Leaning 01: At Sea (Izzy, Sal, Frye)

Two BLADE pilots have to ditch into the ocean south of Sylvalum.

Swears, hurt, a mission gone badly. Editing? (evil laughter)

All the good things belong to Monolith Soft.

So the mission went badly. It had gone badly in Sylvalum, one skell down which left Frye in a rage over how much he was going to have to pay for insurance, yelling something about letting that Outfitter chick down. Izzy wasn't paying attention to him cursing over the comms on the flight back. He was just glad that Frye was hitching a ride in the other teammate's machine, not his. It was one thing to tune out a staticky monologue. It would be another to have Frye spitting in Izzy's ear.

All three of them knew Frye's noise was just a cover for losing the rando they'd been fool enough to pick up. Izzy was embarrassed. The guy had been part of his division after all. Harriers were not supposed to scrub like that. Embarrassing. That's what was making Izzy's eyes sting, yeah.

They'd been too focused on getting the last flower monster that they hadn't noticed the sky changing from grey to scarlet. It went red while they were still fighting an orchid. They couldn't pull out and away before an enraged mountain on legs had come after them.

At least it had been fast.

The third remaining party member hadn't said much, not through the whole thing. The kid had been focused, careful, better than Frye's usual mutts. Izzy smiled. He was one of Frye's mutts. Wanting too much, just like Frye. The purity of that man's hungers impressed Izzy, and a mutual joy in wrecking things. Izzy was too messy to make a proper Harrier.

On the other hand, Izzy was still here and Matt? Not so much. He rubbed the edge of his face on his shoulder, eyes still on the flight path.

Honest, he'd kept his eyes on the ocean water, smooth and soothing even with Frye's ranting monologue about credits and fucking mission debriefs, the ones with the red border, God everyone hated filling the normal mission debriefs as it was, and here the brass has to go and make those kind, the one they were flying home to, those kinds even worse, give a man more space to fill stuff out you need at least an extra half page for all the swears because fuck him if he didn't need to say a few things about certain soldiers not available to help fill out forms and ... Izzy's eyes were on the water so he had a perfect view as something crested directly into their path.

Izzy guessed it was related to xiphias, maybe. Hell of a lot bigger and he'd gotten the impression of more teeth, maybe more barbs. Thermal, what was an ocean dweller doing with thermal he'd like someone to tell him, but it sure tore through his defenses.

They got off some hits. Izzy choked when he reminded himself that. That was laughter doing that. He probably got through one cycle of attacks before his skell just ... fizzled around him and (poof!) he was swimming.

For a moment, shortly before the (poof), he'd been impressed when the other skell, the one the kid was piloting and Frye was hitchhiking in, when the other skell got off a massive attack. Izzy's eyes dimmed for a moment from the glare. Even the mim protections couldn't prevent a momentary response.

Nice. Kid had a new weapon that Izzy hadn't heard about. He'd thought that for half a second, until metal debris started pinging his skell.

His fingers had still hit all the right buttons, getting off the last of the optimal attack pattern. Izzy could be proud of that too, but the (poof) hadn't come as a surprise after that blast. The surprise was how gentle it had been.

No, honest, he'd scrubbed before, not as final as Matt, but he'd needed the rare skell ticket, and usually it left a mark. Like the kid's. This time the mech just evaporated, gentle like, and he slipped into the ocean. He was paddling around in time to be raised high in the air by the swell of the monster's departure.

For a moment, he could see clear to Primordia. Then the ocean sank back to flat and gentle and empty.

Not empty. Izzy was there, swimming in a small circle, getting his bearings. Not alone, because someone was shouting off to his right.

"Frye? Frye?!"

Izzy made for the voice without calling back. Swimming wasn't his favorite mode of travel and the voice was close. He reached the kid in just a few awkward pulls.

"Frye?" The kid sounded hopeful.

"Sorry, kid, it's me. Izzy."

"Where's Frye?"

The kid did not look good. Izzy thought his hair hadn't been that blue before they left town. (Like the rip in his forehead wasn't obvious. Izzy, my man, he thought to himself, you really are fooling no one.) Izzy got close enough to the kid to tap his shoulder. "He's probably busy, taking care of stuff. I'm over here."

"Where's Frye?" The kid wasn't looking in any direction, least of all at Izzy, and his paddling was even weaker than Izzy's. There was something very wrong with one of the kid's arms.

"He's coming. Look, kid, Sal, we're gonna take turns resting, just until he comes back. You first. Lean back and float for a sec. I got you." Sal stopped so suddenly, he almost slipped beneath the waves. Izzy saved his breath, although he really needed a swear or two. He focused on getting an arm around Sal's chest.

"Lean your head back and relax."

Sal was good about it, no splashing, no grabbing. Izzy focused on keeping them both above the water, bobbing and keeping Sal's head up even when his own dipped a little too low. He spit out a mouthful of water viciously.

He wasn't worried about keeping them safe until the rescue team showed up. Coasties had your back. Izzy could keep it up for days without a problem, if only the kid would shut up.

"Where's Frye?" Sal asked again.

"Doing stuff," Izzy growled. "Fun stuff. He'll be back."

"Where's Frye? Gotta say I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you do that. Later."

"Where's..."

Izzy hitched the kid a little closer, holding him tighter than was probably best for floating, but he needed more contact. The kid needed it, Izzy needed it. Izzy swam a little forward, so he pressed into the kid's back.

"What's your last name, Sal?"

"Where's... I want to go home ..."

"We'll need all the towels in NLA, sure."

"Earth."

"Me too, kid. Me too."

a/n: For daily writing practice, I initially got the prompt, "Leaning into each other". I wrote several very fluffy sketches, and then this monster rose in my brain, much like a xiphias tyrant. A few weeks later, I had much angst, much fluff, much indefensible head canon about Ganglion, and too much about climbing. Frye will show up in chapter 5.

Next up: someone needs to be responsible for Sal.