Chapter 23: I See You
The situation is perilous, at best. Una is halfway hanging out the side of the transport pod; John and Greg each have one of her arms. Mycroft is trying to keep the aircraft in the sky; several of George's strong tentacles hold him in place against the suction coming from the damaged hull. Sherlock is doing everything he can do in order to stay against the wall of the pod, as the hole stretches from in front of Una's seat to just in front of his. The rush of air from the hole is suffocating as it replaces the oxygenated mix in the pod with that of the higher xenon and nitrogen content of Pandora's atmosphere.
Mixed with the voices of the men warning the Telom to hang on is the wailing screech of the ikrans as they pass over and around the craft. Sherlock turns his head and holds his breath as he looks for the pod carrying the Omaticaya. He sees it rising slowly beside and above them, though he finds a great irony in the fact that the ikrans are not attacking it. There is another horrible screech and their pod lurches almost vertically in mid air. The lights in the pod flicker out, plunging the interior of the craft into total darkness save for the tiny lights on the dash. Una's pain-filled scream is all too clearly audible over the sound of the flying animal but then it just cuts out. Sherlock's head whips towards her, though the answer is already clear before his eyes find hers.
Time freezes. There are tears running down John's cheeks and Greg's eyes are wide with shock. They continue to hold onto her even though there is nothing left to save. Una's stare is fixed, seeing no more. A trickle of reddish violet blood runs from the corner of her mouth; John is sure her sharp teeth pierced her tongue. Sherlock stands up with a death grip on the seat. He looks out through the hole to see that her legs are missing. The ikran snapped at whatever happened to be moving as it dove towards them.
Mycroft's voice makes tiny cracks through the air as if they were walking across a newly frozen pond. "You have to let her go." Sherlock's eyes meet his shadowed ones over the heads of the two men holding the Telom's arms. He merely blinks at his brother in acknowledgement. It is the only way. His own voice is a weak burr when he restates his brother's order. John and Greg snap out of it and simply let go. Greg snaps to attention with his legs spread shoulder-width apart against the rocking of the pod and honors her with a crisp salute. At once, several of the ikran scream and dive after the falling body. John hauls Greg in by his shoulders and shoves him back towards where they were sitting earlier. It is currently the safest place to be. Though none of them say it, they are all unsure if the small craft will survive the change in atmospheric pressure with a hole punched in the side of it.
There is a loud groaning, grinding sound just as the pod carrying the Omaticaya passes into the highest point of the atmosphere. The sky around them changes from slate gray to bright white and then the scarlet of fresh blood.
They are all suffering from dizziness and increasing nausea by the time the tractor beam of the Proto-Tethys pulls them into the docking bay. The pod shakes and trembles, though by some miracle of science it holds together enough to get them to safety.
Again, everything has been slowed down and to John it is like watching a film through a glazed window. He sees rather than feels the medical staff hauling all of them out of the pod. He sees Mycroft hit the floor of the bay on his knees. He sees Greg rush to his side and tuck him into a deep embrace. John can still feel the bucking of the craft and the very realistic, heavy fear that perhaps they are not going to make it out alive this time. He sees clearly that Mycroft saved all of their lives with his cold logic. He sees that they have lost one of their own. Everything around him is tilting, spinning out of control…he sees the captain as the captain makes his way towards where he thinks he is now on the floor himself, gasping for breath; neurons and synapses in his brain are moving as if through a thick pudding. He sees as Sherlock reaches out towards him, a gesture mimicking that of Greg's. He sees the strong arms come around him and then he succumbs to oxygen deprivation and sees no more.
When one is floating in space, there is no sunrise. No sunset at all; nothing natural to mark the passage of time, nothing to set one's biorhythms by. There are clocks, however, and most of them are set to Earth's time simply because it is easy for beings of all races to accept a twenty-four hour "day." When John's awareness slams back into him, he opens eyes that feel as if they are full of grit to see that he is lying on his back on a thin mattress on a cot in the hospital level; he realizes that he has been thinking about "time" and how much he appreciates the fact that he still owns some of it. The bright lights above him threaten to send him back in a dizzy dance, so he closes his eyes again and counts to fifteen. Inhaling steadily, his lungs burn and he coughs but manages to push up into a sitting position nonetheless. He searches the room for something to tell him how long he had been out. He only has to wait a moment before the bright red digits of the ship's clock flash across the wall. Damn. If that is correct, he has been out for close to fourteen hours. He rubs his face with his hands, warming his cheeks in the cool air and attempting to force some order into his thoughts.
As he rubs his face, he notices that the cot next to him is empty; the single blanket thrown out of the way as its inhabitant left it. There is no doubt in his mind that this is where Sherlock had been. A soft but tired smile graces his face for a moment and he looks to the other side. Greg is still out cold on his back, though the cot on his side is also empty. Apparently, Mycroft was brought in as well. John is wondering about George when the doors whoosh open and Captain Holmes strides through them, looking none the worse for the wear and absolutely magnificent.
He has chosen to actually button up his sapphire shirt today, though it splays open over his neck, allowing John a clear line of sight to his collar bones. His hair is neat, boots polished within an inch of their lives, trousers tucked down into them. When he smiles at John, John cannot help but feel like a dying man that has just been offered a gourmet meal. In three strides, Sherlock is beside him and John is completely engulfed in his arms. Sherlock drops a loud smacking kiss to the top of his forehead and John swats at his rear end with his free hand. The captain actually chuckles as he moves back so that he can assess his partner. John knows better than to think Sherlock will ever come right out and ask him how he's feeling, especially when he can just see it.
"I'm alright, Sherlock. Still tired, though." Sherlock rests one hand on John's shoulder.
"You can go back to our quarters if it would be more comfortable." Sherlock offers.
"Yes, please. Unless you need me for the time being?"
"No. In a few moments I am due back at some stupid IA meeting with Mycroft to discuss the Omaticaya's future. It may be a while." John nods just as the doors open again and admit Le'tay. The Na'vi man bends at the waist so that his head misses the top of the door frame, though he gives them a beaming smile only marred by a small re-breather mask that covers his lower jaw, the opposite of what they had to wear while exploring Pandora.
"I see you, John Watson, Captain Holmes." Le'tay nods his head in a courtly manner. John and Sherlock do the same. Sherlock rests his arm across John's shoulders as he waits for Le'tay to speak.
"I want to extend our gratitude to you. Though we are unsure as to where we are going to end up, it seems that the galaxy is wide open to us with the use of these." He gestures towards the mask. John can feel pride radiating from the man at his side and he cannot keep the grin off of his own face. When he looks up at Sherlock, there is a high patch of color on each cheek, though oddly enough, Sherlock just nods and does not say anything.
"You are welcome, Le'tay. It has been a fascinating mission." John states as he gently pushes Sherlock over with one hand on the taller man's hip so that he can swing his legs off of the bed. He holds a hand out for Le'tay and he takes it in his very huge one, his finger tips finally resting halfway between John's wrist and his elbow as he pumps John's hand. There is a huff of laughter beside him as Greg sits up to take in the scene.
"I see you, Greg Lestrade." Le'tay states quietly as he and John complete their handshake. Le'tay offers his hand to Greg. This is absolutely the closest Greg has been to one of the Na'vi and to say the man is starstruck is an understatement. Even Sherlock joins in on the laughing.
Finally, Le'tay and Sherlock leave the room, headed towards their meeting to discuss what will become of the refugees. John stands beside his bed as if waiting for something, then seems to make up his mind. "I am going back to our quarters for a shower and some real sleep. Will you be okay here?"
"Absolutely, John, I will be fine. See you in a few hours for coffee?" Greg says as he stretches his legs out in front of him and plops back against the mattress.
"Good. See you then." John turns and makes his way out the doors. After they close behind him, Greg takes a deep breath and allows himself to relax, preparing for some more sleep. After that he does not remember much for a while.
When Greg awakens for the second time that day, the room around him is quiet. There is the tiniest of movements to his right and the lightest touch against the back of his hand. Had he been any further down underneath the blanket of unconsciousness, he never would have felt it. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the overhead light to see the admiral sitting by his side, one hand resting in his lap and the other resting right next to Greg's.
Mycroft's expression is soft, unaware; though Greg knows well that the gears in his brain are probably running at two hundred kilometers an hour. Greg moves slightly and Mycroft turns his full focus onto him. For a second, Greg is completely humbled by the intense depths of the deep blue irises boring into his own. He feels flayed open and fights the urge to just reach into his ribcage and hand Mycroft his still-beating heart.
There really is nothing to say. Mycroft has already apologized; so he waits. He feels like he would wait forever if it would mean he could be by this man's side for eternity. It does not show outwardly, but his heart is pounding in his chest and suddenly it is as hard to breathe as it was when they first stepped out of the pod in the docking bay. He watches all the subtle movements of Greg's face and when the other man turns his jovial root-beer irises fully onto Mycroft, Mycroft actually thinks he heart stops.
"Come here." Greg orders. One hand wraps around the base of Mycroft's neck and hauls him in closer. Then their lips are brushing against each other and Mycroft is all but whimpering against his lover's mouth. Greg's hands slip down to cup Mycroft's rear end and physically haul him onto the cot with him. Mycroft rests his weight on his hands and stares into Greg's face.
"Thank you." He states, his voice passing over his lips in a much calmer manner than he truly feels. Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft's waist and hooks his fingers into the admiral's belt, pushing him against his hips. Their kiss is deep and thorough, a reaffirmation of living and possibly a little bit of joy and grief at the same time.
Mycroft pushes himself up on his hands, enough to see all of Greg's face. For the first time in his life he wants to ask questions like Are we okay?and Where do we go from here? He already established how he feels for this man and going by the incredibly hot erection pressing against his hip, he knows without a doubt that the feeling is reciprocated.
"I see you, Greg Lestrade." Mycroft says simply, allowing the purr of his voice to hover in the air about them. Greg's smile is worth a million suns as he finally begins to understand all of the implications of that statement.
"I see you, Mycroft Holmes." He answers back before pushing his hips upward and pulling Mycroft's head downward, allowing them to escape into the bliss of each other bodies.
Of course, it does not last long. Just as they are feeling like they had better stop because, after all, they are in the hospital ward; the doors whoosh open to admit a rather startled looking John (possibly just woken up) and a disheveled but clearly-thinking captain.
Mycroft, to his credit, only pulls himself off of Greg enough to throw an exasperated look in his brother's direction. "Yes?" He asks.
Sherlock rolls his eyes. Beside him, John is hastily tucking his mustard-colored uniform shirt into his trousers. "My ship, Mycroft. It is missing."
Mycroft sighs and Greg closes his eyes. "We will get back to this later, I do believe." He states. Greg mumbles something that is most certainly a yes and then sits up when Mycroft climbs out of the cot. He places his feet flat on the floor and looks at the other three men who are regarding him expectantly. For a second he has an internal argument with his libido and comes out the winner. He gives them all a smile to show that he is ready for action.
"When do we start?" With that, John gives him a slap on the back and the four of them step through the doors to make their way to the lift. The next stop is the control room and from there…
Who knows? The galaxy, after all, is a very large place in which to hide a starship.