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(no subject)

Characters: Kara Thrace, York, & North
Date: After this.
Location: York’s suite
Situation: Kara died. She respawned and is showing back up a few hours later. Sup guys. How’s it going.
Warnings: Swearing, possible brawling?

Kara had died – she knew she’d died, she’d seen the grenade coming and felt it explode -- and then nothing. She was dead and she knew it – so why was there sea water? Why were people pulling her out of the ocean? It was – just like when she’d first arrived.

After spitting venom and a little bit of vitriol for the majority of the cart ride, Kara was eventually deposited back in front of her suite where she promptly got out and went straight to York’s on unsteady legs.

She doesn’t even knock – she just barrels in.

“York -- North? Where the frak are you two?!”

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They end up drinking almost the entire bottle - York mumbles something tiredly into North's shoulder about alcohol poisoning and bad idea, but it's lost in the rush of not really caring and wanting to drink more, because it tastes okay and he's not caught up thinking about how things went bad, again.

They end up sprawled across the too-small couch, North leaning on one arm, York on the other, his arm hanging on the ground, legs tangled together and in each other's faces.

The door opening doesn't result in him reaching for a gun, sweeping the room like it normally would -- it's a human voice (not zombie) and it's mad, upset, maybe (not zombie) and it makes his hangover roar through his head, nauseating.

So he does the logical thing and drags the blanket over them, sticks his sock-clad toes pretty much in North's mouth, and moans.

North's not in much better shape, though his initial reaction to hearing his name called by an irritable voice is to attempt to sit up, no matter how much such an attempt would make his head reel at this time. He's prevented, though, by York's weight being partially on him, and when he's nearly kicked in the face he shoves York's feet down toward the edge of the couch. His head lolls before he gives up and with a strained exhale he forces first one eye and then the other to open.

Kara stops and stares, hands on her hips as she stands there in the middle of the room.

"Well, what kind of frakkin' welcome home party is this, huh?"

She comes closer, and leans in to look at them both.

"And you drank my booze! Gods-dammit, I wasn't even in the ground yet." She rolls her eyes, then pats - smacks might be a better word - each man on the cheek before stalking off, pulling her wet shirt off and over her head. She's damp, salty, and in need of a shower.

"Wake up, frakkers! I'm home."

Oh, god. He's hallucinating.

York blinks up at her, and feels his heart sink into his stomach as he stares at her, glancing at North to see if it's just him.

"Christ, no," he mumbles, and presses his hands to his face again, warding off the headache threatening, and then stops. The hand smacking his cheek feels entirely real, and he stumbles to his feet, trailing after her, picking her sea-wet shirt off the ground and holding it, not sure what the fuck is going on.

"Who the hell are you?"

North's just as anxious and puzzled by this as his friend, but as he rises it all seems to click into place. This is the place between life and death and dreams, of course she isn't dead. Though how she's returned isn't quite so clear to him. He sits up, then stands, slightly unsteady.

"It's Kara," he says in response to York's question, more mumbled to himself than anything.

She stops in her tracks and turns around, jacket in her hand. Her eyes trail York's figure from head to toe and to the hand that's holding her shirt.

"Who the hell do I look like? Damn sure not the Emperor."

Excuse her while she's shimmying out of those pants - nothing worse than wet, stiff, salty clothing.

"You and I," she points at North, "are going to have to have a chit chat later. Face meet fist kind of chat." She grins, but it's a little shaky, then turns back around to peel the flightsuit pants off, balling them up to toss in a corner. She'll wash them later.

Okay, a hallucination. He can cope. He can deal.

He's got this shit.

Very carefully, he gathers up the pants (feels real?) and the shirt (still real??) and then looks at her, swallowing around cotton mouth, licking his dry, chapped lips, and focusing his good eye on her. It takes him clearing his throat, but he manages, very clearly, "You're stripping in my hallway."

He just reaches up to rub at his forehead before retaking his seat. No doubt about it, that's Kara. How is still flashing a big fat question mark in his head. He closes his eyes, feeling a little bit unsteady, even just sitting.

"Oh, so I die and now its yours?"

And yes - yes she is. She knows North is sitting there and she doesn't care. She is -- really stressed out right now despite the cockiness, and she's making a beeline for the shower.

"You'll get over it, I'm sure." Off comes the rest and she disappears into the bathroom, lock sliding with a soft click.

"Hallucinations can't do that," he says as politely as he can but it comes out more upset, his head throbbing, and the fucking hallucination locks the door in his bathroom, and this is just not okay in the slightest.

York glances back at North, rubbing at his good eye, and staggers to his bedroom, dropping the wet clothes in the laundry, picking the bathroom lock without a second thought. It's not possible, but he's not sure what else it could be - hallucinations don't lock doors and zombies don't take showers, but he's still not firing on all cylinders so he staggers into the bathroom, and sits on the closed toilet, head in his hands.

"Ghosts can't work a shower."

In that case North's just going to lie right back down and see if he falls asleep again. He's already kind of accepted what's happening here, better than York seems to be doing.

York is in denial - it's a man thing.

"It's rude to march in on someone showering," Kara snips, poking her wet head out to look. "And I'm not a ghost."

But people don't come back, not like that - not after what happened. York tries to explain that, tries to get all of it out, and then looks at her, and closes his mouth, slowly standing up and reaching out and pushing a hand through wet hair, before his expression just crumples, because this is just too fucking much right now, when his head's throbbing and he's not sure how the fuck this even happened.

"How?"

Edited 2013-01-30 06:30 (UTC)

There was a reason she was acting cocky and self assured, because she knew that if she got a good look at his face then she'd lose all sense of her self control. She hadn't wanted to do that, hadn't wanted to wear her heart on her sleeve again, but the second his hand is in her wet hair and she sees that face fall, hers goes too.

"I don't know," she says, voice hitching. "I don't -- frakking know."

"Okay," he agrees, because it makes sense she didn't know, and it makes sense that they're in this weirdass place with zombies and why shouldn't someone come back to life?

York looks like, for a moment, he wants to just step in there and hug her, and squints his good eye down at what he's wearing and back up at her. Nope, doesn't care.

"I really want to hug you right now. F'that's okay."

She just looks at him for a second, pulling in ragged breaths that indicate a very fierce battle she's having with herself to keep it together.

Then she nods.

"Yeah. That's okay."

He could take his clothes off, but that's too much work. The water's hot and she's chilled and York steps into the shower as carefully as he can after toeing off his socks and curls both arms around her, pressing his face into wet hair, getting soaked in an instant and not giving two shits.

It's an embrace that's tightly returned, face equally bured in his shoulder as his is into her hair. She doesn't understand how she's alive, she's supposed to be dead, but she supposed it didn't matter.

Not really, anyway.

He's not going to cry - he flat out fucking refuses, she's back, she's fine, and he knows that, but his eyes are burning a little, and he slides his hand up her water-slick back, stroking over familiar skin. It becomes clear after a few moments what he's looking for - scars, something, anything that shows what happened, even if he doesn't want to know.

There's water raining down and Kara is so, so thankful there is. This way, tears don't really show and that makes it a little bit easier to face him and still somehow save face.

"In one piece, right?" Nothing missing, nothing broken.

"Looks--" He swallows, the word catching awkwardly in his throat and he glances up at her, gritting his teeth a moment before he gets himself back together, composed. "Looks like."

That doesn't mean they're any closer to figuring out why this happened, but he'll take what he can get, take what small blessings he can and hold tight to them, refuse to let go.

"Do you feel okay-?"

"Yeah. Sure. Never been better, you know?"

Except she has, before the whole dying thing. She was in a lot better shape then, really.

Both were, actually.

"You're shitfaced. You drank all my booze."

And they're getting showered and her fingertips are touching his lips.

"You and Sasquatch."

He laughs, a little wetly, and gingerly tries to take his shirt off, tossing it out onto the tile with a wet flop.

When his eyes wander over her, it's not sexual in the slightest. She's almost died-- did die for real, but almost permanently and he has to make sure she's okay.

"--And I'm not. I was," he starts, stopping when her fingers touch his lips, and he leans in, kissing them gently, meeting her eyes with his good one and curling his arms right back around her, heedless of his sweats being soaked and sagging on his hips. "I'm really--I regret drinking that. I knew I would but I-- won't do that again."

"Hungover?" She suggests, smiling a little though it's strained.

"Mhm. I'm back now, so -- you have to." She rests her head on his shoulder then, still feeling shaken and not just a little disturbed. "Celebratory. It's required."

"S'all gone," he murmurs apologetically, and slides a large hand up, strokes it through her hair, pushing it back behind her ear and slicked back, and dips down and finally kisses her. It's nowhere near the hot, open-mouthed kisses from before - it's tentative, soft, and he draws back as soon as he does it, stroking his fingers all over her wet skin again. "I'll buy you some replacement."