goneawaycomms | AGENT WASHINGTON

hey wash

can we talk?

[Oh. He wasn't expecting this. Not entirely.]

In person? Or just here?

[He's letting him set the terms.]

in person. can i meet you somewhere?

Top Deck.

[Maybe York might try to shove him off to get revenge, but if he does, Wash has a chance of parrying and shoving York off first.]

[When he gets up there, Wash is leaning with his elbows against the railing, looking out on the rainbow desert sands. Far off, a thunderstorm rumbles, not close enough for them to worry about lightning yet but changing pressure systems so the breeze on top of the rig is actually cool. Occasionally the lightning strikes the sand, causing multi-colored organic glass sculptures to erupt molten out of the stand and quickly cool.]

[Wash has the top of his coveralls off, belt keeping his pants up, comfortable in his black tank top. With less covering him, the neck scars are more visible, and so are others, peeking out from various places around his collar and sleeve holes.]

[His brows are knit when he glances over to the door when York arrives on the roof, but when he looks back out again, his expression is unreadable.]

Edited 2020-12-25 08:41 (UTC)

[ York hasn't been up here yet. He heads on up to the top deck like Wash requests and is struck right away by the view... both of his old friend silhouetted by the storm and the desert itself. He comes up beside Wash and unzips the top of his own coveralls, slipping it off and tying the sleeves around his waist. The breeze is nice, and he rests his hands on the railing lightly as if testing how sturdy it is before he leans too.

Showing up was the easy part in this instance. Usually York has a lot to say, but he knows he isn't the most eloquent when it comes to talking about serious shit. He also knows that how this goes is important; Wash has already shut down and written him off already, it feels like. Just when it felt like they were making progress.

He breathes in and starts off with a question. ]

There's really just one thing I've gotta know. You said there was no other way and I can't judge or change that, or ask Alpha how things went on his end. And in a way it doesn't matter now. What does matter to me is how you feel about everything you told me. Hurting the sims, setting up the AI, I understand why you'd do it but it's more important at this point that you framed them as bad. So tell me. Are you going to keep doing those things? Or does it feel bad enough you don't want to do that kind of shit anymore?

[ Okay, so it was a very long question. It's York. ]

[Fuck.]

[Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.]

[Of course York asks him the one question he was hoping to skirt around in all this, the one he was hoping to skim by with his honesty, if he could.]

[He was trying to give York the truth he deserved and massage the truth he'd possibly find out talking to Tucker. But York asked the question where the only answer, the only answer he can give is a lie. Or at least a half-truth.]

[It means he has to decide what to say and if and how he wants to stand by it.]

[Does he want to hurt anyone here? (Other than South?) No. The way Jorgmund had presented his role, it seemed like he could poke and prod at a mission gone off-objective in ways they might never catch. Maybe not always, if the only way to course correct was seriously hurt a New Hire, but the missions that required that level of harm would be the missions he failed with Jorgmund. If he could do what they wanted just enough on ones where he didn't have to hurt anyone...]

[It all depends on a tight rope walk. Is he willing to consign the fate of his brain to something so unsteady?]

[He thinks of his old friends. He thinks of the friends he apparently can't remember. He thinks of the people not from his world he likes and already respects.]

I'm not going to keep doing those things.

[The maiming, the attempted killing, the not having any hard lines in the sand. He's not going to do those.]

[A little lying, though, a little sneaking, that could be done without permanent harm.]

I don't want to be that person anymore.

[The truth. He honestly doesn't. He'd only be a little bit of that person now, and maybe he could put the other parts to rest.]

I'm tired, York.

[That part comes out in a hushed breath, aching with exhaustion, and it's the most honest part of all.]

[ It doesn't bother York that Wash takes a moment to think. The obvious answer is no, he's bothered by it and won't keep it up, but Wash seems to really give the question consideration. So he waits, studying the other man's face. Trying to read what's going on in his head.

Then comes the answer, simple and obvious. It's what he needed to hear.

Is it the truth?

It sounds like it, to York. And for this to work one of them has to have a little trust. So he breathes out and nods, reaching up (slowly this time so Wash can't accuse him of moving too fast and startling him) to clasp Wash's shoulder reassuringly. ]

I know, man. But if it helps, we're gonna be okay.

[ He's still working through a lot, but it's on him now. What's done is done, he needs to focus on who they are now to move forward. ]

Edited 2020-12-25 14:39 (UTC)

[He has a time bomb in his brain. His friends being back doesn't mean they won't die again. Any new friends he's made or the friend he doesn't remember might also die.]

[Wash is quiet for a little while, gathering his thoughts, looking out at the striking lightning.]

That hasn't been my experience.

[He breathes out.]

Tucker made it sound like things got better for me - and Carolina, too.

But you were still gone. So was North. Maybe there's a chance we can save you both - and Delta and Theta - without creating some weird paradox, but you could both die here. Again.

Okay doesn't feel like...

[He makes a futile little gesture with his hand and breaks off.]

It never feels like it's quite in reach.

Mostly because I never expected to make it here. When I spent all those years working against the project and trying to find a way to take it down, I never expected to live past the part when it was in ruins.

[It wasn't meant to be anything other than a suicide mission.]

That was why when I wound up a scapegoat because they couldn't find the Director it felt like I was drowning.

It still feels like I can't breathe.

[ There's a beat, York just standing there gripping Wash's shoulder, before he clears his throat a little sheepishly. ]

That's a whole lot, I just meant us. Like I forgive you.

[ But he won't just ignore what Wash just said. ]

I'm glad you did live past it. And that even if you feel like you're drowning and okay's far off right now, we know it gets better.

What can I do?

Oh.

[Another sign the old Wash isn't entirely dead and gone: his ears turn red. Something they'd only ever seen when his helmet was off, but sometimes happened in conversation during lunch when he'd put his foot in his mouth.]

[Of all things to survive this long, his occasional awkwardness was one of them. Which had been why he'd not always been the most effective at menacing Doc.]

[He thinks hard. He's just promised to not be who he was anymore. And maybe he can. Even if he tries to play the game to keep Jorgmund from ruining his life, maybe he can use that for his friends. For all the people trapped here. Throw them Jorgmund the scent when it comes to rebellion. Feed them false information. And maybe he can make the right choice if he's forced to, if it's a choice between himself and all of them.]

[And take the hit.]

[But they have to be worth it. They can't be yet more people willing to ruin his life.]

[York is hitting all the right notes, saying all the right things. He didn't expect that.]

Continue not trying to kill me.

[This could be a ruse on York's part - something he still fears about North. But if it isn't...]

[If it isn't, maybe everyone here is worth sacrificing for. He's definitely starting to think Tucker is, because of the flashes of memory. Bunny. Dave. He kind of, almost...no he does like some of the others.]

And be honest with me. I can't take any more lies. Any more manipulation.

I don't want to be who I was.

[He really, honestly doesn't.]

But I will be that if people do what they've always done and betray me, lie to me, try to kill me, use me.

[A pang of guilt.]

Although I'd limit it to being that way only at the people trying to screw me this time. Not people like those Red soldiers, like Donut.

[He gets a flash of Donut and him walking away from the moment he shot him, after traveling through the... something strange with time travel? The Evermore or something?]

Edited 2020-12-26 04:27 (UTC)

[ Wash blushes and York smiles at that -- if the moment wasn't so fraught he'd reach up and tickle one of his red ears but as it is he keeps his hand where it is and waits for Wash to come up with an answer for him.

He has no idea what Wash is thinking, but the first request is simple. ]

That's easy enough.

[ The last thing he wants to do is kill his friends, which Wash is one of as far as he's concerned. He does wonder if Wash is thinking of him the same way yet, or is still struggling with the distance that had been there even before he found York dead.

Wash keeps talking, then, pulling York back from the edge of another morbid spiral. He nods his understanding, not wanting to interrupt. Waiting until his friend is done saying what he has to say.

It should be easy enough. York's not the lying type, or a manipulating one.

As Wash continues, York thinks he's getting a better picture of what the other man has become. What he was made into. He seems guilty about it, though, and remorse is pretty much York's only requirement for a second chance. Wash says he doesn't want to be that way anymore. Explained how it happened. That's all it takes. York can hold up his end. ]

I understand. And if it helps, anybody who tries to screw you like that will wind up at the top of my shit list.

[ A beat, and he doesn't want to ruin the moment but he just has to ask: ]

...do you actually know somebody named 'Donut'?

Apparently.

[He can't really remember his friends that well, but...yes.]

There's also one named Caboose.

I'm pretty sure they're not nicknames.

They must've had nightmare adolescences.

[ Caboose? Come on now. If it were a nickname it'd be fun but as an actual name it's pretty ridiculous. ]

But I get what you're saying.

I don't remember much of Donut but the others definitely were people with nightmare adolescences.

[He doesn't need to ask Tucker. He just knows. Simmons alone...]

[Sim troopers, right?]

[He finally looks up from where he's looking out at the desert.]

You're asking what I need but someone can want to help without really...you know.

[He's searching for an intangible made solid.]

Are we...okay? Like actually okay.

[He thinks of North.]

It doesn't feel like it'd happen twice. And with North, North is...North.

[ It's just smalltalk at this point, or so York thinks, so he grins and lets it trail off into companionable silence. Both of them just looking out at the approaching storm. He's about to say maybe they should head back in when Wash speaks again. ]

...without really meaning it? I don't say things I don't mean, Wash. That gets me into trouble sometimes.

[ His lips quirk, but he knows this is serious. He breathes out. ]

I think we'll be actually okay. I just need to get to know this you a little more. It feels like you're telling me the truth, anyway. Do you get that feeling from me?

[He looks at him a long time and the mask actually falls for real, the warring emotions visible on his face. Just like back when he was the rookie, his feelings are on his sleeve. Back then, he was so expressive he could emote in the armor; sometimes he'd full body slump and show exactly what he was feeling.]

[He blinks and all of a sudden, for a brief second, he sees them again. Sim troopers in multi-colored armor. The same flash when he was trying to decide if he'd trust North.]

[They're trying to tell him something. Or really...he's trying to tell himself something.]

A little bit. Not entirely.[Dryly.] I think the part of me that could is almost entirely sheared off by extreme force.

[A furrow of his eyebrows, as he looks just slightly past York.]

But I think they would want me to.

[Cryptic. "Christ, man! Always with the cryptic one liners!" says a hateful voice from the past.]

[He blinks and the Reds and Blues are gone, as if satisfied. As if the other part of himself is satisfied.]

[He's actually honest. Actually open and honest. Because York is doing everything right and because of them. Because a part of him wants to do what they'd want him to do - accept support.]

I get flashes of the Reds and Blues sometimes. Like...like a part of my brain is trying to tell me something. Tucker...I trust him without knowing why. When it's hard to trust anyone right now.

[He shakes his head.]

And I know I trust the rest of them without even remembering them.

I think whatever part of me remembers being...whoever I was, with the people I was with, in the present, is trying to tell me to trust you even if I can't feel it yet.

So I'll try.

[He wishes he could just do it on command but he can't. His old friends died before he had a chance to rebuild up the kind of trust he apparently built with his newer friends. But maybe if he tries, they can catch up.]

[Maybe.]

Flashes?

[ York sounds equal parts curious and concerned -- it should be good that Wash's memory is trying to come back, but they still don't know why he lost it. ]

I mean, I'll take it. You trying for them, even if you don't remember. They must've done something good for you, right? If you're living and working with a team again.

When I was talking to Tucker, I had a flashback at one point. Of them taking care of me while I was...confused.

For once, I can't twist that into anything else other than what it was.

[For once, his paranoia can't make that into an evil.]

[What he says next is the verbal equivalent of words stumbling out like a baby deer. They're confused and unsure. He's not used to saying them anymore.]

...Thank you?

[For trying so hard.]

And I'm sorry.

[And he actually is. For what he did, for what he still will do - even if now maybe...]

[Now maybe even if there are lies, the end goal might be to help others.]

That qualifies as something good for you, yeah. So I appreciate them, wherever they are. I'm just sorry you can't remember.

[ The way the 'thank you' and then 'I'm sorry' stumbles out is kind of sad, both that Wash has to say it in the first place and that it's so hard for him. York nods a little, then shifts back from the railing. ]

If I warn you I want to hug you this time are you still going to punch me?

[Dead serious face, dead serious tone.]

Yes.

[And then it relaxes to something a little more impish, a little more like young Wash - and not that he remembers it - current Wash.]

Kidding.

[And he opens his arms hesitantly, super awkwardly, like a zombie trying to remember the warm embrace of other humans that it just barely remembers from times long before.]

[He doesn't look for the glint of a knife.]

[ York is about to take that at face value when Wash's expression changes and he realizes (before his friend says it) that the other man is screwing with him. He smiles, because it does remind him of young Wash, the rookie that he didn't realize just how much he missed. ]

That was far too convincing.

[ He reaches up and draws Wash into a hug, warm and strong. Like last time it'll only last as long as Wash allows, but the fact that he's hugging back is endlessly encouraging.

There are no knives involved. ]

[There are no knives involved.]

[Not a single knife.]

[Wash's eyes get glassy where York can't see.]

[His right hand, the one that has the tremors, the one that grabbed a notebook and wrote a frantic message to Tucker, the one that seems to have a mind of it its own - it grabs on tight, hand wending into the fabric of York's shirt, making it harder for Wash to ditch on the hug early.]

[This time he doesn't end it quickly, like he did in Hell Disney. This time he holds on tight, and he trembles a little.]

[No, a lot. He's shaking a lot, like a bombed out wall about to crumble. There's spillover from the man he became - is. That man holds on tight to his brief re-connection to the world. He holds onto his friend. One he thought he'd never see again, who's alive and warm in his arms. He wants to just hold on for a while, to try to make sure it's real.]

[But that Wash, the warm Wash, the wise Wash - the drowning Wash, pushed into the dark and only clinging to the outside world by a thread...]

[Well, he's not the one at the wheel.]

[The other one is a little colder. He separates and pulls the other way, and lets go of the hug. But at least it lasted longer this time. At least he wasn't ready to squirm out of it.]

[When he draws back there are tears on his face. He doesn't remember crying, because they are - and aren't - his own. They belong to present Wash, who's warm enough to thaw out the icy facade, but who's now subsumed again.]

[Wash wipes at his face, embarrassed.]

[Coughs.]

Dusty up here.

[His voice is hoarse.]

Very dry air.

[ York can feel Wash gripping his shirt and trembling but doesn't draw attention to it. Just holds on comfortingly until the other man pulls away, then politely pretends he doesn't notice that Wash was crying. It's okay -- he's emotional right now, too, that Wash accepted the hug so much more so than the last time he tried. He hugged back. It lasted.

Wash coughs and York just smiles fondly, agreeing with him for appearances' sake. ]

Yeah, the storm's blowing up the dust. We should go in and grab a drink.

AGENT WASHINGTON

text; two days after mistletoe

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