trouble with protocol

           ❛ RELAX. ❜

      HE’S BEEN CHEWING THE END OF A CIGARILLO         for the past fifteen minutes,  hands  easy-resting  on         the steering wheel while his elbow dips precariously         in his dashboard ashtray.      Slowly, very slowly, his         head turns and he regards him  with an unfailing am-         ount of compassion and understanding.      Truly, he         understands the fear, the apprehension.   He remem-         bers, back to  the days of shaggy  hair  and  stained         button-ups,   the  way  excitement  and  anticipation         crawled up his spine like a slick WORM.     His hand         lifts and knuckles brush the other’s arm in some sort         of comforting touch ( keep it together, boy ) and he                                                                                     nods.

             ❛ TOUT ES TRÉS BIEN. YOU CAN DO THIS. ❜

Wick takes a deep breath like the word relax was an order and not a comforting suggestion. The air expands his lungs and gives him a momentary illusion that maybe this was all going to work out. Too bad confidence wasn't contagious.         He wasn't raised for this. Serving appetizers to his         mother's friends when they came over to play bridge,        and having his head buried in a book. That was the        part he'd been groomed to play, not second-hand        drug pusher. Yet, here he was, he liked to blame it        on the failing economy and the gross abuse of the        capatilist system, but in reality is was that he'd        learned how to turn an easy dollar and someone        told him that he could make that multiple with a         little luck and a little faith. 

she had no clue how she’d brushed over the access panel on the metal, and she’s internally scolding herself for missing such an important detail on the pile. she’ll spare a roll of her eyes as he gives her a raise eyebrow in her direction, crossing her arms. she walks over and crouches down next to him, staring at the access panel. it was bent and crumpled, but it looked like, with some effort, it’d give and open. “i didn’t even see it. but, i have a feeling there’s not gonna be much to work with.”

“some people out on a run to find some more food found it and lugged it back for us to look at.” she watches as he peels off the panel, her own curiosity showing in her eyes.

It only takes a few minutes with them both prying at the twisted tin can for the panel to come loose. He peels it back carefully and squints at the twist of wires underneath.          His breath catches for a minute at the look of         the circuit board and computer components.         He's not sure exactly what he's seeing, but         if it's what he thinks it is, it sure doesn't make         any damn sense. 

    he feigns offense at his words, dropping     the weight where he’s told to with a grunt     before straightening & facing wick.  ❛ i’m a great teacher. i’m just normally teaching    fighting or scouting not—   my  own  language.            would teaching me english be so easy for you? ❜

   there’s attitude in his voice but, he’s smirking.  ❛ you clearly don’t have a talent in language, at least. ❜

  "I mean, I probably still need someone to teach me English."      He admits it with a sheepish smile, crouching to inventory      his supplies. There were still a few things he needed to      salvage, but his request for a small leave from camp hadn't      been approved so to speak. 

                ❝Somedays? I’d love to make a bomb, but I’m                 about five HUNDRED percent that would get                 me floated and I actually enjoy living most of                 the time.❞ There’s even a hint of a smile on                 her lips as she speaks. She’d love to see                 SOMETHING go boom.

                       Explosions were something she had always                        wanted to see. Maybe the girl was a bit of a                        PYRO at heart, but no one really needed to                        have that information. A sigh passes her lips                        as an eyebrow quirks and she continues                        toying with the box.

                ❝They shouldn’t be sticking people who                 don’t know what they;re doing on things                 like that.❞ Yes she’s judging the mechanic                 who clearly had fucked up but, then again,                 she’s no better now is she? 3 MONTHS of                 oxygen W A S T E D .

                          ❝So what have you been up to lately, Wick?                           you haven’t been around to ANNOY me as of                           late.❞

It takes a moment before his fingers stumble over some broken wire, and he's splicing and capping it off before he can even consciously recognize the problem. Some things were just ingrained now, muscle memory, sure they had electricians, but floating out in the middle of space...it sort of paid to be a clutch player. Be good at more than just one or two things. He can't stop himself from glancing up at Raven when she talks.     He should maintain focus, but he wasn't strong enough to     look away from her when she was actually attempting a     conversation with him. It was a rare honor that he wasn't     just dismissed with a huff and a snappy comment. Maybe     it was the alcohol, whatever, he’d take it.  A smile sticks to his face as she talks about blowing stuff up. He'd been joking, but he could see that he'd hit a bit of a nerve. The excited glow of her eyes was enough to make him gulp a bit and look back down at his hands. 

                    They need to know. It is knowledge that bears down on her shoulders, that plagues her thoughts ( she cannot budge it with the clawing of her fingers: they need to know. They have to know—they must know. ) She is stubborn, and she is sure ( she will follow her father with his plans, with her tongue as her sword—it is a blade, and she sits, she sharpens it, she laps steel in brittle flecks across the FEAR that threatens to engulf her. )

‘ He’s busy right now. ’ It is only worry that sinks in her stomach—why is he busy? What is he doing? The Ark is running out of oxygen—that’s what he’s doing. Fixing it. ( she doesn’t think about consequence, repercussions—she doesn’t think of losing her father before her eyes. He’ll fix it. They need to know. )

                    ‘ You can come in though—I don’t think he’ll be long. ’ She swings the door open, and sits back where her homework ( trivial, frivolous—the Ark is running out of oxygen and she’s stuck poring over finding surds ) is sprawled across the desk.

                                        ‘ You’re an engineer, right? ’

   A roll of his shoulders does nothing to ease the tension curling there,    something was off and he wasn't sure if it was any of his business.    He couldn't seem to shake the sense that the room he was entering    was steeped in discomfort, and for some reason it was times like    these that he was reminded how thin those cold metal walls were.    How small a distance separated life from the vacuum of space.         Then again maybe the mysterious summons, and the         awkward teenager weren't anything to get so macabre         about. In fact both of those things were more common-         place when he put a little rational to it. Eyes scan the homework spread on the table, he didn't miss those days. He preferred practical experience, not that he didn't find himself buried in papers with a pen half chewed hanging out of his mouth, but at least he really got to build stuff now. School was so dry. 

【 ‹              Ｒ               › 】

     ❝Oh my god.❞ She sighs, shaking her head      at him in an act of semi-faux dismay as she      gives his hand a playful squeeze. This is what      she needs. She wants him to pause her worry,      to wipe away the sadness that had resided in      her chest for far too long now. 

            He makes her forget. & That’s exactly             what she needs. 

      ❝If your head gets any damn bigger, it’ll float off       like  a  helium  balloon.❞ She declares, pouting       slightly as she raises a brow at him. Raven was       a  proud  owner  of  an  excellent poker face. But       laughing at his jokes in secret? No. Well, maybe       once. Or twice. 

            She lets her gaze linger on his, her stare almost             calculating. She’s working out what it is about him             that makes her feel so valued. She wants to know             what about him causes her heart to implode like it             does. It’s confusing, & it’s all so new. 

  But she doesn’t want it to stop. 

     ❝I was about to invite you into this stupid bed      with me. But then I remembered it’s not big      enough for you, me, & your ego.❞

The playful gleam in her eyes, replacing the lingering darkness, is worth a thousand jokes at his expense. She squeezes his hand and he applies a gentle pressure in return, anything to remind her that he was here with her and he wasn't going anywhere.    It takes him a moment to realize he's holding his breath,     that she hasn't looked down or away, that she's holding    his gaze and letting that light in instead of turning away    from it. Of course healing would take time, not just the    physical wounds, but invisible injuries as well, he was    just happy that they could look at each other like this. His eyebrows raise when she finally cracks a joke, and he can't keep the grin off his face. "Who's the jokester now? "