004 ◉ audio; dated to the 14th

[imaginate]

[ The audio clicks on and there's a long pause. When Kyle speaks, his tone is calm, perfectly controlled. It's his Business Voice, blank save for the barest hint of anger. ]

This is Kyle Rayner of the Green Lantern Corps. I apologise for the inconvenience, but our clinic at EA-3B is currently undergoing repairs and won't be able to take more patients at this time. We'll be temporarily operating a backup at WA-1A. [ He attaches a map, showing where it is. ]

Any and all hands with medical experience or healing abilities are always welcome.

[ Another long pause. ]

And if someone could come collect Avatar Korra, that would be appreciated.

[ There is a brief pause, as though he's debating what more to say, before the audio clicks off. ]

Comments

fleet encryption, voice

[jirk]

Hey, I've got three floors. Use 'em for whatever.

[Now what the hell happened?]

audio; 100% encrypted

[imaginate]

[He ups the encryption, just in case.]

Thanks. We've got a lot of the people settled, and we can make house calls.

[Then he lets out a breath.]

It's a near miracle nobody was injured. She nearly burned the building down.

audio; 100% encrypted

[jirk]

[Excuse you, his 'Fleet encryptions are unhackable, broski. There's an aggravated noise and Kyle can probably guess that Jim's running a hand through his hair.]

All right, all right. I'll be over in about half an hour.

action;

[imaginate]

[He nearly protests, but that's futile, with Jim. So after he's done moving all of the patients out, he stands outside the smoking ruin, arms folded, tapping his feet irritably. It's being held up by green constructs, and he adds to them occasionally or catches a few bricks as they fall off.]

[He doesn't acknowledge Jim, just stands in his presences and matches their breathing so it's almost like they're one, standing in front of the clinic, and then he waits for Jim to speak. Kyle's all tension and bottled anger, he doesn't trust himself to speak first.]

action;

[jirk]

[Walking's still hard. Man, he does not envy people who had to live in a century when healing bone took months. He's still got the cast and he needs about three more surgeries before everything's plated together properly, but hey. Could be worse.

This is one of those times where being stubborn actually comes in handy.

He's not wearing his captain's colours this morning, he's all in black and he's got his jacket slung over one shoulder as he comes up next to Kyle and surveys the damage.

(One of those falling bricks makes him grimace, it's a throwback into a ship that's falling apart--)]

Guess we better get started, huh.

[imaginate]

[He glances downwards: you shouldn't be walking, with that leg but says nothing. Jim's too stubborn and he might take it as pity.]

I've already made the calls. It'll take two weeks to fix, tops. Everyone's accounted for.

[He kicks a stone, irritably, and shoves his hands in his pockets.]

Not even so much as a warning, just threw fire everywhere. Damn metas.

[jirk]

You handled it.

[His tone is mild, but he leans over and bumps Kyle's shoulder with his own.]

I'll talk to her when she's up.

[It goes without saying that Jim understands teenage delinquency, really.]

[imaginate]

[Hearing that, he misses Guy. Guy could talk. Guy knew people. Kyle was just... hopeless and lost, as always.]

[He glances down the street, coldly.]

Okay.

[jirk]

[Jim exhales. Glances a little at Kyle, askance.]

You weren't hurt, right?

[He's pretty sure Kyle wouldn't have included himself in any sort of injury tally one way or another.]

[imaginate]

[He holds out his arms, stands in front of Jim. See for yourself.]

[jirk]

[Jim gives him a Look. No need to be a smart-ass. God, is this how Bones feels around him? No wonder the man's going gray. Kyle's the one always insisting on yes or no answers.

So Jim shakes his head a little, and then reaches out to clap a hand to Kyle's shoulder.]

Everything's contained, and the building won't keel over for at least an hour if we leave it unsupervised, right?

[imaginate]

[Kyle returns the Look, along with some confusion.]

[Carefully:] What are you trying to do?

[jirk]

Look, I've seen you pissed off enough ['I usually caused it', but that goes without saying] that I know the symptoms. Let's go get some food, I'll give you a hand figuring out where we're getting materials from, you can yell at me about getting around town on this leg, and hopefully you'll feel better afterwards. Deal?

[imaginate]

[A smile finds its way to his face.]

This isn't pissed off. Pray you never see me pissed off.

[He runs a hand through his hair.]

Let's skip to making sure you don't strain your leg, all right? I'm not that hungry, and I have to wait for a few people to show up so I can finalise some contracts.

[jirk]

There's not a lot I pray for, Angel, and trust me when I say that wouldn't be one of them.

[Because the implication there is you couldn't handle it, and that irritates him to no end. Still, it's a manageable irritation, not the sort that leads to them fighting (again) so he just eases his hands in the air.]

Leave a construct that can take a message, because I tell you what, I am starving, and I bet the Doc would be angry with you if you let her star patient wither away to nothing.

[imaginate]

[The look in his eyes is not anger, or irritation at being misinterpreted, it is sadness. Shame, too, and guilt.]

Pray for this.

[For me.]

[He shrugs, and turns, ringing up a construct Kyle to stand guard.]

Let's go eat, then.

[jirk]

[Jim knows Kyle's religious, and he's certain Kyle knows he's not, so he doesn't reply to that. Just gives him a careful look, and then whacks a hand against his shoulder, a follow me as he heads off down the street. There's a cafe that serves - no kidding - the closest thing to Earth-based pancakes he's seen since he got here, and he really is starving.]

[imaginate]

[Kyle follows, utterly silent. Unconsciously, he starts to float, so that he's walking just a few inches above the ground.]

[jirk]

[And without thinking about it, Jim reaches out to pull him back down.]

So what sort of breakfast do you even like, anyway?

[imaginate]

[He stumbles, startled.]

[Rueful:] Pancakes.

[jirk]

This place has great pancakes. Just saying. And if you flirt with the waitress you can even get the local equivalent of strawberries on top. Still working on whipped cream, though.

[Apparently they just don't believe in whipping cream in these parts, g o s h.]

[imaginate]

[There's something about Jim that makes Kyle quiet. He wonders if this is how Connor feels, when the two of them are together. Both have the same substrata (the same rage), and his friend had always been his rock. His first real friend, who could point an arrow at him and both of them wouldn't mean it.]

[Play comes the easiest to him, but for some reason they're out of sync again and he can't play, can't banter. That's shutting him off, making him careful about his words, movements. He withdraws, becomes a force that drags in everything with it, carries it downstream and lets it sink deep into the ocean (Jim is fire, a conflagration. If Kyle wasn't careful they'd both burn).]

[And he's still fighting the thought that everything came too easily to Jim. Fighting it, hard.]

[He follows, nodding and smiling as best he can.]

[jirk]

[He can't help but notice. Jim's a lot of things, but observant is one of them (even when he pretends it isn't, and convinces other people of the same) and Kyle's attitude is back to zero. It's like they're on a sliding scale, and the more time they spend together the closer they are to actual friendship, but any time apart and the number resets.

Be direct? Sure. Watch him. He stops, taking care not to lean too much on his cane.]

Hey. What's up?

[imaginate]

[He lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug.]

I don't know. We're out of sync again.

[jirk]

Okay. So we fix it. Break it down, what's the catalyst?

[He's got a few ideas, but this one, he thinks, is Kyle's.]

Because I like you, man, but I'm not gluing myself to you 24/7 just so we don't end up at each other's throats.