goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

He makes one short trip back to his own room to grab some stuff, dressed in his sweat pants and one of York's shirts. Grabs what he needs and then wraps himself back up in York's bed, a movie playing on the tablet.

On his own tablet, he starts to compile his files. Every scrap of information he has on Charon, on the Feds, on the Counsellor. All the official stuff is easy. The less legit stuff takes a bit more work, but he manages it. Supplements it all with his own notes, observations, anything that might be useful to York when he-

It'll have to be the communications. If he can get those working again, get rid of the dampening, then that makes a lot of things much easier. He can take Charon's mercenaries if he can surprise them. As long as Carolina isn't there then it should be fine.

The last bit is a recording. A confession. An apology. A last will and testament. Whatever.

Locks it all down with his own encryption, saves it to a hard drive that slides over the back of one of the dogtags he still wears. Wipes the tablet. Just in case.

He's drowsing, half asleep as he watches a movie when York returns with dinner.

Out cold. He figured if Wash had the time he'd curl up in a nest and just pass out like he used to on the MOI. Neither of them have really ever been in a place where it was safe to do that for the past couple of years, though. He's not surprised.

QUiet as he can manage (which is pretty damn) he closes the door behind him and sets the tray on the nightstand before reaching out to smooth the hair away from David's eyes. "Hey. Have a good lazy morning?"

He barely notices when York returns, which is probably a testament to how much he actually needs the sleep. How much he trusts York is probably closer to the mark though. He doesn't normally sleep as much as he has done.

He stirs a little when York strokes his hair, opening one eye, cat-like, to stare at him. "Mmmm. How were the kids? You're in one piece."

"Palomo's a good shot, Smith is better. Bitters is good at mid range, like you, and Jensen continues to surprise me by being a good all arounder. Also, wicked with knives. I've put her with Kimball on training up with Connie's tricks. Took her to the quartermaster to pick out her first throwing knife." It'd made him kind of proud, really. She reminds him a little of Connie, all quiet and observant and wickedly competent when possible.

It's nice normal stuff to hear. Better than he would have managed to get out of them, even if he'd wanted to actually help out before. York is good for them, good for everything. A safe pair of hands.

There's a kind of peace in it, in knowing what he's going to do, in having this planned out. It'll hurt like hell, assuming he survives. But it's the right thing. He hasn't had that certainty for a long time.

As it is, he reaches out to drag York back down for a kiss. "I think you've adopted."

"Mmm." He pulls away from the kiss to nuzzle David's cheek, fingers smoothing from his hair to his shoulder to his arm- just touching. Reveling in having someone to touch, in being allowed to touch. "I think they'll be ready to check out the closest village for the public records on the military bases next week. I'll run recon, make sure we're clear but it'll be a milk run. Easy."

Something they can look into with low risk, high reward. "probably be able to pick up some supplies then too."

York isn't alone in that. Wash's hands wander, smoothing down from shoulder to fingers, across what he can reach of York's chest. It's somewhere between a caress and checking to see that he's unhurt. That's he's still alive and real and here.

He rolls his eyes at the comment though. "Don't say that. You never say that. You have just guaranteed that everything is going to go wrong."

"I dunno, last time I said that you found me." So it can't be that bad. He slides up into the bed, tugging the tray across their laps. It's a little cramped but if he shifts just so and tucks himself up against David's side it's not half bad. "C'mon, food time. Then it's another round of drills for me."

"I also nearly shot you," Wash reminds him.

It takes a bit of wriggling and squishing up to get them to both fit; the bed was never made for two, but they manage it and it's comfortable if a little awkward.

"Lunch in bed. I'll start thinking that you're a romantic if you're not careful."

"Tried to shoot me. Tried and failed I might add." It's okay, he's moved on. He'd have taken a shot at whoever was in Wash's armor too if he could. But he was tired of the shooting. Tired of fighting, even if he's drawn his line in the sand here with them.

"When I make you breakfast in bed, then you know I"m romantic."

"Now you're just playing with semantics to soothe your wounded pride. I know it."

He'd been so angry. Now he's just... somewhere between determined and resigned, depending on how he feels at any given moment.

"You'd have to include coffee too, or I probably wouldn't notice most of it."

"I remember how fuzzy you were before coffee on the MOI, I know to bring you some. Little zombie rookie." He snorts a soft laugh, spearing a bite of salad for himself.

"Hey! Maine was just as bad. You just... couldn't tell most of the time because he was... Maine." It had taken a while before he could figure out the difference between normal Maine and Caffeine zombie Maine.

"Nope, you were the worst. You'd let me steal your fruit if you hadn't had coffee yet and mumble something about mittens needing milk." He assumed it was a cat.

"You'd try to steal my fruit anyway. Don't pretend you wouldn't." He shakes his head. "I really liked that cat okay? It was a long time ago."

"When this is over we're getting you a kitten." Therapy cats are a thing, right? Right.

"Wow you promise? You aren't allowed to tease me like that." He bumps his shoulder against York's. "Also seriously? You're trusting me with another living creature?"

"Cross my heart." He's managed to keep himself alive this long. A kitten can't be that hard, right? Right.

"You are absolutely not allowed to say the next line of that," Wash said, frowning at him. 'Hope to Die' just seems a bit too ominous considering, well, everything about their lives.

"What, hope to cry?" He deliberately avoided the 'die' bit, seeing as they've both had brushes that were way too close. "C'mon, we both know I cry pretty."

Wash snorts, shaking his head. He appreciates it nonetheless. Maybe it's dumb to be superstitious, but when you're a shoulder, every bit of hope and luck you can get is something you need.

"Absolutely. Real movie star tears right there."

"C'mon, eat up. I gotta get suited up and head out for another recon run before we head to the city tomorrow." He's pretty sure it's gonna be a milkrun but- he'd rather check everything over first before committing the kids to it.

"I'll come with you," Wash says, starting to eat more quickly. He feels weird and sluggish from having stayed in bed so long anyway. He needs to move, clear his head. "What're you hoping to find?"

"Some kinda library or a database that's been powered down in a library. That'll be connected to something larger in a bigger city and maybe if I can convince it to work and play nice we'll get a listing of all the military outposts and training bases set up during the war. That's a matter of public record. We take those and cross-reference with tactically advantageous areas and the duty roster I pulled up and see what fits. Then we'll know where they're likely working from and should be able to extrapolate what roads they use to get two and from, maybe fuck up their supply runs. You gotta feed an army if you wanna win a war, right?"

It's clever. Gotta give him that. How can one person throw such a spanner in the works, seriously? The look that Wash gives him is fond, affectionate. "Yeah. Gotta do that. It's a good plan. I've just been hitting up whatever outposts I came across. Harder to get enough stuff working alone."

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