Aww, now that's why they get along so well. They speak each other's language!
He sleeps fairly well given the circumstances, and the truth is that he's actually been awake for a few minutes before Fareeha tries to rouse him. It'd be impossible to tell, unless she was paying very intent attention to his breathing, because he hasn't moved nor opened his eyes.
Morning nausea. The same he's struggled with for the last twenty years. She likely remembers it from being in his head. He was hoping that it would settle before she tried to wake him up, but no luck in that regard. He breathes in deeply, which was a mistake because it makes his stomach pole-vault, and brings his hand up to rub at his eyes. "Yeah...yeah."
Junkrat sits up, and it's another mistake, because he immediately flushes pale and coughs, which turns into a full-bodied dry heave. No blood. That's good. He brings his hand up to wipe the combination of dry and wet drool that ran down his face during his sleep, and he sighs, reaching out for his borrowed prosthetic and docking it back into place.
"She's all yers, mate," he says, scooting up so he can rest his back against the wall with his eyes closed. He doesn't seem at all in the state to be on watch, but honestly he's toughed out harder wake-up calls in worse conditions.
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He sleeps fairly well given the circumstances, and the truth is that he's actually been awake for a few minutes before Fareeha tries to rouse him. It'd be impossible to tell, unless she was paying very intent attention to his breathing, because he hasn't moved nor opened his eyes.
Morning nausea. The same he's struggled with for the last twenty years. She likely remembers it from being in his head. He was hoping that it would settle before she tried to wake him up, but no luck in that regard. He breathes in deeply, which was a mistake because it makes his stomach pole-vault, and brings his hand up to rub at his eyes. "Yeah...yeah."
Junkrat sits up, and it's another mistake, because he immediately flushes pale and coughs, which turns into a full-bodied dry heave. No blood. That's good. He brings his hand up to wipe the combination of dry and wet drool that ran down his face during his sleep, and he sighs, reaching out for his borrowed prosthetic and docking it back into place.
"She's all yers, mate," he says, scooting up so he can rest his back against the wall with his eyes closed. He doesn't seem at all in the state to be on watch, but honestly he's toughed out harder wake-up calls in worse conditions.