[ The drop is so much worse than he could ever have anticipated, cold wind whipping past him, the rock blurring by faster than he'd expected. If he's wrong— if he was wrong— putain de merde, he's going to have to try and catch that grapple connection, where was it—
But very suddenly, his fall is— not arrested, but interrupted. Something hits him, winds around him: hands gripping into his uniform, fingers digging into him hard enough to bruise before a flash of chroma almost blinds him and they're soaring in a barely controlled arc, gravity thwarted by the reflexes that had caught him once before already.
It's over almost before he can even fully recognize the man who had, after all, caught him, saved him for a second time, but they go arcing up into the air — using the very same grapple he'd planned to use for himself if he had to, as it happens — and then he's staring at a face he'd thought, been convinced, he'd never see again. It worked.
Verso sets him down, and he wavers for a second, leaning down to brace himself on his knees and breathe. The cold realization that he hadn't really expected it to work, hadn't really thought Verso might appear out of thin air to rescue him feels like smacking into a wall of ice: he's shivering in reaction, and Verso is furious, swearing at him and scolding, and all Gustave can do for a long moment is laugh. Breathless, maybe a little too close to something that's threatening to fray in his chest, his head, relief and surprise flooding through him. Merde, he's still alive. It might be a miracle.
He glances up at Verso — Verso, beautiful and enraged and magnificent and looking more than a little like he's about to be sick — and laughs again, helpless and not quite too relieved not to be visibly satisfied, even though he's still trembling a little as he straightens. ]
It worked.
[ Because Verso was there, and he's still angry and confused and all tangled up about that, what it might mean, but for this one moment he can't take his eyes away from the man's face. Merde, he really had thought.... he'd been so sure....
He was never going to see him again. And now... here he is. ]
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But very suddenly, his fall is— not arrested, but interrupted. Something hits him, winds around him: hands gripping into his uniform, fingers digging into him hard enough to bruise before a flash of chroma almost blinds him and they're soaring in a barely controlled arc, gravity thwarted by the reflexes that had caught him once before already.
It's over almost before he can even fully recognize the man who had, after all, caught him, saved him for a second time, but they go arcing up into the air — using the very same grapple he'd planned to use for himself if he had to, as it happens — and then he's staring at a face he'd thought, been convinced, he'd never see again. It worked.
Verso sets him down, and he wavers for a second, leaning down to brace himself on his knees and breathe. The cold realization that he hadn't really expected it to work, hadn't really thought Verso might appear out of thin air to rescue him feels like smacking into a wall of ice: he's shivering in reaction, and Verso is furious, swearing at him and scolding, and all Gustave can do for a long moment is laugh. Breathless, maybe a little too close to something that's threatening to fray in his chest, his head, relief and surprise flooding through him. Merde, he's still alive. It might be a miracle.
He glances up at Verso — Verso, beautiful and enraged and magnificent and looking more than a little like he's about to be sick — and laughs again, helpless and not quite too relieved not to be visibly satisfied, even though he's still trembling a little as he straightens. ]
It worked.
[ Because Verso was there, and he's still angry and confused and all tangled up about that, what it might mean, but for this one moment he can't take his eyes away from the man's face. Merde, he really had thought.... he'd been so sure....
He was never going to see him again. And now... here he is. ]
Again.