It comes on slow, so slow that by the time he notices he’s hurting, he needs Ponds’s arm around his shoulders to make it back to his quarters. It’s slow, but now his knees might as well be grinding bone-on-bone and it’s slow, but his legs ache through-and-through like a blastershot. He’s not even sure there are nerves that correspond to the places he’s hurting. A spasm rips through his worse knee (it used to be his bad knee, but now neither is good) and up through his hips. The pain isn’t the worst part. The worst part is the way the tips of his fingers tingle. The worst part is not knowing where the next blow will land.
“Do you want me to get Cents?” Ponds asks as he eases Neyo down onto his bunk.
The thought of dealing with other people right now, even other vode, turns his stomach. He’s starting to slip back in his head. He needs this to stop and he needs to sleep, and Cents can’t help with either of those things. “No,” he grunts. “Meds in the cabinet. Yellow bottle. Easy-open cap. Two with water.”
Ponds hands him a water bottle and tips the pills into his waiting hand and he blinks, disoriented. Ponds, kneeling in front of him, just blinks back. “You lost a minute or two,” he says easily. “I got your stuff from the cabinet and messaged Windu. We’re alright for the rest of the shift and the night cycle.”
He looks at the pills in his hand. “These are the ones from the yellow bottle?”
“Yup.”
“Okay.” He wants so badly to get Ponds out of here, but it’s Ponds’s room too (and he’s afraid something will happen and he won’t even be able to get up and he wants Faie he wants Bacara he wants out of here—).
Ponds is across the room again, fiddling with his comms and humming to himself.
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Cold, the back of the neck feels cold. Something drips down it and into the shirt. Water. An ice cube is being pressed to the back of the neck and rubbed in small circles. It burns. No. It’s cold. Cold burns.
The ice cube is taken away and then placed in the hands, now upturned, now sitting on a lap. The hands are cold and damp, but the legs are wrapped in a distant numbness. The ice cube slides up the left wrist and to the elbow, then back down, then up again. The same on the right side.
Up, down. Wrist, elbow. Up, down. Up, down.
Beside him, someone is taking deep, slow breaths. Air rushes through his own nose just the same.
Up, down. Wrist, elbow.
Ponds. Bacara must have told him the trick with the ice cubes. They’re cold. His ears ring fuzzily.
Up, down. Wrist, elbow. Up, down. Wrist, elbow.
The ice cube slides back into the palm of his hand. He closes his fingers around it. From beside him, there’s a startled little hum, then Ponds’s hand retreats and he says, “Hey, welcome back.”
Neyo grunts. He’s never… Ponds has never seen him like this before. No one has, except Faie (often), Bacara (sometimes) and, on one mortifying occasion, General Windu. Never Ponds. Never one of his kih’vode.
[[You were in pain.]]
Right. The meds have kicked in now.
Neyo shrugs Ponds’s hand off his shoulder. “How long?”
“Eh. Fifteen, twenty minutes.” Ponds shrugs expansively. “You feeling any better?”
Neyo rolls his shoulders and bends his knees, pointing his toes and stretching his arms as far forward as they’ll go. “Somewhat.”
“Good.” Ponds reaches up and grabs the top bunk, swinging himself around and pulling himself into it with all the grace of a lost sand snake. “Goodnight!”
Neyo grunts again, kicking his boots off and plugging his ‘pad in to charge. “Ponds?”
“Yeah?”
“...Thank you.”
“‘Course, Commander. Sleep well.”