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CHARACTERS: Dom Flores, Delilah Jensen, Apollo Avila, Jamie Reid, Sloane Lynfield, ft. Jax. St James & Nurse Nadine Weber
WHAT: Operation Kamchatka to reclaim an abandoned naval base town.
WHEN: Wednesday morning through Friday morning.
WHERE: Kamchatka Peninsula, Eastern Russia; Bechevinka naval base
WARNINGS: none atm
WEDNESDAY MORNING
"Alright, kiddos," Jax's drawl cut across the length of the cargo hold, his tone steady and commanding. His arms are crossed, Delilah's friendship bracelet clinging to one wrist. "I'll be on comms with Jamie as you guys head down, then I want you to hook in once you touch grass. I want check-ins every hour on the hour, no exceptions. If you need anything, if there is an injury, you do not hesitate to open the line. Nadine and Sloane are your medics. Apollo is an ex-ranger so he can guide you around the terrain. Dom is your mission lead on the ground."
He looks between all their faces. "Any questions, or am I clear as mud?"
“No questions. But Nadine can take the lead on being a medic, if there’s something more exciting to do.” Sloane chips in, deciding this for herself without consulting anyone. To her left, Nadine smiles wanly.
“You can be a junior ranger,” Apollo affirms.
“Roger that, boss.” Jamie adds, “Dom will make sure we behave ourselves.” He’s sat in the pilot’s chair, busy checking to make sure everything on the dashboard is in working order. They’re going to make it safely to the ground, if he can help it.
"Dom will ensure you follow the mission objectives and act in a safe manner," Dom, who's already lost his notebook in one pocket of his cargo pants, clarifies. "He is not paid enough to step in the middle of any slap-fights."
"He's not paid at all," Jax reminds him with a kind laugh as he crosses the hold toward Jamie. "Lilah?"
"I have never been in a slap-fight and I don't intend to start now, Mr. Dom, sir," Delilah pledges before she redirects her attention to Jax. "I'm good."
“I don’t slap.” Sloane assures, which is not quite true, but it’s a mission. She has to be professional. She doesn’t even slap Apollo after the junior ranger demotion, just rolls her eyes pointedly. “We’ll be fine. This sounds easy.”
Hopefully it will go off without any hitches, but hope is in short supply these days. When the open cockpit is reached, Jax slides an arm around the back of Jamie's chair. "Take 'em down safe, okay? You, too." A kiss is pressed to his cheek, oh so close to the corner of his lips.
Jamie nods, focus still mainly on the ship he’s about to pilot down to the ground. He looks up at Jax, offering a smile and returning a quick kiss to Jax’s cheek. “We’ll all get there safe and back, don’t worry.” One more look and he returns to the ship. It’s going to be a quick journey, nothing to worry about.
For now, anyway.
WHAT: Operation Kamchatka to reclaim an abandoned naval base town.
WHEN: Wednesday morning through Friday morning.
WHERE: Kamchatka Peninsula, Eastern Russia; Bechevinka naval base
WARNINGS: none atm
"Alright, kiddos," Jax's drawl cut across the length of the cargo hold, his tone steady and commanding. His arms are crossed, Delilah's friendship bracelet clinging to one wrist. "I'll be on comms with Jamie as you guys head down, then I want you to hook in once you touch grass. I want check-ins every hour on the hour, no exceptions. If you need anything, if there is an injury, you do not hesitate to open the line. Nadine and Sloane are your medics. Apollo is an ex-ranger so he can guide you around the terrain. Dom is your mission lead on the ground."
He looks between all their faces. "Any questions, or am I clear as mud?"
“No questions. But Nadine can take the lead on being a medic, if there’s something more exciting to do.” Sloane chips in, deciding this for herself without consulting anyone. To her left, Nadine smiles wanly.
“You can be a junior ranger,” Apollo affirms.
“Roger that, boss.” Jamie adds, “Dom will make sure we behave ourselves.” He’s sat in the pilot’s chair, busy checking to make sure everything on the dashboard is in working order. They’re going to make it safely to the ground, if he can help it.
"Dom will ensure you follow the mission objectives and act in a safe manner," Dom, who's already lost his notebook in one pocket of his cargo pants, clarifies. "He is not paid enough to step in the middle of any slap-fights."
"He's not paid at all," Jax reminds him with a kind laugh as he crosses the hold toward Jamie. "Lilah?"
"I have never been in a slap-fight and I don't intend to start now, Mr. Dom, sir," Delilah pledges before she redirects her attention to Jax. "I'm good."
“I don’t slap.” Sloane assures, which is not quite true, but it’s a mission. She has to be professional. She doesn’t even slap Apollo after the junior ranger demotion, just rolls her eyes pointedly. “We’ll be fine. This sounds easy.”
Hopefully it will go off without any hitches, but hope is in short supply these days. When the open cockpit is reached, Jax slides an arm around the back of Jamie's chair. "Take 'em down safe, okay? You, too." A kiss is pressed to his cheek, oh so close to the corner of his lips.
Jamie nods, focus still mainly on the ship he’s about to pilot down to the ground. He looks up at Jax, offering a smile and returning a quick kiss to Jax’s cheek. “We’ll all get there safe and back, don’t worry.” One more look and he returns to the ship. It’s going to be a quick journey, nothing to worry about.
For now, anyway.
DAY ONE: Wednesday 2/18.
Dom & Jamie
Settled outside for a moment of peace after the first day of the mission, Jamie is bundled tightly in a thick jacket with a blanket draped over his legs. He has his notebook out on his lap, pouring through the notes he made during their first day on mission. As he reads through them, he makes some edits, adding details he forgot or removing anything unnecessary. He’s hoping that whatever he writes here will be useful for leadership when it’s time to move unVeiled into the area.
When he hears footsteps nearby he looks up to see Dom moving in his direction. “Hey,” he greets Dom and pats the ground next to him, offering it as a seat.
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Dom lowers himself to the ground with the kind of groan you'd expect of either a man over 50 or a dad of five, and maybe it wounds his pride a little — he's forgotten what havoc artificial gravity and a self-contained neighbourhood wreaks on his limbs. "This must be how medical testing beagles feel when they touch grass for the first time."
“Something like that,” Jamie lets out a small laugh. It’s an apt description of being back on the ground for longer than a few hours. “How do you think everything’s going so far?” He asks, eager to debrief a little bit after their first full day of exploring and taking stock of the town.
Pulling his toque further down over his ears, Dom nods. "Most of the apartments are in better shape than I'd expect after decades of disuse. By my best estimation, they'll house close to one thousand residents." It's a far cry from the tens and tens of thousands that they'd relocate in an ideal world but it's a start, and what is a resistance if nothing except a long list of small starts?
With a nod, Jamie considers Dom’s assessment of the situation. It isn’t nearly what they’d hoped for and yet it’s a relief to know they’ll have some additional space for those newly unVeiled. “I didn’t think they’d be usable, honestly. I hoped they would be, but structurally I was apprehensive. At least we can get some people in here and then we work on finding more places like this. We just have to chip away at this,” besides the housing, it will be good that they can bring some things back to the ship too. Supplies are always a high priority. “Does it feel good being back on a mission?” Jamie scratches behind his ear, knowing this might be a sore subject.
"I'm grateful to be back on solid ground and to contribute to a viable goal," Dom tries before he admits: "But I wouldn't have complained if your darling found an abandoned military base somewhere warmer. Malta, or perhaps Indonesia?"
“I wish I could influence where he chose, but I don’t have that kind of pull,” Jamie reaches one of his hands over to the other and tugs at his sleeve, pulling it down further to ensure no skin reaches the cold air. “I would’ve enjoyed some warm weather though,” he admits. “Glad you’re down here with us though, even if it isn’t a break, something about being on solid ground feels like one.”
That earns a chuckle from the man beside Jamie, paired with a smile that pulls at the edges of his eyes in the darkness. "Perhaps next time we'll pack little drink umbrellas for our water bottles?"
Jamie’s eyes flick over to Dom, “perhaps some beach towels might be in order?” They’re a far cry from the tropics right now, but even the thought of laying in the sun enjoying a drink with an umbrella brightens his mood. “Do you want to see my notes from today?” A motion to his notebook.
Dom nods and waves for Jamie to hand it over. "Would you believe me if I claimed drawing palm trees in the margins is part of my process?"
The book presses into Dom’s hands. Jamie wants Dom’s feedback, he’s been doing this for years now and is used to the technical side of things, but some of their fellow members of Dislinked might want visuals to accompany the notes – this is where Jamie fails. “I’d say it’s a coincidence or you’ve just got the beach on your brain. Poor drawing is part of my process and yet, I try anyway,” he motions to the amateur stick figures interspersed with his meticulous notes.
"Oh." The pleasant-yet-mild mask drops for the delight in Dom's laugh when he draws his finger down the page. "Oh, that will be in the report. These men deserve to be immortalized."
Heat spreads into Jamie’s face, he’s aware of his lack of drawing skills and sometimes still feels the sting of embarrassment upon showing Dom his attempt at drawing. “No, I think they need to be erased, actually. Please just draw over them. You’re much better,” he lets out a short laugh.
Dom shakes his head, even taking his pen from somewhere easy to access (his jacket's breast pocket) so he can jam it somewhere much harder to get (between his bootlaces). "I'm exercising my authority as the surface-level mission leave. I won't."
“I guess it’s going to be public knowledge now, unless Delilah is nicer than you and helps me.” His eyebrow raises jokingly, “I hope you drew a better bear than I did. They can keep that one and get rid of mine.”
A nose scrunch. "My talents lie in cityscapes and schematics, if I drew a bear it would be mistaken for a statue at best."
Jamie laughs loudly, “a statue is better than a circle with legs and ears.” He realizes they are way off base from their original conversation, but it’s nice getting to talk to Dom outside of the ship. Joking as if the seriousness of what they’re here for does not exist. “Hopefully a sketch of a bear is the closest any of us come to harm this weekend.”
It takes all of half a second for Dom to yank his pen back from his boot with a new resolve and a glimmer in his eye. (For anyone who knows him well that usually means Run.) "I know just the bear."
DAY TWO: Thursday 2/19.
DAY THREE: Friday 2/20, morning only.
Apollo & Sloane
“I’m all good. Go help Jamie.”
Sloane says, as soon as she sees Apollo somewhere above her, because she is fine. Maybe her shoulder doesn’t feel entirely in socket from when she fell through a floor and caught herself strangely, earlier, but that’s minor. She has half a makeshift blanket sling folded on the floor in front of her already. It’s handled.
“Jamie’s…” Apollo begins to say fucked up, and then elects against it for various reasons. “… with Nadine.”
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Really, his injuries are a little above Apollo’s paygrade as a SAR officer. Sloane would be a better fit for the job if she weren’t currently juryrigging medical contraptions out of various trash. He watches her determinedly attempt to complete the task for a moment without offering his assistance from where he leans against the wall. Besides a cut on his forehead which is superficial even if it is bleeding somewhat dramatically, he’s practically unscathed.
“You’re not going to reset that yourself, are you?” he asks at length.
“I could.” Sloane points out, because she does know how. Theoretically. She measures the degree of humiliation in asking Apollo to help her do this as opposed to his continuing to watch her struggle the way she is now. Another scrap of fabric drops from her blanket roll sling, and she sighs.
Sloane looks up, but instead of acquiescence, offers out a piece of gauze with her good arm.
“Your head’s bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he says tersely. He’s got an old rag to staunch the bleeding, but it’s not a concern of his. He can get it bandaged later. He sets it down now, and tenderly prods the cut once experimentally. Satisfied that the bleeding has slowed, he moves a few steps closer to Sloane. “Can I help you?”
She rolls her eyes at the very stubbornness she’s being asked to drop. It’s annoying. Apollo is simultaneously the last person on earth she’d want to see her in any way compromised, and perhaps the only person on this ship that she’d trust to help her right now. Sloane presses against the wall for a moment, considering every potential alternative. She comes up with zero, and slowly, relenting, turns so her back is facing him.
Apollo closes the distance between them with little hesitation and rests a hand on her good shoulder, his other hand hovering slightly so he doesn’t agitate the injury.
“Deep breath on three,” he says in a low voice, a little closer to the shell of her ear than strictly necessary. “One…”
But as soon as he feels her exhale, he wrenches her shoulder back into place.
Sloane, for all she’s a little distracted by his voice suddenly in her ear, doesn’t cry out at the flare of hurt suddenly radiating through her. She reaches her good hand back instinctively to brace on something, but just puts it down when she realizes it’s only Apollo back there.
“Asshole.” She hisses through gritted teeth, rendered temporarily stupid by the pain, “You said three.”
“One of the many benefits of life beyond the Veil,” Apollo says, still in her ear for one more second before he releases her shoulder and steps away from her. “Telling lies.”
“Just because you can doesn’t mean it has to be your whole expert area.” It’s a stupid jab, and she lets it rest, turning to flash him a mostly-reluctant smile. “Will you please clean that cut now. Your face will look so stupid all infected.”
Apollo makes an ostensible attempt to conceal his smirk at this response by drawing a hand to his mouth, but it’s not very effective.
“Are you going to help me?” he asks as he settles down atop a large metal crate.
Sloane stands gingerly, face still pale, but obviously fighting showing any further signs of pain. She has pockets full of bandaging supplies at the moment. So there’s no real reason to say no.
“I’m a medic, aren’t I.” She shoots back. Perhaps to get back at him, or perhaps just to get a close look at the wound, Sloane stands right over him, close. She tears open an alcohol wipe one-handed and brandishes it, not giving any warning before wiping it over the blood. “Hold still.”
Apollo winces at the sharp sting, but does not draw away as she administers her treatment. His eyes sweep her face as he takes in her wan and sweaty complexion.
Reflexively, he brushes his fingers against the exposed skin at the inside of Sloane’s bad wrist. “Does it hurt?”
It probably wouldn’t have hurt if Sloane didn’t flick her wrist away from his touch so forcefully, but she does. It’s still a moment too late. She’d allowed it to settle.
“No.” She says, through unconvincing gritted teeth. She continues bandaging the cut, staying conservative with the amount of gauze she uses. It’s really not as deep as it looks. She tears a strip of tape with her teeth and tilts her head to admire her work.
“You’ll live.” She deems.
He keeps his hands to himself after that, gripping the edge of the crate.
“For another day, at least,” he says, leaning back a little to put more space between her face and his. He clears his throat. “Should we go find the others?”
Sloane takes a step back, too, looking at him and then back away like she’s about to thank him or say something else, but thinks better of it. She just nods.
“Before there’s another manhunt.”
friday, dom & maryle.
There's not really a good way to do this, but Maryle is going to do her best. She'd intercepted Dom the moment he'd arrived, steered him to her room, slapped up the 'NO.' sticky note on the door that she and Sloane use to keep the other out, and sat him down. Now, seated across from him, she shifts to press her knees against his.
"We still need to talk about your diary entry, but do you want some… emotionally complex news before or after?"
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