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riverviewlogs2018-09-16 07:16 pm
volitaunt) wrote in riverviewlogs2018-09-16 07:16 pm
Entry tags:
we are high and we are fine
who: Poe Dameron + John Sheppard
what: An exploratory patrol outside of the wall via shuttle
when: During Dragosta
where: Outside the wall/in the jungle
warnings: Talk of torture, maybe other warnings later.
[ They agree without really talking about it directly. Talk about wanting to fly out, go on a longer patrol mission, see if they can spot more ruins outside the city. Neither one of them says what Poe is pretty sure they're both thinking--they want out of the city, away from this festival and its magics and its focus on romance.
Poe isn't sure what to make of the fact that they decide to run away from a romantic festival together, but he's trying not to read into it or be hurt by it. They're past that. They're fine.
They've got supplies for about a week's worth of flying, fuel included. Three days out, three days back. It's a long time to spend alone together, but maybe they need it. Maybe then can stop having awkward pauses in their conversations.
Poe hopes so, anyway.
They fly silently for the first few hours, and Poe can feel the tension leaving him as the tree pass below them and low-flying creatures drift on the wind at a distance from the shuttle. He leans forward just a little to peer out through the hood and get a better view of the Capital World and its pale colors against the sky. ]
Reminds me of home sometimes.
[ He's described Yavin to John before, the great red gas giant glowing in the light of its sun. For a second Poe aches for home, a kind of desperate longing he's almost used to at this point.
He sits back in his chair again. ]
I'm glad we're doing this.
what: An exploratory patrol outside of the wall via shuttle
when: During Dragosta
where: Outside the wall/in the jungle
warnings: Talk of torture, maybe other warnings later.
[ They agree without really talking about it directly. Talk about wanting to fly out, go on a longer patrol mission, see if they can spot more ruins outside the city. Neither one of them says what Poe is pretty sure they're both thinking--they want out of the city, away from this festival and its magics and its focus on romance.
Poe isn't sure what to make of the fact that they decide to run away from a romantic festival together, but he's trying not to read into it or be hurt by it. They're past that. They're fine.
They've got supplies for about a week's worth of flying, fuel included. Three days out, three days back. It's a long time to spend alone together, but maybe they need it. Maybe then can stop having awkward pauses in their conversations.
Poe hopes so, anyway.
They fly silently for the first few hours, and Poe can feel the tension leaving him as the tree pass below them and low-flying creatures drift on the wind at a distance from the shuttle. He leans forward just a little to peer out through the hood and get a better view of the Capital World and its pale colors against the sky. ]
Reminds me of home sometimes.
[ He's described Yavin to John before, the great red gas giant glowing in the light of its sun. For a second Poe aches for home, a kind of desperate longing he's almost used to at this point.
He sits back in his chair again. ]
I'm glad we're doing this.
no subject
[ He's letting John have the controls for now. He's satisfied in the copilot's chair, coasting over the jungle.
BB-8 makes a disconsolate noise, rolling up between their chairs. Poe reaches down to rub his dome. ]
He misses his flight socket.
no subject
[John eases the shuttle down into a low cruising altitude, just below the clouds. It's a longer route going through the mountains instead of over, but you can't beat the view.
It's a beautiful moon, and with the low hanging sun colouring the glacier tipped ridges like stained glass... the view is almost romantic. Not that John's into that.
They're here on business. Business and platonic pleasure. Far, far away from the forced romantic shenanigans holding the city hostage.]
Does he serve refreshments? I could use a sparkling water. Or a beer.
That's what copilots are for.
no subject
Poe opens up the cooler, pulling out two bottles--of non-alcoholic beer.
He comes back and offers one to John. ]
I figured it was better for both of us to avoid the booze.
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Mostly, he just likes giving Poe a hard time. That's friendship with John Sheppard.
They both know he wouldn't actually touch a drop of alcohol before or during a flight. John's problems with booze stay at the bar, or behind closed doors in the comfort of his own home. Like most of his problems.]
You didn't bring any pretzels, did you? My people are very serious about in-flight pretzels. We whither away and die without a shot of grease, salt, and bread every two hours.
[There's a blip on the HUD, John puts his beer between his thighs (his flying space kingdom for a cup-holder in the shuttle) and taps between the lower and rear environment projections.]
That's weird. I'm getting magnetic interference from the west. Might be one of the old towers still scrambling. Ran into one of those a few months ago, leftover from the war or something. Jammed us up good.
Can you check comms? I'll go over sensors top to bottom.
no subject
[ BB-8 plugs in to a small socket in the wall and the whining turns into a tinny whistle, getting louder. Poe hisses in pain and switches the comms off. ]
Any idea what that is, bud?
[ BB-8 makes a blart noise. ]
Great. Comms are a no-go.
no subject
[John's got one finger in his ear, the other manning the controls. Not a day goes by he doesn't miss the mind-activated interface of the jumpers.
Communications being down isn't good, but they're better off keeping to one of their original flight-plan than turning back unexpectedly without ears. Last time, all it took was landing to escape interference.
He flicks through the sensors with two fingers, eyes forward, in case they aren't getting accurate readings.]
Good. Good. Good. Good.
[An innocuous beep.]
Bad. Very bad. We've lost hostile radar detection and ECM, I'm gonna turn us around-
[It's too late. No time for cloaking, flares, or chaff. They take a hit that throws the shuttle sideways, every sensor screaming as the computer attempts to right itself.
John pulls himself off the dash, blood dripping from his brow and grips the thruster and joystick with both hands.]
Going in for a manual landing while we've still got controls. Poe, check damages.
no subject
[ BB-8 shrieks as something starts sparking behind them. Poe hisses. ] Fuck. Make that all the environmental scanners--
[ Another impact. This time Poe's face hits the console and he feels his cheek split as new alarms start blaring. ] Starboard engines failing, environmental seals breached.
[ Poe's tone says what all the failing systems already have: well, fuck. ]
no subject
John grabs Poe by the collar of his shirt and yanks him down to the ground, practically kicking him beneath the dash. Somewhere he can't get thrown around, sucked into the atmosphere, or pulverized against the windshield during impact. John's belted in. Poe isn't.
Everything is failing, but John still has his eyes, ears, and hands. Even as their too-rapid descent starts wreaking havoc on his depth perception and general equilibrium. When equipment fails, a pilot can only rely on their experience.
This isn't John's first crash landing, and it isn't Poe's either.
He pulls the nose back as far as he can, creating as much resistance beneath the frame as possible to kill some momentum. Anything to keep them from going headfirst into a dirt-nap.
John's arms are shaking, vision going dark at the edges, but he can't let go. Won't let go. Not until they're on the ground, or dead.]
Gimme a hand-
no subject
He glances behind him, enough to see BB-8 with his grapples locked on to the floor of the shuttle. One less thing to worry about.
A few flipped switches and he grabs the controls, pulling back until he feels them start to shake in his grip. ]
Pretty sure. Universe is telling us. Not to dri--
[ All at once the jungle opens up beneath them. The trees vanish, replaced by acres of machinery. Poe starts to say what the fuck, but he doesn't have time. They hit the ground hard, metal screaming, droid shrieking, alarms wailing. Something hits Poe in the head and knocks him into the dark. ]
no subject
[He's leaning over him, peeling open one of Poe's eyes between his thumb and index finger to try and get a look at his pupils. For any signs of responsiveness other than a heartbeat.]
Give him a shock, Bee.
[John wipes his bloody face against the back of his sleeve. It's hot. Because the shuttle is on fire. Even on the ground, as far away as John could drag the other man's body, the heat singes the skin and hurts to breathe.]
C'mon, wake up. No sleeping on the job.
no subject
It isn't until he feels the numbing blaze of electricity from BB-8's arc welder. It snaps him back to consciousness, to a ringing in his ears and the roar of flames. Everything is light and heat and the shadow of John's face hanging over him.
He's dizzy, but he knows they need to move. There's no ignoring that. ]
I'm good. [ A slurred croak. BB-8 whistles concern as Poe tries to roll onto his hands and knees. ]
no subject
Good. Cause I'm not. You just about gave me a goddamn heartache.
[Only sweet relief grants him the ability to be annoyed, even jokingly, in the moment. John was scared half to death. Still is scared. They need to get out of here. There's so much that could go wrong, and it always does.]
Can you feel everything? Move everything? Wiggle your fingers and toes.
[John's head hurts, he's not in great shape either, but he wasn't out for any length of time, and he can sure as hell feel everything, because everything hurts.
His fingers card through Poe's hair, searching for any deep gashes or ruptures on his scalp. Signs of head trauma. It's impossible to tell by sight thanks to the thick of those curls.]
For once, I'm thankful for your thick skull.
no subject
Poe rolls onto his side, gets his leg under himself, levers himself up onto one knee, feeling blood ooze from behind his ear to drip onto his neck. He sways, reaching out blindly to try and grab John's shoulder. ]
Jim's gonna be pissed.
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[John slings an arm under Poe's waist, hauling him up onto his feet. As soon as they're steady enough to walk, they're walking, because the shuttle could blow at any minute. John doesn't know if it will, but they don't want to be around to find out. If the shuttle doesn't explode, they can always come back later to assess damage and scavenge.
It's dark beneath the cloak, and the smoke doesn't help. The skeletons of fallen air-frames glitter from the shadows. John limps faster, danger prickling at the back of his neck, glancing from ship to ship until he finds one with open hangar doors they can crawl inside. Shelter, and relative safety.
John sets Poe down on the nearest bench, and nearly goes down with him. He's bleeding somewhere. A piece of shrapnel somewhere in his back. He won't feel it until he comes down from the adrenaline.]
Poe. Here. Stay with me. If you think I'm letting you die after saving your ass from those Koolaid drinkers you've got another thing coming.
no subject
[ It's half to John, have to BB-8, who's whistling concern and fascination with their surroundings at the same time. Poe didn't really see what they were moving past, not when he's so distracted by the feel of blood curving behind his ear and the pinpricks of light in his vision.
He gives John a shaky smile. ] How many rescues do I owe you now?
[ BB-8 whistles to get their attention, his holographic projector glowing to life as he displays his scans of the area. Seemingly endless corpses of ships. There's no mistaking those silhouettes. Poe closes his eyes for a moment, struggles to open them again. ]
At least we don't have to feel too bad about going down. Seems like we're in good company.
no subject
[John stands, bracing his hands against his lower back to squint around the rusted and overgrown interior.]
Guess that makes us the life of the party.
[Har har. Because they're still alive. Mostly.
John digs around beneath the benches and roots through the overhead storage space until he finds what looks like a mostly intact first-aid kit. Cracking it open, the supplies are thankfully familiar. And sterile. Kneeling in front of Poe, he gets to work. Slow and steady. In a very loose sense of the word. John's hands are shaking so hard it takes him two tries to tear open a bandage, and far longer than it should to slap it over the gash splitting Poe's brow.
He's tired, he's dizzy, but he has a job to do, and John won't stop until he's done. Or dies trying.]
Anywhere else?
no subject
He focuses on John's face instead. ]
What about you? You look like hell.
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[He can function. Close enough. John tilts Poe's head to one side to get a better look at the wound, and almost has to turn his own head to vomit. The gash is deep enough he can see bone. John doesn't have a weak stomach, but there's only so much a man can take in the span of an hour.
He swallows the bile down, disinfects the area, blocking out any whining/cursing/pleading, grabs the handheld surgical stapler and gets to work closing up the side of Poe's head. It takes twelve clicks before John can't see more of Poe than he's ever wanted to see. He almost drops the stapler when he's done, sitting back on his ass so he doesn't fall over.]
That's as good as it's gonna get until we can find another kit with better tech. We'll have to go shopping tomorrow.
no subject
I'm good.
[ If he says it enough maybe it'll be true.
For a second, he feels a burst of fear and gratitude, trying not to think about what would have happened if he'd gone out in that shuttle alone. He grips John's wrist, the fear showing in spite of himself. ]
You don't get to say you're all right and then keel over.
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[That said, John is feeling less than alright now that he's not moving.
He reaches back over his shoulder to feel for the pinch in his back. It's a bad idea. Rotating his scapula really drives home the fact there's a piece of fucking shrapnel sticking out of him.
John doesn't say anything, just jabs a thumb in the general direction of his back.]
no subject
It's not pretty. There are two pieces of shrapnel dug into John's back, close to each other, but not so close that he can't be patched up. ]
I hope that stapler has some left.
no subject
[John makes an attempt to shrug out of his uniform top, but it's currently pinned to his back, so he doesn't get much farther than a grunt, scowl, and nearly keeling over for real.
Remembering the fear in Poe's eyes, John grits his teeth and gathers his wits. The one or two that haven't been bled/sweat out into a puddle on the floor.]
Just get it out and I'll be fine. Nothing I haven't lived through before.
no subject
His fingertips find the rebar scar and linger there for a moment, like a kid touching a security blanket. ]
You still have your gun?
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[The touch to that scar, an ugly twist of tissue below his ribs crisscrossed with an even deeper, uglier twist makes the hair on the back of his arms stand up. Even through the exhaustion, panic, and pain Poe manages to get a reaction out of him without trying.
He gestures to his holstered sidearm, strapped snugly against his thigh.]
When you were out, BB-8 did a sweep. He said we were the only organic lifeforms in the area.
[Yeah, John actually can understand him.]
no subject
I must have hit my head harder than I thought.
[ No, he has no idea that he cut his head open down to the bone, and it's for the best, really. ]
You said BB-8 said there are no organic lifeforms in the area.
[ A beat. ]
How long have you...?
[ U know what. ]
Doesn't matter. We should... try to get some rest.
no subject
[John keeps first watch. Poe keeps second. Third watch doesn't happen. When the sun begins to filter through the cloak both men are slumped on the floor.
It's a long day of working too damn hard to accomplish too damn little. The shuttle isn't a total write-off, and they're able to scavenge some supplies from their own wreck, and a few others. Enough food, water, and gear to set themselves up in one of the more intact shuttles and start figuring things out.
John is screwing around with a rusted portable stove, getting increasingly frustrated at one failed attempt after another to get some stable heat going. The cloak affects the weather. It's hot during the day and cold at night.
An MRE tray sits mostly untouched on the floor beside him. Spaghetti and something. John's more invested in starting a fire to warm the place up and boiling water.]
Breathe, John. Breathe.
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[ Poe puts his hands over John's without thinking about it, moving them away from the stove so he can replace them with his own. ] I'm the mechanic.
[ He's tired, exhausted really, the pounding in his skull that started during his watch worse now than it was at the beginning of the day. It's like the thump of his heartbeat hitting his skull just above his ear. Working on the stove gives him something to do, something to focus on, something productive.
It takes about twenty minutes, but he gets the thing going. BB-8 probably could have done it in half the time, but Poe wanted to get it working himself. ]
no subject
Too bad we don't have any marshmallows.
[Poe should knows what those are. They've roasted marshmallows together before. It was one of the first things they did during their romantic getaway. Made s'mores too. In a way, this is like a hellish version of their ill-fated vacation. Just the two of them, cut off from civilization and roughing it in the wilderness. They even found a ship.
Make that ships plural. John hasn't counted the wrecks, but there's enough rusting frames that the valley looks like an abandoned airfield.
Since Poe took over, John's been counting bullets and checking weapons. He's pried more than one rifle from the hands of a charred skeleton, and at least two of them are in working order, or will be with a little elbow grease.]
On a scale of kidnapped to getting your ass beaten by Kylo Ren, how are you feeling?
no subject
Worse than getting thrown into a tree, better than having my hands tied behind my back for a week.
[ As if in response to the memory, his muscles twinge. He's starting to wonder if that will ever really go away, if he should go back to the hospital and ask them to work their literal magic.
Doesn't matter. Either way, they're going to end up at the hospital when this is over.
At least this comes without the pain of someone breaking his mind open, the danger of others being killed in front of him while he's helpless to stop it. It's bad, but it could be so much worse. For a second Poe stares into space, those memories creeping over him like a slow-rising wave, but he blinks and he's back in the present. ]
You?
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[John really shouldn't smile, but he does. Slow and wolfish. His eyes as sharp as his teeth.
There's so much John shouldn't have done, but did, and now he's paying for it. He shouldn't have fallen for Poe. He shouldn't have fell apart when Poe left him. He shouldn't have tortured and possibly killed Kylo Ren for a kidnapping he didn't commit. And he shouldn't have enjoyed it.
His smile fades as he looks at Poe, then away.]
Did you ever find out what happened to him?
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[ Poe can't tell how he feels about that, even now. He's glad Kylo Ren is gone. He's angry that Kylo Ren and Hux got to go back, but he and Finn haven't.
Poe pokes at the little stove, coaxing a taller flame out of it. ]
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[When John last saw Kylo he was more dead than alive. Bruised. Bloody. Broken. Fingers missing nails. Face beaten into an unrecognizable pulp.
He remembers how red his hands were. How red the floor was. How red the walls were. For a moment, all he sees is red. Tastes iron in his mouth. John closes his eyes. Inhales. Exhales.
What John wants to do is lie to Poe. Like he's been lying to him for the past two or three months about almost everything.]
I should probably tell you something. Probably should've told you a while back, but I didn't know how.
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[ Poe turns to look at him, surprised and wary. ]
That doesn't sound good.
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[John rubs a hand over his jaw, his eyes on the floor. Glad for the space between them. He doesn't want to see the look on Poe's face.
John wasn't thinking that far ahead when he captured Kylo. All that mattered was getting Poe back. Whatever happened after that would be worth it. John will go as far as it takes to protect the people he loves.]
I tranqued him in the back, and imprisoned him in a power-nullifying container Rodney developed. He wouldn't tell me where you were. Denied taking you. So I used every trick in the book to make him talk. Y'know. The book people don't talk about.
The original plan was to get what I needed and make what was left of Kylo disappear, but when we got word about the cult... dumped him outside a hospital and waited to be arrested. Then he disappeared himself. Thought he might've died and wound up in the morgue or something.
no subject
The book people don't talk about.
He can almost hear his own screams echoing back at him from the walls of the Finalizer, past the haze of pain, neuroshocks, abuse. He flicks ahead mentally to that conversation with Rey and Leia, that desperation for them to understand what it all meant.
That Rey, that Leia, hadn't gotten it. They hadn't cared enough about Kylo Ren's crimes--
Except that's not what it was. They hadn't cared about him.
Poe doesn't realize he's moving. The world is a seesawing blur. But he finds John, he finds John's hair with his hands, John's mouth with his own, and kisses him so tenderly a person might think Poe was afraid of hurting him.
Maybe that's not far from the truth. ]
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Poe's lips are so soft against his lips he could cry. John doesn't deserve this. He fucked up. In the time he spent hurting Kylo he could have been finding Poe. Instead he wasted three days torturing the wrong man while Poe was being beaten into submission by cultists.
His hand finds the front of Poe's jacket, gripping onto his collar for support, to ground himself in what feels like an impossible moment. Is this really happening, or is John lying on the floor of the burning shuttle with his head split open, dreaming away what little time he has left in this world?
If he is dreaming, he doesn't want to wake up before he goes, but he's never wanted something to be real more badly than this.
John swallows his emotions just long enough to rasp out the words he's been choking down since they met against Poe's mouth before kissing back, his lips as gentle as he knows how.]
I'd do anything for you.
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Thank you. Thank you. [ Quiet. Thin. ] I missed you so much.
[ He eases back, head pounding, almost afraid to look John in the face again. ]
I would too. [ He swallows, throat squeezing. ] Please believe me.
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[But John wants this. He wants it more than to take back what he did to Kylo Ren. He wants Poe more than he wants to try and be a better man. It's too late for that. Too late for him.
Looking into Poe's eyes, so dark and wet John could drown in them, he lifts a hand to cup Poe's jaw. They're both so busted up that together they almost make one man. For the first time in John's life he felt some semblance of wholeness.
He never felt so empty when Poe walked away from him. Not until Rodney, Elizabeth, and Carson left him behind. Now John doesn't know how he feels. Most days, if he's lucky, he feels nothing at all.]
I want to.
[Quietly, his thumb stroking Poe's cheekbone, something like a smile ghosts over John's lips. The truth is, John doesn't believe anyone. Not when it comes to loving him. At this point in his life, John's not sure it matters.
Poe doesn't need to want him. All he has to do is need him.]
You're worth it. All of it.
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It cuts. Poe thinks he probably deserves it. He's betrayed John enough to deserve it. He doesn't move as John strokes his cheek, afraid to break whatever kind of spell they've found themselves under, injured and honest and alone.
Even if John never believes him, right at this moment he's willing to spend as much time as they have trying to prove it.
Poe lets his hands fall away from John's hair, resting them on the man's hips, pulling them together gently.
I've missed you so damn much. ]
I didn't just kiss you because of what you did.
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[John's hands go to Poe's hair, mindful of his stapled scalp, twisting dark curls around his fingers like he's been dying to since Poe stopped being his to touch.
Face to face, body to body, John can almost forget they've been apart for longer than they were together. They fit together in all the wrong ways just right.]
I missed you too. Every goddamn day.
no subject
A half-dozen voices play in his head, people urging him to talk to John, to take the leap, to stop being afraid of what could happen. Figures they were right. Figures he spent all this time holding back for no reason.
Poe's skull is pounding when he breaks the kiss this time, but he doesn't care. ]
I'm sorry. [ Blurted out. What he tried to say back when John was sick, when he pinned Poe against the wall of the shuttle and told him exactly what he thought of him. Something Poe thought he wouldn't really have the chance to say again. ] I'm really sorry, I'm... I fucked up, bad, I know I did.