[His brain doesn't want to function properly. Not waterlogged, choking, like it is. It grinds to life enough to realize there is air, and ragged, thick gasps force his lungs to work again. Short ones, shallow ones. Too much damned seawater got in for more than that.]
[How is he - ? He should move, this is just a brief reprieve. A couple uncertain, determined, kicks, before thoughts start to grind to life again.]
[That's an order. And more importantly, that's an order from a familiar voice. Relief almost makes him sag in that sure, steady grasp. But he keeps trying to move. Keeps trying to stay functional. Talk. Can he talk? Is there enough air? Enough time before he goes back under again?]
Told you - [He hears himself rasp.] - flailing. Drowning.
[Garrus Vakarian, everyone, the man who could be two steps from death and still think he's the funniest son of a bitch in the room.]
no subject
[How is he - ? He should move, this is just a brief reprieve. A couple uncertain, determined, kicks, before thoughts start to grind to life again.]
[That's an order. And more importantly, that's an order from a familiar voice. Relief almost makes him sag in that sure, steady grasp. But he keeps trying to move. Keeps trying to stay functional. Talk. Can he talk? Is there enough air? Enough time before he goes back under again?]
Told you - [He hears himself rasp.] - flailing. Drowning.
[Garrus Vakarian, everyone, the man who could be two steps from death and still think he's the funniest son of a bitch in the room.]