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» WHO? The Roci Crew and whoever else wants in on this mess
» WHEN? after the gravity is back
» WHERE? A few different places
» WHAT? A few different prompts as well as a catch-all for any roci crew or related logs for the month of june
» WARNINGS? these are all just terrible people what do you want from me

001: Alex, Bobbie and Amos are Judging You

The Martians and the Earther are sitting at a table in the Mess Hall, and they've started a game. That game? To rate everyone else on the ship in order of attractiveness. Want to be rated? Find the comment header below, drop a picture in of your character, and watch the comments fly. Feel free to overhear them and give them hell.

002: Closed, Alex >> Frank

Going on the morning walk-about to search for Holden was ritual, at this point, and Alex was very used to Frank coming over first thing before they headed out. So the door was already open, waiting for him. Alex was fishing through his drawers, trying to find where he'd stashed that singular glove that he'd found, to show him for a laugh. But instead his fingers found something else - a thin sheet of plastic, creased and bent a hundred thousand times, and Alex's heart nearly stopped.

He pulled it out of the drawer like it was made of plutonium, careful not to touch the edges of the drawer with it.

Christ. Oh, Christ.

003: Open, Alex >> Anyone who wants to find this wrecked man.

He goes straight to the bar.

It's not that he isn't a fairly regular fixture there, anyway, but especially right now, all he really wants is to drink until he numbs everything. So hi, have a depressed Martian with a bottle of who knows what, sitting at the bar and just staring at a picture of a woman and a child smiling lovingly at the camera. He keeps stroking his thumb over it, then looking wrecked and saying something like 'god damn it' under his breath before he pours himself another drink. One of his arms is still wrapped up in a sling against his chest.

If he recognizes you, he might look up when you get close, and sigh. "Hey, partner. Everythin' alright?" Because it's a lot easier to worry about other people, than to keep being miserable about yourself.

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He reached out, putting a hand on her arm, though his tough was light. Right where her bicep was. Or, well. Should be. He pulled in a breath, a similar answering panic in his chest, but --

She wasn't drenched. She wasn't even damp. So it was - it was similar, but but wasn't the same.

He considered seven different things he could say. 'Hell if I know' being chief among them. He chewed over them for a little to long, before finally, a little quietly, he just said:

"You eaten yet?"

He doesn't panic, not outwardly, at least, and she finds herself relaxing. She realizes that as much as she didn't want him to have to deal with this after her own ordeal, being with him is comforting, even if it's clear he has no idea what to do.

"No," she replies, shaking her head a bit. She can't bring herself to tell him that she can't even pick up a plate.

"Alrigh'." She was wasting away. In truth, he was absolutely terrified, but she didn't seem to be hallucinating or delirious. It's not the same, he reminded himself quietly. His hand dropped from her bicep, fingers brushing her elbow as they passed, before finding her hand and taking it in his, giving it a firm, solid squeeze.

I got you, Gunny.

"Come on. We'll get that fixed, then."

Since he had no idea in hell how to fix the rest.

She lets out a breath, then squeezes back, or tries to, anyway. Her grip is pathetically weak.

"Thanks." Bobbie hesitates for a second, then adds much more quietly: "It'll take a while to get there. I can't move very fast."

He considered, for the briefest of seconds, getting her to sit down and then fetching food for her - but that would require leaving her somewhere. It only took him two nanoseconds to decide that he was not going to do that, any time soon.

"We'll take it slow." He didn't let go of her hand.

"... How long?"

She shrugs, not entirely sure how to respond. It's also clear that this is pretty humiliating for her.

"Longer than it should. I don't know."

"No, I mean --" He hesitates, swallowing, and his voice lowers.

"I mean, how long since you- since this started--"

Oh. That. That's an even less fun answer.

"Since this morning."

And she knows how terrible it looks, that she's declined this quickly.

He lets out a breath. Okay. Slower than him, by far. And none of the sweating.

What the hell was happening to them, out here?

He squeezed her hand and just kept walking, making sure to keep to the pace she was setting rather than trying to pull her any faster.

"Alright. Alright, well. Whatever happened to me, it - it fixed itself in the end, right? So we'll just - wait it out."

Bobbie nods, not quite looking at him. She's moving at what could only be described as a shuffle. Maybe it will get better. At the rate she's going now, though, she's not so sure.

"I didn't want you to worry," she says, voice soft. But that's not the entire truth, either. "And I didn't want you to see me like this."

"I'm alright," he assured her. It wasn't entirely the truth. He was freaked out and he was worried - but he also didn't want to look it. Wanted to make sure she could depend on him.

"And trust me, I know this ain't you. This ain't gonna change the fact that you're the toughest damn person I know." She might look like a rake right now - but it wasn't her. This was something happening to her.

"If I close my eyes, it's all height and muscle, don't you worry."

Bobbie laughs weakly for the first time all day, and she squeezes his hand again unconsciously. Somehow he managed to pick out exactly what she needed to hear.

"You're a god damn liar, Kamal." She's still smiling slightly, though, her panic receding just a bit.

"Hmmm..." He said, a low sound, before he theatrically shut his eyes real tight.

"Nope, I ain't lying. I just see muscles on muscles. Just all the way down to martian marine bones."

Ridiculous. Bobbie rolls her eyes, even though he can't see it. "Is there a reason you know what Martian marine bones look like?"

He opened his eyes again, offering a smile that was probably too soft for the way he was teasing her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lopez sagged in his chair, the cut thrust releasing him of the gravity that had crushed his broken ribs into his lungs. The thrust that Alex had put them under, that had killed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he helped the others get him into a body bag.

There'd been no reason for an x-ray.

The smile only wavered a little.

"I imagine they're like the rest of ours, only with more muscles growin' on 'em."

Bobbie catches the way his smile just barely falters, and wonders if it's because he's looking at her again or something else. She wouldn't be surprised if it were the former—she's already flagging, and they're just halfway to the mess hall.

"Guess so," she replies, voice softening as she looks away. "I need to stop for a second."

"Yeah, of course." He slows as soon as she says it, glancing around - there's a raised bit of bulkhead offset from the wall that might work as a seat, so he gently tugs her hand and moves over to sit down on it, gesturing for her to join him.

He should have called Amos, or Naomi, or one of the others - asked them to get some food from the mess hall, and holed up with Bobbie in the shared room that they'd all commandeered. But it was too late for that, now, and he was pretty sure that calling for one of them at this point would make it sound like he didn't think she would make it there.

So he just sat, and squeezed her hand.

So she sits, hand still in his. She's not quite willing to let go yet, even though she tells herself that's ridiculous. She's a god damn marine, and here she is, unable to even make it all the way down a hallway. Bobbie trains her eyes on her mag boots, her other hand squeezing into a fist as she catches her breath.

"You don't have to babysit me indefinitely."

"It ain't babysittin'." His voice was quiet, and he didn't look over at her, instead fixing his eyes on some point on the floor ahead of him.

"You tell me that you want me to leave, Gunny, and I will. But I sure as hell don't want to be alone."

Bobbie is quiet for a moment as she considers that. Wrestles with it, really. She glances up to watch him, letting out a breath.

"I don't want you to leave."

His eyes were still somewhere else, but at her words he leaned back, pressing his back to the wall, and squeezed her hand. It was for the best. If she'd made him leave, he would have spent the whole time pacing and fretting just out of sight, anyway.

"Good. Then I ain't goin' anywhere."

She wonders if he gets, really gets, how much that means to her. He says she's crew, sure, but he seems to say it to pretty much everyone, and she doubts Holden would agree with him. This is different, though. She hasn't felt like anyone has really had her back since Ganymede, not in the way her team did. Not in the 'take a bullet for you' way.

Bobbie lets out a breath, closes her eyes and tilts her head back to rest against the wall. Get it together, Draper. There's no point in getting all emotional and sappy. She swallows, but when she responds, there's just the slightest tremble to her voice.

"Thanks."

"Don't need to thank me, Gunny." He squeezed her hand, back against the wall and gazing out across the hall with no real focus.

It really wasn't even in question, that he had her back. At least it wasn't for him. He'd known her for - what, maybe a month? - and she'd ingrained herself so fully into his life and his head and his heart that it was hard to remember when she hadn't been a part of it. He wouldn't have been able to explain why she had clicked into place so easily. Maybe made up something about how she got a head start, since she knew him even when he didn't know her. That she was Martin, that they shared a bond that no one else on the station did. All these things were true, but they also didn't matter.

She could have been from anywhere, and he still thinks he would have wanted to cement himself at her side.

He didn't know what was happening to her, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to let her go through it alone.

Amos was his brother, Naomi and Prax and Frank his crew, his family.

But he was pretty sure, somehow, that Bobbie had ended up his best god damn friend. He wasn't going to lose her, if he had a single god damn thing to say about it.

She nods, trying to work up the willpower to get up again. She's so fucking exhausted that for a moment, she's tempted to just lay her head on his shoulder and go to sleep. That's not a level of vulnerability she's ready to show around anyone else, but she knows Alex would never think less of her for it. And hey, it would give him a chance to pay her back for teasing him after he fell asleep on her a few nights ago.

But Bobbie is nothing if not stubborn as a mule, and going to sleep feels like giving up, no matter how much comfort she'd draw from it, so she forces herself to open her eyes and sit upright. She stands up, a bit unsteadily, then gives his hand a tug.

"Come on. I'm okay."

He watches her get up, trying not to look as concerned as he feels, but he doesn't argue. Instead he just nods, and stands up to join her.

"I could try an' make some of that stuffing made for Amos the other day. It almost looked like lasagna. It was layered, anyway, and red and beige. It was terrible. But it looked interestin'."

Maybe it would take her mind off of it