There's a lot of people that mill around after the crew returns. Jaime Reyes, also known as the Blue Beetle, stays suited up for now, just in case, especially after getting fried with a Dracon beam twice.

He's trying to get through to the MedBay, where Paco is, because he doesn't want him to have to go through his de-Yeerking alone, whatever the Yeerk said or tried to do to him.

But the blue-suited, alien symbiote-powered teenager is willing to talk to or help any new person that needs it.

"Everybody okay? I know you new guys got all confused and shaken up by this, too."

Some time after the last of the Yeerks--at least those that hadn't infested members of the crew--had been taken care of, Sam Winchester lay in one of the medbay beds, still unconscious. A dull steady beeping sound echoed throughout the room, amidst the yells and screams of the crew members who were still undergoing the de-Yeerking process, as the ship's equipment monitored his life signs. Beep.....beep.....beep.....beep.....beep. The pulse chirped out its steady, excrutiating rhythm, excrutiating especially for anyone who might have been sitting at Sammy's bed, waiting for him to finally wake up.

( To the Threshold... )

Beep...beep...beep...beep...beep. The heart monitor continued its pulsing beat in the medbay as Sam Winchester slept. But, this time, the machine that tracked his brain activity registered a slight--though it substantial for the severe injury he'd suffered--change. Meanwhile, beneath their lids, Sam's eyes began to move.

Xander had spent longer with the Yeerk in his head so it had plenty of time to wriggle its way into his very chocolatey Xanderyness. He was not enjoying the latest mental viewing of girlfriends who somehow got 'jinxed.'

"Come on, just jump out already."

Shawn? was screaming his head off. Though those screams were in fact coming from the Yeerk. Shawn's general approach to life had managed to deflect every attempt to use his memories against him, and he was currently doing everything in his power to annoy the Yeerk.

"...I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, here they are a-standing in a row...Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head, just give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist, that's what the showman said..."

There was an odd little reddish-blond haired man, slightly scruffy, slightly dorky, standing emptying his plantsuit pockets in a corner of the medbay, rearranging and reorganizing them into some semblance of something almost flattering; it was about as close to changing his clothing as he can get, after all.

Still, the man was acting fairly strangely and didn't seem disoriented enough to be a complete newbie. He'd gone around unobtrusively looking to make sure everyone was taken care of before moving to his corner, and he was now trying to - between yawns - coax his plantsuit into forming a sonic screwdriver holster on his back, for dramatic, over-the-shoulder screwdriver drawing action.

Despite being inside (what she understands to be) a bizarre and possibly Wyrmish flesh-building, Bella's priorities remain intact. First and foremost, she wants her pack. For as long as she's known them, the other three have ALWAYS been able to figure out what's going on. Therefore, she reasons, they might be able to explain these things to her and help her figure out how to go home. The pack should be here, shouldn't they? If she's here, they MUST be! It makes perfect sense to her.

Bella is currently sniffing around the obs deck in wolf form, trying to pick up familiar traces of scent against the constant of Stacy's smell. She's not having much luck. She does, however, seem to be pretty relaxed at the moment. That combined with Stacy's anti-violence tentacles being back online ought to make it safe to talk to her.

Dare you approach the werewolf?

The Chief found something out while fighting the Taxxons, and that's that his aim isn't quite as sharp as he wants it to be right now. Whether that's because of being in the pod for a while or what, he doesn't know. It's just a detriment to his survival odds and so he's going to FIX it.

The thing he didn't anticipate, however, is what the Sensorium did when he asked it for a gun range.

He's standing behind a rather futuristic if unremarkable firing line, a massive room with the walls heavily insulated to absorb sound with a control system along one wall for various courses of fire.

He knows this place, and it sort of knocks the breath out of him a little bit. He stands in silence, just looking at it for a moment like a man who's seen a ghost. Because... he sort of has. This room probably doesn't even exist anymore, it's the range on Reach. He was trained here.

It's a fragile reverie, though. The next thing that catches his attention will break it and business will be got down to.