[ she hadn't been anywhere near the volcano when the teleportation happened. she hadn't lingered behind, but she'd also known better than to attempt to make that climb on her own, and so she hung back, away from the magma crabs and the lava, doing what she always seems to do towards the end of these missions: stay out of the way and wait it out.
(it had bothered her, before. in some ways it still does, that nagging feeling that she isn't doing enough, that she's only making things harder for those that are already carrying her weight. but these days she tries to numb the feeling out, to let her believe that even if she can't help now, maybe later she can.)
because she's never in the thick of the action, she never really knows when her next breath will be back on the station. the not knowing often gnaws at her, like some jumpscare she keeps trying to anticipate. this time, when it happens, she's in the middle of worrying her lip — the shock of her return has her biting down hard enough to make it bleed, but she's so disoriented she doesn't even notice. there's movement all around her, viveca's voice in her mind, and a rank odor that smells far too much like fire and blood.
but in her spot marta whirls around, trying to scan the crowd for a familiar face. ]
[ kovacs doesn't sleep, or when he does, it's very little, too restless to keep his eyes closed like he's waiting for the very moment the transport kicks in and brings everyone back. constantly his mind is nagged by the reminders that missions can often extend weeks, even months, recalling that their time in badrock pushed close to three, aware that nothing can be done to bring them back until they get their hands on the orb.
however much viveca assures him everyone will be fine, it isn't enough to ease away the tension that builds in him, finding console of company only in old ghosts that he thought had been in the past. quell watches him as his eyes go darker and darker, day by day, conversations gradually more delirious as he starts flipping frantically through the pages of his journal, looking for any signs of something he's forgotten. the pages where he talks about marta are the most worn, ink begin to smudge in places where he talks about their nights, about the books she's read him, about the peace that lures him whenever her voice speaks quietly to him until he falls asleep.
when he's at his most calm, it's marta who's there instead of quell, soothed by imagining the exact warmth of her fingers in his, of the soft curve of her smile as he brushes his thumb again the formation of a dimple. remember the details, he demands himself, mapping her out in his mind so it doesn't disappear.
he's in the kitchen, spoon poking reluctantly at some oatmeal, when he hears the cluster of voices from the platform, viveca's voice in his ear announcing everyone's return. he doesn't waste a second, scrambling to his feet, racing to the platform to find the crowd that had been transported in.
though he's plenty relieved to see plenty of familiar faces he hadn't seen in weeks, his eyes don't stop until he finds one in particular — and when he does, he connects everything with his memory, every part of her face, even the familiar worry of her eyes, all as he's remembered, nothing yet lost.
he doesn't stop to think, pushing past other bodies to get to her, not saying a word as he reaches her, the strength of his arms wrapping around her body to pull her in close against him, clutching her tightly. ]
[ she's filthy. sticky with sweat and dirt and two weeks without a proper wash, the last thing anyone should be doing right now is getting close to her, let alone holding onto her like she might disappear in a moment's notice. but there's no telling kovacs what to do when he puts his mind to something, and warding him off right now over something as insignificant as cleanliness is the farthest thing from marta's mind.
in the jungles she wasn't allotted any time to sit still with her thoughts. there had always been something to worry about, always a reason to keep moving. she can't imagine what it must have been like to be stuck here, not knowing, feeling helpless and alone with his thoughts.
when he holds her, she makes sure to squeeze him back so tightly his mind won't have a chance to wonder if it's real or not. ]
I'm okay, I'm okay—
[ he hadn't asked, but it seemed the immediate thing to address. apart from being here, from being solid and whole and safe in his arms again, she can at least try to let her words do what they can to calm the thunderous beating of his heart against his chest, where she's buried her face so closely she might as well be trying to meld the two of them into one. ]
[ he doesn't ask verbally, but the question is there, it always is. the first reassurance, though, is in making sure she's real, having been deceived by too many illusions in his mind while he was alone here, imagining her again and again, only to face the constant disappointment of the bed space beside him being empty and cold as soon as he reaches his arm out to it.
but she's warm, so warm, that he nearly bends further down to try to dig his face into the crook of her neck despite the difference in their height, just so he can feel the heat of her against his cheeks.
instead, though, he reels back just so he can look at her, matching out her features with what he remembers of her, making sure it's all there, that it all fits right. right now, he feels like such a mess of a man, so incomplete, broken pieces threatening to crumble — but one look at her and he feels like everything comes back together again. ]
Marta. [ he mutters, breathlessly, palm reaching up over her cheek, thumb stroking in circles at her skin. leaning in, he catches her mouth with his own — still so warm — kissing her once and then again, and again and again, muttering her name like a safe chant between them. he can taste the blood from where she'd bit down, the dirt that's clung to her skin, but he doesn't care.
— he kisses her and all he can taste is home. ] Marta.
[ she keeps saying it every time she hears him say her name, so much so she doesn't even realize it's happening, and soon enough the words start to bleed into each other and no longer make sense in her ears.
she's okay, yet she feels the way her body begins to shudder in the tightness of his hold. she's okay, but the adrenaline is fast exhausting itself and the reality of all that had happened, all that could have happened, starts to weigh itself down on her mind, and now he'll taste the salt of her tears, too. the irony of them being one of fear now that she's finally and truly safe, but since when have emotions ever made sense anyway?
her hands find leverage on his arms, grip white-knuckled and shaking. ]
T-Take me to our room. Please. [ this one is too big, with too many people. after two weeks in the wide open jungle, all marta wants to feel is the security of four walls and the arms of the man she loves. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action | post-volcano mission
(it had bothered her, before. in some ways it still does, that nagging feeling that she isn't doing enough, that she's only making things harder for those that are already carrying her weight. but these days she tries to numb the feeling out, to let her believe that even if she can't help now, maybe later she can.)
because she's never in the thick of the action, she never really knows when her next breath will be back on the station. the not knowing often gnaws at her, like some jumpscare she keeps trying to anticipate. this time, when it happens, she's in the middle of worrying her lip — the shock of her return has her biting down hard enough to make it bleed, but she's so disoriented she doesn't even notice. there's movement all around her, viveca's voice in her mind, and a rank odor that smells far too much like fire and blood.
but in her spot marta whirls around, trying to scan the crowd for a familiar face. ]
Tak—?
no subject
however much viveca assures him everyone will be fine, it isn't enough to ease away the tension that builds in him, finding console of company only in old ghosts that he thought had been in the past. quell watches him as his eyes go darker and darker, day by day, conversations gradually more delirious as he starts flipping frantically through the pages of his journal, looking for any signs of something he's forgotten. the pages where he talks about marta are the most worn, ink begin to smudge in places where he talks about their nights, about the books she's read him, about the peace that lures him whenever her voice speaks quietly to him until he falls asleep.
when he's at his most calm, it's marta who's there instead of quell, soothed by imagining the exact warmth of her fingers in his, of the soft curve of her smile as he brushes his thumb again the formation of a dimple. remember the details, he demands himself, mapping her out in his mind so it doesn't disappear.
he's in the kitchen, spoon poking reluctantly at some oatmeal, when he hears the cluster of voices from the platform, viveca's voice in his ear announcing everyone's return. he doesn't waste a second, scrambling to his feet, racing to the platform to find the crowd that had been transported in.
though he's plenty relieved to see plenty of familiar faces he hadn't seen in weeks, his eyes don't stop until he finds one in particular — and when he does, he connects everything with his memory, every part of her face, even the familiar worry of her eyes, all as he's remembered, nothing yet lost.
he doesn't stop to think, pushing past other bodies to get to her, not saying a word as he reaches her, the strength of his arms wrapping around her body to pull her in close against him, clutching her tightly. ]
no subject
in the jungles she wasn't allotted any time to sit still with her thoughts. there had always been something to worry about, always a reason to keep moving. she can't imagine what it must have been like to be stuck here, not knowing, feeling helpless and alone with his thoughts.
when he holds her, she makes sure to squeeze him back so tightly his mind won't have a chance to wonder if it's real or not. ]
I'm okay, I'm okay—
[ he hadn't asked, but it seemed the immediate thing to address. apart from being here, from being solid and whole and safe in his arms again, she can at least try to let her words do what they can to calm the thunderous beating of his heart against his chest, where she's buried her face so closely she might as well be trying to meld the two of them into one. ]
no subject
but she's warm, so warm, that he nearly bends further down to try to dig his face into the crook of her neck despite the difference in their height, just so he can feel the heat of her against his cheeks.
instead, though, he reels back just so he can look at her, matching out her features with what he remembers of her, making sure it's all there, that it all fits right. right now, he feels like such a mess of a man, so incomplete, broken pieces threatening to crumble — but one look at her and he feels like everything comes back together again. ]
Marta. [ he mutters, breathlessly, palm reaching up over her cheek, thumb stroking in circles at her skin. leaning in, he catches her mouth with his own — still so warm — kissing her once and then again, and again and again, muttering her name like a safe chant between them. he can taste the blood from where she'd bit down, the dirt that's clung to her skin, but he doesn't care.
— he kisses her and all he can taste is home. ] Marta.
no subject
[ she keeps saying it every time she hears him say her name, so much so she doesn't even realize it's happening, and soon enough the words start to bleed into each other and no longer make sense in her ears.
she's okay, yet she feels the way her body begins to shudder in the tightness of his hold. she's okay, but the adrenaline is fast exhausting itself and the reality of all that had happened, all that could have happened, starts to weigh itself down on her mind, and now he'll taste the salt of her tears, too. the irony of them being one of fear now that she's finally and truly safe, but since when have emotions ever made sense anyway?
her hands find leverage on his arms, grip white-knuckled and shaking. ]
T-Take me to our room. Please. [ this one is too big, with too many people. after two weeks in the wide open jungle, all marta wants to feel is the security of four walls and the arms of the man she loves. ]