goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"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."

Wash shrugs helplessly, giving him a wry smile. "What can I say? Some things don't change."

Hearing how it all happened, it's like a punch to the solar plexus. Knocks the air right out of him and suddenly he's not so hungry anymore. He hadn't been close to all of them, but close enough for them to be almost family. He'd never wanted them dead.

"Christ. I- I thought maybe... maybe Tex would have survived. Or Wyoming. Or that North would find some place to hide out and- and live." He seemed like he would have been able to do that.

The words are on the tip of his tongue when he hears the guilt in York's voice. He could end it all with just a few words.

But that's not who he is anymore. There's no going back. "Just us."

"Heard rumors awhile ago that CT had been spotted but- it was just some jackass in her armor. She died on the oil rig." Because of Tex. Because of Omega. Because of the fucking director. One breath, three, and he pushes past it all and past Wash, bumping him with his elbow to get him to move again.

"Better Lucky than good, right? And we've always been lucky bastards." Despite all evidence to the contrary. "C'mon. Sit. eat. Gotta have lunch before you get dessert."

His heart soars for a moment at the thought that Connie might be alive, only to be brought down a second later with a resounding thump of impact. His hands clench at his sides for a moment until York bumps him and then he can breathe again, even though he feels hollowed out. So pretty much back to normal then.

"I'd rather be both." He doesn't feel lucky. "Sure thing, mom. Do I get ice-cream?"

"Nope." He grins and it's wide, it's wicked, and it's- well he's been saving these for months now but Wash? He'd thought the kid was dead. It's worth handing them over. He reaches down and pops a seal on his armor, pulling a carefully wrapped package from where he'd normally stow an extra clip of ammo. He sets it on the table between them and nods for Wash to unwrap them. "Your favorite."

That grin is pure mischief and evil and Wash gives him a wary look. What was he up to? He had seen that smile before and it usually ended up with a reprimand from the Director for them doing something monumentally stupid.

The wrapped package is not what he expects, the wariness melting away into confusion, and then, when he's opened it, pure shock. There's a sealed package of Three Musketeers there, real ones. "York you- how did you get these? I- I can't accept these. They're yours."

Why would York give him this when a few hours ago they'd been at each other's throats?

"Call it a gift." he shrugs, digging into his soup. It's easier not to look at him when he says this- to admit how fucking relieved he is that even after everything he's not the only one still alive. The burden of surviving isn't his alone to bear. "Until two hours ago i thought you were dead. I thought I was alone."

Not that the planet wasn't inhabited but- that he was the last one. That no one else knew or remembered or could even understand what they'd been torn through. "Also I've missed a couple of your birthdays. Christmasses. Etc."

Wash stares down at the candy bars like they're fucking gold dust. Not just because it's tough to get hold of them, but because York remembered. It had been years and York remembered what he liked, right down to the stupid sweets he'd scoffed during training.

"Thank you," he says after a long moment, fingers closing around the plastic wrappers. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I'm not alone. I'm glad you got out. I'm glad I missed." He might regret that in a few days, but right now, it's as close to home as he's been in a long time.

"So- let's win this and go find somewhere to make up for that many birthdays."

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