WHO: Alpha Team WHERE: Oros ; en route to and outside the Trilk base WHEN: Jan 12 - 20 WHAT: miscellaneous ass kicking WARNINGS: violence? will update with anything else
( pick a day, pick a fight you want to thread out, header it up and go! )
[ There's something to be said about getting too comfortable. Both teams reunited and everything is back on track. Maine still doesn't feel overly confident they're going to finish this, but they may get out alive.
Probably.
Maybe.
Honestly he only really cares about two people making it back to the ship.
There's a lull now. Bodies litter the field and it looks like a slaughter. It doesn't really bother Maine. The lull does. It's silent. Too silent. And that makes him feel like trouble is brewing. Because the Trilk can't have given up and Maine doesn't think they've wiped out the species completely. He remains heavily on guard as he finishes the last leg of his patrol area to join back up with Wash.
Which is, of course, when things fall apart all over again. Time seems to slow and yet it happens so fast that Maine can't even prevent it from happening. That finely crafted control he's been keeping on himself snaps the instant he sees Wash go down. All bets are off now and anyone will be lucky to get off the planet in tact. ]
[ Maybe he's getting old and tired. Or maybe it's the lingering sense of invincibility he feels at being back with his team—his real team—that makes him overconfident. Either way, Wash isn't paying attention in the right direction when the unexpected lull in battle erupts into a flurry of camouflaged Trilks bursting out of their hiding place off to his left.
He lunges to the side, bringing up his rifle with its dwindling supply of ammunition and starts firing. But it's a few seconds too late to prevent one of the creatures from getting off a shot from its plasma gun.
It hits his leg and sheers through the armor like it's fucking tissue paper. It's not the first time he's gotten a plasma burn, but it's never pleasant. His lower leg lights up into agony and stops supporting him. He goes down with a grunt, trying to roll out of the way of the nearest Trilk's sight. Which is all well and good until he finds himself struggling to breathe.
With embarrassing slowness, he realizes it's the atmosphere leaking in through the damaged armor. Structural integrity's comprised. Fuck. And there's a big goddamn Trilk about to murder him.
[ There's still a small part of Maine's mind that tries to regain control. It reminds him this isn't the worst thing that could have happened. It's not the worst thing that's ever happened to them on a mission. But it's so small. So, so small. He doesn't want to see any of his teammates get hurt ( which is rather ironic, he knows, but he's trying so hard to be different now ). He hated it back then—before Sigma, anyway—and it's the last thing he wants to see now.
Maine reacts on instinct and muscle memory. He moves without really thinking about it, running as fast as he can, activating his camo and barreling into the Trilk about to trample Wash while he's down. The alien doesn't see him coming and has no time to defend. It goes flying and skids in the sand, dazed for the moment. Which is good because there are two more heading toward Maine and he dodges, feints and catches one around the neck, throwing its weight into the other. He doesn't hesitate to further break its neck before he lets go and launches himself at the other. He's brutal in his attack, not really caring what happens just as long as it dies. Ripping one apart with his hands. Stabbing one repeatedly in the throat so it bleeds out, painting the sand a putrid color. Jamming a grenade down another's throat and launching it into a bevy of them.
It feels like hours before the rush of them stops, but it's only been minutes. Carcasses litter the space around them like some sort of morbid halo. For a moment Maine is lost inside his own head as to why he went berserk, but then sees Wash there and it all comes rushing back. He kind of wants to kill all these motherfuckers all over again. At Wash's side, he drops down to his knees, assessing the damage with the bioscan without bothering to ask. That's just wasting even more time.
There's a leak. There's a fucking leak and Maine doesn't know how to fix it just yet. But he can't waste any more time. And they can't stay here. An idea strikes him and he yanks out a cannister of biofoam and injects it into the armor. It's not going to hold forever and it's going to be a shitty seal, but it'll give Wash some proper air for a few minutes. A second later, he's scooping Wash up into his arms and running for some cover. There's a cave nearby that will hopefully provide some cover while he figures out what to do.
There's a low, rumbling sound; he runs faster. Still with me? ]
[ As much as a part of him has always enjoyed watching Maine when he cuts loose, Wash isn't in any position to appreciate the show now. It's just too fucking hard to breathe. And the burn in his leg isn't making it easy to think.
Once Maine's there, the Trilk are distracted away from Wash. That reprieve allows him the opportunity to drag himself out of the way of getting trampled, though he isn't quick about it. He'd like to be, but he can't move too quickly. If he does, he'll use up whatever small reserves of air are left in the helmet.
And there isn't a lot of that.
Goddamn it. Should've brought some sealant. Hindsight is always 20/20, though, and Wash can't do anything except kick himself for an eventuality he hadn't foreseen. Thankfully, Maine gets there before he can get too deep into the self-recrimination. At first, he doesn't know what he's doing, but then the familiar, awful sting of biofoam touches his open skin and he figures it out.
A groan's all that escapes him before the world spins and he's jolting along in Maine's arms like a child. In some respects, it's humiliating. Not just getting injured but being carted around like a sack of potatoes. ]
Yeah. Still here. [ A note of bitterness enters his breathless voice. ] Making stupid fucking mistakes. Sorry about that.
[ Whatever. Now isn't the time to feel humiliation over something like this. And Wash is going to get chided for it once Maine figures out how to fucking fix this. They don't have time to hobble along at a slow pace for Wash to preserve his oxygen. They just don't. He'd be dead within minutes. Not only does Maine not want that to happen for purely selfish reasons, but he doesn't want to have to be the one to tell Carolina that he let Wash die.
Maine doesn't really say much, just makes a low noise of acknowledgement. He's not accepting that apology. He's just not. Wash should know better than that. Ridiculous idiot.
They reach the cave and Maine sets him down, immediately going for his leg. There's no sealant—they're both idiots in that regard—and he's not sure what to do. The metal is corroded all the way through to the undersuit. The bioscan on his HUD lets him know just how much time he has left before Wash runs out of oxygen. It's not a pleasant number to look at.
Then, like it's a gift from some otherworldly being, Maine gets an idea. Reaching up, he begins to remove the left arm of his armor. It'll be easier to just take the damn thing off than to struggle from an odd angle. It's stripped off quick enough and then he's pulling on the brown pauldron piece. It won't compromise his own—they've been blown off in fights before—as they're just additional protection. It takes some effort and for a few moments he wonders if he's going to be able to pull it off. Eventually, though, it comes off with a sound of metal scraping on metal.
Quickly, he reattaches the armor because he's going to need the strength boost for both hands. Maine moves over closer to Wash's leg and kneels there beside it. He rumbles a little something—This is going to hurt—because it's going to with this skin exposed. The biofoam should help a little, but... He finds the best angle to cover the breach and begins bending the metal around it to seal up Wash's armor again. ]
[ This is a mess. A huge fucking mess and whether Maine accepts the apology or not, Wash is going to kick himself for being the weak link. He's better than this. He's sharper than this. He should have seen it coming and avoided it.
Maine sets him down and Wash stares up at his helmet, watching the read-out on his own HUD ticking his life away. He's going to die. They don't have sealant. They don't have replacement pieces for the armor. They don't have backup air sources. And their evac is too far away. That's it. This is where his real service record ends.
There are so many things he needs to say to Maine before he runs out of air. Maine's not going to want to hear it and Wash doesn't want to say some of it, but they've had another chance here and this time, he's going to say what he needs to and he's going to get to say goodbye. ]
Listen... [ Except Maine's yanking off his armor and not listening. ] What are—Oh no.
[ It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's going to do with that. Just like Wash already knows it's going to feel like hell. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I know. Go on.
[ Reaching down, Wash digs his hands into the dirt. It's nothing to really hold on to, but he needs something to do with them that isn't thrash around. Because it does hurt. It hurts a fucking lot. The pain manifests in a wordless, muffled groan, Wash too stubborn to yell about it, and a growled; ]
Hurry up. [ He just wants it over with. ] I can take it.
[ What Wash should stop doing is blaming himself. This shit happens. Everyone gets caught off-guard sometimes. It happens. Maine isn't pissed about it. ...Well, he's pissed, but not at Wash. He wants to raze the whole fucking planet to ashes for this.
But, he's got to be calm for this so he doesn't fuck it up and ruin what he's doing. This can literally make or break what happens. He's trying to make this as easy as possible, but also be quick about it and there's some weird mix going on here that have it feel like it's taking way too fucking long and it's the hardest thing he's ever done. He pushes down hard, knowing it's probably making Wash's skin even worse. But, they're both so littered with scars that he assumes another one won't really matter. He'll be alive to complain about it later, that's the important part.
He gets one side down and bends metal into metal. It's not the easiest task because these suits were designed to take a beating and though Maine is vastly stronger in his suit, he's not invincible. He fucking wishes he was. He rumbles a low noise, not really meaning much other than asking how he's doing, while he works on getting the other side down, too. ]
[ It doesn't matter to him at all. What's one more scar? He's not looking to win any beauty pageants and he doesn't have anyone to impress. Which is a damn good thing, since there isn't a whole lot that's impressive about him in the first place. One ugly blotch on his leg isn't going to make or break anything.
It fucking hurts, though.
Wash clenches his teeth so tightly that his jaw aches. And when that doesn't distract him from it, he bangs his head back against the ground, which doesn't help either. ]
Motherfucking... [ It's a low growl that's directed nowhere. He isn't talking to Maine, just doing something in the hopes that expending energy will spend the pain. ] Christ. [ He sucks in a deep breath, thankful that he can do that at all. ] It's fine. I'm fine. It's okay.
[ It's not okay. Maine isn't stupid. He knows what Wash is doing, but it's not really covering up what's going on here. He doesn't want to hurt this even more, but he's going to. Because even after he gets the other side down, he still has to make sure it's sealed and air-tight. He does try to work quicker though.
Even with the temperature regulation in his suit, he's sweating. This is too close for comfort and he doesn't want to lose Wash now that he's finally gotten him back. That'd just be ironic, though. Poetic fucking justice after everything that's happened.
He works faster, his arms shaking a bit with the effort of pushing the metal down. His body is tired, he can feel it, but he's got to get this done. Which he does moment later with a hard jerk as his hands slip slightly. There's a low noise of apology, but he doesn't stop. If he does, it'll only make it harder on Wash. So, he shifts a little, to get a better hold on Wash's leg and digs out a few tools from his pack. He uses a chisel to get around the edges to hopefully seal it up enough to carry Wash through the rest of this mission. Or at least until he can check with Carolina to see if she has any sealant with her. Otherwise, they're going to have to keep an eye on this to make sure nothing happens.
Seemingly hours-long minutes later, he thinks he's done and he sends the question out there, What's the read out? ]
[ Just for a second, he thinks he's going to pass out. The pain flares up so sharp and blinding that he can't even make a sound. He can't breathe, he can't move, he's just hung suspended in this agonized moment that seems like it won't ever end. Then it snaps and he can breathe again. He can move.
He almost screams.
Through some miracle, dignity prevails and he takes it like a goddamn soldier. A hissing breath. A low humming groan. And it's done. Maine's done and the pain levels out. It doesn't stop: his leg's burned and there's metal digging into it. It's not going to stop until he gets the armor off and the leg treated properly. For now, though, it'll do. ]
Uh... [ He focuses on the HUD's readout. ] Oxygen rising. Levels stabilizing. [ He takes a deep breath. ] It's good. [ His head thunks back to the ground. ] Thank you.
[ There's a tense moment while Wash figures out what the scans are telling him. Maine thinks he might just go cataclysmic if something goes wrong. Without proper supplies, there's little that can be done. But, finally, Wash says everything is stabilizing and Maine can do little more than let out the breath he was holding and falls back off his haunches to sit.
He doesn't say anything—not that it's much of a surprise since he doesn't often talk a lot—and just sits there staring at the ground. It's discolored from Wash's blood and the leaking biofoam and fuck knows what else. Alien blood, maybe. Plasma remnants. Another few tense moments pass when all Maine can see is red and hear the swooshing of his blood in his ears.
He needs to get a grip.
Forcing himself to look away and get up just so he can't see that anymore, Maine rises and begins to pace. Then, thinks better of it and goes to stand watch, his suit flickering for a second before melting into nothingness. The bright white ( or dirty, as it were ) is too obvious in the browns and reds of the desert. Just easier this way.
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( closed to washingtub )
Probably.
Maybe.
Honestly he only really cares about two people making it back to the ship.
There's a lull now. Bodies litter the field and it looks like a slaughter. It doesn't really bother Maine. The lull does. It's silent. Too silent. And that makes him feel like trouble is brewing. Because the Trilk can't have given up and Maine doesn't think they've wiped out the species completely. He remains heavily on guard as he finishes the last leg of his patrol area to join back up with Wash.
Which is, of course, when things fall apart all over again. Time seems to slow and yet it happens so fast that Maine can't even prevent it from happening. That finely crafted control he's been keeping on himself snaps the instant he sees Wash go down. All bets are off now and anyone will be lucky to get off the planet in tact. ]
no subject
He lunges to the side, bringing up his rifle with its dwindling supply of ammunition and starts firing. But it's a few seconds too late to prevent one of the creatures from getting off a shot from its plasma gun.
It hits his leg and sheers through the armor like it's fucking tissue paper. It's not the first time he's gotten a plasma burn, but it's never pleasant. His lower leg lights up into agony and stops supporting him. He goes down with a grunt, trying to roll out of the way of the nearest Trilk's sight. Which is all well and good until he finds himself struggling to breathe.
With embarrassing slowness, he realizes it's the atmosphere leaking in through the damaged armor. Structural integrity's comprised. Fuck. And there's a big goddamn Trilk about to murder him.
It just isn't his day. ]
no subject
Maine reacts on instinct and muscle memory. He moves without really thinking about it, running as fast as he can, activating his camo and barreling into the Trilk about to trample Wash while he's down. The alien doesn't see him coming and has no time to defend. It goes flying and skids in the sand, dazed for the moment. Which is good because there are two more heading toward Maine and he dodges, feints and catches one around the neck, throwing its weight into the other. He doesn't hesitate to further break its neck before he lets go and launches himself at the other. He's brutal in his attack, not really caring what happens just as long as it dies. Ripping one apart with his hands. Stabbing one repeatedly in the throat so it bleeds out, painting the sand a putrid color. Jamming a grenade down another's throat and launching it into a bevy of them.
It feels like hours before the rush of them stops, but it's only been minutes. Carcasses litter the space around them like some sort of morbid halo. For a moment Maine is lost inside his own head as to why he went berserk, but then sees Wash there and it all comes rushing back. He kind of wants to kill all these motherfuckers all over again. At Wash's side, he drops down to his knees, assessing the damage with the bioscan without bothering to ask. That's just wasting even more time.
There's a leak. There's a fucking leak and Maine doesn't know how to fix it just yet. But he can't waste any more time. And they can't stay here. An idea strikes him and he yanks out a cannister of biofoam and injects it into the armor. It's not going to hold forever and it's going to be a shitty seal, but it'll give Wash some proper air for a few minutes. A second later, he's scooping Wash up into his arms and running for some cover. There's a cave nearby that will hopefully provide some cover while he figures out what to do.
There's a low, rumbling sound; he runs faster. Still with me? ]
no subject
Once Maine's there, the Trilk are distracted away from Wash. That reprieve allows him the opportunity to drag himself out of the way of getting trampled, though he isn't quick about it. He'd like to be, but he can't move too quickly. If he does, he'll use up whatever small reserves of air are left in the helmet.
And there isn't a lot of that.
Goddamn it. Should've brought some sealant. Hindsight is always 20/20, though, and Wash can't do anything except kick himself for an eventuality he hadn't foreseen. Thankfully, Maine gets there before he can get too deep into the self-recrimination. At first, he doesn't know what he's doing, but then the familiar, awful sting of biofoam touches his open skin and he figures it out.
A groan's all that escapes him before the world spins and he's jolting along in Maine's arms like a child. In some respects, it's humiliating. Not just getting injured but being carted around like a sack of potatoes. ]
Yeah. Still here. [ A note of bitterness enters his breathless voice. ] Making stupid fucking mistakes. Sorry about that.
no subject
Maine doesn't really say much, just makes a low noise of acknowledgement. He's not accepting that apology. He's just not. Wash should know better than that. Ridiculous idiot.
They reach the cave and Maine sets him down, immediately going for his leg. There's no sealant—they're both idiots in that regard—and he's not sure what to do. The metal is corroded all the way through to the undersuit. The bioscan on his HUD lets him know just how much time he has left before Wash runs out of oxygen. It's not a pleasant number to look at.
Then, like it's a gift from some otherworldly being, Maine gets an idea. Reaching up, he begins to remove the left arm of his armor. It'll be easier to just take the damn thing off than to struggle from an odd angle. It's stripped off quick enough and then he's pulling on the brown pauldron piece. It won't compromise his own—they've been blown off in fights before—as they're just additional protection. It takes some effort and for a few moments he wonders if he's going to be able to pull it off. Eventually, though, it comes off with a sound of metal scraping on metal.
Quickly, he reattaches the armor because he's going to need the strength boost for both hands. Maine moves over closer to Wash's leg and kneels there beside it. He rumbles a little something—This is going to hurt—because it's going to with this skin exposed. The biofoam should help a little, but... He finds the best angle to cover the breach and begins bending the metal around it to seal up Wash's armor again. ]
no subject
Maine sets him down and Wash stares up at his helmet, watching the read-out on his own HUD ticking his life away. He's going to die. They don't have sealant. They don't have replacement pieces for the armor. They don't have backup air sources. And their evac is too far away. That's it. This is where his real service record ends.
There are so many things he needs to say to Maine before he runs out of air. Maine's not going to want to hear it and Wash doesn't want to say some of it, but they've had another chance here and this time, he's going to say what he needs to and he's going to get to say goodbye. ]
Listen... [ Except Maine's yanking off his armor and not listening. ] What are—Oh no.
[ It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's going to do with that. Just like Wash already knows it's going to feel like hell. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I know. Go on.
[ Reaching down, Wash digs his hands into the dirt. It's nothing to really hold on to, but he needs something to do with them that isn't thrash around. Because it does hurt. It hurts a fucking lot. The pain manifests in a wordless, muffled groan, Wash too stubborn to yell about it, and a growled; ]
Hurry up. [ He just wants it over with. ] I can take it.
no subject
But, he's got to be calm for this so he doesn't fuck it up and ruin what he's doing. This can literally make or break what happens. He's trying to make this as easy as possible, but also be quick about it and there's some weird mix going on here that have it feel like it's taking way too fucking long and it's the hardest thing he's ever done. He pushes down hard, knowing it's probably making Wash's skin even worse. But, they're both so littered with scars that he assumes another one won't really matter. He'll be alive to complain about it later, that's the important part.
He gets one side down and bends metal into metal. It's not the easiest task because these suits were designed to take a beating and though Maine is vastly stronger in his suit, he's not invincible. He fucking wishes he was. He rumbles a low noise, not really meaning much other than asking how he's doing, while he works on getting the other side down, too. ]
no subject
It fucking hurts, though.
Wash clenches his teeth so tightly that his jaw aches. And when that doesn't distract him from it, he bangs his head back against the ground, which doesn't help either. ]
Motherfucking... [ It's a low growl that's directed nowhere. He isn't talking to Maine, just doing something in the hopes that expending energy will spend the pain. ] Christ. [ He sucks in a deep breath, thankful that he can do that at all. ] It's fine. I'm fine. It's okay.
no subject
Even with the temperature regulation in his suit, he's sweating. This is too close for comfort and he doesn't want to lose Wash now that he's finally gotten him back. That'd just be ironic, though. Poetic fucking justice after everything that's happened.
He works faster, his arms shaking a bit with the effort of pushing the metal down. His body is tired, he can feel it, but he's got to get this done. Which he does moment later with a hard jerk as his hands slip slightly. There's a low noise of apology, but he doesn't stop. If he does, it'll only make it harder on Wash. So, he shifts a little, to get a better hold on Wash's leg and digs out a few tools from his pack. He uses a chisel to get around the edges to hopefully seal it up enough to carry Wash through the rest of this mission. Or at least until he can check with Carolina to see if she has any sealant with her. Otherwise, they're going to have to keep an eye on this to make sure nothing happens.
Seemingly hours-long minutes later, he thinks he's done and he sends the question out there, What's the read out? ]
no subject
He almost screams.
Through some miracle, dignity prevails and he takes it like a goddamn soldier. A hissing breath. A low humming groan. And it's done. Maine's done and the pain levels out. It doesn't stop: his leg's burned and there's metal digging into it. It's not going to stop until he gets the armor off and the leg treated properly. For now, though, it'll do. ]
Uh... [ He focuses on the HUD's readout. ] Oxygen rising. Levels stabilizing. [ He takes a deep breath. ] It's good. [ His head thunks back to the ground. ] Thank you.
no subject
He doesn't say anything—not that it's much of a surprise since he doesn't often talk a lot—and just sits there staring at the ground. It's discolored from Wash's blood and the leaking biofoam and fuck knows what else. Alien blood, maybe. Plasma remnants. Another few tense moments pass when all Maine can see is red and hear the swooshing of his blood in his ears.
He needs to get a grip.
Forcing himself to look away and get up just so he can't see that anymore, Maine rises and begins to pace. Then, thinks better of it and goes to stand watch, his suit flickering for a second before melting into nothingness. The bright white ( or dirty, as it were ) is too obvious in the browns and reds of the desert. Just easier this way.
Rest. When you're ready, we'll get you up. ]