mentis | → ( reverie - ic contact )

No, I don't want your antiques.

( Charles' rolls further away from Hank, trying to pull his thin sheets further over his head. Sleep hadn't come easy, because after the noise of the music his ears had been ringing. It had been difficult to deal with that, and the things that had transpired throughout.

So he makes grumbly noises as he tries to go back to sleep. It's only Hank's insistent tone that breaks through, Charles finally relenting with a sigh. )

What?

[ Hank only pauses briefly at Charles' non-sequitur, figuring he must be dreaming. He keeps pressing at his shoulder insistently, until Charles relents. ]

Look.

[ He holds out the case, open so Charles can see the two syringes inside. ]

( He blinks, blearily, at Hank's case. It takes him a minute, brain whirring away. And then something like helpless relief crosses his features. )

Oh, thank God.

( He lets out a breathe, sits up in his bed. )

Is that really --?

It appears to be.

[ With Charles sitting up, he backs up, pulling a chair over to also take a seat. ]

It's from my lab, I know it. I don't know what it's doing here, but... Here it is.

( He stares at the syringes, tries not to feel anything other than utter fucking relief. He'd been so worried, his footsteps stumbling over one another. Everything had felt impossible. One day he'd wake up without the ability to walk.

Maybe not today though. )

Do you think it's been tampered with?

( Would they risk it, anyway? )

[ Hank shrugs, closing the case and holding it tight between his hands like it's the most precious thing on the whole station-- because, let's face it. To the two people in this room, it might as well be. ]

Without access to a lab, it's impossible to say. There's really only one way to find out.

( They're desperate. He doesn't need to be a telepath to know that. It's in the air, palpable. He looks from the closed case to Hank's face, a furrow between his brows. )

I need to piss.

( He swings his legs out of the bed, continuing to frown. )

Hang on.

( It takes him a while, which is also fucking worrying. But eventually he's washing his hands, knees hitting the open bathroom cupboard. It shouldn't be open, and so he ducks down to inspect it, and he comes away with something familiar. )

Hank?

( He exits the bathroom, the same case in his hands. )

[ Hank waits until Charles has left the room to get up and begin pacing, trying to think. They're both desperate, and desperate people are prone to making bad decisions. Injecting mysterious substances into your veins is definitely a bad decision. But if it can return Hank to the form he's more comfortable in...?

He ceases his pacing when Charles returns, eyes going from Charles' face to the identical case he's holding. ]

...What's going on?

I don't know.

( He should be afraid, instead he wants to fall to his knees and thank whatever cosmic deity has blessed them. )

Should we try?

( There's only one of them who can get an answer straight away. He looks at Hank, a guilty concern in his eyes. )

[ He can tell, even without looking Charles in the eye, that Charles needs him to do this, almost more than he himself needs to do it. Looking up at Charles only cements that fact.

He swallows his nerves down. ]

Might as well. ...Right?

[ Decision seemingly made, he moves to sit down on his half-made bed, setting the case beside him and rolling back the sleeve of his coveralls. That done, he gingerly picks up one of the syringes, tapping it with a finger to get the air bubbles out.

He takes a deep breath, looking back up at Charles. ]

Here goes nothing.

[ And in goes the syringe. Hank winces slightly at the pain, but soon enough the effects begin to show, the fur receding from his face and arms. ]

( He hates himself in that moment. He knows how much he's leant on Hank in the past, how much he's demanded of his time. Their friendship isn't balanced in the right way. Charles takes advantage.

But he cares for him, that's true too. He wouldn't want to put Hank in harm's way. So he watches, brows knitted, fear knotting his stomach while the man before him injects himself with an unknown serum. When the fur disappears he lets out a breathe, whistling through his teeth. )

Hank. You're you again.

( HE IS THE WORST. )

[ He should be relieved. Of all the times he's injected himself with something not knowing what the exact outcome will be-- there really shouldn't have to be multiple instances of that, but this is what his life is like-- this time he's actually achieved the desired result. He should be relieved. He should be happy.

But then Charles says... what he says. And Hank gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with his transformation back into his old appearance.

He sniffs, reaching for his glasses and putting them on, not quite looking at Charles until he's stood up and gathered his resolve a bit better. ]

Alright. Your turn.

( Charles doesn't notice the change in Hank's mood. He's too busy reaching for the second syringe, rolling up the sleeve of his jumpsuit with practised ease. It takes very little time for him to find the vein - which is surprising, considering. He hasn't abused them quite as much recently - and when he presses down on the plunger he lets out a breath.

He's relieved, terribly so. Everything else is secondary. )

I wonder if they'll last the same amount of time. This place seems to have an effect on it regardless, doesn't it?

It does seem to last longer here than it ought to. If we had access to a lab, I could run a blood sample analysis, try to find out why, but... [ Well. ] Maybe it's best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

[ Because this is certainly a gift they've been given. By who, Hank doesn't know. ]

Mm. It's strange, to say the least. How did they even get the serum in here in the first place? I've barely left, I'm fairly certain I'd notice an unfamiliar invader.

( He hasn't been able to get blackout drunk in a few days. )

And why now? Why not when we arrived?

It's not the strangest thing that's happened on this ship. [ Station. Semantics. ] There are people who've found wires underneath their skin. Finding something from home in your bathroom cabinet is odd, but at least it's not that invasive.

Oh, wonderful. What's a little body horror between friends, eh?

( God. )

Well, I for one am remarkably glad we've been favoured.

( He doesn't want to deal with Erik's smug righteousness right now. )

→ ( reverie - ic contact )

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