for unrequitingly

[navs]

[ He thinks it's the nerves that finally get to him.

When he crawls out of the wreckage of their starfighter – his brain is too frazzled to remember the name – his entire body is shaking, and Abel drags himself towards some burnt shrubs before ripping off his helmet and vomiting into the dirt. It's a risk he shouldn't have taken considering the alien nature of the planet they'd just crashed into, but the air seems breathable enough–if he can take a deep breath. The adrenaline is difficult to ignore, rushing through him as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, tasting the weird material of his suit and the acid of vomit. There isn't much to look at where they've landed; there are dense tree-like structures to the north of him, large shadows that remind him of mountains to the left. The air smells vaguely sweet, but mostly, it's thick with smoke and the burning wreckage of what had been their only viable transport off this world.

Abel tosses his helmet aside, only vaguely registering the crack down the center of it when it rolls away from him, and he huffs out a strained breath before struggling to get to his feet. His entire body still feels as if it's falling, but his thoughts are finally starting to unwind and – Praxis. Their comms had been severed when they'd been hit, and he hadn't seen him pull himself out of fighter, frantic now as he stumbles back towards the broken hatch of the cockpit. He bangs his knees against part of the wing but ignores it, his voice tight and barely louder than normal despite the fact he thinks he's yelling. ]

Praxis! Can you hear me? Where are you? [ He shouts the fighter's name a few more times, trying to dig his way back into the wreckage.

Part of the blow that had landed them in this mess and mostly struck in the back, and though they'd only reunited with each other a few short days after the transfer, older feelings began to slam through him. What if he's dead or seriously injured? What if Abel can't do anything to help him and... He sucks in a frantic breath, and when he's sure there isn't any sign of him in the seats, he turns to look around at the burning pieces of the ship. Had he been thrown when they'd landed? A different sort of panic races through him then, and he thinks he's going to be sick again. ] Praxis!

[ He cups his hands together and yells for him over and over, only pausing to listen for any answering sounds. ]

Comments

[unrequitingly]

( it almost seems like poetic justice when they're hit and falling too fast to stop a horrible impact. for so long he's felt a draw to abel that he can't even really explain. it's stupid, oh it's so stupid. it was only ever going to end poorly. and, it did. just like he expected. when they're facing mass extinction against a hostile group of aliens, what other ending is there? then, somehow they found their way back together again. when his new assignment was given, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. now, only a few short days later, praxis is pretty sure he's going to die.

the fighter hits the ground because there's nothing that can be done. a hit to the engine never spells anything but trouble. all systems are failing, and no matter what he does he knows they're going to hit the ground. hard.

they do, and praxis gets ejected from the fighter. he doesn't know how far he actually goes, because once he stops -- by means of crashing into a surface hard enough to steal his breath -- he fades from conscious thought altogether. there's no real way to tell how long he stays out, only that something stirs in the depths of his mind. for a few minutes, he's not sure what. everything is muddled and hazy. slow as molasses, there's a tendril of recognition that tickles in his mind. a voice he'd recognize anywhere. it's abel.

reality or a dream, he can't be sure. praxis tries to open his mouth, but nothing happens and no sound comes out. there's a ringing in his ears and his chest burns as if it's on fire. he tries to get his eye open, but can't seem to gather the willpower to do even that. he's got to struggle against that, though. he can't just lie here. with a great deal of determination -- so much so that he breaks a sweat from doing just this -- he gets his arm up. )

Here.

( his voice is a rasp, the back of his throat dry and shredded. it's only now when he finally does get his eye open that he sees the visor of his helmet is completely shattered and gone. he wheezes before trying again. )

Over here.

[navs]

[ He barely hears him over the sound of the fire, the ringing that's settled deep in his ears, but there's something at least. And Abel is running towards his voice as fast as he can—which is only a quick hobble because his legs still feel like jelly. There's also a strange pull in his hip, and it's only when he gives himself a brief once-over that he realizes the outer part of his suit above his thigh is stained red. He vaguely recalls having literally torn himself from the smashed front of the ship, but that takes a backseat when he finally, finally finds Praxis. Abel's heart is in his throat, and he stumbles to his knees to get down beside him, clenching his teeth as he takes in what he sees.

How are either of them still alive? His skills as a pilot had never prepared him for this, no matter how many sims he ran, and his hands shake as he tries to undo the clasp that holds Praxis' helmet to his suit, slowly tugging it free so he can see his face. ]

Are you... [ He bites his tongue and skips that question. It's easy to see that he isn't okay, but the panic is starting to overtake whatever sense he still has, gently touching his cheek for a moment. There's the heat of his skin through the thin texture of his gloves, and Abel wipes at some of the dirt and blood before shifting closer. ] We have to get out of range in case the fuel cells ignite. Can you move?

[ Honestly, Abel hopes he can because he doesn't know how much of Praxis' weight he can move on his own. Maybe he could drag him, but he's afraid to put that theory to the test, already trying to get his arm under him to help him sit up. ]

Come on. [ And he exhales in an attempt to keep himself calm, though he already feels the prick of tears; he doesn't know if it's out of relief or fear. ] Please...

[unrequitingly]

( moving right now seems like the biggest struggle praxis has ever faced. and, this is coming from a guy who lost his navigator and his eye in one fell swoop. his entire body aches. and, honestly? he's not really sure he even has legs anymore because feeling them isn't something he's able to do right this second. at this point, he's not even really sure if he's seeing abel or if he's one step away from death and his mind is just supplying him with the vision he wants to see most right before he dies. a pretty cruel thing, but he'll take it.

he struggles a little, his throat works as he tries to get actual words out. but, everything feels so scorched or dry. or, too heavy like he's moving through molasses. hand planted as firmly as he can on the ground, he pushes to get himself up to at least sit with abel's help. the world sways and darkens at the edges. his stomach churns, but he swallows rapidly to keep everything settled. )

Yeah. Just... ( he breathes deeply. once in, then out. ) One second.

( they do need to move. if the ship goes, they'd likely go with it. he hopes it doesn't, though. he looks around to try and get his bearings and the willpower to move. another deep breath in and he stumbles up to his feet. just from that, he's exhausted. he tries, tries very hard, not to lean too heavily on abel. )

Let's go.

[navs]

[ The fear rises up like bile in his throat. Watching Praxis struggle is worse than the pain he's experiencing himself, unable to do much besides support him in any way that he can, and when he's finally standing, Abel braces under his weight and does his best to hold him up. It's difficult, but he nudges him in a direction that would take them away from the fire that's beginning to spread, the heat of it causing him to sweat through his suit. A few steps, and he nearly buckles under the pain that shoots up his side from his thigh. Still, he ignores it and keeps them moving. ]

Lean on me. [ His voice is already strained, but if he can get Praxis far enough from the ship, then maybe he'll have a chance to run back and salvage something before it inevitably explodes. Being stranded isn't the worst thing that could happen to them. Yet, without any line of communication or supplies to survive on an alien planet... Not now. He has to concentrate on one thing at a time. ] Just a little more.

[ Abel doesn't know if he says it for Praxis or himself, but eventually, they reach a clearing that's far enough from the heat of the crash that the panic dies a little. He guides them over towards a fallen tree amidst an outcrop of rocks, and when he eases out from under him, Abel's legs finally give. He lands hard on his knees, gasping for breath, and it's the frustration that causes tears to burn his eyes. If he'd been paying attention during the fight, if he'd done better, then they wouldn't be in this position. There's no one else to blame for his miscalculations, and he shakes his head, using some of the rocks to get back on his feet. ]

I need to go back. If I can get – [ His breath leaves him when the entire area vibrates with a sudden, sharp explosion, and it's enough to knock him down again, dragging himself closer to Praxis before surrendering to the momentary shock that's coursing through his system and resting his forehead against his shoulder.

It's several minutes more until he speaks again, another fuel cell combusting and filling the sky with smoke. He wants to point out the obvious, that they're stuck here, but he can't. He needs to stay focused. ] Are you okay?