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“I am contemplating your most recent…” Osiris crosses his arms, “outburst with Strand to see if there are opportunities for improvement.”
Eisaih darts in front of Emmett, “It was out of control,” his shell shifts sharply, “we did the best we could!” Emmett remains silent, fisting his hands in the fabric at his waist and trying to focus through the pressure in his chest. He rocks back a half step as Osiris’s arm flies free from it’s stoic cross.
“We need to do better!” Emmett blinks rapidly against his growing dizziness— he needs to listen to this, needs to hear Osiris’s advice. How to handle the ominous green tendrils creeping around every corner of this planet? “We don’t know what Calus and the Witness want,” Emmett remembers the impossible cold heat of the Taken Centurions, the frantic panic of reloading his hand canon behind a thin pillar as he is surrounded on all sides in the circular arena Caiatl just saved him from. The slimy whisper of “if you join us” in his ear as he was cut off from Osiris— from his allies. “But if it will have an effect on us all…” Emmett squints back into the conversation at hand, “I– I can’t allow that to happen,”
Osiris begins to turn back to his makeshift workstation. Already, he is talking of research into Strand once again. As if its force stirs at its mention, Emmett reels. His armored boots make an audible thud against the durable concrete of the floor.
“...Guardian?” Osiris calls, taking an aborted step toward him as Eisaih calls his name. One of Emmett’s hands reaches out as if to catch himself, but only succeeds at grabbing at the air and bumbling against Eisaih’s shell. He falls to one knee, catching himself from falling further with one hand on his other. His chest contracts as if the air has been punched from his artificial lungs. The weight of his armor feels impossibly tight. The banner around his waist is tangled up in his legs as he struggles to just breathe .
Emmett feels a firm grasp just underneath his left shoulder pauldron. The soft light of the room grows suddenly brighter as his helmet is removed by Eisaih. Distantly, Emmett hears the rasping breaths that must be him . He feels hot, hot pressure in his chest, even as his metal skin feels like he is freezing on Europa all over again. He wonders if this is what it would feel like to drown, crushed by the weights of the bottom of the ocean. He wonders if this is how Crow felt asphyxiating in space and feels a whole new sympathy for the Hunter. Though he is normally not very cognizant of his exo body, it feels more metal than it ever has. Surely, his limbs are made of lead as his left hand fumbles at his chest.
“Emmett,” He hears the man’s voice as though he were underwater, “are you alright?” The faint ring in his ears clears for just a moment at Osiris’s words. He sounds as though he is repeating himself, voice firm in a way that demands attention (he remembers “We need to do better!” only moments before). He shifts his optics— not eyes, not really— to look at him. Though his head barely moves, the wave of dizziness intensifies strongly. Losing all sense of decorum, mind only occupied with dark noise (so dark it feels thick, like someone has added weight to a dense fog and it has come to Grab Him) and the thought that he is going to die , he falls to his hands and knees. The hand under his pauldron tightens and Emmett lets out a small whine before quickly stifling it. The grip and the shadowy figure over him feels intimidating, familiar in its oppressive presence.
After a moment, the shadow moves further to his left, letting in the blurred firelight and loosening its grip on Emmett. Emmett’s fingers dig into the seam of his armor at the top of his chest. The figure’s other hand meets his there, and Emmett lets out another small, pathetic noise as he twitches his arm suddenly at the obstruction. Through the dark noise and the weight of his body and the bulky armor encasing his frame the touch is at once too much yet too distant. He hears a low murmur in his ear on the side of the figure but he can’t make out the words. A huge hand, spanning the entirety of his ribcage, is placed gently on his back and he flinches. He tries to maximize the space between his chest and the ground. Slowly, another large hand shifts to cradle Emmett’s midsection. The owner’s thumb is brushed carefully along the side of his hand as they work to gently shift Emmett to a sit with his back against a large object or piece of furniture. Afterwards they inch away, stopping only to give an awkward pat to Emmett’s other shoulder. Though it’s a touch on the rough side of “gentle,” Emmett finds himself comforted slightly.
He is at once drawn back to the depths of his distress as his body feels once again suffocating, no longer distracted by the new addition. He only realizes the smaller, human hand had left his shoulder when it returns to grip it once more. He tugs at the collar of his chestplate, jostling it. His legs are bowed in front of him, half sprawled and half planted, as if he may need to run at any moment but cannot summon the energy (he can’t— Traveller he is so exhausted). For a moment, the hand shifts to fiddle with the buckles of his shoulder piece. Emmett gasps in a large, sudden breath. Then, the hand leaves. Despite his earlier reaction, Emmett feels adrift without its presence. Then— finally, blessedly , a weight is lifted as Emmett hears the telltale shink of his armor transmitting away to storage by Eisaih. Moderately assuaged, he sags against the solid structure behind him, one hand still clutching his chest— though now it tangles in the fabric of his ordinary clothes. He tilts his head back a bit, optics firmly off. Despite the loss of his armor, he still feels laden, claustrophobic in his own frame. Another human hand drifts up to Emmett’s chest and splays flat over his own, now ungloved. Emmett becomes more aware of his ribcage, expanding and contracting in large, sudden bursts accompanied by a metallic wheeze. The warm fingers curl to intertwine with his own. Emmett tries to focus on the way he can now feel their years of hard-earned callous against his sensors instead of the knowledge that exos do not need to breathe— much less at this frantic pace. The hand at his bicep unfurls slightly, then brushes along the top of his shoulder on its journey to cup lightly at the base of his skull and jaw.
Emmett takes one good, steady breath and blinks his optics open to stare at the ceiling for a moment. A pouka flies overhead. The static in his ears begins to secede. He follows the gentle guidance of the hand to look at Osiris beside him. Though his cowl is still firmly in place, Emmett can’t help but feel that he looks worried. Over his shoulder, Eisaih flies toward Emmett suddenly before retreating again. Emmett feels the hand— Osiris’s hand— squeeze his own over his sternum.
“Emmett,” He starts in what is perhaps the softest voice Emmett has heard from him, “are you alright?” Emmett feels the embarrassment resurface to nip at his heels.
“I’m sorry,” he responds, voice crackling at the edges. Their joined hands fall to rest in his lap, loosely curled toward his ribs.
Osiris gently shushes him, “It’s alright,” he says, “don’t apologize for something out of your control. What happened?”
“I just—“ Emmett makes a frustrated noise, lifting his unoccupied hand to flap in the air before quickly losing the energy.
“It’s okay,” Osiris soothes, “take your time, Emmett,” he advises firmly. One of the fish-like creatures from the hall— a pouka?— dances between them and brushes up against Emmett’s skull. The air feels cold, but now refreshing and pleasant instead of frigid and terrifying. Osiris once again gives his hand a gentle squeeze, using his other to brush tentatively at the side of Emmett’s jaw.
“It’s Strand,” Emmett pushes out with all the air in his chest, “this is just—“ he cuts himself off and faces back toward the ceiling, “I’ll be alright in a second.”
In the corner of his eye, he sees Osiris’s brows furrow. He watches Eisaih’s iris fluctuate. “Strand..?” Osiris sounds like he’s putting together a puzzle.
“It’s never been this bad before,” Eisaih worries, approaching Emmett again, no doubt for a scan.
“I’m okay,” Emmett’s voice is barely more than a whisper— he’s not sure who he’s talking to. “I’m used to getting back up again. I just— I just need a second,” He takes a large breath, “Please.”
Osiris scoots closer in a way that feels surreal for someone of his presence. “Take your time,” he repeats, “You’re in no danger here. Focus on breathing,” the hand clasped in his shifts to grasp his knee. After a moment, he speaks again. “Can you—“ he lets out a frustrated puff of breath, “What is this… reaction when you use Strand?” Emmett stops breathing. Osiris gives his neck and knee a squeeze. “I only wish to understand,” he tries to reassure.
Eisaih comes to nuzzle the other side of his neck.
“It’s… exhausting. But not— it’s not a normal exhaustion,” Emmett leaves his hands in his lap but gestures with them as he speaks, “it’s not like a hard day I can push off. Well, I can push through it but it’s…” Emmett remembers the claws of warbeasts on his skin and the burning overstimulation of Calus in his ear, “…It’s just because I have to, I guess. Adrenaline, or survival instinct, or something,” Osiris deserves an explanation, so he continues in a rush, “It’s overwhelming— it feels like my bones are buzzing— my circuits and skeleton and frame all clashing up against each other for one big clusterfuck system failure,” His speaker crackles at the end and he stops. For a moment Osiris is silent. Emmett studies the delicate poukas in the garden. Osiris’s hand has fallen to lay more on his shoulder than his neck.
“I owe you an apology,” Emmett’s eyes snap back to Osiris, “I… pushed you. Perhaps too harshly,” He looks vaguely embarrassed. “I knew the situation with Strand was complex, especially applying it in combat. I believe that my,” Here, he hesitates, “new circumstances blinded me somewhat. I was eager to rejoin the field and I allowed it to drive me to become too overbearing,” Osiris’s hand returns to its position lightly cusping the side of Emmett’s skull. He leaned in, knee knocking against Emmett’s as he lightly tapped their foreheads together in a gesture Emmett recognizes from Saint. He feels warm. “I am sorry, Emmett.”
Emmett closes his eyes for a moment. He is so tired. In Osiris’s grip, he allows himself to feel it. He sags slightly against him, breathing and trying to rid the pulsing from his chest. Too exhausted for words, he hopes Osiris can feel the forgiveness in their embrace.