schmetterling: (Schuldig)
[personal profile] schmetterling
Schuldig is falling, and if someone doesn't catch him he's just going to -SPLASH- oh, well, not such a hard landing after all. Why still falling, though? He's trying not to lose his fingers to the wire around his neck and angry about the inevitable damage to his hair, he's trying to keep his eyes open, he's trying not to mentally scream because his team doesn't need that while they're trying to swim, he's contemplating the odds of being crushed by stone that's falling underwater before he runs out of air and sucks in water - sinking not falling, it's sinking stone, is it stinking faster than he is? This one is, this large one coming very quickly, it's definitely coming down on him. Can Farf and Nagi even swim? He thrashes and kicks. Parts of the tower coming at him very quickly, very large, very bad. His lungs are bursting and just before the debris smashes him he lets out all the air he's been trying to conserve.

Schuldig wakes up with a jolt and tries to suck back the hoarse shout he must have just emitted as yet another Nurse Feelgood maintains the machinery maintaining him. "Save it for the debriefing," she tests the travel rumpled telepath's hearing, most of her patients can't or won't reply for the first few days.

He hears her, blinks as he resets his internal calendar from dream-time to the present; the fall in the ocean was.. at least? or probably? a couple years ago. Debriefing, why? He remembers holing up in a quiet city away from the center of everything after the last adhoc team assignment. Simple eavesdropping and reportage, the job was boring and so were the other operatives. He flexes his fingers, tries to settle his legs as best the bindings will allow- hey, no ankle straps? He picks up his head and bends his knees, experimentally sliding his feet around on the sheet.

"I wasn't on a job," he says, the mouthguard is gone, though it feels like talking through glue and his throat hurts. The nurse can hear the roughness, hnf's in reply and lifts a sippy-cup to his mouth.

"Just making small-talk, I'm not sure whose desk you'll wind up on." The water is room temperature, perfect, and as he tries to guzzle she pulls it away before he overdoes it. "You arrived in the intake courier parcel, we've unpacked you. Probably have you ready for delivery tomorrow." She pats his arm and Schu looks there, realizing he can lift his hand to his face, can push back his hair, and can't hear a thought from anyone else - didn't notice anything outside himself even when she touched him. He looks around the small room, noting something cramped about the edges of the walls and the low, slightly arched ceiling. There's more than one small device near the door, on the wall, over head, with subtle LEDs winking; dampers, sensors, scattering units, the usual, maybe even a smoke or C02 detector in the mix. His left arm is still strapped down at wrist and elbow, though it seems that's to protect a small cluster of IV's against movement while he's been unconscious. She tucks the sippy cup in his left hand on her way out the door.

"What the fuck, again?" he whines, unamused.
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March 2014

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