#eeer ask to tag ig

[lemonyinks]

Rokk and Lyle grieve in the wake of the outpost tradgedy

Rokk and Lyle oneshot

860 words

One of the last things Rokk remembered was the ships alarm blaring in his ears. It had been so loud and piercing that it rattled his bones and made it hard to even think among all of the noise and chaos. That and the fire. So much fire. It melted away at the metal structure and sent debris crashing down around him and his teammate as they tried to flee. The sweltering heat had been overwhelming, blistering, and scorching hot.

The ship had been collapsing around him, walls warping themselves into frightening curved shapes as the ceiling caving in on them. It was much like being buried alive; claustrophobic and panic inducing. He wasn’t even sure how he made it out alive in the end, but somehow, against all odds, he did.

His eyes snapped open and he forced his aching body to sit up before he even had a chance to take in his surroundings. He cried out in pain, pulse racing as he tried to climb to his feet. He had to make sure everyone was okay, he had to get out of here, he had to get everyone else out, he had to-

Hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him down, gentle despite the forcefulness of the gesture. He blinked his crusty eyes a few times, willing the black dots swimming in his vision to dissipate, before a white ceiling came into focus, along with half of a bruised face with concerned eyes. He turned to properly look at the person who was sitting with him and found Lyle.

He was dressed in civilian clothes and looking worse for wear. Every bit of visible skin peeking out of his long sleeve shirt was speckled with deep, purpling bruises. His left eye was swollen and bloodshot, sutures pulling the eyelid down to hold a deep laceration shut, his lip split.

His hands, still holding Rokk’s shoulders’ gently, were wrapped up almost entirely in white bandages that were occasionally marred by spots of red. Worst of all though were the tears glistening in his red eyes, which foretold of tragedies Rokk wasn’t sure he was ready to hear, but would have to anyway.

“Stay down,” Lyle said as he pulled the blanket Rokk had evidently been laying under back up to cover his bandaged chest. His voice was raspy, whether from crying or as a side effect of all the smoke that had been flooding the outpost, Rokk didn’t know, “You have several broken ribs and a fractured femur. You could hurt yourself.”

“What-” He broke off into a cough, throat dry. Lyle helped him drink from a glass he hadn’t noticed from the bedside table before guiding him to lay back down. He tried again, “What happened?”

“You were hit by debris in the evacuation process and were pinned. Gates was the one who got you out.” Lyle said in a shaky voice. Rokk dreaded the answer to his next question, but he had to know, he just had to.

“What about the others? Garth, Imra?” When Lyle didn't reply immediately Rokk's heart sank. "Lyle, just tell me. What happened to them?"

His first friends, his best friends, the loves of his life. They had to be okay, because if they weren’t, what would he do? Despite all their fighting, they were some of the only people who made him feel like he was someone.

“They-They didn’t make it.” Lyle said after a moments hesitation, voice breaking. Rokk felt as though the world was crashing down around him. Tears flowed from from his eyes in an instant. “They’re gone, Cos. Garth, Imra, Tasmia, Jazmin, Jan, Jo, Drake, Gates, Candi, Reep, B-Brainy… They’re all gone.”

Lyle cried, tears cascading down his cheeks, relentless even as he scrubbed at them with the edge of his sleeve. Rokk’s own tears burned hot trails down his temples as he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the inevitable outpour of grief.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Lyle reach a hand out and interlaced his fingers with Rokk’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. It was a comforting gesture, the feeling of the scratchy bandage rubbing against his skin grounding in a way. Rokk squeezed back before choking on a sob. It burned, settling an ache deep in his chest. 

“They’re holding a funeral next week,” Lyle said through tears, “Brande pushed the date back. He wanted to make sure you would be able to attend.” 

“What are we going to do? What am I going to do?” Rokk asked in lieu of an answer. His voice was strangled as sobs freely fell from his lips.

“What we always do, Cos. We’ll carry on.” Lyle said, tone firm despite his endless tears.

Rokk couldn't find it in him to conjure up a response. Instead, he let himself cry harder as Lyle held his hand.

Soon they would have to be strong. Soon there would be no time for tears. Soon they would pick up the pieces of their losses and try to make the most of what they had left.

For now, though, Rokk would grieve.