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[Why of all people it should be cranky Dr. Riley that manages to cut through Kyle's attempt at composure he couldn't really say. Maybe because he's never seen Drake actually look worried about anyone before.

Kyle starts crying. Not loudly, but in a silent, helpless sort of way.]

I lost a hand.

[Oh, but Drake is an expert worrier. It's why he's so cranky. He pales a little when Kyle makes that revelation.]

"Christ. What, just - just now?"

"Careless." [The voice of his friend came unbidden in his head.]

[a laugh]

"Oy, shut up, you feckless wanker. 'Least I've got both my balls."

"And yet I've still got more'n you."

"Says the man who shot my arm off. You're right, that is some bollocks."

[Of course, this exchange had happened long after the fact, when they both could laugh at each other over the bits and pieces they'd lost, lacerated, and impaled. But at the moment, Drake was frowning in a wide eyed way as he remembered what it felt like to have a hand crushed and shredded before Gene saved the rest of him by shooting it off at the elbow.]

I - [He swallowed a sudden font of hot saliva, a precursor to the retch that was twisting his stomach.]

Okay. Listen to me. I know you're not alright, but you will be. I promise. I have some field dressing training and a medkit. It's a bit substandard, but it'll do in a pinch. I can come to you.

No, no. It's. Uhm. [He takes a deep, watery breath.]

It's already done. It's been cauterized, I'm not in immediate danger. I just.

[He sniffles.] I just don't know how to... like. What am I gonna do? I don't know how to deal with this.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, this is a lot.

[Drake's shoulders fall and his head dips down briefly as he lets out a breath. And then, of all the things that cranky Dr. Riley might have been expected to do upon looking up again, like yell or fret or interrogate, one might be forgiven for not expecting a look of profoundly intimate understanding]

You're going to get through it. You're going to grieve and get frustrated. You're going to adjust to new limitations. And you're not going to apologize for it.

[And that look gets Kyle crying again.]

Yeah? You know that?

I do. At the risk of sounding tacky, I know it first hand.

D'you want to talk? And uh...maybe get that looked at?

[That startles Kyle into a laugh.]

I've had it looked at, but... yeah. That would be nice.

[visibly packing up, gabbing his coat, turning off monitors and lamps, etc]

Right. M'on my way.

[ It takes just shy of an hour for him to arrive after having realized that he didn't know where Kyle lived and also didn't know how to find out from his communicator because he doesn't really care about where people live and so never bothered to learn about that function - but he manages and shows up and taps on the door and when Kyle answers, he might notice what looks like a small toolbox that the scientist is carrying. And when he answers, Drake may well pull back a little with raised eyebrows. ]

....you're taller than I thought.

Six foot two.

[He's smiling when he says it, but he's very pale.]

Come on in. You want something to drink? I've got tea.

[grumble] 'Course you are...

[ The grumbling may or may not be influenced by the very-nearly-full foot that Kyle has on the 5'3" man frowning up at him in consternation. But the expression changes to something between impressed and incredulous when invited inside. ]

Tea? Where did you- [ He makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat when he thinks suddenly of Coruscant and everything he could have brought back but didn't.] I should've thought to get tea when I had the chance. Yes, thank you.

[ He sets the small box on whatever nearby surface there is: coffee table, counter, etc. and opens it. ] I brought the med kit anyway. Might be something in it you could use. Fresh gauze, painkillers, what have you.

Coruscant. I don't drink it often. But I got a working stove now, so I can boil water. C'mon through.

[He hasn't found a proper kettle yet - he moves to his little kitchen and fills a pot with water. He watches Riley put his kit on the counter.]

Oh, sweet. I won't say no to more painkillers, if I'm honest. It hurts a lot. [He aims to keep his voice light, but it catches and he has to clear his throat.] Sorry. Uhm. I appreciate you coming over.

[ Drake pauses at the counter to watch Kyle as he puts the water to boil, noting the adaptations he's already learned to make and absolutely catching that vocal tell with a small, sad frown. ]

Yeh, it'll... It's going to be like that on and off for awhile. D'you mind if I ask how it happened?

I read that it'll itch like crazy as it heals up. Not looking forward to that.

[He studies the mugs he gets out, one at a time.]

Uhm. When things went all... evil and crazy in Temba? I was infected with some... I dunno, evil shit. And I tried to hurt my friend. So he, uhm. Cut off my hand.

Which in retrospect feels a bit like overkill.

I ran away and cauterized it because I wasn't exactly thinking straight, and I'm probably lucky it hasn't rotted off MORE. So. Yeah.

[He carefully measures tea into a strainer.] It could be worse, right? Could have been my dick.

[He's trying so, so hard to be positive and it makes his chest ache.]

[ Maybe it's some residual Loneliness giving him a whiff or maybe it's from years of putting on a brave face, himself, but Drake can spot a person suffering alone and quietly. That doesn't make him any more tactful or prepared, but he knows what it's like and he hopes that's enough. ]

...Right. I suppose if you want to compare bits and pieces, things could always be worse...but comparing yourself to others, or to hypothetical situations doesn't help with what's in front of you right now. [ carefully, now ] It's alright to process what's in front of you, and to be heartbroken by it.

[Kyle listens to this and his mouth trembles. He keeps telling himself it's okay, he's okay, he's not going to cry in front of the crankiest man in Temba.

But of course he does. Kyle isn't a spy or a superhero or a war veteran. He's a twentysomething student from Colorado. He bursts into tears and goes to put his hands over his face. The fact that one is more just not there makes him cry harder.]

Sorry. Sorry, sorry, I-- I HATE the stupid fucking Agrii and I wanna go home!

[ Touch is one of Drake's two strongest love languages and it always has been. You'd never guess it, though, from how anxious and uncomfortable he is with it. He straightens immediately and moves forward, putting out a hand, hesitating, and finally resting it on Kyle's arm. ]

I know, mate. It's alright. You go sit down. I'll finish the tea and...we can talk about how shite this place and everything in it is. Yeh?

[It takes every inch of his willpower not to turn into Riley and hug him. Instead Kyle nods miserably and goes to sit in one of his wooden kitchen chairs. He folds his arms on the table and puts his face into them, sobbing until he can't anymore.

That's the thing about tears - eventually they dry up.

Feeling a little nauseous, a lot snotty, but at least hollowed out in an exhausted way, he lifts his head again. When he speaks his voice is froggy.]

Sorry.

[ It isn't that Drake doesn't know what Kyle needs or even that he doesn't want to provide it. (The dad in him is really aching to, actually.) It's more that he's spent a long time being told Nobody Wants Your Hugs and is still near the beginning of his journey of self-reclamation. When Kyle looks up, Drake is sitting across from him and both mugs of tea sit steaming on the table. He shakes his head. ]

You need to stop apologizing. You're allowed to grieve and get angry. Get frustrated by tasks that used to be simple. Feel less than whole. Feel less than useful. You're going to go through all of it. I did, anyway.

How did it happen to you?

[He takes his cup of tea gratefully.]

You don't have to tell me. But I'd really like to know.

Right. [ he does that frowny pursed lips nod that people do when thinking about something troubling ] Been wondering when you might ask. Exactly what authority does this self inflated git think he has, telling people about losing a hand when he's clearly got both his feckin' hands?

[ Drake takes his jacket off and lays his left arm on the table. Perhaps four inches below the elbow is a thin, pale line that goes all the way around. ]

My team and I were helping a small network of villages to industrialize. They were good people with a resource-rich land that they were having trouble utilizing efficiently. In exchange for a percentage of the minerals, we would outfit them with the means to refine and keep track of labor and output. I designed some of the machinery and wrote the software and built a seventy second scale working model of an ore processing unit.

[ He pauses and sucks his lips in for a few moments ]

There was some uh...some civil unrest. Most supported the endeavor, but there were factions that didn't trust us, or didn't want outsiders taking any of their resources, or thought the progress we were promising was the first step toward an immoral, godless society steeped in debauchery. So some unrest broke out, and... [ shrug ] I got - I got pushed into the model while it was [ very loud exhale ] churning away. Flung my hand out, you know, to catch myself, and......in it went.

Heh. I wasn't thinking that, exactly. I figured if you offered to come talk to me something was cut off of you. No offense but you don't much seem like the type to just randomly wanna talk to some depressed guy.

[Kyle looks at Drake's arm, listening intently as he talks. When he gets to the end of his story, Kyle winces.]

Dude. Oh my god, dude. That's horrible.

Edited 2022-01-07 21:09 (UTC)

It was...

[nod]

...yeh, it was horrifying.

[ He rubs the palm of his shouldn't-be-there hand with his thumb thoughtfully for a few moments, then flexes his fingers ]

This uh....isn't that hand. I mean, obviously. Mine was completely [cough] co-uh completely shredded. My brother-in-law had to shoot it off. Don't really remember that part, just um. This violent, full-body jarring. Needed to be done, but I give him shit about it anyway.

You got a transplant? That's pretty impressive. Does it have as much sensation and functionality?

[He finally smiles a little.] I plan to give Kaz shit about cutting off my fucking hand for, well. Ever.

[ sorryyy, I haven't forgotten the thread, things have just been very hard lately. I lost a good friend to covid and that kind of sucks the joy out of things. ]

Yeeeeeah... [ Drake flexes his fingers, watching them thoughtfully. ] It's actually... Well it's a long story, but in the interest of not waffling on, it was grown for me by an advanced race of people for whom I solved a very big problem. So yeah, it...it's precisely like version 1.0.

Before this, I had a prosthetic for a few years, and before that, it was a year and change of masking behind 'look, no hands' jokes.

[ He makes a face at Kaz's name. ]

Kaz? You mean that greasy joyless bastard with the cane who's read too much Gothic fantasy? Pardon my saying so, but he seems entirely too skeevy.

[oh my god don't even worry about it! Real Life is always more important, and I'll be around whenever. I'm so sorry about your friend, that's terrible.]

Dude. Whoa. They could grow it after all that time? That's intense. I'll get a prosthetic, looks like. But it's still scary. [He only admits this because Riley knows how it feels.

At that description Kyle burst into laughter.]

Yeah, him. He's a friend. [Or so Kyle thinks, anyway.]

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