[ The fear is still strong. It still thrums in his lines like hummingbird wings as Gunmax forces himself to vent in even, measured breaths. Deckerd is okay. Deckerd is on the ship. Deckerd wasn't hurt.

He closes his optics and sinks onto a chair, dragging his hand over his face. He can't help the way it shakes. His joints are almost stiff with the force of it. ]

Just--

[ His voice crackles out in a blip of static and there's a quiet click as he resets his vocoder. Overwhelmed. Still so, so afraid even though he knows it's okay. Even though he knows Deckerd is okay. It doesn't stop the flashbacks. It doesn't stop the ghost of Deckerd in his processor, laying in a pool of oil with a broken child in his hands, whispering how he was sorry, he didn't mean to--

Gunmax's vent is ragged and he almost drops the comm entirely. ]

I--

[ He opens his optics and stares at the far wall of his hab. He counts wall panels. Giving himself something to focus on outside of his own processor. He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to keep it together. He'd buried the memory file. It wasn't supposed to surface like this.

But then how could Gunmax know for sure that Deckerd was okay? Hadn't he hallucinated before? Hadn't he heard him before when there was nothing there? That was the price he paid for carrying those memory files inside of him. He couldn't trust his audials. Couldn't trust just the comm. Even when he looked at it, confirming that it was on and active he couldn't trust it. ]

The door of my room is open.

[ Please. ]