[ It's a bit of a scenery when a body that has been lying still as if sleeping for three months is suddenly just... not there anymore. The young girl, Eleven, is still there, but Sam Wilson? Not so much. Small blessings: He resurfaces on his own, quite some time later, and quite awake, if not entirely steady on his feet. The three months worth of hair and beard growth have been neatly trimmed and cut back again save for the signature goatee. His shirt's folded and set aside, and Sam's in the process of using some of the medbay equipment on himself to run a few tests in the few precious moments that Bucky 'Mother Hen' Barnes has let him out of his sight - clearly knows what he's doing there, too, previous pararescue training combined with his work alongside Bones in the medbay make him feel comfortable in here. Except for the way he's not looking quite steady on his feet, the way his hands are shaking and his eyes have the telltale glassy quality of someone still more groggy than not.
Ask for help though... What is he, a reasonable adult? ]
[ it's apparently a big ask for the people of this time — relying on others, that is. one would think someone used to the supportive role like sam would know better, but maybe the hero in him supersedes that kind of common sense to instead inject more of that uniquely stubborn self-sufficiency.
in any case, it makes for quite the first impression. walking back into the infirmary after taking a quick break for lunch, marta doesn't expect to wander into someone's self-assessment. especially one that requires so much... exposed skin. ]
Oh — sorry, I.
[ she pauses, hand freezing after finding its way up to her eyes. it drops an inch, just enough for her to furrow her brow over at the man on the bed, recognizing him instantly. she'd read to him by his bedside long enough, after all. ]
[ ooc: as promised a while ago on plurk - the goddamn latest of tag backs. I'm so sorry - no obligation if you'd rather drop it. ][ The Ximilia has certainly attracted its fair share of people who are real damn good at throwing themselves at danger, and incredibly bad at letting themselves be taken care of. Occupational hazard, perhaps. When you give everything to step up, you don't expect anyone to stand there by your side for long - it's precarious up there, after all, and dangerous. There's a reason Sam feels most at peace at home in Delacroix, where the people are good - but also very far from the places in which Sam gets hurt.
At any rate, though - Sam glances her way, notes the hand raised up over her eyes with a trace of amusement, and then drops his own gaze back to the instruments. Something tugs on his memory when she talks - he's never seen her, but her voice is familiar. It swims vaguely in the same foggy impressions he has of other voices that sunk into his mind while he lost three months of his life to stasis. ]
Depends on how wide you consider the gap between 'should', 'could' and 'would'.
[ Sam looks back up, this time with an honest grin - if tired around the edges. He's definitely not yet at a 100%. Far from it. ]
Probably not, but it ain't exactly important enough to bug the Doc.
[ Which is blatantly untrue, and McCoy would certainly have Sam's hide for opting to go at it alone rather than 'disturb' him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Backdated, pre-mission prep time
Ask for help though... What is he, a reasonable adult? ]
no subject
in any case, it makes for quite the first impression. walking back into the infirmary after taking a quick break for lunch, marta doesn't expect to wander into someone's self-assessment. especially one that requires so much... exposed skin. ]
Oh — sorry, I.
[ she pauses, hand freezing after finding its way up to her eyes. it drops an inch, just enough for her to furrow her brow over at the man on the bed, recognizing him instantly. she'd read to him by his bedside long enough, after all. ]
...Should you be doing that yourself?
no subject
[ The Ximilia has certainly attracted its fair share of people who are real damn good at throwing themselves at danger, and incredibly bad at letting themselves be taken care of. Occupational hazard, perhaps. When you give everything to step up, you don't expect anyone to stand there by your side for long - it's precarious up there, after all, and dangerous. There's a reason Sam feels most at peace at home in Delacroix, where the people are good - but also very far from the places in which Sam gets hurt.
At any rate, though - Sam glances her way, notes the hand raised up over her eyes with a trace of amusement, and then drops his own gaze back to the instruments. Something tugs on his memory when she talks - he's never seen her, but her voice is familiar. It swims vaguely in the same foggy impressions he has of other voices that sunk into his mind while he lost three months of his life to stasis. ]
Depends on how wide you consider the gap between 'should', 'could' and 'would'.
[ Sam looks back up, this time with an honest grin - if tired around the edges. He's definitely not yet at a 100%. Far from it. ]
Probably not, but it ain't exactly important enough to bug the Doc.
[ Which is blatantly untrue, and McCoy would certainly have Sam's hide for opting to go at it alone rather than 'disturb' him. ]