North would kill me. Clair would kill me. DELTA would kill me. Been dead. s'not fun.

[ Drunk York is swiftly becoming sleepy York. Nosing in along Malcolm's shoulder...he smells nice. If D's awake enough to get it there's this low thrum of contentment. He's kind of missed passing out against Malcolm in the middle of the night. Platonicly. ]

Water? In a little bit. This is nice.