The AI. Of course it was the one thing Maine would listen to, the one bonus out of this entire ordeal. Carolina was giving up her place for him; he hadn't been due for some time still, and he owed her for it. Sure, it was better for communication, for the team, but the outside aspects were impossible to ignore.
The power was impossible to ignore.
Maine made a face, something only slightly defeated because Washington was right even if he didn't want to admit it. As far as he was concerned, he was recovered. But his terms, his ideas of recovery weren't the same as the medical professionals here, and they were the ones reporting to The Powers ThatBbe. They were the ones with the ultimate say so.
At least Wash was tired enough not to argue for too long.
He slid over, giving the other freelancer as much room as he could, which still wasn't much. Sleeping was still difficult; lying in certain positions wasn't comfortable, his breathing restricted from the injuries, but he had been tersely informed that once the swelling was completely gone it would normalize. He had just hissed, like he did now as he wrapped an arm around Wash and settled down.
Surviving one of Wash's elbows was the least of his worries. Push you out of bed. He growled, making a little pushing motion with one hand, but then just laid there, quiet. It lasted at least a minute before he slid that same hand up the bottom of Wash's shirt. Fingers calloused by fights, by training, by weights and the dirty jobs that no one wanted, brushed along his stomach, just above his pants.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-06-04 04:22 pm (UTC)The AI. Of course it was the one thing Maine would listen to, the one bonus out of this entire ordeal. Carolina was giving up her place for him; he hadn't been due for some time still, and he owed her for it. Sure, it was better for communication, for the team, but the outside aspects were impossible to ignore.
The power was impossible to ignore.
Maine made a face, something only slightly defeated because Washington was right even if he didn't want to admit it. As far as he was concerned, he was recovered. But his terms, his ideas of recovery weren't the same as the medical professionals here, and they were the ones reporting to The Powers ThatBbe. They were the ones with the ultimate say so.
At least Wash was tired enough not to argue for too long.
He slid over, giving the other freelancer as much room as he could, which still wasn't much. Sleeping was still difficult; lying in certain positions wasn't comfortable, his breathing restricted from the injuries, but he had been tersely informed that once the swelling was completely gone it would normalize. He had just hissed, like he did now as he wrapped an arm around Wash and settled down.
Surviving one of Wash's elbows was the least of his worries. Push you out of bed. He growled, making a little pushing motion with one hand, but then just laid there, quiet. It lasted at least a minute before he slid that same hand up the bottom of Wash's shirt. Fingers calloused by fights, by training, by weights and the dirty jobs that no one wanted, brushed along his stomach, just above his pants.
Just how tired was Wash, really?