goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

"Oh right, like you have any right to judge. You nearly drowned in a puddle of lime jello and Maine started giving you mouth to mouth." He'd had photos. he wishes he still had them. he wonders if they still exist or if they were just lost in the ether.

"I don't disagree though. My ass is pretty fabulous."

"You really think that was mouth to mouth? I bet South fifty bucks I could get Maine to kiss me." Sure he'd been sneaky about it, but Wash and his photos got him extra pocket money.

Between the candy, the nudges of York's foot to Wash's, and how goddamn glad they were to see each other- York didn't even need to tell anyone that they were involved now or in the past. Assumptions were being made. At least if the giggling is anything to go by.

Wash considers that for a moment, eyes narrowing. "...so was he a good kisser?" he settles on finally. Because obviously Maine's kissing ability is the most important thing right now.

He glances over at the armoured rebels who studiously look away. "I think we're now the subject of several of those bets."

"Thorough. He was a thorough kisser. Went at it like he went at everything- head first and like a wrecking ball. He almost chipped one of my teeth." It'd been good, though. Fun. Maine laughed about it afterward- as much as he laughed about anything. "I think- yeah. I've kissed everyone in the project at least once."

Even Niner. Especially Niner. Damn.

"It'll keep them from trying to get me alone for one on one talks. I'd rather not."

"Yeah, that sounds like Maine." Delicate was not in the man's vocabulary. Not that he'd used much of his vocabulary even before he'd got shot. "Oh really? Even Florida? Even Wyoming?" He leans forward a little, curious despite everything. Maybe he's a little hungry for any connection to back then, any scrap that reminds him of how things had been.

"I don't know if you'll get out so easily. You're more approachable than I am, less scary."

"Florida was really good with his tongue. Reggie tickled. Also- Niner dared me." Which explains- everything. The twins were easy- even if South bit him. Tex didn't count. Tex hadn't ever really been one of them until there wasn't a them to be a part of anymore.

It didn't count.

"In what world are you scary, wash?"

"Oh well, that totally explains everything," Wash replied, his grin widening. "Niner really knew everything that went on didn't she?" Probably more than any of them did. He's not sure whether to be pissed about that. He hopes she survived.

In answer to that question, he glares over at the rebels. They all suddenly look a little nervous. "This one. They appreciate my help but they are kids. I put them through their paces. They see me slaughter Feds on the battlefield and not bat an eyelid."

"You. Worst fighter on the leaderboard you. Grappling hook to the codpiece you." A beat. "You're cheating. That's Maine's scowl."

It doesn't look all that right on Wash's face- not when you've seen the original- but it figures Maine would teach him how to glare. The kid needed a little teaching from all of them before the director taught all of them how little they mattered in the long run. For his part York looks over with a smile, waving to them. "Stop being so hard. War's scary. Fighting is scary. Being human? Makes it easier."

"But I was on the leaderboard," Wash says. The infamous codpiece incident gets a scowl from him, and he leans back, arms folded over his chest. It just isn't fair to bring that up!

"What can I say? Maine had a good scowl. And it works. I don't want them getting too close. It just makes things harder in the long run.' They are going to die, all of them are going to die and it's his fault. Maybe they would have died anyway, but he's helped to drag this out.

"Out of pity, I'm sure." He snorts, going back to his soup. Not wanting anyone close- he gets it. He's gotten that since his first squad got shot up before the project. But in something like this? "Soldiers are soldiers because they work to protect the man that's next to them, Wash. The chain of command offers some compartmentalization, sure but- you can't be that aloof with them. They need someone they can look up to. Someone they can trust will have their backs."

"Dickwad," Wash snaps back, his grin sharp. It's easy to joke about it now, but that fucking leaderboard... that's what had caused this. They'd been trying to tear them apart, and they'd fallen for it.

"I'm not here to be their friend." His voice hardens a little. "I'm not someone they should be looking up to. They're fighting for something they believe in, I'm here because it is going to make me a lot of money. None of them should be thinking I'm someone they should admire."

"Then quit trying to put them through their paces. You're teaching them to fight like a merc, like a freelancer. They need to fight like a unit. A squad. Like soldiers." A lot might have happened since he last owned a uniform, since he last held some kind of rank. Since he had a unit he knew inside and out and put his life on the line for- but he remembers how it works. That kinda stuff gets ground into the blood.

He sits back, bowl empty, staring at Wash like- well. Like he's a stranger. Because this? Isn't the kid he knew.

This is the man that shot at him without thinking.

It's never going to be easy to reconcile the two. Voice flat and face blank, he drawls. "I'll take over drills."

He was teaching them to get killed. He should stop this. York getting involved like this can only end badly. The trouble with York, is that he is too goddam lucky and he might actually pull something like this off. Wash really hopes Carolina has a good idea of what to do with him before he figures things out. Because when that happens, all bets are off.

Wash drops his spoon back into his bowl and pushes himself abruptly to his feet. "Yeah. That's a good idea."

"Tell Kimball I'm gonna go on a supply run, get the rest of what I salvaged before someone else finds it. Shouldn't take an hour. When I get back? I'm gonna give 'em a run. See where they stand." He scoops up his dishes, at least, and heads for the kitchen. A project. He's needed one for awhile and this? This isn't a toy or trinket or money on the line.

It's kids lives.

And unlike one fucking asshole in their shared past, York's gonna do this right.

"I'll do that. Be careful. It's dangerous out there."

York being gone gives Wash time to settle, time to pull himself back from everything that's been dredged up. He has a job to do. He's going to do it right. Him and Carolina will figure something out. Their bosses don't particularly like delays or interruptions.

He's set up a target out near his place in the barracks. It's punctured with a thousand knife marks. Connie had taught him a few tricks, back in the Project, and he's had time to practice here, hurling the wickedly sharp blades until he's able to hit the target with every throw. The thunk of the blades as they land is soothing, the repetitive motions and focus needed calm him.

Didn't even take him the hour. He did a little scouting on the side. Rambled into his log like he was still talking to D. Made a few marks in the paths leading away from his site that might indicate travel in that direction. Away from the caves. Everything fits on the second load, he's able to shove more in the jeep without a second body to haul. Even what Wash shot up, he grabs. His traps and tricks and tripwires, his everything.

Leave no sign. It's how he survived this long.

The drive back is quiet and quick and painless, a short stop to refuel and scan for any kind of radio signal. Any kind of broadcast on any frequency. A lot of static and a lot of nothing.

He unloads back at base, rounds up the kids. Shows them a few drills that he remembered from back in the service. One of them is running laps in formation, chanting to keep pace. Barbie Girl has never been more heartening.

They're at the chorus again when they swing by where Wash is, York pauses for a wink and a wave as they keep on around the compound.

Is that what he thinks it is?

Wash pauses, knife upraised, when he hears footsteps and the unmistakeable strains of singing. Terrible singing. He stares when the squad comes back, more organised than he's ever seen them, led by York who grins and when he passes.

Oh dear god, he's adopted them.

They are fucked.

A vicious throw leaves his knife stuck in the target and then he's running after them, falling into pace next to York. "Really? You cou;dn't think of anything better to sing?"

"Come on Barbie let's go party!" He calls back over his shoulder while they warble the appropriate reply, starting up the next verse on their own.

It's beautiful.

"Well I was gonna do Sir Mixalot's "Baby got Back" but then there was an argument over doing that OR Anaconda and this way no one's offended." He shrugs, turning around to jog through the next curve backward. "WHAT ARE WE MADE OF?"

"PLASTIC!"

"WHAT IS LIFE?"

"FANTASTIC!"

Back around to face forward and he's- he shouldn't be smiling THIS much but it feels good. Having a squad again.

Wash slows down a little to watch the sight of the entire squad of rebels singing Barbie Girl. And seeming to enjoy it. York's enthusiasm is infectious enough to make even drills enjoyable, he guesses? Or maybe they just like doing something that seems more military than whatever Wash could teach them.

He speeds up to catch York again, ignores some of the staring he gets, and forgets the rumours that will probably be circulating later about him and York.

"What's next? Weight lifting to Queen songs?"

"Weapon assembly drills, targeting drills, hand to hand drills- these kids aren't military. They need bootcamp. What the hell were you teaching them, they didn't know any of the stuff I asked them about earlier." He jogs to the side and slows down, letting the formation pass so he could keep pace with the stragglers. "Come on Jensen. Last lap, you got this."

The young LT gives a nod and a huff, pushing to meet the rest of kids. And they are that- kids.

"Seriously Wash. You were doing a shit job at the teaching part of this. Has it been that long since you've been in basic?"

He bristles at that, no matter how gentle the rebuke. He hadn't been trying to make them into a fighting force, is the real answer. But maybe that's only part of it. "Yeah, it has been," he says sharply. "You had a squad before Freelancer, you were a soldier. I wasn't for very long before I got picked up by the Project." He was a Freelancer and he's been a merc for longer than he ever was a soldier.

"That explains...a lot. Maine had a squad before- pretty sure the twins did too. Connie had part of a tour under her belt- I think you might've been the only one that didn't do a long stint in the military beforehand." Going right from basic without any real experience in the field with a proper unit to the mess that was PFL? "...looking back you did really well for someone without that experience."

"I told you. I don't even know why I got chosen for the Project." In his darker moments, Wash is pretty sure it's because he was inexperienced and easier to try to make him what they wanted. Well, it had kind of worked. "I didn't do good enough."

"You kept up." He shrugs. "We went through three Rookies before you came in and got the state name. Three. They couldn't fit."

He doesn't want to know what happened to them. If they burnt out or died or went insane. Probably the first, maybe the second. People didn't start going crazy until Wash was already there.

"You're doing a good job with them. I know Kimball will be grateful."

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