#oc_mish

Mish dragged her hand over her face. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd go away. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the pillow over her head.

"ThunderGoat to DoomSquirrel. Come in, DoomSquirrel."

Mish ground her teeth together.

The simulated sound of static followed. "Bzzsstt. Come in, DoomSqui--"

Mish launched herself violently out of her cot, and made it to the door in three strides. She yanked the door open, and Riko fell in, in an ungainly sprawl. His lips were still pursed from having been pressed to the seam of the door. He was still wearing his med tech uniform. Dishevelled, as usual.

"Riko, if you're here to raid my stash of snacks again, I swear I will end you."

Riko rolled onto his back. Pressed his head against the floor so he was looking at her upside down. Prone, he pushed himself across the floor toward her. His wiry frame took up almost all the floor space.

"I'm hurt you'd think that's all I want from you. Maybe I'm here for a booty call. Maybe I need a friendly listening ear. Maybe--"

His hand rose towards her snack basket. She slapped it away, lifted the basket abruptly out of reach.

"Noooo..." he moaned with feeling. His splayed fingers followed the basket as she moved over his head and stashed it in the tiny alcove above the sink. He dropped his hands dramatically onto his chest.

Mish picked up her pillow from the floor and sank tiredly onto her cot.

"What do you want, Riko. My shift starts early. I really need sleep."

He rolled over, and raised himself on his elbows. His face split in a mischievous grin.

"This is better. Bring a towel." +++++++++++++++

He keyed a long sequence into the door pad, whistled a note that sounded uncannily like the unlock tone, and the door slid open.

It was the therapy pool. Glowing in the dark. Steaming gently. Empty.

She had never seen it empty.

Mish's mouth fell open. "Riko! How?"

He hustled her in, and the door hissed shut behind them. He giggled giddily.

"A couple of months back, I saw that the pool was due for maintenance. I tweaked the maintenance timelog so the system would think it would take twelve hours instead of ten."

"But the coma patients and the hydrotherapy protocols..."

"Two additional hours in a stasis pod isn't going to kill anyone."

Mish squealed, her hand over her mouth.

"I haven't swum since I was... since..."

"Since you were ten. You told me."

Her eyes wide. Delighted. Her eyes turned to the pool. She was vibrating with barely contained joy.

"Go."

"I'm going."

"Go, Mish."

"Give me a minute."

She took a deep breath. Then dropped her towel on the floor and started stripping out of her standard issue sleepgear to her undergarments.

Before she was done, Riko was streaking past her in his boxers. He let out a yodel that reverberated off the tiled walls and cannonballed into the water. Mish joined him seconds later, laughing wildly. +++++++++++++++

The only light came from inside the pool, casting luminous turqouise ribbons across the wall tiles. Steam hung in the air, moving slow.

Mish was on the edge of the pool, kicking her feet slowly under the water. Riko surfaced next to her, pushing wet hair out of his eyes.

"The water tastes weird. Why does the water taste weird?"

"Med gel," she said. "From the stasis pods."

"Yuck." Riko shuddered.

A long, companionable moment of silence. Vapour curled up from their skin.

"What's that?" she said, jerking her chin at a barcode near the inside of his elbow.

Riko looked down to where she was pointing.

"This? Ah, yes... First tragic loss of my young life. The barcode for NeuroPop gummies. No idea why they'd discontinue them.”

Mish rolled her eyes. "People were having hallucinations."

"That was the point of them."

"How about those?" She pointed out a little row of tiny food icons on the side of his torso, along his ribs. A little apple. A rice cake. A noodle cup. She couldn't see the rest around the curve of his ribs. Each one looked like it had been tattooed at a different time.

He looked. "These? First things I ate after each time I almost coded on the frontline."

Mish's face went still, but she didn't say anything.

Riko smile quirked. "My favourite was the Zenthian mandarin orange after shrapnel almost got me. Ever had one? Orange, not the shrapnel. I'd run through fire to have one again. The noodle cup is a close second--"

He saw her face. Redirected smoothly.

"Hey, show me one of yours."

"How do you know I have any?"

Riko flicked a drop of water at her. "You do."

"I do." She grinned. Peeled back the waistband of her shorts to expose a tattoo on her hip bone. An elegant line, like a reed, bending.

"A reminder to flex, not break."

Riko smiled.

She pulled her leg out of the water. Turned her foot so he could see the tiny x on the back of her heel.

"To remind me not to go backwards."

Riko rested his chin on one hand and reached out his other, tracing the x with a finger.

"Beautiful. And I have a snack barcode."

Her nose crinkled with her smile. "Without it, how would anyone know how much you cost?"

Riko laughed.

The water lapped softly.

Riko spoke first. "Hey, how are things with that doctor guy? The devastatingly good-looking one with the white temple streaks?"

Mish sighed. "Dr. Venn? Ended."

"No. I thought he was just your type. Distinguished. Mature."

"Whiny. Needy. Entitled."

"Ah."

She looked at him. "I heard Killi asked you out."

"Yeah, she did."

"She's cute."

"She is." Riko blew bubbles under the water line. Then thought better of it.

"We went out a couple of times. I felt bad to say no. Her eyes... that woman weaponises the way she looks at people."

Mish laughed. "Yeah, I've seen it."

"She started trying to unbuckle my belt after the second date. I told her my lab results were technically clean, but I was still itching."

Mish barked out an inelegant laugh. "So that's why that story's been spreading."

Riko chuckled. He went quiet.

"I don't think I'm built that way. For anyone."

Mish tilted her head, studying him. Something unreadable passed over her face. She made a noncommittal sound in her throat.

The silence stretched between them.

Then, lightly: "Not even for me?"

The silence changed. Took on a frozen edge.

Riko looked up slowly at her, stricken.

Mish grinned. "Look at your face. You've survived blasts and hallucinatory snacks, and this is what ends you? Weak."

Riko laughed with relief, his hand clutched over his heart.

"God, Mish."

Silence stretched comfortably between them.

Riko looked up at her again.

"Thank you."

She looked at him. "What for?"

"For... I don't know, really. For not... For not... steering it somewhere I couldn’t follow.""

She dripped water on his head. “Wrong coordinates for me too.”

He took her hand, put it against his cheek and leaned into it.

The moment ended gently. He pulled himself out of the water, sat beside her.

"Grav's been asking me when we're getting together," he said.

"Yeah, the girls in my unit have been asking the same thing. And Venn is still trying to get back. Annoying."

Riko shrugged. "I don't really care."

"I do." Mish swirled the surface of the water with a finger. "It's exhausting."

"Just ignore them." He wiggled his long fingers in the air, like he was waving away a bad idea.

Mish frowned.

"What if," she said. Riko angled towards her, and he watched the crease between her eyebrows smooth out.

She turned to him. "What if we... just... stopped denying it?"

Riko looked at her. A grin started spreading on his face.

"Let them think we're smoochy heart buddies? Let them think we're doing the boinky doinky?"

Mish made a face. "Nobody calls it that."

Riko pushed out his chest and thudded his fist against it. "That's because they have no poetry in their soul."

"Would you mind? It would save me so much... energy."

“Mind? I would love it. Takes me off the meat market. Plus, think of the fun: locking ourselves in closets, moaning rhythmically, knocking things around, coming out with stupid grins and fetchingly tousled hair--”

"Oh God, I am starting to regret this--"

A sound at the door. Both their heads whipped around.

The beeping of the keypad and a muffled curse behind the door. "It won't open-"

Both of them at the same time: "Shit."

Then Riko, hissing, "Go!"

They ran for their clothes and towels, scooped everything up and pelted for the side exit, their laughter edged with mild hysteria.

+++++++++++++++

This one's a standalone story featuring my OCs in a pretty whumpy story universe, but this specific story isn't whumpy at all. Genre-wise It's more fluffy? But it's particularly close to my heart, because it was through doing some research on orientations that I came to realise that not only is my OC Riko aroace, but I myself am too. Blew my mind and destabilised my reality for a while. if you're up to it, leave a comment! Even if its an emoji. I'll promise I will love it and try to eat it. Over and out ⚡️

++++++++++++++++++

Masterlist

Her mind flashes to the injectors she saw in his med kit. There was an anticonvulsant-- For a frantic moment, the urge to grab it and jab it into his thigh is overwhelming.

No.

She doesn't know what he's on. Doesn't know what's causing the seizures. She can't afford to make guesses.

The seizure lasts just under a minute. She knows because she times it.

Riko's last spasm sends his leg kicking out inside his room; something crashes unseen behind the half closed door.

“Riko?” she calls, and she hates how her voice cracks. He opens his eyes but they don’t track her. His throat moves without sound, his Adam’s apple shifting under blood going tacky.

She reminds herself that he's a patient and that she's a nurse.

But all she wants to do is sit here and hold him. She grips him hard, and her palms remember the sensation of his muscles bunching spasmodically against them.

His nose has started bleeding again. Blood is trickling into his hair, falling freely off his face to drip onto the floor. She can't stop looking.

"Stop it," she tells herself. "Get up. Move."

She forces her muscles to activate. Pushes herself up. And against every instinct, she turns away from Riko.

Help. She needs to get help.

Someone has to be here. They can help her lift Riko, carry him--

She bangs on doors, leaving red smears on them. Her voice comes out tight and compressed; "Help! Anyone! Someone--"

Nothing. Everyone is at the cafeteria for dinner. They’ll be here in half an hour, but right now the corridor yawns wide and vacant.

A cleaning bot hums along the seam of the wall in the distance.

Behind her, a soft scuffle against the floor. The sound of Riko starting to convulse again. The hiss of the door trying to close on him.

There is an emergency comm unit near the showers. If she runs, she can get there and--

A door cracks open down the hall. It's Grav, leaning his hefty frame out of his pod.

"Grav!" she gasps. "Riko! He--"

He takes one look at her face, flushed, stricken-- and looks beyond her at Riko’s body spilled halfway out into the corridor, his limbs twitching, blood running slick down his neck.

“Shit,” Grav says succinctly.

Behind him, Mish makes out the form of a woman, coming to the door. “Grav?” the woman says.

A head pops out. Grimma.

Grimma the facility nurse.

She's bra-less in a too-big t-shirt, black lace panties showing under the hem. Her hair is not in her usual severe bun, instead hanging loose and tousled around her face.

Mish's brain does a skip and a stutter.

Grav and Grimma. Wait till Riko hears about this.

Grimma's eyes snap to Riko. “Shit.”

And both of them are moving immediately, sprinting down the corridor.

They drop down next to Riko, tilting him onto his back. And even though Mish knows they have never officially worked together on a team, they act in tandem, as if they've been practicing.

Practicing! her mind howls, with inappropriate hilarity. The voice she hears in her head is Riko's.

They scan him quickly, the hands of a nurse and emergency med tech moving with experienced speed over Riko.

“Seizing,” Grimma says. “And burning. What the hell happened?”

“I-- I don't know-- I was trying to get him to the showers--” Mish says, tripping over herself.

“Good call,” Grimma says. “Grav, lift.”

Riko has gone still. They hoist him up, unevenly. His legs crook awkwardly, as if he's a broken toy.

They move fast, his arms slung loose around their shoulders, his skin searing the back of their necks. He hangs like a dead weight, his head swinging limp between them.

His nosebleed spatters an erratic pattern on the white floor. Behind them, his dragging feet smear it into a broken trail, like a painter drunkenly wielding a brush.

Ahead of them, Mish pushes the door open as they reach the communal showers. Riko is propped in the corner of the nearest stall, his head lolling on his shoulder.

Mish yanks at the showerhead, aiming it at his slumped figure. Swings the knob violently all the way to cold.

The blast of water hits him full on.

He jerks, limbs snapping up gracelessly; a puppet whose strings have been brusquely yanked.

“F-uck!” he yells.

His voice is high and furious, startled and cracking on the syllable. His eyes are wide and wet as he looks at Mish with a look of such abject betrayal--

Her heart clenches painfully and her knuckles go white around the showerhead.

Then his head sags, and he crumples sideways, sliding down the tiled wall. His legs fold awkwardly under him, his arms limp and extended across the tiled floor of the shower stall.

The water pelts down, uninterrupted.

His clothes go translucent, plastered against his skin. His bootlaces dangle into the drain with the weight of the water.

Mish starts to shiver. She watches as the blood on him washes away in pink sheets across the tiles, going around her work shoes.

And then, again.

His hands twitch first, and then his fingers splay and claw into shapes she has never seen Riko make. Seconds later, he goes into full-body convulsions.

He thrashes violently, his back arching. His jaw is clenched so tight it changes the shape of his face. His head jerks repeatedly, and she drops hurriedly to her knees beside him. She grips his head between her palms, trying to keep it from slamming against the tile.

Her knuckles are getting bruised.

Mish lets out a breath that sounds like a sob. But it's not. Because she's not crying, she's not. She's a nurse, this is a patient, she needs to get it together, this is just a patient--

“Hang on, Mish--” Grimma is already at the wall panel, slamming the emergency intercom.

“We have a medical emergency in the communal showers, level B12-- seizures, possible hyperpyrexia--”

Grav has picked up the showerhead and is keeping the water coming. She's completely soaked now, and there's blood pinking the knees of her uniform.

Mish holds him until he goes still again, and this time, he looks so gone that she has to press her shaking fingers into his neck to assure herself that his heart didn't stop.

He looks absolutely awful, like a bad copy of himself. As if someone ran out of colours except chalky whites and bruised greys and tried to paint him with their non-dominant hand.

She can see a sliver of his eyes through his lids, and she knows he's unconscious. Still, she peers past the clumped lashes, trying to see if she can find any spark of him in his eyes.

Blood is leaking out of his nose, spilling over her hands.

She's not a nurse anymore. She's just... she's just holding on to him.

She wonders if "fuck" is going to be the last thing he says to her.

+++++++++++++++++

The med team arrives in minutes. She tells them as much as she knows, which is nothing. Except the number of times he seized since she found him, and for how long.

They roll his sodden, limp body onto the gurney and strap him down, and as they push him out the communal showers, she makes as if to go with them.

Grimma steps in her way. Mish tries to go around her, but Grimma puts out her hands on her shoulders and grips hard enough that Mish stops.

"Mish, don't," she says.

"I have to go, in case-- maybe I can help, if they need extra hands, I can--"

Grimma shakes her head. "Mish, they've got him. They'll take care of him."

Mish's gaze follows the gurney as it is wheeled out of sight. Riko's face is white and insensate under the oxygen mask, his head tilted back. The last thing she sees as the door swings shut behind the gurney is his one bare foot, next to his boot, which is still laced onto his other foot.

"I need to go with him," Mish says. "He-- he needs his sock."

Grimma's eyes drop to Mish's hand, curled in a death grip around Riko's dripping sock. The one Mish had pulled off him as he was being strapped onto the gurney.

Grimma's gaze comes back up to Mish's face. It is strangely blank and distant.

"Don't do this to yourself. There's no waiting room where they're taking him. You'd see everything," Grimma says.

Mish blinks, as if waking up. She looks sharply at Grimma. "I'm a professional nurse."

Grimma purses her lips, and then says very kindly. "Not right now, you're not. You're his friend. And you're in shock."

A thick, soft towel comes over Mish's shoulders, enveloping her.

Grav.

He layers it over her, and holds her gently from behind.

Mish feels herself start to shake in his embrace. Her shoulders shivering. Something rattling loose inside her.

He holds her for a long moment. A slow squeeze, and then he lets go.

He hands a towel to Grimma, who accepts it, and starts to wrap it around her waist. She speaks quietly to Grav as she does so, they both look at her.

Mish feels like a child being discussed. Her fingers grip tighter over the sock, and she feels water being wrung out of it. She bends her head to look.

The runoff is pink. And Mish shudders, a convulsive, full-body shake that feels like she's a dog trying to shake off water.

Grimma is right. She mustn't go with Riko. She couldn't watch and not do anything.

"I'm going to go with them," Grimma says. "I'll let you know immediately when I know anything certain."

Mish nods numbly. Grimma gives Mish a shoulder squeeze, and then walks out the communal showers, still barefoot, a towel wrapped around her waist.

Now Grav's arm is around her shoulder, and he's guiding her out the door too. But they turn right, back towards the pods.

The cafeteria crowd is trickling back in now. Mish can see where some of them had accidentally walked over Riko's blood spatters, leaving footprints. They are hushed and wide-eyed, watching as Grav walks her down the corridor.

She's dripping water, leaving waterlogged footsteps in her wake. They are diluting the blood on the floor.

She's ok. She's fine. It's just water.

Someone is standing outside Riko's door, staring at the blood smeared on the floor in front of it. He looks up at them as they approach, concern plain on his face.

"What happened? Is that Riko's blood?" he says.

Grav makes as if to walk Mish past the room, but she stops. "I need to go in," she says.

Grav looks at her. "Did you leave something in there? I really don't think you should--"

She pauses. Worries her lower lip.

"My dinner's in there," she says. "Could you grab it for me?"

Before Grav can stop her, she steps forward and keys in the door code. The door slides open, and the man from the corridor comes up next to her, craning to look in. Mish can see the bloody cot from where she's standing.

Grav steps in, and pauses, looking around. He sees the trays she left on the counter, and grabs them, carefully stepping around the smear of blood on the floor in the shape of Riko's face.

"That's a whole lot of blood," the man says. "Is he ok?"

"No," she says. "That's from his nosebleed. I found him. He was seizing."

She turns and looks at him, and something in her face makes him say, "Shit."

And he goes silent.

Before Grav gets to the door, she calls to him. "Hey," she says. "Could you also grab the plant?"

She watches him glance around again, and reach over to pick up the plant, balancing it on top of the trays. He steps out, letting the door slide close behind him.

"Let's go," he says to Mish.

"Thanks," she says. "I don't want him to come back and find it all dried up."

She lets him guide her down the hall towards the elevators back to her floor.

"Hey, uh," the man says as they walk past him. "I'm glad you found him."

"Yeah," Mish says softly.

"He's, uh, one of the good ones," the man says, somewhat lamely.

Before the elevator doors shut, she sees the little cleaning bot trundle up in front of Riko's room. It pauses in front of the smears of blood and plays its teeny cleaning melody.

It makes something twist up inside her. Riko had whistled the same tune after spilling coffee all over himself.

It had made her laugh.

The bot glides over the blood, leaving clean floor in its wake. In a few seconds, it will be as if Riko had never bled there.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4 (Next chapters coming soon. Check the Signal War Masterlist for updates!) << Main Masterlist << Signal War Note: The cleaning bot is a paid actor.

By the time Mish arrives at the triage bay she's assigned, the patient has been stabilised, but they still need extra hands to finish up.

"Do you know what happened?" she asks Niah.

Behind her blood-speckled visor, Niah's soft features draw together. "Traffic drones went bonkers and crashed into the transit grid during peak hour."

"Fifty-three confirmed injuries," Grimma says. "And more coming, according to Grav."

"Shit," Mish breathes.

Niah leans toward Mish. "They're saying it was an attack. That it was retaliation for the military action at--"

Grimma interrupts her. "We don't have any confirmed information, so let's not speculate."

Niah nods amiably. "I'm just worried about Riko. Isn't he attached to some military outfit? Do you know if he's ok?"

Mish keeps her eyes on the patient's vitals. Her hands move with certainty. "Yeah, ten days outfield. He's back today."

Grimma glances up from her data pad. "Do you know who the team lead is?"

Mish's looks to the ceiling, just for a second, as she tries to remember. "Someone called Hallen? Halden?"

"Oh," Niah says. And Mish catches it when her eyes flick over to Grimma. Grimma's lips are pressed together.

"What?" Mish says.

"I heard his operation is... intense," Niah says carefully.

"He burns through people like jet fuel," Grimma says bluntly.

Niah glances at Mish. "But Riko was a field medic on the frontlines. So he's used to that sort of pace, right?"

Mish's hands slow. She's not worried. Is she?

She's seen him at work. He acts like an idiot half the time, but he works like a beast. She can't imagine him not being able to handle anything. This guy, Hallen, Halden, whatever, he couldn't run Riko down if he tried.

Mish shrugs. "Riko will be fine. He's like a roach. Unsquashable."

"Mish!" Niah exclaims, shocked. "That's mean!"

Mish grins. "It's not mean if it's true."

"Speak of the devil," Grimma says, jerking her chin at the entrance of the emergency room.

Riko is standing there, being briefed by someone in scrubs. He's in his field uniform, looking more washed out than usual, but fine otherwise. His kit is strapped onto him in that peculiar way he has always insisted was "better".

"Mish, Mishy, Mish, look, let me show you, it's so much more ergonomic if you strap it on like this."

A quick series of clicks as he deftly secured the buckles. "See? If you tighten this strap, then thread this strap to this part..."

Riko pushed the furniture aside to create space in the nap lounge so he could bounce in place, showing her how securely it was fastened on to his body.

"Look! No shifting. No jouncing. And like this, the straps even hold the vest cam more securely.” He waggled his shoulders enthusiastically.

“Secure! Fashionable! Aaaand if you need to run--" and here he emulated a ridiculous, lurching gait across the room, "you can pull your next injector like this-- and deploy it like this--"

He swung the injector through the air in a wide arc, making an epic swishing noise at the same time.

Mish had looked up from where she was sprawled on the couch, her data pad propped on her stomach. She sighed. "When would I ever need to be primed for frontline medicine?"

Riko stopped running on the spot, and his face flickered strangely. The good humour slipped from his expression.

Without looking, he slowly unbuckled his kit, the one he hadn't used since he'd last been outfield.

"Frontline deployments suck," he said quietly. "I'm glad you’ll never have to use any of my field hacks."

He pulled it off and looked at it for a beat, his thumb rubbing absently over a rust-coloured stain on a strap.

Mish looked at him, her face carefully neutral. And then, “Didn’t you come to the nap room to take a nap?”

A slow smile spread lopsidedly across Riko’s face. “A nap room. For napping. That’s crazy. What other insane facilities are there here?”

He tossed the kit onto the table, then sprawled himself onto the couch with his head on her lap. He had grinned up at her from under her data pad, and to his credit, had obeyed when she warned him not to distract her.

She’d been surprised that he fell asleep while she worked, only jerking awake when she accidentally dropped her stylus on his face.

“You're the world’s most violent alarm clock,” he had groused, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The senior med is talking to him, and now Riko is being pointed to one of the trauma bays. He nods.

"See," Mish says, "He's fine."

"He does look okay," Niah says, relieved.

Riko unbuckles his vest and med bag, fingers fumbling slightly. He slings both behind the nurse's station. As he rolls up his sleeves, he glances around the triage floor. It takes him a couple of beats to find her even though she’s waving at him.

His eyes scrunch up when he sees her. He smooches the palm of his hand, and lobs the imaginary kiss in an overhand toss, over and above the mayhem.

She pretends to smack it out of the air. Grinds it underfoot.

He shows her the middle finger. She shows it back.

"Told you. Roach," Mish says.

"Aww, not a roach,” Niah says. “Maybe one of those cute little bugs, like, like a--"

"Stink bug."

"Mish!"

Riko gowns up, and here he has trouble with threading his arms through the armholes of the flimsy garment.

“You sure your boy is ok, Mish?” Grimma says, sounding bemused.

Niah makes a sympathetic noise. “He must be really tired.”

“Or malfunctioning,” Mish sighs.

The three of them watch him struggle with the garment as if it’s trying to eat him alive.

When he finally wrestles it into submission, he lifts his head to see the three of them watching him. Mish shakes her head slowly at him, deeply unimpressed.

He jerks two thumbs up at them with a grin, bright and stupid.

Mish rolls her eyes. “He’s only mine when he’s not being a toddler.”

Still, Mish keeps her eye on him as he threads his way through bedlam, almost tripping over the cleaner drone trying to trundle past. He squares his shoulders just as he is absorbed into the chaos of his assigned triage bay.

++++++++

Six hours later, Mish pulls off her gloves and tosses them into the bin, wandering out of the triage wing with the rest of the staff who had been pulled in to help handle the worst of the emergency overflow.

She finds Riko in the corridor, leaning his head against the vending machine. He looks deflated, his disposable scrubs crumpled and hanging off him as if he had tried to take it off and given up.

"Are they out of your favourite candy again?" she asks, pulling off her scrub cap.

He turns to her, and she's taken aback by how awful he looks. The bags around his eyes are so dark as to look like bruises, and his skin looks grey and parchment-like.

He grimaces at her in what she thinks is an attempted grin. "I can't get it out. It's right there, but the button doesn't work."

She leans over and looks at the button he's been pressing. His finger is pressed against the "cancel order" button.

She looks up at him, concerned. "Riko, that's not the... you're pressing the wrong button."

"Wha-?" he says, and he brings his finger up and looks at it as if it's the problem.

Mish leans across him and presses the button for RarrJuice, and a neon purple packet falls out of the machine.

She picks it up and hands it to him. "That bad, huh. The field deployment."

His hand closes over the packet, brushing hers. His skin is dry and rough, and his fingers stutter close over the packet in a strange, delayed way. As if he's a badly executed stop-motion animation.

"What? No. The vacation was absolutely lovely. Excellent accommodation. Gorgeous views. Superb entertainment. 10/10."

Again, that stilted grimace.

He looks at the candy in his hand, and his hand falls to his side. "Thanks, Squirrel," he exhales.

His shoulders sag further, and even the gown seems to hang lower on his frame. "I'm too tired to... to whatever."

"You look it," she says, frowning. "Go back to your pod. Sleep. You have a couple of hours before dinner."

His voice is flat and colourless. “That shift was hellshish— shellhish— ugh, it was bad. Super bad.”

Mish looks at him, taking in the off-kilter stance, the strange, almost-wince on his face. "Hey, tell you what, I'll grab you a tray and we can eat in your pod. No need to queue, sit in a crowd, or talk to people."

He's looking at her blankly.

"Riko?"

He blinks hard. Licks his lips. He looks like he wants to cry. She has never seen Riko cry.

He blinks again, squinching his eyes hard. "Yes," he says.

And then he looks at the candy in his hand, and his eyebrows go up in surprise, as if he's seeing it for the first time.

"Oh hey, look, guess the vending machine does work."

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4 (Next chapters coming soon. Check the Signal War Masterlist for updates!) << Main Masterlist << Signal War

If Mish had known he'd have so much fun when she asked him to pretend they were together, she would have asked him sooner.

And she has to admit, it has been absurdly effective. Nobody has tried to hit on either of them anymore. People have also stopped asking for details on their relationship, because Riko treats every question as an invitation to launch into one of his increasingly elaborate stories about their imaginary sex life. According to his tales, they are both world-class gymnasts.

The corridors are white and empty now. No slouching bodies to dodge, nobody to interrupt her forward momentum with bids for meaningless conversation. Nobody to trigger Riko's unhinged story-telling.

The trays are too unwieldy to hold in anything less than a two-handed grasp, so she doesn’t try to key the code to Riko's pod. Simply taps the door with her foot.

"Riko. It's me. Dinner." She waits.

Nothing.

"Come on, Riko, my hands are full. Open the door." Another series of taps. Harder now.

She frowns when the door remains unopened. He's never been a heavy sleeper; he must be wiped to be sleeping through this.

Still, she feels aggrieved as she shifts the trays so they're wedged between her torso and her arm, and starts entering the code to his room with the other hand.

"I'm coming in. If you're naked you better cover up your dangly bits," she says, as the door slides open.

It's dim and humid in his room.

He's on his cot, still asleep, his back to the door. His shirt is twisted half up his torso, and the bumps of his spine are visible in the low light.

She frowns, noting his weight loss. Good thing he isn't skipping dinner today, then. Not with her watching out for him.

She almost trips over his bag, which is laying on its side, discarded in the middle of the floor.

She hisses in annoyance, catching herself just in time not to send the trays to the floor.

She sets them on the counter a little louder than she has to.

"Riko. Dinner. Look, I even got you a pudding cup." She kicks his bag against the wall with her foot, making room.

He remains on his side, his ribs rising and falling visibly from where she is.

"Come on, Riko, you don't have to finish it all, but eat a couple of bites at least."

He still isn't responding.

His breath is whistling faintly. It reminds her of those overbred puppies with the squashed up faces. As a kid, her neighbour had one of those. And Riko sounds exactly like it.

A peculiar whistling grunt. Or grunty whistle.

"Come on, quit snoring. Eat now, sleep after."

His blanket is tangled at the bottom of the bed, and a socked foot hangs off the edge of the cot. His other foot still has its boot on.

It's the boot that makes her pause. Too messy, even for him. And, now that she thinks about it… in all the time she's known him, she’s never seen him sleep with his back to the door.

It only takes the few steps to reach him, and it gets warmer as she approaches. He's radiating heat into the air.

She puts a knee on the cot next to his hip and leans over his body to look at his face. It is half-shadowed, angled toward the wall. His chin is tucked towards his chest and his hair is plastered with sweat against his forehead.

Her brain can't make sense of what she's seeing-- because--

She freezes.

His face is painted red. Blood has fanned out over the side of his face, slicked down his neck to pool under his ear and jaw. His collar and the fabric covering his shoulder are entirely soaked with it.

There's even blood spattered on the wall, streaking down in thick red lines.

There's an instant where her mind is completely blank. A long, suspended moment where she studies the blood on the wall, sees how it's gone tacky, and how every streak gathers at the end in a tiny bead.

And then reality slams back. Time moves again.

She grabs his shoulder. "Riko--" It's so unnaturally hot that her hand springs open again, as if she's been scorched.

He flinches under her touch.

“Watch out,” he mutters darkly. “Everything smells like… metal…” His eyes flicker, but don't open fully.

She curses. She pulls at him so he's face up. He makes a noise like an animal in pain, and his eyebrows draw together. She pats his face urgently.

"Riko, shit, you’re really warm. Can you hear me?"

He blinks slowly. His eyes are glossy, too bright. "Mm," he says, like his brain is processing what she's said, instead of cooking inside the oven of his skull.

He's so hot. She can feel the heat of his face radiating through the space between them, prickling her skin through the fabric of her uniform.

She scrambles off the cot, goes to his sink. Drenches his face-towel in water and drapes it, dripping, over his forehead. He hisses like it is scalding him, lurching away from her. His hands are up, trying to push it off his face.

"Stop it," he mutters. "Not funny."

He bats at her hands, and she catches the towel before it can hit the floor. It's already warm.

Again, at the sink. She soaks the towel again, replacing the heat of the towel with cold water.

Her hands are shaking.

This time, when she places it over his neck, he jerks violently away from her.

"Hey hey hey," he says. "Fr' real, stop--" He tries to pull the towel off his neck, and keeps missing. By the time he finally makes contact and yanks it off him, the towel has lost all its coolness.

Mish holds it in her hand, staring at the fabric that has pinked with blood, taking in the speed at which the towel picked up his heat.

She puts her hand to his forehead, and then his neck. They are marginally cooler. But heating up again. So quickly.

Shit. Shit. His brain is going to turn to mush.

"Whoa," he says, squirming under her touch. "Wear your gloves, man."

She lets the towel drop to the cot, and starts tugging at him instead.

"Riko, get up. I need to get you to the showers."

She manages to wrangle him into a sitting position. His hair is matted with blood on one side, standing stiffly up in a way that would have made her laugh if she wasn't so scared. He wobbles precariously, gripping the edges of the bed.

“Hm,” he says, thoughtfully. As if the change in altitude has given him something important to consider.

He’s upright for all of two seconds, and then he starts tipping over the other side.

"Oop," he says, bemused.

She grabs him before he can fall fully on his side. Props him upright again and holds his face between her hands.

He watches her placidly.

"Riko, listen to me," she says, "I need you to help me, I need you to stand on three? Okay?"

He blinks slowly, beyond understanding. He looks at her as if her face is a puzzle and he's missing a piece.

She wedges her shoulder under his armpit-- so hot-- and counts to three, tugging him up with her hand around his waistband.

To his credit, he manages to get a foot under himself-- and then his knees fold, and he brings her down with him.

She slams into the ground with her shoulder, the impact knocking a grunt out of her. Riko is face down next to her. He mutters something low and quizzical into the floor.

She shoves herself up. Her shoulder twinges, and she knows it’s going to bruise later. But she barely registers it.

She needs to move him. She needs to call for help.

Her comm bud. She pats her pockets frantically, trying to locate it on her person.

Nothing.

And she remembers leaving it to charge on her bedside unit. She hadn't thought to bring it with her. Why would she? She was off-duty.

Riko's comm device. She has to find it so she can call for help.

She pats him down aggressively, pushing her hands into his pockets and rooting around inside them.

She hears him chuckle weakly. "I'm not ticklish. I'm not. Stop."

She pushes off the floor and goes hunting for it. All the room surfaces are empty of the small device. She pulls open his drawers. Nothing.

She even rummages through his med kit. Not there.

She kneels by him, putting her head low next to his. His hair has fallen over his eyes. She pushes it back so he can see her.

"Riko," she says urgently. "Your comm bud. Where is it?"

He blinks. His mouth is squashed sideways against the floor.

"Um," he says.

"Your comm bud," she repeats, as patiently as she can.

His mouth moves, mushed as it is by the position of his face on the floor. "It's..." he says. "It's the thingy... you put it in your ear." And he brings up his hand and taps the side of his head.

"...it's for talk-- for talky--"

"I know what it is, Riko. Where is it."

He frowns. "What? Where is what?"

Her desperation makes her clutch at him. "Riko! Pay attention! Where is your comm bud!"

He looks suddenly awake. "Whoa," he says, like he's trying to calm down a rampaging animal. "So cranky."

He pats her knee comfortingly. "Eat something," he suggests kindly.

His hand is hot against her knee. She's losing time.

She looks around frantically, her mind in overdrive. Her gaze snags on indigo fabric on his cot.

The blanket!

She yanks it off the cot, snaps it open on the floor, and rolls Riko brusquely onto it. He's a dead weight, all knees and elbows.

A blood print in the shape of his profile stains the floor where his face had been pressed. Mish tries not to dwell on it.

And then a thought ambushes her: I have no good pictures of him. He looks so stupid in all of them.

She gives herself a sharp shake and grabs the edge of the fabric. Starts hauling him toward the door. It hisses open and she lurches through.

A dull thwok resounds on the doorway behind her as his head smacks into it.

“Ow,” he says, mildly. The sound of a child surprised that physics can hurt.

She manages to pull him halfway out into the corridor. In the bright light of the hallway, he looks even worse. The blood on his face stands out starkly against the strange pallor of his skin. His pulse thrums against the skin of his throat, too fast.

The door hisses, starts to close on his body. Bumps into his midsection, hisses open again.

She tries to get him around the door. She can't.

She crouches by him, panting. Slaps his cheek.

"Riko. Riko."

A sharp inhale. He looks at her, eyes glassy. "Mish..."

His face folds slowly into concern. "What’s wrong? You okay?"

His hand finds her wrist, wrapping burning fingers around it.

“Riko, I need you to get up. Now.”

He frowns. "Now?"

The door hisses again, bumps into his side.

He looks down, annoyed. Slurring, "Hey, stop. Bad Mr. Shark, you can't--"

She pulls at him, "Riko! Get up! Now!"

His gaze swings up to her again. She can see his eyes drifting.

"Geez, okay," he mutters. "I'm coming."

He rolls slowly, Mish pushing to help. He shifts his shoulder to put an elbow against the floor. Pauses.

“Heh,” he says. His mouth quirks up in a half-smile, and he purses his lips, as if he's about to say something stupid.

"Riko, don't," Mish snaps.

"Nnn-" His eyes roll back in his head, and he goes down.

"Riko!"

His jaw clenches, a low sound caught in his throat.

He starts to seize.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4 (Next chapters coming soon. Check the Signal War Masterlist for updates!) << Main Masterlist << Signal War Note: How many times can a person seize before their brain melts? Dunno 🤷🏻‍♀️ Let's all just pretend medicine is magic. OooOOoooOOooo magic.

He looks at his backpack next to the cot. An undershirt is spilling out of the top of it. Is there anything else to put in it?

He looks around. The hamper is empty, a lone sock lying sadly next to it. He kicks the sock towards the backpack.

There. Packed.

There's a strange pull in the middle of his chest. He puts his hand on his sternum, surprised. A name rises unbidden.

Mish.

"Maybe I'll say goodbye," he mutters uneasily.

Probably not. No reason to break his rule. Only hellos, never goodbyes.

It must be the plant. He knew it'd been a mistake to let her put it in his room.

"It needs water every three days," she had said, looking at him sternly. "THREE DAYS."

He should have said no, with a laugh and a smile, should have pushed it back into her hands.

Stupid plant.

He lets out a frustrated sound, rubs his face with a hand.

Why is this so hard? This isn't even the longest time he'd been assigned to a place.

The longest time he'd stayed in one place was five months, on a frontline deployment, just off the Jombian border. It was also the assignment where he'd almost coded three times. The turnover rate there was high, and not from people being reassigned.

Okay. He'd stick to the plan. No goodbye. He'd pack, leave the plant outside Mish's door on the way out. She'd still be asleep when he left.

He lets himself drop onto the cot. It makes that peculiar sproing that sounds like the wheeze of a geriatric donkey. Mish had laughed until she cried the first time he’d bounced on his cot so she could hear it. Now it just makes him sad.

He sighs, and drags the backpack towards him, starts pushing his clothes into it.

He has the sock in his hand, trying to figure out where the other has gotten to, when his door slides open.

Mish stands at the door, still in uniform from her shift.

Riko startles, feeling like he's been caught doing something wrong.

She glances at the plant, and her face turns thunderous.

"Riko," she says dangerously. "What part of 'three days' did you not understand?"

He feels like he should be hiding his bag.

"Um," he says, his mouth inexplicably dry.

Mish throws something at him. He snatches it out the air, inches from his head.

A RarrJuice candy packet.

"THREE DAYS, Riko," she says, glowering at him.

He looks at the candy in his hand. The RarrJuice dragon mascot seems to be giving him a pitying look.

"Thank you?" he ventures, looking up at her. He is so confused.

She stomps to his sink, fills a chipped mug with water.

She turns her back to him, like it's punishment. Her voice changes, loses it's edge.

"Poor baby," she says, her voice sweet and lilting like he's never heard before.

He hears water trickling.

"I'm so sorry I left you with this monster. But you're alright now."

He hears the flimsy plastic pot shifting on the counter. "And for all the nonsense he spews all day, I bet he doesn't even talk to you. Not one word."

Her back is still to him. If he's going to say anything it will be now.

"Mish? Maybe you should take the plant back..."

She whips around.

"What?" she says. Her voice lands like a lash.

The words dry up in his mouth. He can't remember being so scared in his life. Not when he'd been blown sideways by that mortar, not when he'd been jumped in that seedy Trakuan bar, not when...

"You ass. I gave you this plant."

"Yes," he says weakly. "But..."

"But?" she says, low. Her voice almost pleasant.

"Please don't be angry," he says breathlessly, inexplicably lightheaded. "It's just that I..."

"Yes Riko, please tell me why I shouldn't be angry," she says softly, her teeth showing sharp in her smile.

His mind goes blank. Spirals into an abyss where nothing makes sense.

The room seems impossibly small all of a sudden. He can see every detail of her face, each tiny flinch of rage. He can almost feel the fury coming off her in sheets, as if she's about to go up in flames.

He has to go. Tomorrow. At 0430 hours.

Panic coils in his spine; he has to move or it will burst out of his chest.

He shifts his weight.

The springs heehaw like a donkey in heat.

The furnace that has been building from Mish's side of the room immediately dissipates. The scale of the room collapses back into normalcy.

Her face goes blank.

"I gave the plant a name," Riko says quickly.

"...What name?" she says, her voice very neutral.

"Stupid Plant," he says lamely.

She closes her eyes, infinitely patient.

"Try again."

Riko licks his lips. "But from now on, I will call it... Plant?"

A beat.

Mish sighs.

"Okay."

She crosses the room and sits down beside him. The springs wheeze softly.

She folds over, her face on her knees. Her arms are wrapped around her thighs, her entire body a tight package of tension.

Riko's hand hovers over her, finally landing lightly on her back. Pats gently.

"Bad day?"

Mish's voice is muffled. "Yes."

"Want to share my candy? A very angry nurse burst into my room and gave it to me."

"That stuff is poison," she mutters.

"Want to share my poison?"

Silence.

And then an open palm comes up. Disappears behind her knees with the neon purple candy he puts in it.

He rubs her back gently. His hand still holding the sock.

He stares at it. He was supposed to be doing something, wasn't he?

She lets out a long exhale, her breath sounding like it's coming up from the depths of her soul.

Something in him rises with her sigh.

"What are you doing with that?" she says, nudging the backpack between his feet.

"I'm... unpacking," he says carefully, trying it out. And to his surprise, he finds he is telling the truth.

Mish straightens up, making the cot springs whisper wheezily. Her fringe is askew, her face red from being pressed against her knees.

"You've been here three months," she points out.

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd be staying this long," he says.

"When do you think you might have to go?"

"Not so soon, I hope." His hand drifts to the slip in his pocket.

"Me too," Mish says, leaning back so her head bonks against the wall.

She sees him glance at the sock in his hand.

"If you're looking for your other sock, it's up there." She points at the cabinet over his sink.

The edge of a sock peeks inexplicably over the top of the cabinet.

"How on earth..." he mutters.

Mish lets herself fall sideways on his cot. For some reason, it doesn't make a sound this time.

"Do you mind if I take a nap here for a while?" she says. "You don't have an early day tomorrow, do you?"

"No," he says truthfully. "Stay as long as you want."

His clothes are pulled out in a ball from his pack, tossed into his locker.

There. Unpacked.

His pillow gets a fluffing for the first time in three months. Riko turns it over so she gets the fresh side. He throws his blanket over her, tucks the edges under her feet.

The lights go down low, and he lays down on the floor with his backpack folded in half under his head.

And then he remembers--

He pulls out his pad, calls up his most recent job. He taps out a quick note to his superior: "Haev been reasigned, pls advise on pending job qeueu."

Knowing Caspo, he's still up doing reports, so it shouldn't take long.

He lays the pad on his chest, his hands clasped over it.

When he looks up, Mish is curled on her side, looking at him. She's quiet, just watching him. Her eyes are dark and serious, just gazing at him.

His chest goes tight. Did she somehow know...?

"Thanks," she says.

"For what?" he says, carefully.

She shifts on his cot. A beat of quiet.

"I don't know," her voice wobbles. "For letting me stay in your shitty room I guess."

The tension unbuckles around his chest. His breathing eases.

He reaches for her, pats her rounded shoulder through the blanket.

"Equivalent exchange," he says. "You paid the rent with the candy."

She laughs, and scrubs her face with his pillowcase. He doesn't say anything about the snot she's getting on it.

And there it is. A chime on his pad. A message confirming his reassignment has been delayed until "further notice".

He slides his pad under the bed so nobody will step on it come morning.

"Goodnight, Riko."

"Night, Mish."

"Say goodnight to Plant."

He turns to look at her. She's serious. Her eyes gleam in the dimness of his room. "Er... I'm not used to talking to plants."

"Get used to it. Say goodnight to Plant."

"Right..." He fidgets, feeling self conscious. "Goodnight, Plant."

"Not so hard, was it?"

"No..." he mutters, trying to be convinced.

The light dims further.

They drowse, all three of them. The cot never makes a sound.

0430 hours comes and goes without incident.

+++++++ Note: The arc following Selah has proven harder to write than I anticipated! (POV issues). I think I'll just go where the dopamine leads me... the arc will resolve itself when it's time. For now, I hope you enjoyed this canon Riko-Mish moment.