sad old ships, a morning eclipse

i spent my whole life guessing, then i turned from the sun, and saw everyone searching.

[fogrey]

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Andrew Bird- Night Sky

[calypso-susana]

[As careful as ever, she reached out, and managed to hold his tongue between her nails.] It is both. But it can be changed, if you try hard enough.

I promise. Anything else you want to add to that list?

[calypso-donnie]

[He grinned, and briefly considered moving away. But he felt far too comfortable watching her that he ended up staying still.] 

A lot. 

We should go to the holosuite once all this shit's over. I wanna play some guitar, if my hand fucking works. We could drink some wine. 

But if that's too much to ask, I could use a kiss for luck. 

[calypso-susana]

You are kidding. You are kidding, [she laughed, shaking her head and carefully placing the candy between his lips.] One, I am not allowed to give my patients alcohol.

Two, trust me, [she chewed on her own,] I know how to do that. But I am not doing it anytime soon. 

[calypso-donnie]

I'm kidding. I'm kidding. [Donnie grinned at her regardless, savoring the candy and then laying his head back.] Is that a rule or just a given? 

[Then he nudged her, sticking his tongue out.] Susi, you gotta promise to make vodka gummies once I'm fully functioning. To celebrate. 

[calypso-susana]

They had some at the bar. I may have emtpied their supply so I could, as you say, bring to share with the class. [She smiles, waving it around before she holds it in front of his face, her other hand rummaging for another.]

I couldn’t exactly bring a bottle, could I. 

[calypso-donnie]

Well, not exactly, but nothing's stopping you. [He was tempted to reach out, but it all felt a little silly, so he just tipped his head and smiled at her.] Or you could just soak 'em in booze. I knew a guy that did that. 

[montesquieu]

A Very Serious Study in Eye Crinkles

[calypso-susana]

Yeah. [Susi looks up at him briefly, then quickly averts his gaze. Instead, she takes out a small bulge in a napkin from her pocket, and begins unwrapping it.]

Espléndido. Sickbay’s calmed down, so it’s good.

[There’s no need to mention the worry and exhaustion eating away at her. She holds up a gummie, shaking her head.] It’s all good.

[calypso-donnie]

For real? [He glances at the candy with a threat of a smile at his lips--he's not really sure if it's "all good" as she says, but he'll believe it if she insists.] 

Man. [He looks back to her, then squints at the gummy.] Didn't know they had these on board. [Or any fun things. But--it was lucky, really. He'd do anything to find something remotely lucky, to help either of them.] Well. Did you bring enough to share with the class?

[calypso-susana]

'Sorta' is better than nothing, [she frowns, reaching for her tricorder.] 

No. [She doesn’t know. She needs to ask a doctor —because if it is, then she won’t be able to feel free of guilt.] I’ve told you, [the tiny machine beeps, and she runs a hand through her hair as she takes a deep breath,] time will tell. It is too soon. 

[calypso-donnie]

[He runs his tongue over his lips and sighs, knowing that kind of attitude wouldn't help in the long run--but then and there, the bitterness just seemed to come naturally.]

Until then. [Donnie scratches at his jaw with his other hand, and leans back a little, really just to look at her.] How's everything? 

[calypso-susana]

That’s [no, she can’t say it’s good] better. 

[She looks around, before she sits by his side, leaning close enough to keep her voice down and carefully observe as he moves his hand again. If she feels like it, close enough to lean down and kiss him, too.] 

Can you do that again? 

[calypso-donnie]

I said sorta. [He winces, struggling to curl and uncurl them, until he's stricken by the pain in his wrist and has to stop.] 

It's fucked for good, isn't it? 

[calypso-donnie]

Can sorta move my fingers. 

[halfcupcinema]

[calypso-donnie]

He reaches out his hand, rolls his wrist, moves his fingers. He remembers the back porch at his grandmother's house and the potted plant he sketched, ten different ways from ten different at angles every day one summer. The warmth on the back of his neck that matted his curls with sweat, until he got them cut down when he couldn't stand it anymore.

It's one of those dreams where he knows where he is--he's on the Calypso, where temperature is not an issue. He knows he is in a hospital bed and his mouth will be dry when he wakes up, and his hand just as broken as ever.

He knows Susi will be there, or at least nearby, and that's a minor comfort; one that is there, but doesn't really resonate. He's ashamed of that. These thoughts don't all come at once, but settle over him like a fog, to take away the pleasantness of the dream itself. And that detracts from the fog itself. He hears sentences from faceless authority figures saying things like he used to be a folk singer, or, he's been through a lot. His hand's still fucked. He won't be as sharp as before. He was never very sharp anyway.

No one says that--he's never heard those words, at least--but they might as well be there. Even in the place he considered home he wasn't bereft of judgment. But at least there he had a place to go, to throw himself into until he came out calmer.

Then he remembers the cool lights of the ship, the temperature, and his stomach turns.

He didn't expect the feeling of sweltering to be something he missed, but, as always, you never know what you've got until it's gone.

[branchflowercuriosa]

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Crosby, Stills & Nash — Helplessly Hoping

[calypso-susana]

How dare he, she thought with a pang of genuine amusement, but then there was nothing else but them as he kissed back, and she reached for her curls again, only letting her hand ghost over them, moving them aside with the tips of her nimble fingers.

Then she blinked, and looked down at him.  

Had she heard that right? Of course she felt her heart jump and skip a beat before she even considered what he’d said, before she fully understood what was happening. She had no idea how to react, what to do, what to say, only that she needn’t allow much time to pass.

Really?

So she stole another brief kiss, breathless, before she felt her chest swell, and the damn tears wouldn’t stop. Think. ”Yo creo que… te quiero, también.”

[calypso-donnie]

Fuck. He really had said that. He meant it, but the fact it'd even come out of his mouth left him dazed. He sat up slightly and tried to wipe away the tears, pushing some of her hair back.

"Hey," he smiled, his gaze glassy, struggling to look her over, "no llores." Who was he kidding. He felt bad, although it was probably normal; he didn't know she was going to, and wished he could.

But he couldn't. There was still a well within himself that was empty. There was something there, roots in the soil, but it would be a while. "I'm not going anywhere. It's okay."

[calypso-susana]

Her smile grew, only because of his laughter, which despite sorrowful, still managed to lift off some weight off her.

But who was she kidding. “I know.” Susana kissed him again, this time, very much aware of the tear that fell down her cheek; she would’ve cared had she not been so damn tired, relieved. When she had seen him, being brought into sickbay —no, best not to think of that again. 

"I don’t want to grow used to that, though," she shook her head, her lips over his nose. Not if she could help it. 

[calypso-donnie]

"No promises." It did hurt, but he reached up anyway, carefully swiping the tear away from her cheek. It didn't matter anymore. He knew he was out of the game the way he was; someone would swap out for him in Engineering, and probably do twice as well. He'd have to worry about it later. He could escape that obligation, for once. 

Donnie wanted to ask if she had other people to see, or if she could stay with him. But instead he focused on the warmth of her face, the sound of her voice. Thank God. 

It was halfway through kissing her again that something hit him like a wave, and there wasn't even a moment of consideration before he blurted out: "I love you, Susana." 

[calypso-susana]

She’d done her best on that hand. And all the while she’d promised to herself she’d care for it with the same intensity, if not better. Yet it still sent a painful pang to her chest, seeing him examine it, probably wondering if he’d ever be able to grab his guitar and play.

Susana had leaned away; it was protocol that she checked on his status anyway, displayed on the nearest screen. But then she paused, and looked down at him. With a small smile, one conveying so much worry and bewilderment and affection, somehow all at once. 

"You look like crap, Donnie." She couldn’t help it when her voice cracked, and her hands fell over the bed, and she was leaning over to kiss his forehead. "You look like crap —" (but you’re okay).  

[calypso-donnie]

He laughed ruefully, and set his hand (the one that wasn't fucking broken god damn it) on her back. The muscles were tender, still, and he couldn't keep it there for long. 

"That's nothing new." Getting his ass kicked had brought them together, sort of, and he had that to be thankful for. But he'd stayed out of trouble since then. He didn't know what this counted for. 

(All he knew was he had something to hold onto.) 

He struggled with something to say for a minute, and then decided it wasn't worth it. He could be quiet. He'd spoil it otherwise; he couldn't trust himself with sedatives. He was bound to say more stupid stuff. 

[calypso-susana]

Least to say, Susana had almost cried right there, in the middle of sickbay. It didn’t happen, because she had no time to waste, and she was absolutely not leaving Donnie in the hands of that stupid nurse with the long nails that boasted of being better than her. 

So maybe she had been angry, too. At everything. At her inability to keep a cool head, that fate was so malevolent that this all had to happen to those close around her. That she’d feared for the moment the engineer woke up. She remained by his side, though, while she wasn’t running around. 

Susana had just finished helping Dr. Fahri when she returned to the biobed. And quietly, she sat down next to him, reaching for his curls and carefully removing them from his forehead.

She avoided looking at his hand, for now. Otherwise —she wasn’t sure how he’d react. How both would react. She just wanted to let go. 

“¿Cómo te sientes?”

[calypso-donnie]

Donnie was practically gaping by the time she spoke, still very much disoriented. She was there--if she was there, it would be all right, if not for just a few moments. He was safe. The painkillers at least let him direct his mind to one thing. 

He held his hand up to the light for a moment, then let it fall back down to his side. God damn it. That part couldn't be avoided. In his mind, he imagined--ventured into the idea that it was even worse. That he couldn't ever play again. 

He wondered if he'd ever get himself out of that bed. 

Then he turned his head back to her, and let out a soft sigh. "Podría ser peor." In the sense that she was there and not that one other fucking nurse who had given him a hard time last time he asked for her. 

Since his mind suddenly didn't have much control over his mouth, he added: "You look like an angel."

[calypso-donnie]

When Donnie woke up, he thought the same thing he always did: Bad luck. No matter what, it followed him. 

And when there was a stroke of luck to be had, it was spent waiting for it to come back, full force. Twice as worse, maybe. So it really came as no surprise when the ship lurched to one side and a chunk of the Engineering department equipment came crashing down on top of him.

When he came to, he looked around the room, and assessed what had happened--a bad gash on his back bandaged up, face a mess, and--

His hand. He'd broken his left fucking hand. No matter what medbay could do, he'd seen it happen. A guy in New York got his left hand broken somehow. He played with his left and strummed with his right. Three months of rehabilitation, tops, and even then, his playing was still fucked. 

Not that it mattered. That wasn't his job, technically. But he couldn't do that either, not when everything ached and he felt his brain thrumming. Just plain out of luck.