You drag him off of the machine two hours past a normal troll's limits. By all rights, his brains should be dripping out of his ears and his insides should be sloshing like an uncleaned fishbowl.
"Wake up," you say, plucking the wires one by one from the base of his skull. (It hurts less if you do them all at once, he said, the last time this happened. Too bad, you said; this is what you get for making me worried.)
"FF, I was in. I had one more fucking firewall. Firewalls! They were still using firewalls! It was a grubcakewalk!"
You pull out the last one. The connector hisses when it comes into contact with your cold skin. "That's a tuna crap, and you know it."
"More fish puns, they remind me I'm alive. Alive and in pain," Sollux says. You stroke the back of his head and carry him over to the sofa--he's insubstantial in your arms, never mind that he's a full head taller than you--and throw a blanket over his face. "And how do you know?" he adds, muffled.
"Vantas called me," you say. "It was a trap, there was a virus waiting for you on the other end."
"Like I've never gotten one out of my head before."
You set the mug of coffee in his outstretched hand. He is ridiculous, he still has not moved the blanket, it would be adorable if you weren't fully aware that he doesn't have a shred of psionic power left in him, let alone physical strength. "This was a nasty one." You move the blanket down to sit on his chest; he can do the rest himself. "You should be thanking me."
"Thanks," he says.
"Say it like you mean it."
"You know I always mean it."
"I told you this was--"
"Fishy business?"
"Too easy!"
A hovercab passes outside your window and throws quavering shadows over his face. The heights of the capital are always quiet. It reminds the seadwellers up here of the seas they poisoned. Sollux manages to move his elbow, and not much more. "Screw you," he says. "And the seahorse you rode in on?"
"And now it'll be days before I can trout you out and show your friends you're okay. No," you say, putting a hand on his stomach, "don't try to sit up."
"They've got what we're looking for, though." There's a shrug in Sollux's voice, even if he can't move his shoulders--a resignation unique to psionics in general and yellowbloods in particular. You have possibly never pitied someone so much in your life, and your life has been very long.
"I'd tell you not to put yourself in danger, but you wouldn't listen," you say. "I'm not spoonfeeding you dinner, by the way! So get better fast."
FILL: TEAM DAVE<3ROSE<3TEREZI
"Wake up," you say, plucking the wires one by one from the base of his skull. (It hurts less if you do them all at once, he said, the last time this happened. Too bad, you said; this is what you get for making me worried.)
"FF, I was in. I had one more fucking firewall. Firewalls! They were still using firewalls! It was a grubcakewalk!"
You pull out the last one. The connector hisses when it comes into contact with your cold skin. "That's a tuna crap, and you know it."
"More fish puns, they remind me I'm alive. Alive and in pain," Sollux says. You stroke the back of his head and carry him over to the sofa--he's insubstantial in your arms, never mind that he's a full head taller than you--and throw a blanket over his face. "And how do you know?" he adds, muffled.
"Vantas called me," you say. "It was a trap, there was a virus waiting for you on the other end."
"Like I've never gotten one out of my head before."
You set the mug of coffee in his outstretched hand. He is ridiculous, he still has not moved the blanket, it would be adorable if you weren't fully aware that he doesn't have a shred of psionic power left in him, let alone physical strength. "This was a nasty one." You move the blanket down to sit on his chest; he can do the rest himself. "You should be thanking me."
"Thanks," he says.
"Say it like you mean it."
"You know I always mean it."
"I told you this was--"
"Fishy business?"
"Too easy!"
A hovercab passes outside your window and throws quavering shadows over his face. The heights of the capital are always quiet. It reminds the seadwellers up here of the seas they poisoned. Sollux manages to move his elbow, and not much more. "Screw you," he says. "And the seahorse you rode in on?"
"And now it'll be days before I can trout you out and show your friends you're okay. No," you say, putting a hand on his stomach, "don't try to sit up."
"They've got what we're looking for, though." There's a shrug in Sollux's voice, even if he can't move his shoulders--a resignation unique to psionics in general and yellowbloods in particular. You have possibly never pitied someone so much in your life, and your life has been very long.
"I'd tell you not to put yourself in danger, but you wouldn't listen," you say. "I'm not spoonfeeding you dinner, by the way! So get better fast."