Massive Disaster XIX

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  Everything hit in pieces. Static first, crawling under his skin, humming through his teeth, chewing at the edges of his skull. Too loud. Too quiet. The kind of silence that buzzed.

  His body didn't belong to him. Arms, legs—gone, but not really. The weight of them was there, but they weren't listening. Phantom limbs on a body still attached.

  Breathing hurt. Throat burned like he'd been gargling glass. Everything ached, but in that deep, too-old way—bone-deep, like he'd been worn down to the blueprint and put back together with missing screws.

  He caught pieces of voices. Floating, slicing in and out of the haze.

  "…Neural response stabilizing."

  "…Higher-than-expected resilience…"

  "…Hallucinogen load should've fried…"

  "…But he's still…"

  His thoughts lurched. Too many gaps, too many missing frames.

  Where?

  His brain coughed up hospital but that didn't track right. Antiseptic, yeah. Clean air, yeah. But under it—oil, metal, sweat soaked into fabric. Not right.

  He tried to move. Nothing answered.

  His fingers twitched. Barely. Small win.

  His head lolled, or maybe the world tilted. Machinery pulsed low and steady in his skull, pressing at the inside of his ears. Some kind of monitor? Restraint?

  His ribs seized. Tight. Breath stuttering like he'd forgotten how to do it right. Panic crawled up his throat, sluggish and delayed, like his body was lagging behind the realization that something was wrong.

  He tried to push against the nothingness swallowing him whole—get something working, anything.

  His fingers. Wrist. Bandages.

  Tight. Thick. Too heavy.

  The world yanked into focus. Sharp—pain spiked through his nerves like live wire on wet skin. His throat locked, body trying to curl in on itself, but nothing moved right.

  Too much. His pulse slammed against the inside of his skull.

  "…Responsive?"

  A voice. Close. Too close.

  He forced his throat to work.

  "Wha—"

  Mistake.

  Air scraped raw through his windpipe, words breaking apart before they could form. A wreck of sound.

  More voices. Too many, but not enough. Hands moving near him, over him. Pressure against his wrist. Warm.

  His stomach clenched. Familiar. Too familiar.

  Who?

  His eyelids fought him, heavy, sticking halfway before light stabbed into his skull. Nausea punched him straight through the gut.

  His vision swam, framing the world in a flickering mess of color and movement.

  Gold. Light catching on it.

  Hair?

  The scent hit next, sneaking in under the bleach and sterile nothing. Oil, metal, something softer poking through it.

  His chest tightened.

  Kira.

  His breath hitched. Everything was wrong but that was right and he latched onto it, something solid in the sea of noise

  He tried to speak again. Nothing came out.

  The shape moved, shifting forward, and he felt the touch on his hand again. Warmer this time. Longer. Lingering.

  The pressure in his chest knotted, sharp and twisting.

  His vision blurred.

  Not now.

  Not yet.

  His body dragged him back down before he could hold onto it, the weight too much, his heartbeat pounding against the inside of his skull like a warning.

  Too much. Too fast.

  His fingers twitched—barely, but enough. The last thing he caught before everything blurred out again was the way the light hit her hair.

  Then—

  Nothing.

  Everything flickered—not quite awake, not quite unconscious, like floating at the surface of something deep and dark.

  Noise drifted in and out.

  "…Unusual activity in…"

  "…Shouldn't even be…"

  "…Monitor for…"

  The words didn't stick.

  His body felt wrong in a way he couldn't place. Like he was wearing a version of himself that didn't quite fit anymore.

  Gravity pressed harder. Every breath felt like dragging a shipwreck across the ocean floor.

  He cracked his eyes open again, vision blurring in and out before snapping into something too sharp.

  Sterile light. Machines humming. Shadows moving.

  His stomach curled in on itself.

  He needed to move.

  His fingers jerked against the bandages. Legs twitched.

  Pain shot up his spine, yanking a ragged breath out of him.

  Bad idea.

  He clenched his jaw, blinking against the blur, willing his body to catch the fuck up.

  The voices swam closer.

  "Mr. Victors?"

  His breath stuttered.

  "Can you hear me?"

  He forced his throat to work.

  He could. He just didn't know if he wanted to.

  Time stretched, rubber-band tight, pulled too far in one direction, ready to snap.

  The lights overhead pulsed too slow, or maybe too fast, the rhythm fighting against the beeping somewhere behind his head. His skin buzzed, nerves misfiring like bad wiring. He tried to pull himself together—pull something together—but his body wasn't playing along. Everything ached, deep and familiar, like his bones had been hollowed out and put back wrong.

  Had to keep his eyes closed. Too bright. Too sharp.

  His ribs clenched on the inhale, something digging deep into his side.

  Pain. Good. Real.

  He drifted. Might've passed out. Might've been awake the whole time.

  Somewhere outside the haze, footsteps. Soft. Even. Not a doctor.

  His brain grabbed onto that detail, turned it over, but the thought fell apart before he could finish it.

  The smell hit next. Lavender. Machine oil.

  His chest tightened. Kira?

  He forced his eyes open. Shapes blurred, lines warping in and out of focus. The door. Movement. Blue eyes—sharp, watching.

  Kira.

  He tried to say her name. His throat locked up.

  His vision swam.

  Darkness swallowed him whole.

  —

  His brain slammed back online too fast. Static surged behind his eyes, burning through his skull. Everything snapped into place too sharp—the hum of machinery, the rhythmic beep of a monitor, the way his chest shuddered with every breath.

  Too much. Too fast. His ribs clenched, the weight pressing down hard.

  His head turned before he could think about it. Movement in the chair beside him.

  A head of thick, bouncy hair atop a body that stood no taller than his chest, in a navy blue jumpsuit that was, for once, entirely clean.

  Nina.

  Arms folded. Stare locked on him like he was something she was trying to figure out.

  His breath caught wrong. Too much weight in his chest.

  "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty."

  Voice familiar. Tone almost light. But her fingers were gripping the edge of her sleeve like she had to keep them from doing something else.

  The smell of lavender hit again, heavier this time.

  He swallowed against the rawness in his throat. Forced his voice out. "Nina?"

  The edges of her mouth twitched, rising up into that smile he remembered waking up to several days in a row. "The one and only."

  His chest loosened. A little. Not much. Enough.

  "How long?"

  Her eyes flicked over him, calculating something, before she answered. "Days."

  Days.

  His brain stumbled over the number, tried to fit it into a timeline that didn't exist anymore. He'd lost time before, but this—this felt different.

  Nina kept talking. "Had the doctors worried, but I knew you were too stubborn to die."

  His mouth twitched, slow, dragging itself into a shape that almost felt like a smirk. "Didn't feel… didn't feel like dying."

  "Good."

  The silence between them stretched, thick, full of something unspoken.

  Nina moved. Her weight shifted forward, closer.

  Then she kissed him.

  His brain lagged. Body slow to catch up.

  Warmth. Pressure.

  By the time he processed it, she was already pulling back, nose scrunching in exaggerated disgust.

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  "Oh my God, Zee. Your breath."

  He snorted. Mistake. His ribs punched back against the movement, a sharp, punishing pulse of pain.

  "You know what I've been through, right?"

  "No excuses." She let out a gag again, this one clearly exaggerated as she could barely hide her giggle. "That was awful."

  His head hit the pillow, exhausted, eyes narrowing slightly. "Lucky you're adorable."

  The words were out before his brain had the chance to grab them.

  Nina's lips twitched.

  His brain whirred too slow, trying to keep up.

  Are we giving this another try?

  He looked at her, really looked at her, like his body had finally caught up to his brain, like he was trying to pull something solid out of the haze. "Why…"

  "Huh?"

  Zedd didn't blink. "You show up at my place six months after… like… why?"

  Nina blinked, before catching her breath, and swallowed. "I… I tried messaging you. You ignored…"

  Zedd let out a slight groan, head pounding both from his physical situation and the rigors of things lke this. Girls on Earth didn't care about feelings like this. He frowned, mulling the thought around for a good half-second. Or maybe those were just the girls around the crew. "Yeah, I did but… I was busy with a bunch of stuff, Neen. I… I didn't need distractions. W-why even message me, anyway?

  She sat in silence at the edgeof his bed before glancing back up at him. "I spent a long time trying to forget you 'cus… you seemed like you were trying to forget me and then…" her expression shifted into a sad smile or something close to it, "then Conner came in a couple days later with a black eye and was talking shit about you to everyone, calling you a fuckin' psycho," she winced, pausing for a moment, "and… let's just say a lot of other shit. And everything came rushing back… you know?"

  Zedd stared. "…I know, yeah. " Not for that, exactly. But he knew what it felt like to be reminded of things you were trying to run away from.

  Nina nodded. "Yeah," she repeated, seemingly at a loss of anything else to say.

  "So…" Zedd opened his mouth again after a long moment of silence, the only other noise the beeping of sensors attached to his body, "What's Connor's deal with you, anyway?"

  "Huh?"

  Zedd sat up a bit straighter on the hospital bed, briting back a groan. "Like… ever since that first day… when you invited me out, he's been fucking weird, like being real, he was weird on the job that first day, but seeing me at the bar, he acted like I was fuckin' scum. What's his deal with you?"

  She frowned, an odd look on her face. "…Connor is a… friend."

  Zedd raised an eyebrow slowly. Granted, he had never spent much time with Kira and her friends after that first day at the bar, not seeing any point in drinking juice there when he could simply buy a gallon of the stuff cheaper, but the way she said friend…

  Nina's eyes widened as she saw his face, a harsh noise leaving her. "Oh God, no. Not like that. Never." Her fingers flexed on the fabric of her sleeve. "Look, he was just on the floor with me when I first showed up a few years back and we were alright… but, when he finally moved up, he got weird." Her frown deepened. "Pushy. He told me how he felt a lot but I never liked him like that and I told him. I thought he let it go… then you showed up."

  Zedd grinned. "I did, didn't I?"

  The silence stretched again, the weight of something unsaid pressing into the space between them.

  Nina looked at him like she was waiting for him to say something. Like she was giving him a second to realize something before she had to say it first.

  His mouth opened. Closed.

  The smile came slow, but real.

  She rolled her eyes but leaned in again, close enough that warmth pressed through the hospital air. Their lips met and for a second, it almost felt right.

  Then footsteps. Sharp. Deliberate.

  Zedd's head snapped toward the doorway before he could think, pain rocketing through his skull, his whole body lighting up in protest. Too fast. Too soon. He pushed through it, focus locking onto the figure standing there.

  His brain stalled.

  Blonde?

  Something tugged at the edges of his thoughts, familiar but off-kilter. The blue was gone. The image didn't fit right.

  Wrong.

  "Kira?"

  She tilted her head, smiling, but it was that off-balance kind of smile, the one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah."

  His brow furrowed. Fog still coiled around the edges of his thoughts, weighing them down, but something about the change nagged at him. Why'd she do that?

  "You got rid of the blue?"

  Kira stepped in, hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets. Casual. Forced. The tension sat in her shoulders, the stiffness in her stance, but she wasn't saying anything about it.

  "Felt a change."

  Zedd kept staring, longer than he probably should've. The pieces in his head weren't fitting together right. Wasn't sure if that was the hair or his brain.

  "Now how am I supposed to call you Baby Blue?"

  Her smile twitched, but there was weight in it, something he couldn't quite pin down. "No idea."

  His fingers twitched. He snapped them together, slow, barely registering the stiff protest from his joints. "Nah, your eyes are still blue. I can work with that."

  Kira shook her head, but the tension in her shoulders eased, just a little. Her smile shifted into something real. Smaller, but real.

  "Glad you're finally awake, Zee."

  Her eyes flicked sideways, past him.

  "Midget."

  "Princess," Nina fired back, voice sugar-sweet with an edge sharp enough to draw blood.

  Oh.

  The air in the room shifted, a pressure drop between the two of them, something thick and unspoken passing through that Zedd's half-melted brain couldn't decipher. He glanced between them, noting the flicker of something in Nina's expression before it snapped back into place.

  Not his problem. Not right now.

  He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "The colony okay?" The words scraped out rougher than he meant. Not casual enough. Too much worry bleeding through.

  Kira and Nina looked at each other.

  Never good.

  "The colony's fine," Kira said, careful. Too careful. Her voice was light, but her posture was braced, like she was waiting for something to land. "Surprisingly fine, actually."

  Zedd let out a slow breath, sinking further into the pillows. "Good. That's... good." His mind tripped, trying to backtrack. "I was a bit out of it."

  The look again.

  What.

  Nina shifted closer, her weight leaning against the edge of the bed. Too close.

  "Zee, sweetie," her voice was warm, but it had that dangerous kind of softness. The kind that meant she was about to drop something on him he wasn't gonna like.

  "Do you not remember what you did?"

  Zedd frowned. "'Course I remember. I killed a few Batarians attacking the colony."

  "A few?" Kira's eyebrow arched.

  "A bunch?"

  "A bunch?" Nina's tone carried something he couldn't place, something sharp under the surface.

  His frown deepened. What was she getting at? "A bunch and a half? I don't know what you want me to say. It was a whole army attacking."

  The words sat wrong in his own mouth, like he was repeating something he wasn't sure of.

  His brain hesitated.

  Why was it hesitating?

  "I remember taking out a couple squads before I—"

  Nothing.

  The pieces wouldn't fit together. They wouldn't even try.

  He rubbed his temple, fingers pressing against the dull ache in his skull. "I don't really know." The words slipped out, flat, uncertain. "I heard a really funny joke, then I passed out."

  The hospital room's glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, cutting through the weight of the moment.

  Zedd barely had time to process it before someone stepped in wearing full patrol officer armor, grinning like he'd just walked into a party.

  Broad shoulders, easy swagger, a grin so wide and eager it almost made Zedd's head hurt worse.

  Devraj slapped his hands together. "So, the Engineer of Death finally woke up?"

  Zedd blinked.

  Twice.

  "The who?"