tushanshu_logs | (no subject)

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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?!”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Kara chuckles a little but his soft kiss has her sighing, convinced a little that this isn't either some weird zombie hallucination or a very real version of the afterlife.

She doesn't...think so, though. It feels real - it seems real.

"You owe me."

"Sure."

He agrees easily, and finally, finally feels a little more stable and looks at her, laughing a little unsteadily.

"I-- Christ. My sweats are soaked."

She looks down at him and blinks, then snorts a laugh.

"You got in the shower with all your clothes on, genius."

"It seemed like a good idea," he mumbles, and starts adjusting them, only to hesitate a moment, still touching her. "Can I shower with you or should I-- go get clothes for you?"

"Separation anxiety?" The humor is back, but she's gripping his wrist and her smile -- that's still strained, too.

"You probably need a shower. You smell like a still."

"I think I was sweating alcohol," he mutters, and makes a face, stroking his hand over her side, slowly shrugging his sweats off and wringing them out as best as he can, tossing them and his boxers outside, too.

As soon as he can, he slips under the spray and makes a face, wrinkling his nose. "Don't ever let me do that again."

Please, York -- get under the spray.

"Okay, I know I'm an alcoholic, but try not to let me be such a bad influence?" She grins, and that's -- really said completely sarcastically.

"How fast did you drop those gut bombs, anyway?"

Yes, good.

York winds his arms right back around her and lets her take most of the spray, his hands wandering after a few moments.

"Too many. Dunno the count."

Her head tips back to rest on her shoulder and she just relaxes and tries not to think too hard.

"Learned a lesson, didn't you."

A good scrub has her hair and face clean and she moves, pushing him back under.

"Tch, sure, we'll go with that," he mumbles, and tries not to sputter at water in his face, up his nose, flinching and ducking obediently as he rinses his hair, keeping a hand on her when his eyes go closed, letting himself sink under the hot water for a moment .

She keeps her hands resting light on his shoulders and leans in to kiss the back of his neck.

"Think Sasquatch passed back out?"

God, no, he doesn't want to think. He wants to go curl up in bed, now that he's up and the world and shower and Kara are all kind of spinning when he closes his eyes. This is fucking miserable. "Probammmmm," he murmurs, melting just like that into her touch, reaching idly for the shampoo to start washing his hair. "Think he had more than me."

This is a rare thing when those two are drunker and more hungover than she is. This is a day to be remembered.

"Damn. Guess I can't punch him in the nose for blowing me up while he's like that."

And just like that, smile gone. York washes the soap out quickly, and just stares at her a moment, lips twisted down unhappily. He doesn't say anything, he just goes to wash her hair, not quite looking at her.

"...Hey."

She reaches for him and awkwardly pulls him close and rests her cheek on his shoulder.

"Sorry. I just -- am..kind of handling it the best way I know how. Which is...pretty frakkin' bad."

Hugging is nice and all, but it's stinging, settling in his stomach that he'd really, truly lost her and nothing he could have done would fix it, just sheer, dumb luck of this place.

"Could be worse," York offers tiredly, and smooths his hands over her sides.