[Washington, DC, USA, Earth]

[mr_gaeta]

Over a year since the last time he passed through Milliways' front door, Gaeta has to exercise a considerable amount of energy not to sprint through it as soon as Steve turns the handle.

He's also exercising a considerable amount of energy not to start hyperventilating again, or running back up to his room, or doing anything except devolve into a panic attack. Even after he's safely on the other side of the threshold, he can still hear the mechanical clicking of Bar's Cubefall hardware; all he wants to do is plug his ears.

The whole time, he didn't even stop to wonder if he could leave Milliways. Luckily, nothing untoward seems to have happened yet.

Comments

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Felix?" Steve puts a steadying hand on Felix's shoulder. "Are you okay? We can go back if it's too much for you."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta shakes his head. After a moment, he buries his face in both hands.

"Godsdammit," he whispers, fervent, to no one in particular.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Well, that's a reaction Steve didn't expect.

"Will it help if I closed the curtains?"

It's the only thing he can think of.

[mr_gaeta]

He has to breathe. He has to -- the cold's coming back, if he doesn't start breathing it's only going to get worse --

Gaeta manages to shake his head again: bewildered, like Steve's speaking a foreign language. "'S there a couch?"

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"C'mon," Steve says and guides Felix to the couch in the apartment's living room.

[mr_gaeta]

He moves where he's led; sinks onto it gratefully.

Breathe, godsdammit.

Gaeta rubs at his arms, chest heaving. With each successive breath, it's a little less harsh, a little less frantic. Some awareness of where he is -- out of the bar, in Steve's apartment, in a city, on Earth -- eases back in.

"Shit," he mutters. Like before, there's no heat to the curse.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve kneels in front of him. "Do you feel faint? Do you need to put your head between your knees?"

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta starts to shake his head a third time, then pauses as the room swims uncomfortably.

"...Yeah," he admits. "A little."

Anticipating the next order, he bends to put his forehead on his knees.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"In through the nose, out through the mouth," Steve says quietly. He's not touching Felix in case that makes his panic worse, but he's staying close.

[mr_gaeta]

Nodding would be too cumbersome. "Okay," he mumbles instead.

In. Out. Breathe.

A dull heat's rising in his face, but he can't even care right now. At least it's chasing the cold away.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve says, his voice pitched low and soothing, "Remember before the serum, when I was tiny and sickly? I used to get asthma attacks when our apartment got too cold, and sometimes the only way to get through them was for Bucky to help me breathe. He'd just help me find the rhythm to calm me down. Lots of mind over matter. Just--" He breathes in slowly, and out slowly.

Hopefully, it's helpful.

[mr_gaeta]

"Yeah," he whispers. (In. Out. In.)

The worst seems to be passing. A few more breaths, and Gaeta raises his head, scrubbing a hand over his face.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve smiles a little. "I hope it's all downhill from here."

[mr_gaeta]

He huffs out a laugh, without much humor. "Me too."

After another beat, he manages to uncurl enough to prop his elbows on his knees. "Sorry."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve shakes his head. "It's okay.

"Do you think you'd be ready to go outside today, or do you need more time to adjust?"

[mr_gaeta]

"...Maybe a little more time." He sighs. "It's -- not from coming here, it's just from -- "

He hooks a thumb back toward the door of Steve's apartment; it's the best he can do to indicate Milliways.

"I frakking hate Cubefall."

To put it mildly.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"I had fun with it last year," Steve admits, "but yeah, I can see it being a bit...much."

[mr_gaeta]

His mouth quirks.

Very quietly, "Did I ever tell you what happened to my home?"

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Not in detail," Steve says, and moves to sit beside him on the couch.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta nods. He glances toward Steve as he sits down, then returns his attention to his knees.

(His dog tags -- he never did stop wearing them -- weigh heavy against the front of his shirt.)

"Four years before I died," he says, "there was an all-consuming nuclear event. It wiped out the Colonies. Anybody who was stuck on the ground didn't make it. And, um."

He drags a thumb back and forth across the fabric of his pants.

"The ones responsible for killing everyone were a bunch of sentient machines."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Were they...created for that?"

[mr_gaeta]

"No. They were created...gods, fifty years ago, I think?"

Amazing how the history becomes so hard to dredge up. Gaeta rubs his forehead.

"But they turned against us when they achieved sentience. Frakked off for a few decades after the first Cylon war, ended up evolving to the point they looked human, then came back out of nowhere and nuked us."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Wow," Steve says softly and glances at the door they came through. "No wonder you don't want to be around robots."

He winces. Trite thing to say, Rogers.

[mr_gaeta]

It draws a tiny, crooked smile out of Gaeta anyway.

"Pretty much," he says, wry. "Last year I just got drunk and stayed in my room the whole weekend, but that's, ah...not really an option anymore."

He drags a hand through the curls at the nape of his neck. To his dismay, they're a little damp from sweat.

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Steve mutters.

See: his refuge in a bottle of Atlantean when Bucky died.