forbarrayar | [ june ii log: the underestimated power of the forces of the unseen ]

Entry tags:

[ june ii log: the underestimated power of the forces of the unseen ]

Who: Everyone
What: Let's go steal us a spaceship.
When: June 18th-30th
Where: the Barrayaran camp, the Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD

Quick links:
Barrayar / Cetaganda / The Hijacking

TIMELINE
6/28 Hijacking of the Star Gate, Haut Sei's death

barrayar
Things are as tense as ever in the Barrayaran camp, but at least morale is on the rise -- in a way. While Piotr's decision to help the outsiders as part of his plan to strike back at the Cetagandans hasn't been the most popular, ever since Vorvolk's summary demotion and dismissal from Piotr's general staff, few are bold enough to put forth criticisms of the General Count, especially considering his plan now has Emperor Dorca's endorsement. House Vorkosigan has always been deeply loyal to the Emperor, and that loyalty is repaid in kind with confidence, though it isn't necessarily shared by the Emperor's son. Yuri still has his own objections, and he certainly has no love for the outsiders, but he recognizes Piotr's brilliance as a military strategist, and rather than continue to stir malcontent in Vorvolk's wake, he has decided to fall into line with his father in backing the plan.

It isn't just the Emperor's endorsement, either. In the wake of Vorkosigan Vashnoi and the despair its destruction had wrought, the soldiers crave some direction, something to rally behind -- anything to get back at the Cetagandans. And those soldiers who have known the outsiders since the start…well, many of them are just as sympathetic as Piotr, some of them even more so. Piotr makes a public speech in his camp on the matter to drive up morale, and points out to both his and Dorca's troops that they have an utterly unique opportunity: hit the Cetagandans in a way no one has done before, and nip in the bud what could be the biggest threat of the war to date. "We won't let there be another Vorkosigan Vashnoi," Piotr declares to his troops, impassioned. "Not as long as I walk this planet. The Cetagandans may have already left its scars on Barrayar, and the war may rage on still, but we can ensure their ambitions go no further than this world -- and if this does not bring us honor, what else will?"

The speech is to great effect, but to anyone paying close enough attention, it's clear that what's really keeping Piotr upright these days is Olivia. The destruction of his own district's capital dealt an especially hard blow, but he's not a man who can afford to buckle now.

Vorkosigan's District is wracked with a heat streak, the sun beating down on them from the cloudless sky. Rain is rare, and while it's cooler up in the mountains, it's still hot as hell. Make sure you're drinking enough water, maybe take a cold bath or a dip in the creek, and…don't stand too close downwind of the stables.

The Barrayaran camps have spent the last few weeks communicating with Micah and the outsiders on the other side, preparing for the hijacking of the Star Gate. They pull together a modest cache of weapons and do their best to ready themselves, but when the night of the 28th comes, all they can do is make do with what they have. Sonia, unbeknownst to Olivia, Piotr, or anyone else, disguises herself as a soldier and slips into the rank and file at the last minute. There's a small panic among the top brass when they discover the Princess missing, but after the fight, when the dust starts to settle, soldiers who were in the shipyard report having seen the Princess there -- and that not a single one of them was able to stop her from getting aboard the Star Gate ship.

cetaganda
The atmosphere around the Cetagandan base is increasingly conflicted. Sei carries out her gene therapy experiments as always, and in Diya's stead she runs the genetics research project with ruthless efficiency and, apparently, increasing pressure. Amai is perpetually uneasy ever since she was drafted (blackmailed) into working against Sei, and there are murmurs that Sei is frustrated over some of her coms not going through properly.

Zahal is catching some serious flak from central command for resorting so quickly to nuclear measures on Vorkosigan Vashnoi; it was clearly not an order he received or even requested, and his superiors aren't happy with that. Coupled with Diya's recent passing, he's not so much his usual composed self these days. And with no clear direction after Vorkosigan Vashnoi, the soldiers are getting restless and antsy.

By the 25th, construction on the Star Gate is complete, and Micah is working with the exotics to execute their plan, loosely codenamed the midnight shift, in conjunction with the Barrayarans. They've been providing directions about how to proceed with regards to sabotage and preparing for the hijacking on the 28th. In their off hours in the lab, they've been constructing dozens of small, short-radius EMP charges to be planted in the other ship sin the shipyard.

Sei is murdered by Jasper on the evening of the 28th, before the hijacking begins. Lapis did tell Amai that they'd take care of things with Sei, after all. But because things go to hell so quickly that by the time they have a chance to process the site of Sei's death, the responsible parties are already long gone. Amai also seems to have gone missing, except she isn't really missing -- having been blackmailed into helping with the hijacking, she had no choice but to go with them. Her career might has well have a DNR order on it at this point.

In the aftermath of the hijacking, the base is in a logistical shambles, despite them having taking comparatively much fewer casualties than the Barrayarans. However, beyond the initial emergency response, Zahal's response has been disorganized, enough that they don't manage to immediately get any ships off the ground to pursue the hijackers.

the hijacking
The unabridged mission results are located here.

The Barrayarans don’t descend from the mountains until after dark, their faces smeared with mud to keep the light from reflecting off their skin. Ezar and Piotr lead the infiltration force, while Yuri and Dorca lead the assault on the shipyard perimeter. Casualties in a mission like this are inevitable -- it's just a matter of how many.

While Byerly and Lakshmi are infiltrating along with the rest of the security task force, another force is taking out the shipyard perimeter security. An initial wave of soldiers takes out the perimeter guard, while a second wave fans out through the shipyard to dismantle internal security, including any inner guards. Sonia sneaks herself in on the mission, disguising herself as a soldier in uniform and sticking with the second wave. They're able to secure the shipyard more or less successfully, but it's at the cost of quite a few bodies, and their hold is shaky at best, especially with alarms being triggered after the security task force fails to disable internal security.

Meanwhile, Micah and Kaidan are working on the anti-aircraft protocols, Julian and Pearl are destroying the gene samples, Nash and Symmetra are destroying the research, and Tarn and Lapis are trying to create a diversion. Unfortunately, it doesn't entirely succeed, and with the alarms going off, it makes everyone's job harder. Sisko and Deanna move in with the second wave into the perimeter so they can get started on re-engaging the flight mechanics.

It doesn't take long for things to get bad, and the ghem soldiers begin to close in on the shipyard. There are Barrayaran assault teams both inside the base and in the shipyard, among which are Wash, Miles, Vex and Tucker. The Barrayarans are fighting fiercely, but they're still vastly outnumbered, and they push the perimeter into the shipyard, forcing the rear guard further back. Timing for the Star Gate's departure is starting to run out. Thankfully, though, despite the delays, everyone manages to get to the Star Ship just in time for takeoff -- except for Vex and Tarn.

Micah detonates the EMP charges in the Cetagandan ships as they take off, but they've only planted 23 devices. Luckily, the Barrayarans took initiative and brought along some bombs to plant in the shipyard, like they do. The Barrayarans provide cover fire until the the Star Gate ship clears, and once it does they begin to fall back, taking even more casualties as they pull out. The bombs that go off shortly after their retreat take out another 22 ships, leaving the Cetagandans with only 5 immediately available -- but plenty enough to go after the Star Gate ship.

The Barrayarans retreat back to the mountains, many of them wounded, and at least a hundred of their small army died in the attack on the base, including both Lakshmi and Tucker. The Cetagandans' attention is sufficiently occupied right now, which is good, because now more than ever the Barrayarans need a chance to recoup.

The Star Gate ship breaks orbit, but it's only a matter of time before they'll be pursued. In addition to Micah, both Sonia and Amai are aboard the ship when it lifts off, and later Negri is discovered to have somehow stowed aboard while no one was looking.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wash doesn't seem to hear what she's saying, and it's unnerving, how he was so angry before and how all of it seems to evaporate from him in an instant. All he sees right now is Tucker. The shot trajectory, it was hard to tell, he hadn't really caught where it'd come from, but judging from where he'd been hit, from the angle of it, he could calculate, extrapolate from the wound -- it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what his mind clings to to try and make sense of it or reason it away. Everything sounds like he's hearing it through water. The only thing that matters is that Tucker had taken the shot. He'd taken a shot that would've hit him, instead. The only thing that matters is that he's dead.

He's barely responsive, his body moving without conscious thought, still just rifling around in the kit, finding the hypospray -- and it's the feeling of Sonia tugging it out of his loose grasp that stirs him. A breath. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. There's a chain wrapped around his hand, again. So soon, too soon, even one loss is too many. He doesn't look up to meet Sonia's eye, just wordlessly lifts chain-wrapped fingers to lift the sleeve of his other arm.

"Definitely would've stopped you," he says finally. Too calm, all of a sudden. "That would've been the point."

Wash's anger had made her flinch, almost made her afraid, but this is far more chilling. Sonia goes a little cold when he goes so still -- God, is he already in shock? The injuries look bad, but it's chaotic and the lighting isn't the best, and there's too much blood and burned uniform to be able to tell at a glance, and she's not even a med tech anyway, just someone who knows basic first aid. She presses the hypospray to his inner arm and hears the hiss as it injects the synergine -- that should help. It should.

Her breathing is shallow as she administers the synergine and her head jerks up when he finally speaks, her face pale. It isn't the words; those don't come as a surprise. But his voice.

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you." She finds herself sniffing, blinking back tears she didn't even know were there. Wash had scared her -- still is scaring her. Nothing to be done but move along, keep moving forward. She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve and drops the hypospray back in the first aid kit, trying to get a look at his injuries. After dealing with Miles's hand, she can -- she can probably stomach this. "What happened -- where were you hit? How bad is it?"

"Burn from indirect plasma exposure on the upper thigh." He answers automatically as if he's reporting to an officer. Calm, breathing steady. He can still feel the pain, but it's distant. Breathe, David. Focus. He finally lifts his head to look at her -- she's sniffing, not crying but blinking back tears. Sonia isn't trained for this. She's lived through a war but being in it is different. He looks back at her blankly for a few moments, but something does drag him back, at least slightly. Tucker. She should know about --

"I know how to deal with it." In theory, anyway, plasma weaponry was Covenant standard issue and Cetagandan tech didn't seem that different on that front. He lifts his hand and it trembles for a moment but somehow he manages to steady himself as he gently cups his palm against her cheek, metal of the chain wrapped around his fingers cool against her skin, thumbing lightly underneath her eye. "Sonia, I'm okay. It's going to be fine. Breathe."

Still some distance in his eyes, but he's more present than he was a few moments ago, and there's a softness to his voice. She didn't fight, but she'd still moved with the soldiers. She would've seen some fall and die, would've heard the screams. It wouldn't be the first time, but Wash already knows how she took it, before. He's really not in a good place, for this, can't really be there for her now, but he wants to try and calm and center her at least just a little, give her something to try and anchor herself to before she goes back to trying to help. She should know about Tucker. She should know about Tucker. She should know about -- not yet. Not now.

Sonia's almost reluctant to admit to the massive wave of relief that comes over her when Wash seems to come back to himself, when he talks to her like Wash again, and her breath hitches a little when he puts his hand to her face in that gentle gesture. Sonia hiccups quietly and squeezes her eyes shut for just a moment, nodding. When she opens them, her lashes are damp, but no tears are falling down her cheeks.

"I am. I'm okay." Nobody here is really okay, but it's a necessary fiction they must uphold, at least for the time being. She swallows, sniffing again, but she does look more centered. She looks at Wash with that desperate intent to help in her dark eyes. He ought to know what that looks like. "Tell me what to do."

Good. That's good. There's so much he can't do, so much he couldn't do, but at least he can do this much for someone. He really can take care of himself, he knows how to handle a burn and the pain -- is a lot, but he can bear it. But she knows that look in her eyes, and he'll relent a little before he sends her off. She should know about Tucker. She should know about Tucker but not yet. She wants to help, right now, there are people to help and there will be more coming onto the ship, and it'll be easier for her if she can do it with a clear mind, or as clear of a mind as she can manage. He can tell her -- later. When she's ready for it. When he's ready for it.

He nods. Another brush of his thumb over her cheek, the gesture soft and gentle before he drops his hand away.

"It's a burn. Not as bad as it could be, but a burn. I might need remove anything that looks too bad." He can do it himself. He's quite intent on that, but Sonia can help him, still. He finally allows himself to lean his weight a little against something nearby, and that's the first time when he really shows any real pain, a slow grimace. He doesn't know what the hell a Cetagandan ship would have in a first aid kit, but he does know his training. "Get me what you can find, autolytic dressings and saline if there's any, just something non-adhesive to wrap with otherwise."

Sonia nods, grateful for something to do, knowing that Wash could probably take care of all this himself but he's letting her help. She knows he's not happy to see her here -- the only one who really has been is Miles -- but it's about what she expected. She just hadn't expected that initial reaction, that anger. This -- this she can do.

She digs around and comes up with gauze and saline, but that's all she can find in the first aid kits -- along with at least one useful tool. "Here," she says, a little breathlessly, and jerks her head at a bench set against the bulkhead for him to sit. He's probably going to need to sit for this. "I've got saline and gauze, and I found some disinfectant just in case -- and a vibra-scalpel. It's got at least a half charge. Anything you need to cut away, this'll do it."

What he wouldn't give for some biofoam right now. He nods, though, he'll make do with what they do have, and whatever the hell a vibra-scalpel is it's got the word scalpel in it and that's probably enough. He nods, genuinely grateful, makes his way over to the bench, even lets her help him a little over, but once Sonia's set down everything she managed to dig up he catches her by the arm again. More gently, this time, coarse fingers slipping down to her wrist to gently tug her back so she's facing him directly.

"I can take it from here. I can do this on my own, but there are other people still coming on who might need more help." Which is true, but also he doesn't exactly what Sonia around watching him cut away at his own leg. His other hand moves up to her shoulder, squeezing gentle but firm. "Listen. You're not trained for this, but you've a good head on your shoulders, you know what to do. Help anyone come on board who needs it, tend to anyone who needs it. There are people out there who are dead or dying, and you're going to keep hearing them. They were ready, before the charge. Focus on what you can do. On who you can help."

Lifting his hand to her shoulder to her face, again. Brushing some of her hair out of her eyes. "Got it?"

Sonia opens her mouth to object, to insist, but Wash's hand closes over her shoulder and she holds her breath instead, biting her lip. A few more tears well up in her eyes despite herself, because something about Wash's words aren't just comforting, they're encouraging -- she doesn't hear much of that, not in contexts like these. She blinks them back and nods, glancing only briefly at his burned leg once more. She knows he can take care of himself. Wash will be alright. And she...she can do more.

"Okay," she says, her breathing still a little shallow, but she sniffles and nods again. "Okay. Just -- here." She unfolds the vibra-scalpel so she can show him how to use it, at least, pointing out the power pack and the very user-friendly power button, along with a few settings. "It's like a regular scalpel, but it vibrates at high speeds -- it's sharper, better for precision cutting. It has more force behind it too, they're meant to be able to cut through heavier tissue, so be careful."

Ah. He does appreciate the rundown of the vibra-scalpel, paying close attention, nodding quietly, keeping mental note. Hopefully he won't have to use it too much to begin with, but damn if he's had the chance to really look at himself yet to have any idea. He nods, taking the vibra-scalpel gently from her hand, thumbing slightly over the controls before he sets it down and focuses back on her.

"You came here to help. So you're going to help," he says, his tone firm. Lifting his hands to curve over her arms. "Just remember to stop and breathe, and everything will be fine."

As fine as they can be. He lifts a hand to comb gently through her hair, straightening out some of the strands, his expression finally softening into something much closer to the way he'd usually look at her in camp when they're talking together.

"This was still a stupid thing to do -- but I'm glad to see you here, Sonia." A slight smile. "Come look for me after, once everything's quietened down."

Everything will be fine. There's screams and shouts and gunfire out there, people fighting and dying and Sonia knows all of that, knows that Wash, injured as he is, is hardly the worst of them, but it's a comfort nonetheless. She'll do what she can, just like he said. It's a relief to see Wash look at her like that, his hand smoothing through her hair like he always did back at camp. She nods, her large, dark eyes serious and earnest.

"I know." Her smile is only slightly rueful. "I don't regret it."

She touches his hand and nods, drawing in a little breath before she steps away and turns on her heel to help whoever needs it next. It's not long before the airlock gets crowded, and that other people are better suited to that limited space -- people with more combat experience, who can provide better cover fire. Inside the ship, it's chaos, but Sonia does what she can, tending to the wounded -- most of them don't seem to be as bad off as Wash, though. It's still hectic inside the ship, still plenty being shouted from the airlock back and forth, but Sonia makes her way back to find Wash where she left him, a little breathless but otherwise looking like she's doing alright. She drops to a crouch by the bench, reaching out a hand, but hesitantly.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm alright," he says, looking up at her with a slightly pained smile. With more of that adrenaline out of the way the pain is sharper, more present, but Wash can damn well handle pain and this isn't the worst pain he's ever felt by far. He's still on the bench, of course, he's smart enough to avoid moving though he had gotten up at one point to try and find more gauze and bandages -- he's taken care of the wound as much as he can. It's wrapped tightly, now, and sitting somewhere near him on the bench are wads of bloody gauze. He hadn't needed to cut that much away, at least he hopes not, this still isn't his area of expertise even if he's trained, but it'd still been some.

He looks her up and down -- she looks well enough, breathless, tired, but well. Wash still has tuckers tags in his hand, wrapped around his fingers, dangling slightly off the side of the bench with the way his arms are resting, and. He really should tell her. She's probably noticed by now that he hasn't made it to the ship, and there's no fucking way that Wash would've ever let Tucker stay behind while he was the one who went ahead, so.

"How're you holding up?" Gentle, soft. Reaching out to her a little, taking the offered hand. Of course he's going to ask how she is before elaborating on himself, even if he's the one who might've just burned off part of his leg. He has priorities.

The general chaos has been keeping her from dwelling on it, but Sonia's started to wonder where Tucker is already, concerned that she hasn't yet seen him -- but the ship isn't tiny, and everything is so damned hectic. She's sure she'll find him once the dust starts to settle.

She glances only briefly at the bunches of gauze soaked in already drying blood and tries not to blanch, because for all that she's seen today, it still rattles her. She was never meant for this, and it was stupid to come, she knows, but she squares her shoulders and looks back at Wash, nodding.

"I'm alright. A little tired, but alright." She looks more than tired -- jittering slightly with the combination of weariness and adrenaline, but it's kept her going. She's had a clear enough head. She's done what she could. She gives him a slightly pale smile. "I think I'll find somewhere to hole up and take a nap once we're clear of all this, though. How's the leg?"

It had looked bad when she'd brought him in, and it's cleaned up and bandaged now, but it had been a nasty-looking burn, and Wash had been in pain. She hasn't often seen him in that kind of pain.

He shifts slightly on the bench, making some space for her away from the gauze, on the other side of him in fact so she won't have to be next to it. You're welcome, Sonia. Not pulling her forward, but gesturing him next to her with a tip of his head.

"Sit with me for a while, then," he says. Soothing a calloused thumb over the back of her fingers, soft and fond. She doesn't need to say it, he can see it in her eyes, and that slight tense almost nervous energy to her, in how that smile of hers isn't nearly as bright as it usually would be. She's seen a lot, today. She's seen a lot today but she's still standing and she's still hanging in there, and she'd done what she could to help. Stronger than many would give her credit for, Wash thinks to himself. "Leg's not great, but it could've been a lot worse. I'm no medic, I've just my training to go on, but it didn't seem like there was that much I needed to get rid of. What I wouldn't give for some damn biofoam right now -- think I'd kind of prefer a normal scalpel, too."

Just leaning back against the wall, trying to keep his tone light. There's still such a quiet distance in his gaze, something gaunt and faraway, but he's present enough at least, squeezing her hand gently in his own.

"How're you really, Sonia?" He just told you. Partially, at least. Your turn now.

Sonia almost declines the offer to sit, because she's not sure if she'll be able to get back up again if she does, but her feet ache in combat boots at least a size too big for her, and her breathing is still shallow, still labored from adrenaline alone, if not everything else. So she finally nods and lowers herself carefully onto the bench next to Wash, her gaze falling to his bandaged leg again, and she manages a dim, sort of wry smile.

"You could've just left the power off," she points out, and a little stream of breath escapes her as she finally takes her weight off her aching feet. She doesn't answer him right away, rubbing her face -- most of the mud has been wiped away by now, though some of it is still smeared around the corners of her eyes.

"Still tired," she says then, smiling weakly, but it's a smile, at least. She's hesitant to admit to her own fear, anything beyond her weariness, in a time like this. "A little...I don't know. Afraid. Disoriented. There's so much going on. I haven't been this -- " She gestures uselessly with her free hand, the other gripping Wash's. "Not since the Cetagandans found our last camp. It was a lot like this."

A lot of yelling, screaming, shots fired in the dark, hurried, frantic escapes, only then she'd been the rescuee, not allowed to help. She sniffs and pushes her hair out of her face -- the braids she'd done up to hide under her cap are all but undone now, a wild mess. "It's crazy in here. I can't keep track of it all, there's so much going on, but I know we're still missing people. I'm worried we won't make it."

That would be the worst outcome. For all this sacrifice to happen, all this fighting, all to no avail -- if the Star Gate ship doesn't get off the ground, it'll all have been in vain.

He listens as quietly as always, pulling his hand from hers just so he can loosely wrap an arm around her, instead, gently pulling her against his side. Wash is attentive, appreciative that she'd share that much with him, that she'd go anywhere near being honest about it. That's not easy to talk about, he knows. He still remembers -- like he remembers so many other things -- the first time he'd really seen combat. Blood and screaming and the smell of burnt flesh.

( And the worst part of it was, none of it was as horrifying as he thought it'd be. )

"Things'll be messy for a while, but once everything really settles down we'll organize, take stock, figure out what we more we can do for anyone who needs it." Gentle, firm, offering a clear path forward, it's not going to just be nothing, Sonia, there's going to be more to do, more ways to press on. And this is Wash she's talking to, after all. He damn well wants to get things organized and accounted for as soon as he can. "We planned and prepared as well as we could, but there were a lot of moving parts -- a lot of things that could and did go wrong. There'll be stragglers. And there'll be people who won't make it."

A quiet, there. He squeezes his arm gently around her, lifting a hand to stroke lightly through her hair, not braiding it again but helping to straighten out that wild mess it's turned into. His other hand shifting, the metal of those chains digging into his skin a little more, the sting sharper.

"Looks like you were busy, though." There's a smile in his voice even if there isn't quite one in his expression. Not direct praise, but the acknowledgement is there, you helped, you did something, not just a bystander, not helpless. You were a part of this. "And you'll be even busier later, so you should catch your breath while you can."

The implicit acknowledgment strikes a chord, touches her more than she'd expected, and a few more tears well up in her eyes at the surge of emotion it brings -- she's done her best to boost morale, done her best to keep a watch on camp politics with Byerly as her eyes, but she's never been able to contribute like this before. Under different circumstances, maybe it wouldn't bring her to tears so easily (no, it probably would), but damn it, she's tired. She really is. But Wash is right -- the job isn't done yet. There's still a long way to go. She sniffles and nods, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, and no more tears come, just a small, watery smile.

"I'm doing my best." And she is, she really is, and she knows Wash can see that. Her voice creaks a little, but it's with a weariness that doesn't have much to do with her physical exhaustion. "I know there's no such thing as a perfect plan. And I came here to help. But people getting left behind..." She shakes her head, frowning. "This is your only shot at going home. Everyone's only shot. No one deserves to be stuck here."

"Not everyone gets what they deserve." And he means that both ways. He'd kicked Tucker's best friend in one of the worst ways possible, and what does he get for it? Nothing. He just survives, time and time again, and Tucker who's done everything in his damn power to take everything he was and turn himself into a soldier not out of desire to fight but out of desire to protect his friends -- he's the one who's dead. He tastes something like bile at the back of his throat, but his voice is steady, quiet. "Sonia, if it weren't for this mission, if it weren't for everyone here who'd put their lives on the line, none of us would've had any shot of going home at all."

Though whether or not he's going home. He's still not sure, but he's starting to come to a decision more and more, even if he hasn't quite realized it yet. He knows better than to voice it to Sonia, either way.

"You can't save everyone. What matters is to try anyway." Squeezing his arm around her again. God, she should know. She should know, he should tell her. How the hell does he even start? All he has now are platitudes. Things that he does think are true, at least to some extent, but he's seen too much, and they always ring hollow even when he's the one saying them. "What matters is remembering."

Another quiet. A pause. Looking away briefly, just back across the ship, as though something caught his eye, but he's looking at nothing at all.

"Did you have anyone else to tend to, Sonia?" Because he needs to tell you something.

What matters is remembering. Sonia nods along to all of what Wash is saying, because she knows it's true, knows well that not everyone can be saved. To say it isn't fair would be childish even for her. And Barrayarans...that's how they honor their dead. By remembering. She supposes that's how she'll honor every friend who's not coming back from this trip.

She follows his gaze out of curiosity, but she sees nothing. She looks back at Wash and shakes her head, rubbing one eye. She really does look tired, now that she's sitting down, no longer moving. "Not just now. We have at least one doctor on board now, someone who really knows what they're doing." She smiles faintly, crookedly. "That's why I wanted to come check on you."

It feels especially hollow with the last person he'd said that to. What matters is that you remember her. What fucking right did he of all people have to say that to him. But god, Sonia should know. He should tell her. She's not an idiot, she's going to realize, she's going to find out. She should hear it from him, she doesn't need to be shielded from this. He doesn't want to tell her. He doesn't want to be the one to have to tell her.

He squeezes around her one more time before pulling his arm away, giving him room to shift on the bench slightly -- a wince, that burn fucking hurts, but it's nothing, it's fine. Wash twists around to face her fully, taking one of her hands in his own.

"Well. Thank you," he says, his voice quiet and fond, lifting his other hand to brush some messy lock of her hair back out of her eyes, tucking it neatly behind her ear. "I'm doing as well as I can be. Bu."

But. God, he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to say it. Not just to her, but to himself, too, he doesn't want to have to say it out loud, doesn't have to want hear the words in his own voice, like that'll make it final and real, somehow. His expression is quiet. He holds her gaze.

"Sonia, there's -- something you should know."

Sonia's chest starts to feel tight with building trepidation, because even in all the chaos, even with how tired she's already feeling, she knows that nothing good ever follows there's something you should know. Her thoughts immediately begin to race, ricocheting around in her brain with building momentum until it all starts to feel like static between her ears, drowning everything else out around them. She grips Wash's hand tightly, meeting his gaze with wide, apprehensive eyes.

"What?" The suspense can only be measured in fractions of seconds, but she wishes he hadn't paused right then, just kept on going. "Wash, what is it?"

Nothing for it, now.

Wash just looks back at her, and the calm of his expression breaks. His eyes flick down, but written so plainly on his face for a moment is just incredible pain and it isn't from the burn, but from something deeper, grief and loss and anger that has nowhere to go but inward at himself. He closes his eyes, breathes deep, centers himself as best he can, and it takes a few full, deep breathes before he's able to force himself to meet her gaze again. He squeezes her hand back before he pulls his own hand away, and slowly moves to unwrap the chain around his fingers. Still looking up at her and not down at them, his hands finding the heavy tags bearing Tucker's name hanging from the chain, quietly working to detach one of them, the way one normally would from a dead soldier in the field.

The one still left on the chain, bearing Tucker's name, Wash presses into Sonia's hand.

"I'm sorry," he says, and that's less of an I'm sorry for your loss and more of an I'm sorry I couldn't protect him, I'm sorry I'm here instead of him, I'm sorry that after everything after everything, I still. His voice is a little distant and clipped, again. He needs it, right now. "If it weren't for him taking the shot, I wouldn't be here."

Edited (i swear i only end up making more typos the more emotional a tag is AT LEAST IM NOTICING THEM NOW I HOPE) 2017-06-28 22:39 (UTC)

Sonia has seen that look on a soldier's face before. She's seen it on Piotr's face before. She's seen news like this delivered, and part of her tenses, braces herself for it. But it seems to stop there. It doesn't seem to penetrate any further, like a thick glass wall between her and what she's seen before, what she knows but only on other people. Her expression goes utterly dumbstruck as Wash presses the chain and tag into her hand. She looks like he's just kicked her in the stomach without a word, and she makes a sound like he did, a small, inward wheeze as she stares down at her hand and slowly uncurls her fingers around the tag.

"What?" she says in a small, choked voice.

This isn't the first time Wash has lost his own people. This isn't the first time he's had to be the one to carry the news back. This is something he's done before, in some sense, not even that long ago. Talking to York in the Cetagandan base, slowly telling him that everyone he remembers is dead. That York himself is dead, too. Just because he's practiced doesn't make it easier. It makes him feel hollow, every single time.

He lets her look down at the metal in her hand, resting in her palm. His own hand curved over her wrist, squeezing gently. Breathe. This isn't about him, right now. This isn't about Wash and how that pain twists around his lungs and chest, one loss on top of another. This isn't about how since getting on the ship every time he closes his eyes to try and breathe and focus on anything but that burning pain searing through his leg all he sees is Tucker's body crumpling in on itself as he collapses into the dirt. This is about Tucker. About Tucker, about Sonia. Her grief. Focus.

"Tucker would've wanted you to have that." Quiet. He thinks, he hopes, he thinks he would've wanted her to have something. His other hand lifting to close over her shoulder, squeezing. As reassuring as he can be. "Sonia, I'm --"

He tries, at least. He really does try, but his voice breaks and he has to drop his head for a second, letting go of her wrist to rub his hand over his face, moving up to rake through his own, drawing one shuddering, shaking breath before he forces himself to look up and meet her eyes again, steadying himself as much as he can. Squeezing his hand over her shoulder again.

"-- I'm so sorry."

"No." Sonia's mouth is moving, but she's only vaguely aware that any sound is coming out, her whispered voice breaking on the first note. "No...no. No. No."

She just stares at the tag in her hand, repeating that word over and over again until it feels numb and empty in her mouth. She doesn't seem to be comprehending what Wash is telling her at all, able to respond only with dumbfounded denial. A sudden breath wells up in her chest like a rising tide, and she seems cognizant of her voice for the first time.

"He can't," she says stupidly, still staring at the tag in her hand. Her mouth feels like it's full of cotton, her throat dry. She can't seem to swallow. "He can't be -- "

She can't bring herself to say the word dead. Words have too much power. If she says it out loud, that makes it real. It can't be real. Her fingers close around the tag and chain, nails digging into her palm.

With a sudden start, she starts to lurch to her feet, like she's going to make for the airlock, like she could go and save him somehow, because -- no.

Sonia has lived in a war throughout her entire life, or at least on the fringes of one. He doesn't expect her to be new to loss. But he does also know that no matter how many times you lose people, no matter how much gets ripped out of you -- it'll always hurt, find something new to tear at every single time. The only way to save yourself from it is to empty yourself entirely, leave yourself hollow, and Sonia hasn't done that, no, not at all, not with that smile, not with the brightness she brings to everything she touches. This will hurt her, he knows. There's no way to make it hurt less, no way to cushion it. All he can do is hope to be there and hurt with her, for a while. To try and help make sure she doesn't fall apart completely --

But god, the way she reacts still catches him off guard. The empty disbelief in her voice, the fear in her eyes. She closes her hand around the tag and chain, and it's Wash's training that helps him see the tension coiling up in her, that helps him be ready to react when Sonia lurches to stand. He still has to push himself up slightly to catch her, wrapping an arm around her stubbornly, falls heavily back against the bench -- a sharp hiss of pain from his leg, but it's fine, it's fine.

"Sonia." God, he's sorry, he's so, so sorry. Tucker is so much better than he is. Everyone he's ever failed is so much better than he is. He doesn't fucking deserve this, every breath right now is undeserved, should be Tucker's instead of his own. "Sonia, stop, please. There's nothing you can do about it. There's nothing anyone can do about it."

[ june ii log: the underestimated power of the forces of the unseen ]

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