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[infailtration]

[ aus & psls ]

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[infailtration]

There's a little bit of guilt in this, in waking Ratchet from what little sleep the other man manages to get. But he's offered countless times, has outright told York to wake him on purpose rather than accidentally by letting it get too bad, so here he is. Shaking and hyperventilating but here, and he holds on for a moment before just standing up, catching Ratchet's hand and tugging. Not in here. He's not going to wake anyone else.

"Common room?" he manages to keep his voice quiet, swaying on his feet as the room spins again. "I can't stop it..."

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah." Ratchet just nods and pushes up without hesitation, keeping a grip on his hand as they make their way to the common room. He relaxes a little once they're in relative private, turning back to York and searching his face intently, closing his free hand on York's shoulder.

"S'all right. You're all right. Walk me through what's going on, okay?"

[infailtration]

York just shakes harder once they're alone and he doesn't have to keep such tight control over himself, leaning forward to press his forehead to Ratchet's shoulder, his other hand coming up and gripping his shirt desperately. "It's... like I'm misfiring," he gasps out, not sure how else to describe it. It's an overload of sensation that he knows isn't really there, but that threatens to drown him anyway. He's not sure whether he needs to be distracted from it or just watched until it passes, but Ratchet helped the last time. York grits his teeth and focuses on putting it into words. He doesn't beg to be knocked out this time, but there's a hopeless edge to his voice.

"Everything's too loud. And bright. And moving, it's like I'm falling or exploding or--" Fuck. He just wants it to stop. He can't hack it-- "It's not real. Why is this still happening?"

[asafepairofhands]

"Okay. All right, come here." Ratchet pulls York down to the nearest couch and sits back against the arm, pulling York's back to his chest again and just settling him there, his palm pressed over the too-fast beat of York's heart against his rib cage. He tightens his grip a little, anchoring him, and his voice is low in York's ear.

"Just breathe slowly, with me. It's still happening because this place messed with your brain and it's taking you time to heal, York. Close your eyes for now--you're not going anywhere, and you're going to be okay. I've got you."

[infailtration]

He's stiff with tension as he leans back against Ratchet, but he does lean back, reaching up to hold on to the other man's wrist instead of his shirt. Just needing to hold on to something. Ratchet's breathing is slow and steady, almost rocking him with each inhalation, and that helps. He can try to pace his own breath to that.... and manages it, eventually. He squeezes his eyes closed and grits his teeth and stubbornly focuses on syncing up with Ratchet until it actually happens. Listening to the other man's voice to drown out the other noise. His breaths are still deep and shuddering but they even out, and with that his pulse slows, the attack passing. The stimuli that brought it on remain, but he can ride through that if he's calm again, and he's getting there.

Slowly, his shoulders uncoil and his head falls back against Ratchet's shoulder. "Sorry," he murmurs, suddenly feeling embarrassed that this happened again, that he couldn't fight it off on his own.

[asafepairofhands]

"Hey, none of that," Ratchet says, sounding unperturbed as he shifts York more comfortably against him, just relaxing back into the couch as he feels York's heartbeat slow under his palm. "There's no way a reasonable person would ask you to just sit through a sudden cascade of hallucinations with no anchor and no help, which is why I told you to get me and you did as I asked, so there's nothing to apologize for." His free hand squeezes York's shoulder briefly, warm and companionable. "Don't worry about it."

[infailtration]

"Sure, be a reasonable person," York jokes weakly, his thumb tracing the line of scarring on Ratchet's wrist without really realizing it. His other hand unclenches from where it was balled into a tight fist in his lap, and lands on Ratchet's leg. Which might not be the most appropriate place, but he doesn't care all that much. They sleep together regularly enough that his hands have wound up worse places on accident -- he just reels them back and ignores it, and Ratchet's never seemed to mind.

"Thank you, though. Without you Daryl would probably be knocking me unconscious every couple nights."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet reaches up to press a hand over the the one sliding along the scar tissue at his wrist, squeezing brief censure before he draws back again, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't appear perturbed by the hand on his thigh in the slightest.

"Yeah, well," he says, his voice bone dry. "While regular concussions are certainly a novel treatment for altered brain function, they're not necessarily one I'd recommend, so it's just as well. I don't mind."

[infailtration]

York's hand stills -- right, the scars. Ratchet still hasn't told him about those, and he's not going to ask. Even if he's curious.

"I know you don't. It's still... a lot." It means a lot to him, anyway. He's not sure he'd be able to look after someone the same way and really, they don't even know each other that well. Maybe this is a decent time to fix that -- he wouldn't mind if Ratchet kept talking. "Have you ever had to do this before? Keep someone sane?"

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet makes a low noise of acknowledgement in his throat and shifts a little. When he speaks again he sounds thoughtful, a little less guarded than he usually is talking about himself.

"Not quite like this, no. I've helped people recover from brain injuries before, but I usually have a more extensive set of tools to be able to fix things like that, particularly if the issue is a mechanical problem and not a psychological one, though obviously there's some overlap sometimes. But... I don't know." His voice slows, his grip on York shifting a little. "I've been a combat medic pretty much my whole life. Part of that job has to be keeping everybody sane, to a certain extent, so I guess I'm sort of used to it, too. It's not that much of a stretch."

[infailtration]

"A mechanical problem?" That's an interesting way to put it, most people would say physical. He guesses that's sort of what's happening to him, though, since it's the implant (or sudden lack of it) giving him trouble. Maybe people in Ratchet's fleet had similar tech.

York tilts his head on Ratchet's shoulder, shifting back so he can see the other man. "...who keeps you sane, then? If your job's to look after everyone else."

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet huffs a soft laugh, looking right back at him.

"Everyone else, I guess. It's--" He almost moves to touch one the scars but checks himself, settling back. "I don't know. It's necessary, what I do. It's grounding, to have something like that. A... function, I guess." He pulls a slight face, then sighs. "Keeping everyone else sane is what keeps me sane, most days." Ratchet grins, his eyes lighting a little. "Barring that I'll go and get drunk, but I usually have way too much to do for that sort of nonsense."

[infailtration]

York catches that, and again he wants to ask, but doesn't. Eventually, Ratchet will tell him. Maybe. He just listens, for now, his mouth curling up into a matching grin at the mention of getting drunk to cope. He's been there too. Some of the best bonding times he ever had with the other Freelancers were shore leave, actually.

But here... "I guess it's kind of... not having a purpose here makes everything harder to deal with. I've definitely got too much time on my hands."

[asafepairofhands]

"It's excruciating," Ratchet agrees, easing back against the sofa. "I'm used to being buried up to my eyes in stupidity-inflicted injuries and paperwork just on a regular day, let alone if there's a fight or something else catastrophic happens. Having nothing to do is just disorienting. Sometimes I thought it might be nice to have a break, but I've changed my mind, I hate it." He's laughing, but there's an underlying frustration there, simmering under the surface.

"Honestly, I think, mmm. I think that might be why I haven't been sleeping as well as I should." He hates admitting it, but he knows York knows--he could hardly miss it when he shares Ratchet's bed half the time. "I'm used to working either until there's no more work, which is never, or I'm exhausted, and then I rest and get back up and do it again. All this... nothing is just messing with me."

[infailtration]

York nods -- he feels the same way, so used to being run ragged that all this free time and rest is having the opposite effect he'd thought it would.

"It's not like I want them to force us to join the war, but at this point... having it loom over us while we do nothing is definitely worse. Even working in the labs, doing patrols for them, it's too much nothing. I sleep better the days I train to exhaustion but that takes forever and it's boring as hell." He huffs, but there's no amusement in the sound. "And it's not like we've got many other options."

[asafepairofhands]

"Yeah. I wouldn't even mind working in medical too much, but they're cagey as all hell about their equipment and they seem to go out of their way to make sure to let me know I'm underfoot." Ratchet huffs a little, wriggling in agitation before he settles. "I'm used to running my own damn medibay, not mopping somebody else's. Not that I don't do mopping back at home, but at least that's not all I do, dammit."

[infailtration]

"That's all they'd let you do," York agrees, speaking from experience now. "They've just got me doing math and equipment maintenance in the labs. Nothing engaging. I'm hoping if I keep my head down and play the good little worker they'll let me in on what's happening in R&D, but..." It's unlikely and everybody knows it.

[asafepairofhands]

"I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't understand--I wouldn't want some random tool I picked up in a blizzard mucking around with my delicate medical instruments either." Ratchet drops his chin to York's shoulder, some of the fight draining out of him to leave him deflated. "That doesn't keep it from driving me up a wall, though."

[infailtration]

"They could at least teach us, so we could be useful somehow. I wouldn't want a bunch of freeloaders, either. Which means they're going to make us fight for them sooner or later." And by his tone, he's not okay with that -- but that's no surprise. He's already expressed his issues with the colonization, and how much propaganda the Cetagandans are spouting to support it. There's just nothing he can do, not yet.

Ratchet's chin dropping to his shoulder brings them even closer together than usual, and he can feel the other man's breath on his neck. The little shudder at that is involuntary but hopefully Ratchet will just think it's the nerve damage.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet feels that shiver when he leans in close, hesitates, then draws back again to ease himself against the arm of the couch. He's still not altogether convinced he has this cuddling thing down yet, so he's still taking is cues from York.

"Yeah. I don't really love either option, but those seem like what we've got just now."

[infailtration]

That was an accidental cue. York goes still, considering if he should say anything. Then, softly, "You didn't have to move."

[asafepairofhands]

"Oh," Ratchet says, his own voice low as he just feels York's heart beat against his palm for a moment, the slow, steady rise and fall of his lungs under his ribcage. Then he leans forward again, settling back in, his own heartbeat pressed to the side of York's spine. It's not quite the same as lying next to another Cybertronian, listening to the slow tick of cooling metal and the hum of autonomic systems, but it's close enough. And York is warm. "All right," he says, getting comfortable again and letting some of the tension drain out of him, easing the normally taut set of his shoulders.

[infailtration]

"I'm not--" He breathes out as Ratchet settles back against him, not sure if he's relieved or just more awkward. "I don't want this to get weird," he admits, gripping Ratchet's arm again. He needs it too much right now to freak the other man out.

[asafepairofhands]

Ratchet doesn't know exactly what York means by 'weird', but he feels that hitch in York's voice, the harder grip on his arm, and decides it honestly doesn't really matter.

"I'm not going anywhere, York," he says quietly, then huffs a soft laugh. "I'm too stubborn for you to scare off. Relax."

[infailtration]

Some of the nervous tension in York's shoulders eases again, and there's relief in his voice when he answers. "Too stubborn, huh? Here I thought you were just really secure."