anymore, and he isn't gasping for breath like he's drowning, or suffocating. He's doing better.]

...Need anything else?

04 | [Action] (forward-dated to Monday!)

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