| The Walking and the Wounded |
| Summary: | Gabrieli, Laskaris, and Sofia get visitors in Sickbay |
| Date: | Mar 15 2041 |
| Related Logs: | The Test of Gold, Tug of War |
| Players: |
     |
| Recovery Room - Deck 10 - Sickbay - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| A much more quiet area of Medical, this elongated room is also lined with beds. Each is similarly outfitted with privacy curtains as necessary and even the paint on the walls has been lightened in an attempt to help lift spirits. Chairs are readily available all over the place so that visitors can pull one up to talk to the patients during their recovery. Near the entrance, visiting hours are posted with a very conspicuous 'No Smoking' sign. |
| Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close Post Holocaust Day: #16 |
Trask would've been by sooner had he known that Gabrieli were here. Plus, there was the whole salvage mission to Virgon that ended in a clusterfrak of Viper pilots who EPIC FAILED to comprehend what RTB meant. As the ECO advances towards the ChEng's bed, he hefts a chair that he snagged along the way and subsequently sets it down in an unceremonious manner. Although he is not currently smoking, he stinks like someone who has been. Plus, he hasn't yet bothered to shower post-mission. "You look like shit."
The ChEng's got his own little space. Not so much as perk of rank, but to keep what infectious bugs off him that they can. Gabrieli spent most of last night on a ventilator, the tubes removed a few hours ago and replaced with an oxygen mask. The burns on his face and a good deal of the right side of his body are all dressed in layers of gauze, wound loose to let them breathe and swell as they will. And swell they have; his right eye is nearly puffed shut from both swollen lid and burnt cheek. His head's nicely wrapped up too, which will save him a few days before having to acknowledge that his hair (already thinning) is gone. His left eye drifts open, fixing drily on Trask, and the inside of the mask fogs as he answers, scratchily. "Flattery gets you nowhere, Lieutenant."
Unfazed, Trask remarks, "Prolly why I don't frakkin' bother. Well, that, and I'm a jerk." Flattery? From him? Suuuure. "I'd ask how you're feelin' but I imagine you feel as bad, if not worse, than you look." Despite his glib manner, the ECO's eyes betray the concern he feels for the man he's come to consider a buddy, over these years. "Good thing that I decided not to bring books." They would've been useless. Still, he didn't come empty handed. One of the nice things about being an electrical engineering is being able to build electronic devices for far cheaper than buying something factory produced. It actually is a hobby of Trask's, as much as for something to do as for being frugal. Once a Black Country boy, always a Black Country boy. Hermes knows he knows how to make a single cubit stretch out to two or three. All of which is pertinent because he has with him a portable digital music player, as well as a pair of earbuds. "Brought'cha somethin' to help drown out the sound of suck." Faintly frowning, he adds, "But'cha kinda need ears…" Not one to be deterred, he decides, "I'll lend you a portable player with built-in speakers." Evidently, he doesn't care if this will disturb the other patients.
Suck sounds like a heart monitor. The steady beeps are enough to drive anyone crazy. But the fact alone that it's making noise provides a certain brand of comfort. "Jerks don't bring music players," Gabrieli points out. The sentence would probably wind longer if he could get more breath in his smoked-out lungs. "But…you can retain the title if it's filled with…" Breath. "Tauron rap or something." His eye drifts shut again. Some of the lashes are missing, leaving it very strange to look at. "Meant to tell you. Good job. With the swallows."
Mildly, Trask rolls his eyes. "Please. I save that shit for people I don't like. So, don't die, 'cuz that'll piss me off, which means I'll have to play some Raging Bulls during your eulogy an' tell everyone they were you favoritest band ever." As for the swallows, he's not modest per se, but neither is he arrogant. His brand of boasting was always done with tongue firmly in cheek. "Yeah. They sang a pretty li'l number. Good job obfuscating the FTL." Yes, Bootstrap knows words other than 'frak'.
"Wasn't my work." Gabrieli's brand of modesty is blunt. It would be with or without the effort it takes to say the words. Beep…beep…goes the machinery's monosyllabic communication with the nurses outside. His tongue runs over a blister on the side of his lip, eye opening back up. The right opens too, a little bit, though most of the greenish-gray iris disappears under the disfigured lid. "Noise out front…what happened?"
Haeleah has arrived.
"Viper jocks bein' Viper jocks." Dry as the desert, that. "There was a salvage mission to the scrapyard that is Virgon's orbit. The good news is that we made a decent haul. The bad news is that Viper jocks are idiots." Trask is also capable of bluntness. "So, although we nabbed some useful stuff, we're still at a net loss 'cuz most of the Vipers on escort duty flew face first into an explosion that coulda been avoided if they'd just, y'know, returned to the frakkin' base instead of chasin' kill shots. Ended up losin' a knuckledragger but the frakwits managed to survive. Once the CAG and their SLs get through with 'em, though, they might wish they'd've not made it."
Gabrieli's eyes close, tense for a moment at the crow's-footed corners. It's hard to tell whether the passing spasm is from the news or his own body; painkillers only dull so much and it's obvious the man's in pain, even if the easy chatter doesn't seem to acknowledge it. "Shit," he mutters, the breath turning the inside of the oxygen mask white with fog. "Hahn okay?"
Haeleah drifts into the Recover Room. Not quite in time to hear Trask's Viper spiel, though she can't have but noticed the large number of broken pilots occupying Sickbay. They are not her destination, however. It's Gabrieli she zeroes in on. Though she hesitates a beat to approach him. Looking down at her booted feet. A toe is scuffed. But she does eventually screw up her courage enough to stride over to approach his bedside. "Hey, boss." Trask is glanced at and nodded to with some semblance of politeness.
"Note how I said /Viper/ jocks are idiots." Raptors? Please. That's the ECO's expression, anyway. Even so, he gives Gabrieli a break and adds, "Yeah. Quinn was grounded for not sleeping enough, so I backseated for the CAG. We're fine." The frakwits up front? Another matter. As Haeleah approaches and calls the ChEng 'boss', Trask's brown eyes flit her direction. "She's /far/ more attractive than Maricon… Macaroni… whatever the other guy's name is. If she's my successor, I approve." Then, to the woman herself. "I approve."
Gabrieli keeps his eyes closed while Trask provides more details about the air engagement, his breathing settled back into a slow, shallow rhythm that barely moves his bandaged chest. He isn't nice to look at, bandages wrapped around a swelling, blistered face. Small blessing that the rest of him is covered, where the worst of the burns are. "She is. Took you and added good taste." His eye opens again and closes, which might've been some mild wink at the ECO. Or just a blink. "Parres." His voice doesn't raise. It can't, barely audible as it is. "Was worried about you."
Haeleah blinks at Trask. Turning to regard him. Hand on hip. He's looked up and down. Though precisely what she decides about him isn't readily voiced. A snort at the Maricon, though. "That'd be Lieutentant Marcion? Damn straight I am." A hasty look to Gabrieli. "Umm. I have nothing but respect for his FTL knowledge, sir." Her sincerity is…questionable and walking a fine sarcasm line, but she makes the token effort toward not disrespecting her fellow officer. Can't say she didn't come performance review time. That faint impish note in her tone is gone when she speaks to Gabrieli about non-Marcion things, however. "I'm fine, sir. It got pretty hairy last night, though. Won't lie. So…how are you?" She immediately looks like she regrets asking that and amends, "You need anything?"
That's faux innocence that regards Haeleah. The kind a naughty boy employs to lull others into a false sense of security. Somehow, he manages to retain that look when he tells Gabrieli, "Tits, too." Because Trask doesn't have any of his own. "An' yeah. That guy." Marcion. With a mild shrug, the once upon a time snipe adds, "He wasn't hired to be pretty. If you're the new me, though, you're much more than delicious eye candy." That all said, introductions are made. "Palles, eh? Trask."
"Trask." Gabrieli's voice doesn't often hit 'watch it' mode with the ECO he's known this long, but it scratches the surface now. "Introduce yourself like a human being, please." He clears his painful throat, that one green-gray eye turning upwards under its swollen lid to look at Haeleah. "I'm alive. Not discounting that." He stops to breathe, teeth together. "I need to know…how my people are. Did anyone get hurt?"
Haeleah's eyes narrow at Trask. "I built them myself. Spend a little more time in the mess hall and you can grow your own." She doesn't seem offended, but she replies with light barbs. As for introduction she says, "Parres, actually. Haeleah Parres. L-T. J-G. I work Mechanical and Repair mostly. I was assigned right before the ship left drydock." A shrug to Gabrieli, "It's all right, sir. I've dealt with worse." At his question, she lets out a long breath. "Wolfe and Ter Avest are fine. All the engineers on the DC team ended up okay. The Deckies weren't so lucky. One of them had a close call with the fire, but I think Chief Atreus got her out before she really hurt herself. And…there was another one who wasn't so lucky. It was an accident, sir. While we were opening the door he…caught a cutting torch to the face." There really is no good way to say that, so it's just said.
"What?" Evidently, aforementioned ECO doesn't think he's said something inappropriate. It's not like he was using a lascivious tone. Truly, is was as matter of fact as saying the woman has curly hair or that he is from Tauron. "Good to know," he replies to Haeleah about the boobs. "I'm preoccupied enough with what I already have…" A bit cheekily, he bobs his head from side to side. "…so, adding breasteses to the mix would be counter-productive. Nice work there, though." Again, said with a lack of sexual overtone. He's just a wiseass. "Parres. Sorry. I guess I was still thinking of Macaroon." Poor Marcion. Extending a callused hand, then, "Kal Trask. El-Tee Jay-Gee myself. They call me Bootstrap over in the CVW-14. G an' I go waaaaaay back." At talk of all the injuries, though, he frowns a bit. "On the upswing, it didn't happen 'cuz your people were being dumb. That still sucks, though."
Gabrieli is done playing kindergarden teacher where the introductions are concerned. Haeleah's on her own now. He needed the pause anyhow, breathing slowly through his mask-covered mouth. His fingers twitch as Haeleah delivers the news about the death in the corridor. "Hephaestus." The god's name comes out in a low breath, a soft epithet. "Can you tell the chief…" Air puffs out of his lungs and he pulls more in. "…I'd like a word with him." There's a long pause then, his eyes turning off them to the rail. "Did Barclay make it?"
Haeleah smirks at Trask. "Bootstrap? You a pilot?" Her tone is skeptical on the matter of pilots, and how this might ultimately affect her opinion of him. No correction is forthcoming from her on Marcion's name. His hand is taken and shaken. She's a lefty, and sporting more than one callous herself. But most of her attention is still on Gabrieli. She nods. "I'll tell the Chief, sir. It was…Ter Avest as the one who was wielding the torch at the time, but it was just a clusterfrak. Everybody was trying to get that door open, Wolfe tripped, things happened real fast. She couldn't have stopped it." A brief, sober pause as to Barclay. "I…I'm sorry, sir. You were the only one they pulled out alive."
Fancy that. Trask also is a southpaw. Looks like Haeleah really /is/ the new him. Plus tits. "Only when shit goes to Hades in a handbasket. Any other time, I frak up shit an' occasionally blow up shit. Oh, an' fix shit, too. Why fly when I can do the fun stuff?" ECO FTW.
To the rest, he remains quiet. For once.
The beeping heart monitor and silent drip-drip of morpha is the only reply to Haeleah for a few long seconds. The mask and gauze are the small blessing that hide Gabrieli's expression, and his eyes are on the rail instead of them. He turns his head the inch that it'll move, regarding the space between him and the ceiling, then clears his throat softly. "How's Ter Avest doing?"
"She finished her work but she was pretty shaken up after," Haeleah says. "Who wouldn't be? I'll look in on her. Sir…I…" She swallows, looking down at her boots again. Seemingly oblivious to the presence of Trask now. At least, she doesn't so much hesitate to do this in front of him. "I tried to get there as fast as I could, sir. We tried to get the fire out as fast as we could but…I'm sorry, sir…" There's a catch in her voice, though she avoids actually crying.
The man is obnoxious, not obtuse, and the ECO concludes that perhaps it'd be good for the Engineering types to converse in private. It's been years since he qualified as such. "I should prob'ly go check on my other peeps." Emphasis on other, for the ChEng is considered one of his peeps. Rising, he adds, "Oh, yeah. Before I forget…" A folded piece of paper is removed from a pocket and then unfolded. "A gift from the heart." Wryly spoken, of course. "I doodled it while downloading tracks of different oceans that no longer exist." It's a picture of a sailboat drawn with markers. Perhaps somewhat surprising, it actually really is quite nice, particularly for a hasty sketch. There's even shading in the water.
As Trask reveals it, holding the drawing with both hands, he wiggles the paper to create a cheeky wave effect. He even quietly caws like a seagull a few times. That done, he softly clears his throat and sets the S.S. Ossum down on the nightstand. Evidently, he remembered that Gabrieli has a thing for boats and water. "I'll come by with that player." And those ocean tracks. To Haeleah, he says, "Good meetin' you." Which he genuinely means, and then tacks on for his friend, "Real glad you didn't die, Dom." That is spoken in earnest. "Keep it that way… or else." Raging Bulls at the eulogy.
Lasher has been here all along, in fact. Until now, though, he's been asleep; his wounds were minor compared to what some of the other pilots got off with, but enough to land him with an overnight stay in sickbay nonetheless. Burns and scrapes, mostly; there's a few visible bandages on his face and arms, but luckily for him most of the burns weren't that serious. The wounded pilot stirs in his bed, his eyes sliding open slowly. He tries to move, but winces and thinks better of it. Lasher will settle instead for a quick look around the room as he gets his bearings.
"It's not your fault, Lieutenant," Gabrieli murmurs into the oxygen mask. The one visible, browless eye goes back to Haeleah's face. "Believe me. I've been where you are right now." His throat moves as he swallows, trying to wet his damaged throat. "And I know…you did everything you could. You've got one life owed you. The gods just weren't up for two last night." His low voice would have more to read it in if it didn't sound like sandpaper scratching together, but the compassion is there. "Okay?" He keeps that eye on her a moment, then it shifts to look at what Trask is presenting. Slowly, the corners of his eyes just barely crinkle, the age lines there deepening. "You drew that?"
"Okay, sir," Haeleah says, raising her eyes to meet Gabrieli's roving one. "I should be getting back. You sure you don't want anything. Something to read, something from the berthings or…whatever." A little smile at Trask's picture. That's nice. The sound of movement makes her look over her shoulder. And spot Laskaris. Dark eyes widen with recognition. For a moment, she just stares.
"I /told/ you that I'm more than just delicious eye candy." Poor Trask. When will people ever acknowledge him for other than his scampish good looks, filthy mouth, and incredible ass? Even his awesome ECO skills get overlooked. Le sigh. He'll live, though, if the smirk is any indication. For the nonce, Lasher isn't noticed.
And neither does Lasher notice the attention, or lack thereof, he's getting from the others in the room. Again, he shifts in the bed; he's a little more successful, managing to push himself up into a sitting position. He tries to clear his throat, but all that results is a guttural, wheezing noise as it degenerates into a cough. Laskaris grunts a moment later, squinting as he cranes his head, looking around further.
"I would love something to read, Parres." Gabrieli twitches his working fingers. "But holding it would be a bit of a bitch just now. I'm fine." Wall staring will have to do for another few days. That and Trask's muzak. He makes a sound under his breath, a muted chuckle at Trask that doesn't have as much humor as it would any other day. "Thanks, Kal." He is kind of aware of other sounds, that one eye moving from Trask's shoulder towards it. His head can't really move though, so all he sees is part of Laskaris' arm.
Sofia arrives from the Sickbay.
Sofia has arrived.
"That your bloody dirtgrubbing voice I hear out there, Trask?" comes a croak from Lasher's bed a moment later. His vision is still swimming a bit, but his ears seem to be working just fine.
"I'll bring you by something I can read to you, sir," Haeleah says to Gabrieli. "Get some rest, okay?" With that, she leaves him be. Starting the walk out of the Recovery Room, though she pauses when she passes Laskaris. He is regarded. "Hey."
An amiable smile is offered to Gabrieli. "Anytime, G. Just remember, though: I'm serious about the eulogy." And the Red Bulls. Oh, but then there is another familiar voice. "Sure is, you sheep frakkin' bastard," is Kal's casual reply, tossing in snarky love for Aerilonian stereotypes. Turning to regard Laskaris, he asks, "Your voice sound so crap from chewin' out your squad, or is it from shriekin' over the no smoking policy?" Despite the wisecracks, the ECO actually fetches the Black Knights' SL a cup of cool water.
"I will, Lieutenant." Gabrieli has no choice, as distasteful as this 'rest' thing is. He even quashes the urge to ask Haeleah to make that 'reading material' his reports from engineering that he's missing. There's a grunt in reply to Trask, and he closes his eyes for a few seconds.
It's an engineering party! Sofia eventually stirs to life and sits up. She looks wide-eyed, blank and confused. Is she hearing voices? Her head turns towards Gabrieli and the others here. There's a strange blankness in her gaze, an almost total lack of focus. Huh? Stare.
It takes a second for the face to process, but Lasher recognizes the woman standing by his bunk. "Hullo. Lieutenant," he replies hoarsely. "Hope you didn't drag yourself down here on my account," is said sardonically, even if he's already guessed that much. Trask gets a look, first of surprise, then something strangely resembling gratitude as the ECO provides a cup of water. "Haven't had a chance t' talk t' the squaddies yet, so the latter for now," he tells Bootstrap. "Care t' help me bend the rules a bit?" Meaning, I CAN HAZ CIGARETTE PLZ? He looks from Trask to Haeleah as he takes a small sip of water.
The ECO is a real jerk like that. One moment, a total pain in the ass. The next, doing something nice. Being a smoker himself, Trask certainly feels Laskaris' pain on that front. "Y'now, if my good buddy over there," a head tilt indicates the heavily bandaged Gabrieli, oxygen mask and all, "weren't a smoker, I'd oblige. As it stands, to give you one would just be cruel." Plus, extremely dangerous to the charbroiled human hotdog's health. Seriously, Lasher got off lightly compared to the poor ChEng.
"I didn't," Haeleah replies to Laskaris, as to why she dragged herself down her. It's not said exactly unkindly, though. She takes a deep breath. Actually looking contrite. "Look. About that thing the other day…sorry I kind of went off on you. I was processing some shit. I guess I was kind of trying to pick a fight." A pause. "Thanks."
No, smoking with Gabrieli's lungs nearby is probably not the most healing-condusive breach of protocol in the world. But godsdamn. The ChEng picks up those voices, and they might be able to hear the low snort. "Blow it in my face and I might recommend both of you for promotion." His scratchy voice is wry, of course. Flame + oxygen = not good.
Blink. Someone looks more confused than Paris Hilton at a Quantum Physics convention. Sofia furrows her brows. But she smiles, hearing the conversation. She still has a blank, bewildered look. "Who…" Why do some of these seem familiar? It is indeed, puzzling.
Lasher sighs forlornly as Trask indicates Gabrieli's plight. "Bugger," he laments succinctly. A look over at the crispy critter that is Cerberus' engineering chief. "I'll be out of here afore you, I wager," he mentions drolly to the other man, "so I suppose I have the luxury of waiting." Luxury, right. A pause, and then he looks back to Haelaeh with a slightly raised brow. "You wanted a fight, all ya had t' do was ask," he notes. A cough, as he waves dismissedly. "Frak it. Who am I to hold someone's temper against 'em, eh?" He does look a little confused at her thanks, though. "For what?"
"I like ya, Lasher," Trask nonchalantly explains, "but I'll personally remove the lungs of anyone who smokes around the Cap'n." There's a certain glint in his brown eyes that contradicts his wry tone. Indeed, he might actually be serious. Back to Gabrieli, he quips, "Sorry, sir. I'll just have to get promoted the old fashion way: shagging my way up the ranks."
"You were pretty easy to pick one with. It was convenient," Haeleah replies to Laskaris. As far as back-handed compliments are concerned, that's mostly just back-handed. "An EVA team I was leading lost one not long before that. Chief Robin Merrell. Good woman. I guess I needed to blow off a little steam." The explanation is given quickly and she doesn't dwell on it. The faint 'Who…' makes her turn and look at Sofia. She sighs heavily.
Gabrieli's eyes stay closed. His focus is on breathing, and whatever may be going through his morpha-addled mind. His breath clouds the inside of the oxygen mask in a slow rhythm, until Sofia's voice makes his eye open again. Haeleah said nobody else was hurt.
Hee. Trask's comments provoke an amused look. Then she gets spotted. Huh? What's the fuss? Sofia seems oddly peaceful and subdued, a startling contrast to the normally theatric and spazzy behavior. Her mouth falls into a little o shape and she looks worried. "Oh. I'm sorry. I was enjoying listening to you," Her voice is soft and distant as if Sofia is already somewhere in space. She offers a little smile. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Frown.
"Yeah, yeah." Lasher doesn't seem much impressed by Trask's threat, genuine or not, as he waves a hand. "Frakking godsdamn nurses would probably confiscate it, anyway, if I tried." He shrugs indolently. "Convenient, eh?" he says with a mirthless chuckle to Haeleah. "Well, I've been called worse." Blue-gray eyes look up to meet the woman's. "I'm sorry," he replies a moment later. "Didn't know." His tone is subdued at that. "I… know the feeling, believe it or not."
Haeleah gives Laskaris, injured as he is, a long look. "I believe it," she says simply. A nod to him, and Trask, and she leaves him be with that, turning to Sofia. The woman is eyed with concern, technically uninjured though she is. "You didn't interrupt, Wolfe. So…how you doing?"
For his part, Trask doesn't seem to care that Laskaris isn't much impressed. A nod is returned to the departing Haeleah. "You want somethin' from your bunk that's /not/ of the list of confiscatable items?" he then asks the Viper jock.
Why is Gabrieli's crewman in a bed in Medical? This is what the ChEng's attempting to figure out, and not doing a terribly good job. The morpha fog is definitely not helping. "Wolfe?" He has no concept of the volume of his voice, or the lack thereof, and it's possible it doesn't carry that far.
Wolfe. Wolfe? Blink. Stare. Sofia can't quite… she looks to her hands, then back to Haeleah. "Well. I- Wolfe?" Hm. Sofia. That's right. It's taking her a moment, as if she's existing in some sort of fog. It doesn't quite make sense to her. "Who- me. Yes." Yes… yes? "I am exceedingly fine. I wanted to dive into the reactor and disappear for awhile, because I couldn't quite sleep and it seemed proper but then they escorted me here. I couldn't say why? It feels very peaceful." Her voice is … eerily flat. As if ending herself meant nothing more than any other chore. There's genuine fugue and puzzlement at this. She seems … absolutely accepting of the idea. "Why? I'm very peaceful. Are you okay? I can't - remember. Why. None of it really makes sense, whatever it is or was." Sofia is riding the bullet train to Crazybroadsville.
"Ach." Lasher blinks, considering Trask's question for a moment. "Unlike your friend the captain over there, I can at least use my arms. Could use something to read as long as they're set on keeping me in this frakkin' dump overnight." He frowns, thinking. "There's a few books in my locker… not one of the damn compsci texts, mind, the paperbacks. I'm reading Gun on Ice Planet Zero right now." He snorts, which ends up turning into another cough. "Ain't fumarella, but I'll take it, so long as you're offering."
Nodding, Bootstrap replies, "I'll see if I can find it. Failing that, I'll snag somethin' similar from the library." Thus the stick is off-set by a bit of carrot. To Laskaris and Gabrieli collectively, he concludes with, "Right. I'll see ya guys later." Heading out, he offers a polite enough, "Ladies," to Haeleah and Sofia, and is out the door.
Trask heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Trask has left.
"I…I didn't know she'd still be here, sir," Healeah says to Gabrieli, switching a look between Sofia and the injured ChEng. "Medical just wanted to keep her overnight after…" A shrug. Like she needs to explain the trauma to he who was the Burning Man. She crosses her arms along her chest as she regards Sofia. It's a somewhat self-protective gesture, though she barely seems to realize she's doing it. "I didn't know it was this bad."
Gabrieli's working eye is impossible to read, if only because it's half clouded by the swelling eyelid. Glance flickered to Trask and Laskaris as the former takes his leave, then back to the women. "I see." Down another hand. His fingers curl on the mattress and straighten again, as if his mind were determined to make that the precursor to getting all the way up out of bed. "Wolfe…you get some rest, you hear?"
Confuuuuuuuused. Sofia just blinks at the two. "Who's bad? I told you, I feel exceedingly fine." Except for the whole happily considering offing herself thing. "They won't even give me anything like a pair of scissors to do work with," This puzzles her. She shrugs. A confused look at Gabrieli. "Of course. I feel like I am Wolfe, but I'm not really." As if she's split in two or lost in a fog. She's puzzled. "It's okay though. I think- honestly- they are just fussing to be kind. I hope you get some rest too then," She looks to Gabrieli. "You're both being … really kind." Nod. "I won't keep you awake."
Trask gets a brisk farewell from Lasher. "Boots." There's a curious look across the way at Sofia, then a glance at the pair of engineers before Laskaris slumps back against the bed. So long as no one has any parting shots for him, it looks like he's going to try and settle in for more sleep. Not much else to do in here, anyway.
"Yeah, get some rest. We'll take care of the work," Haeleah says to Sofia, still having trouble looking at the woman. "I'll see you later, Crewman. Sir." On that note, she's off. She doesn't bolt, exactly, but it wouldn't be inaccurate to say she flees.