goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Oh thank fuck it's been...years." They didn't have it on the ship and when you're on the run? No real time to grab coffee. Or food. real food. "Please say you have something besides MRE's. Please. I might just kiss you if you say you have real food."

Wash laughed and reached up to unfasten the seal of his own helmet, tugging it off. "We have real food, although I'm not sure I'm comfortable with our relationship moving this fast. At least ask me on a date first."

"Dinner, mess, now. Don't even have to dress pretty." He hooks an arm around Wash's shoulders, giving him a sideways hug. Jesus. Food. REAL food.

"Oh good. I'm not sure polished armour counts as formalwear and that's about the best I've got." He's been living in military gear for most of his adult life. He's not sure how to go back to civvies.

He lets York tug him close and hug him, even hugs back a little, for a brief moment. For a moment it feels like they're back in the project, before things went south, when they could be friends, not rivals.

"It's this way."

"I think there was something about dress uniforms early on in the project? Before they remembered we were kind of top secret and shouldn't have anything other than the norm. Which got Ruined at Casbah." He sighs. That hadn't even been what he was wearing when they got there or when he left and it STILL ended up on fire.

"Yeah, that didn't last long," Wash said dryly. He guided them towards a long low building that served as the mess hall for the rebels. It was early for the dinner service, but the cooks would be willing to hail a new hero, he was sure.

"Dress uniforms are itchy and stiff anyway."

"But they made you look damn good. Women love a man in uniform. Hell. Men love a man in uniform. I used to get so many numbers..." He sighs. Back when it meant something to be a soldier. When he had a squad that he could talk about. When he was shooting aliens.

And here he is, taking pot shots at people again.

Fun times.

"Well, you stay here you'll probably be getting a lot of numbers." As if to prove a point, a small group of rebels are sitting at one of the benches, and they blatantly stare and whisper with awed reverence when the two Freelancers pass by. "It gets a bit awkward," Wash adds more quietly.

"It's only awkward if you let it be, kid. What'd I always tell you on leave? Be friendly and let them down easy." Sure, the flirting is fun but- war. War is a shit time to get involved with anyone. Or to not get involved with anyone.

It's complicated, don't ask him.

"They're good people but... I'm not interested and I don't want them to get their hopes up." Some of them were a little too enthusiastic. Even if everything had been genuine about him, he was still too fucked up to manage any kind of relationship with someone remotely normal.

"Just tell them we're dating. It'll get them off both our backs." Even if he could handle it better than Wash the idea of going through that regularly is a little- wearying. Sure he's moved on from Carolina and a lot of shit he learned to let go but sliding into something with someone this young and this optimistic is-

yeah.

No.

"I thought you wanted to collect numbers," Wash replied, smirking at York and nudging him a little. "I think if I told them that then the rumour mill here would not be quiet for weeks."

He tries to stay aloof, cultivate an air that keeps him apart from them. It makes it easier.

"I collected numbers back then too. And did nothing with them. Sometimes it's just the conversation that's nice, man. Not the tumble." Though he probably could use a good tumble. God. How long has it been since he's actually touched, skin to skin, another human being? Years. He tries not to think about it. Shucking the armor for that level of vulnerability isn't- safe.

At all.

Ever.

"Sure, but it'd give them something to talk about aside from your boyish good looks and my rugged handsomeness."

"I don't know- the tumble is pretty good too." Not that he'd had any experience of that recently. He'd tried, briefly. Tried to be normal, to be a human being again. It hadn't gone well. The thought of being that intimate with someone, that vulnerable, it terrified him, left him in a cold sweat.

"Hey! I'm sure I have got past 'boyish' by now. Not even a little rugged?"

"You never grew into your jawline. Or your nose. Christ- how old are you now?" He turns, poking at Wash's jaw with a gloved finger. "Eighteen? Twelve?"

Wash endures the poking for a moment before batting York's hand away, grimacing at him. "I'm nearly thirty, Christ York." It hits him for a moment how many years it's been. How long he's been like this. His expression falls and he gestures over to the kitchens. "Come on. Let's see what they've got."

"What was that, fifteen? Nineteen? You're finally allowed to drink without getting carded?" This was- easy. So damn easy. He's missed it like he misses his other eye, like he misses Delta. "Lead on, brave little soldier."

"What, You think that ever stopped me?" He'd managed to get booze well before he'd been legal. He rolls his eyes, an exaggerated expression, and his smile feels more genuine than it has for ages. "You are so asking to get punched. Is that what you want, old man?"

"I know it didn't." He snorts a laugh and walks along, arm still around Wash's shoulders. it feels good, being able to be like this again. "Old man? Old man. Show me where your mats are after we eat and I'll show you old man, rookie."

"Are you sure? I'd hate to break your dentures," Wash replies, smile widening.

The kitchen isn't huge and it's a bit makeshift in places, but it works at what it does and there's still food in the big saucepans they use to cook. Wash lifts the lid off, some kind of stew. "Told you there was real food."

"Cockbite." He snorts and peers at the pot. Inhales good and deep and there might not be meat, there might not be spices but it's real. It's hot. That has him tugging Wash the last few inches close and pressing a messy kiss to his temple. "God bless, rookie."

"Asshole."

The kiss startles him into laughter, makes him sound younger, more like he had in Freelancer, more like his actual age. It's a breathless thing and lasts longer than he'd like before he can bring himself to stop, then he elbows York away. "Gross. I don't know where you've been."

"You know you love me." He presses a second kiss to Wash's cheek before he's pushed away, hand raking through his hair to make a mess of it before he's on his own, looking for bowls. The bigger the better he is fucking hungry. "All over. Seriously I bounced around the rim for a long while trying to keep under the radar."

"I love candy too, and that is terrible for me."

Oh man, he wishes he hadn't thought about that. It's been ages since he had candy. He tries his best to smooth his hair down, to get it to lie like it normally does, but it's apparently a lost cause and he gives up in favour of grabbing spoons.

"Yeah? I guess the project falling screwed us all over." He pauses, sighs. "Those of us who were left anyway."

"Really? You still got that sweet tooth?" He quirks a brow at Wash, ladeling himself a huge bowl of the stew. Now that? That he can and will work with. His grin's wide and easy- up till the end of that. "You and me."

He'd kept track. Kept eyes on everyone after the Mother of Invention crashed. "Florida bit it in a box canyon, Tex killed Wyoming, Tex got wiped in an EMP that lost a bunch of useful, incriminating data, South killed North then got herself shot somewhere else and Maine- died before I ever crashed the damn ship."

Voice thickening a bit he swallows, forcing back the guilt. "Clair fell. It's just us, Rookie."

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