[ If it weren’t for Ian, Mace thinks he has an idea of what he’d be doing right about now. Sitting on the stone — no blanket, because no Ian to make it; no fire, without Ian’s matches, or torches, or anything — with a hand to his forehead, staring at nothing. Because what he’d heard, that had been almost more than even his level-head could handle.
The drive for survival is what pushes every living thing in existence to keep going until the last, the very last possible second. But for Mace. Ensuring the survival of others, that overshoots it. Biology turns it into something more, here; he’s attached to Ian in a way that’s probably irreversible, where his well-being is fucking paramount to Mace. Body, mind, and heart. God, the kind of hormone cocktail Mace has been drinking since the moment sparks first flew between them … in a near-literal sense, he’s drunk on the guy. Addicted to him.
(Another word applies here, far better, and he knows it.)
Then again, Mace's specific brain chemistry was already skewed for something like this — a mission. Clear parameters, clear objective, work around all possible obstacles to fulfill it. It’s what makes him able to power through the numbness right now, jumpstart his body and his mind into functioning.
Even in the darkness, he can sense the perfunctory, detached way Ian’s removing the first strut from the wall; had heard the emptiness in his voice when he acquiesced. Mace fumbles around, lights their second torch, and then puts a careful hand on his shoulder, offering the torch to Ian. ]
Ian. Pack up for us, huh? And some water, if you can.
[ They’re both parched, and Ian needs his strength if they end up having to make a run for it near the end; Mace should handle the heavy-lifting, while he's still good for it. And as he works, so does his mouth, both in a bid to distract Ian and to sort his own thoughts aloud. Quietly, in case there’s something still outside.
But he can’t hear anything right now. ]
There’s another occupational hazard of caving. Bad cave air. Can be toxic, can be inflammable, can be … Jesus, I dunno. Hallucinogenic, maybe, in this fuckin' place. Because how the fuck did it pass right by us?
[ This last bit a mutter as he sets aside both struts and then fixes his fingers around the metal to pry it back. Pauses, looking over his shoulder to get eyes on Ian, making sure he’s still in the back of the alcove. ]
no subject
The drive for survival is what pushes every living thing in existence to keep going until the last, the very last possible second. But for Mace. Ensuring the survival of others, that overshoots it. Biology turns it into something more, here; he’s attached to Ian in a way that’s probably irreversible, where his well-being is fucking paramount to Mace. Body, mind, and heart. God, the kind of hormone cocktail Mace has been drinking since the moment sparks first flew between them … in a near-literal sense, he’s drunk on the guy. Addicted to him.
(Another word applies here, far better, and he knows it.)
Then again, Mace's specific brain chemistry was already skewed for something like this — a mission. Clear parameters, clear objective, work around all possible obstacles to fulfill it. It’s what makes him able to power through the numbness right now, jumpstart his body and his mind into functioning.
Even in the darkness, he can sense the perfunctory, detached way Ian’s removing the first strut from the wall; had heard the emptiness in his voice when he acquiesced. Mace fumbles around, lights their second torch, and then puts a careful hand on his shoulder, offering the torch to Ian. ]
Ian. Pack up for us, huh? And some water, if you can.
[ They’re both parched, and Ian needs his strength if they end up having to make a run for it near the end; Mace should handle the heavy-lifting, while he's still good for it. And as he works, so does his mouth, both in a bid to distract Ian and to sort his own thoughts aloud. Quietly, in case there’s something still outside.
But he can’t hear anything right now. ]
There’s another occupational hazard of caving. Bad cave air. Can be toxic, can be inflammable, can be … Jesus, I dunno. Hallucinogenic, maybe, in this fuckin' place. Because how the fuck did it pass right by us?
[ This last bit a mutter as he sets aside both struts and then fixes his fingers around the metal to pry it back. Pauses, looking over his shoulder to get eyes on Ian, making sure he’s still in the back of the alcove. ]