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Eta and Iota seemed to have a knack for predictions. Practically speaking, this was used to map trajectories. Bullets, cars, car related bullets, and anything in between. Beyond that, they chose to create a game of it. Maine and Wash were forbidden from being involved, of course. Being able to influence results was considered cheating after all. Everything, and everyone else were fair game.
Eta had predicted a surprise shipment of fresh produce that had shown up. Iota called the next big fad among local kids. (Giant marbles the size of a fist.) Eta suggested the next time South would get sent to the med-bay, while Iota added who would put her there. (Wyoming) They both nailed York asking Carolina on a date. Eta provided the time, Iota saying that Carolina would sucker punch York in the jaw. In tandem they elaborated she would agree to it the next time she was alone with the lockpick. Little bets with nothing at stake but bragging rights.
Wash had started recording the predictions out of boredom more than anything. A blue gel pen for Eta, yellow gel pen for Iota, and a dark green one for collaborations. (A kid on the Mother Of Invention had given the Freelancer a handful of the glittery pens for helping with a game she’d been playing with her friends.) If they turned out to be right, a bright green highlighter swept across the line of text, orange if it was wrong. Question marks and confused cat faces if there was no real way to find out. (Cats are cute, okay?) The stack of pages grew steadily, and when York had asked about the loose sheets of paper, the answer left him looking confused. Wash had just shrugged before going back to his push ups.
However, the AI couldn’t actually see into the future, nor could they have predicted what was to come.
More accurately, they couldn’t know the full scope of the event. The core of what happened had been written in Wash’s notes many times over, each one varying slightly from the others. Wash kept them tucked away with the others that were disturbing or could cause trouble if they were stumbled across. It starts after South and Carolina are sent on a secretive mission. After they’d returned, South had grown uncharacteristically quiet. None of her usual leaderboard related hysterics. Of course she still glared daggers into the Director's back, but she held her tongue. After the team debrief later that afternoon, she’d vanished when everyone went back to their routines. Wash didn’t give it any thought until they’d grouped up for food.
He notices the hot tempered twin’s absence when he and Maine had settled in to eat across from North. The seat to the left of the blonde was vacant. “Hey, North?” Wash prompts.
“Hm?” The Freelancer was caught off guard with a mouthful of what passed for potato’s on this ship. He swallows quickly, giving a warm chuckle. “What’s up, Wash?”
“Is South alright?”
North is surprised. He hadn’t really expected Wash to be all that concerned over his sister’s absence. After the Director had selected Wash for Iota instead of her, she was making it her personal mission to burn down all their bridges and bury all good feelings between them. The poor old guy probably had no idea. Technically, Iota had always been meant for him, but when Eta had to go to Maine, South was operating under the assumption that Iota would be given to her as some sort of alternative prize.
In the days before the AI debacle, though she’d never admit it, South had found Wash to be a close friend. He was always there to listen after she was torn from sleep by nightmares, eventually waiting for her and offering a warm mug of tea. Now that he and Maine had their AI, Wash didn’t seem to show up when she did. (Unbeknownst to her, he would be there, half an hour later, wondering what he was doing wrong.)
“She, uh, didn’t say anything, but she never misses chow time, so you know she’ll show up eventually.” North says, smiling gently.
Wash looks like he’s going to press the issue when Maine grunts some indecipherable sequence of tones at his partner, who responds as if the behemoth of a man had spoken perfect English. “No, North’s right, it’s Carolina that’s always missing.” a snort “Okay, yeah her and Tex. But South’s here all the time.” a rattle, with a slight shake of his head. “She is!” a dismissive hand motion. “Her literal twin fucking brother just said so! Also, we’re not here on time constantly. She’s normally gone before we show up.”
Maine seems to accept this argument, turning back to his tray and doing that magic trick where he makes food vanish in the blink of an eye.
An alarm slices through the din of the room easily. The lights suddenly pop, throwing the mess hall into darkness. After a few heart stopping seconds, the red emergency lights come on, casting eerie shadows.
“Agents, please evacuate the ship immediately. This is not a drill. Do not await orders. You will be contacted when it is safe to return.” FILSS drones over the speakers.
“Agents-” the voice of the Counselor cuts in. He sounds alarmed, which is always a very bad sign. “-you must get as far from the ship as possible. You are permitted to leave the planet, as long as you come when we contact you. That is all, agents. Leave now .”
The Mother Of Invention shudders in the open air docking station. Inside, Wash can hear the explosions. He snatches both his and Maine’s helmets from under the table, tossing the domed one over his shoulder where he instinctively knows his partner caught it.
One of the great things about Project Freelancer was their ability to mobilize in seconds to any given command. For a short time, they move as a pack. Then they start splitting off and before long, North is the only one alongside Maine and Wash. They all keep their sidearms ready, unsure of the danger that could be stalking the halls. Judging by the scale of the evacuation, it could be just about anything. North finally speaks to the pair after shouting angrily into his audio communication line for five minutes.
“Alright, I’ll stay with you until you get to the launch bay, then head back to find South. Four Seven Niner says she’s going to try and keep space for us as long as she can. The entire crew is abandoning ship.” He sounds frustrated, shaking his head. “This is insane.”
Theta appears on North’s shoulder, projection distorting ever so slightly from the stress. “T-That sounds really dangerous, North. We don’t even know where she might be.”
North swings around the corner of a hall, glancing over at his AI, “Do you trust me Theta?”
“ ‘Course I do.” The purple and pink unit sighs softly. “I just don’t trust things that set off explosions in the ship.”
“It’ll be fine, buddy. I promise. Maine and Wash have us covered.” North soothes.
“Until we get to the ships and go back towards where stuff’s blowing up.” There’s an edge of a pout in Theta’s voice.
“South won’t take long t-”
The group skids to a halt. A wavering light has caught North’s keen eye. When he looks again, he can see his sister at the end of the hall. She’s standing, still as stone. North’s tension melts away, and the relief is clear in his voice.
“See, there she is. Hey, sis’!” he calls out, waving her over.
South turns to look at them. There’s something very off in her motions, like someone else is wearing her skin. She draws nearer and Wash can see what looks like embers dancing across the contours of her armor. A cool, familiar voice fills the corridor.
“As I said, South. He’ll be a breeze.” firelight throws colour along the jawline of her helmet. “Take them out.”
She raises her arm, smoother than she’d ever been before, and fires. The twin AI units run their algorithms.
The shots have a handful of possibilities, mostly involving Wash. He can move towards the others, taking the rounds in his shoulder. He can dive into the empty hall at his other side, but the bullets would hit him in the neck or chest. There’s the option of ducking, but the risk of getting tagged in the visor rather than the reinforced metal was very likely. Finally, Maine could always play meat shield.
They unanimously decide on the first choice. So Wash slams into Maine’s side, and it’s not as bad as it could have been. He’s shot, but it doesn’t feel like the bullets hit anything too terribly important. It still deadens feeling in his arm and hurts like a bitch though.
“Go, go!” North shouts, shoving at Maine while he starts laying down covering fire. He wishes he’d gotten ahold of his rifle but the pistol will have to suffice. “Don’t stop, I’ll be fine!” he can hear the two retreat, and Theta blinks in once more.
“I’m scared, North. I did a scan and her AI slot is filled.”
“I-” the male twin swallows hard around the lump in his throat. “Just trust me, bud.”
Souths moving again. Fast. Faster than North knew she was capable of.
Theta prepares his shield. “I do North. Her, not so much.”
The dome goes up. North lets out a breath. “Let’s start.”
Maine keeps Wash’s injured arm tucked between them as they make a mad dash for the launch bay. Eta is rambling nervously in his ear. Wash hisses from the pain.
“I-Iota? What the fuck was that? What just happened?” thudding footfalls bounce around the narrow halls noisily. Iota forms like golden fog, helmet flicking around, watching their blind spots. “I would think it obvious, Wash.” her tone is thick with apprehension. “South attacked us.”
“You heard him too.”
Iota wavers at the edges, wisps of gold curling away from her sides. She nods curtly. “I did.”
“Why is he here then? Omega’s the only one that can jump instead of needing to be implanted.” Wash falters when there’s a series of gunshots followed by an all too familiar cry of pain in the distance. Main urges him on. They’re too close to stop now. “...Where’s Carolina?”
Wash’s question hangs heavy over the group like a wet blanket. The implications of it were too much to linger on. They had no room, no time for what it entailed.
An intercom crackles overhead, yet all that comes is static. They push on, Wash steadily growing more dizzy as time passed. They’re in the home stretch. The launch bay is an utter madhouse. The whole of the Mother Of Invention is there, seemingly. People dash in and out of their way. Wash can see the commanding officers of the dive team herding staff and soldiers into one of the waiting Pelicans. The officer in charge of the secondary drop ship crew looks as if someone caught him in the nose, a trail of blood running from it and dripping from his beard. It was unsettling to see these soldiers he only ever saw in their full gear with just the kevlar suits and civvies to keep them safe. It makes the danger of the situation all too real.
Maine spots Four Seven Niner and starts bodily shoving his way through the crowd. Florida stands on the ramp of the Pelican, ushering a soldier on cobalt armor along. The pair reaches the ship and it hits Maine. He can see the solid wall of people crammed into the back, huddled together like refugees. The realization forming at the base of his mind already has Eta rebelling frantically in his head. When Four Seven Niner looks at the pait, Maine has already made his choice.
“What the hell took you?! Where’s North?”
“Got held up.” Wash mumbles, words slurring. Blood has started seeping through the gaps of his suit.
The pilot looks at Maine, and he knows what she’s going to say. Before she can, he’s already pulling back from Wash. Eta speaks to her for him, voice trembling. “Wash needs medical attention. T-Take him.”
Four Seven Niner moves to pull Wash onto her ship and the older man panics.
“Wait, what? Maine, C’mon what’s-- Maine? Maine?!” he cries out struggling to free himself from the pilot. She grunts, gripping at the back of Wash’s armor, hauling him away from his partner. “Maine, NO!- Eta, please, what’s going on?!” his good arm reaches out, straining to get back to Maine.
Maine is quiet, head bowed slightly, hands curled into tight, shaking fists. Eta is openly distraught, light peeling away from him in flakes. He wants so much to get to Wash, to Iota, but Maine has backed too far away, the invisible leash between them is too tight.
Iota is unable to project herself as anything more than mist, rolling like thunderclouds. She’s beyond words, the sounds can only be compared to wailing.
“There’s no room Wash.” Maine rumbles in a way bordering on sounding pathetic.
Wash’s voice breaks, screaming, “There’s room! There’s room, please don’t leave me! We can’t be separated! The AI, they-”
“Wash, no . There is no more room. It’s just for a little bit. It’ll be fine .”
Four Seven Niner shoves a random officer out of the nearest seat, pushing him towards the standing room in the middle. She strongarms Wash into the chair, locking down the harness and overriding the safety measures so the Freelancer can’t pop it open when she moves away. With an air of finality, she turns to Maine. “Parker still has space. Now back up.” She orders, hand slamming on the controls. The hatch shuts with a resounding echo.
Maine forces Eta’s rising hysteria down. He makes his way to the secondary officer. It’s not until the ship is in the air, ground swiftly shrinking away, that it fully sinks in. For the first time since Eta and Iota were implanted, he and Wash were well and truly separated.
“Florida, get over to Wash and patch him up.” Four Seven Niner tosses a first aid kid towards the soft spoken man before heading into the cockpit. “And try to keep him from puking on my floor, please.”
“Of course.” he’s been more tame than usual. “C’mon fella, let’s get you set.” He pulls at the latches holding the armor to Wash’s right arm. The older man squirms, trying to get away from the contact. Finally Florida tugs Wash’s limb out and leans so his hip is pinning Wash at the wrist. He gets to work, biofoam filling the holes South punched into him. Four neatly placed wounds, perfectly curving around the edge of the armor plating. Florida lightly gets Wash to pull away from the seat so he can patch the exit wounds.
“You’re very lucky.” he explains, looping gauze around his shoulder. “They’re all clean from what I can see, didn’t hit bone, by the looks of it.”
There’s a disturbingly cold laugh that floats from Wash. It makes him sound like something deep inside is broken. “How do you call this lucky?”
Florida jerks the gauze ever so slightly, earning a surprised gasp from Wash. “You’re alive. That is luck, whether you like it or not.” the man pauses for a second. “Now, it’s not my place, but let me tell you this. You, my dear Wash, are going to go through hell. You have many paths ahead of you. They branch out in all directions, each sprouting from one of two main roads. One begins at your death. It starts the paths of which you will never walk. Others travel them for you. They can carry on where you left off. They can rally friends and strangers, create a movement in your name. Yet they can also let you go. They can hold your loss close to their hearts. Suffer quietly, or-” Florida pauses, securing the bandages. “-they could forget. About you. About everything.”
The only sounds are the engines of the Pelican. The soldier in cobalt watches them closely, along with the rest that gathered in the shuttle. Florida just packs away the remaining supplies into the kit.
“On the other hand, there’s always the second path. The one where you survive. It is one of constant change. Branches grow, and branches die. They are perpetually shifting. This road is walked by you. You can take revenge. You can make those that wronged you suffer. You can become the things you hate the most. You can be a leader, or trail in the wake others leave behind. You can walk these trails as a myth. This path, you must understand, can destroy all you stand for. It can also hold the key to where you truly belong.” Florida stands, hip cocked. “Of course, many of it’s dirty lanes and back alleys lead you to him. To Maine.”
Wash flinches as though he’s been shot again. His voice is weak, almost timid sounding. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because a very long time ago, someone told me the same thing.” he explains, stretching his long arms over his head. “And now I’m here, with the chance to give the same advice to you.”
Wash can’t help staring. Iota is still terrified but she seems less...scream-y. Florida just pats Wash’s good shoulder.
“Also, consider it a thanks for helping me and Wyoming with the emotional junk.”
Four Seven Niner shouts from the cockpit. “Cut the heart-to-heart, we’ve got major turbulence on the way. Brace yourselves!”
Florida starts to move away when Wash croaks, “Stay with me, Flo’.”
He stops, returning to where he was, leaning against the wall. “For as long as you need me.”
Wash gets out of the Pelican with Florida (Who is now going by his real name for some reason.) and the cobalt soldier. He’d introduced himself as Church. Wash gives Florida an apprehensive look, but they don’t address it. Now that the healing foam had done its work, Wash has feeling back in his arm, though it’s not as good as it would have been with proper medical attention. Florida says he should go over to the far base and stay with them. Something about team balance. Iota’s proximity alarm goes off and Wash has his gun drawn in a split second. “Come out now, I know you’re there.”
A soldier in regulation red launches from the scrub bushes whooping, “HY-AAA! Stop right there ya’ dirty blue- wait, who the heck are you?”
“Agent Washington, I’m-”
“Aaagent, huh?” the odd man rubs at the chin guard of his helmet. “Some sorta special ops? Who sent ya’? You workin’ for them rotten blue vipers?”
“Blue...vipers?” Wash almost doesn’t want to know.
The stranger starts muttering loudly to himself. “Them evil no good, Blue army of Satan.”
Wash glances behind himself at the base where Florida and Church had vanished into. “Do you mean the other base?”
“The den of sin itself!”
“...May I speak to your other teammates?”
Wash lays in the bunk he’d been granted at Red base, surrounded by three very distinctive, almost cartoonish snores. He plugs a code into his text communication feed.
WASH: C0N7C724110
AUTOMATIC RESPONSE: Ping sent to contact [Maine]. Channel is clear, ping returned.
By the looks of it something had wiped out the logs. Great.
This is the start of your history with user [Maine].
Wash rolls over, thinking aloud to Iota, “Seems like his helmet’s intact at least.”
She fades in, edges blurry. “I miss them.”
“I know, I do too. I’m texting Maine so we can find each other.”
“Tell them I miss them.”
Wash nods, pulling up the text feed again.
WASH: Maine?
MAINE: are you two safe
WASH: Yes.
WASH: You and Eta alright?
MAINE: we are
WASH: Iota wants you to know she misses you guys.
MAINE: we miss her too
MAINE: where are you two
WASH: This tiny box canyon called Blood Gulch. One of our simulation bases. Florida and some guy calling himself Private Church are the only ones other than me that got dropped here. Where are you?
MAINE: dunno. parker said we’re several planets over from you. doesn’t have the fuel to bring us closer
MAINE: eta says “please don’t cry”
Wash blinks, finding his face wet. He scrubs at his cheeks.
WASH: Sorry. Guess we know the Bond’s still strong, huh?
MAINE: mhmm
WASH: What are we gonna do?
MAINE: we’re gonna find each other. parker just landed. he said he’s gonna help me. once we get enough gas, we’ll be there. just stay in blood gulch. he knows the place.
MAINE: whos with you other than flo’
WASH: This place is stuffed full of crazy people.
WASH: I could go all night, seriously.
MAINE: eta wants you to tell a story so describe them
WASH: Okay, so there’s two teams.
MAINE: red and blue
WASH: Yes.
WASH: I’m not familiar with the Blues, Flo’s the one crashing their party, not me.
WASH: Red’s run by a dude called Sarge.
WASH: Literally
WASH: Sarge.
MAINE: bs
WASH: It’s totally true.
WASH: Iota says he had it legally changed, from the file she read on him.
MAINE holy shit
WASH: He’s batshit. He would kill me if he found out I didn’t tell you he hates Blue team. Seriously if Florida landed over here, he’d be shot on sight for that blue armor.
MAINE: hes not planning on staying with you?
WASH: Nah.
WASH: Blood Gulch is way too into their little RvB games that we’d become targets if we tried moving around too much.
WASH: We’ll meet in the caves if we have to.
MAINE: stay safe
WASH: I will. Back to the story.
WASH: So Sarge was the first one I found.
WASH: He set off Iota’s prox’ alarm and came out of the bushes, hooting and hollering about “Them dirty blues” and demanding to know if I was from their “den of sin.” (he means their base)
WASH: He’s going on about all of this with a shotgun in my damn face. So I’m like, please gods let there be another soldier here.
MAINE: was there?
WASH: Yeah, three of them. A married couple and a robot that only speaks Spanish.
MAINE: married?
MAINE: they told you that?
WASH: No, but if they aren’t at least dating I’d be shocked.
WASH: They act like York and Carolina.
Something twinges painfully in Wash’s heart.
WASH: ...Maine?
MAINE: ?
WASH: I’m scared.
MAINE: i know
WASH: I can’t do this.
MAINE: yes you can
WASH: What do I do without you and Eta?
MAINE: you spent 43 years of your life without me
MAINE: you saved your squad from their c.o.
MAINE: you survived a fire
MAINE: you took care of your sisters when you went to foster care
MAINE: you are strong
MAINE: you are capable
MAINE: you can do this wash
MAINE: and we have the bond
MAINE: this will all be over soon
WASH: …
MAINE: get some sleep. eta says its been 22 hours since you took a breather
MAINE: <3
[Maine] sent a file: [R1D3R50N8.mp3]
MAINE: have iota play this
WASH: Before I do.
MAINE: ?
WASH: Promise you won’t forget me.
MAINE: how could i
MAINE: you are the one man thats ever had a grappling hook snag his balls and live to tell the tale
WASH: wkjrtoertngbfj;
MAINE: night wash
WASH: Night ASSHOLE.
WASH: …<3
It had been seven months and Wash was slowly beginning to feel less fearful every waking (and sleeping) moment. On the flip side, his anxiety of never getting Maine and Eta back grew. He’d started to get comfortable with the Reds, though. Their dynamic had shifted to accommodate his needs, nightmares and all. That did wonders for making him feel alright with the current state of his life. Simmons had taken it upon himself to track down Wash when he roamed at night, handing him a glass of water and waiting until he returned to his bunk.
It was nice.
Wash walked into the kitchen, seeing the maroon soldier sitting at the table, coffee (one sugar cube and a splash of milk.) cup clutched in one hand. His leg bounces rapidly while Simmons stares holes into a patch of wall. “Hey,” Wash prompts softly. “You alright?”
Simmons head swivels to stare owlishly at the Freelancer. “Wash, have you ever been in love?”
He’s thrown for a loop. “I, uh, yeah, I’ve got a partner…”
There’s a sharp ‘tick tick tick’ as Simmons drums his metal fingers against the mug. He sips. He waits. Sips again.
Wash starts making his own cup of joe, (two sugars, a dash of whatever flavouring he could get his hands on. Currently banana.) and after a moment of paranoia, he slips off his helmet, setting it on the counter.
“What’s it like?” Simmons blurts out, startling Wash into fumbling with his mug.
“I don’t- wait, are you asking what love is like?”
Simmons nods quickly. He looks at Wash as if the Freelancer holds the key to all of life’s greatest mysteries.
“Don’t you know? You and Grif are a thing, how do yo-”
“ExcusemewhataboutGrifandI?!” Simmons squeaks “Athing?!”
Wash just lost a long standing bet with Iota. She’s grinning at the back of his thoughts. Wash sips his own coffee. “I’d been operating under the assumption that you two had been married for years before I showed up.” Wash intentionally ignores the way Simmons is so red he could be comparable to a tomato.
Simmons mouth flaps open and closed like a fish. He coughs. “That...uh, that sort of answers my question I guess.” The barest hint of a smile reaches his face. “I’ve always thought since basic, that if Grif was a girl, I’d ask...actually, no I wouldn’t be able to talk to him if he was a girl. I’m terrified of talking to girls. I’d definitely be less ashamed about having…” the man gestures vaguely. “Thoughts involving him.”
“Oh, really?”
Simmons damn near hits the roof as he jumps out of his chair, coffee clattering to the ground, mug miraculously not shattering. Wash is just sitting there, admittedly startled, but not reacting outwardly. Grif smirks from the doorway, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair was dry, though, meaning he’d been heading to the showers and not returning from them. He crooks a finger, beckoning the maroon soldier to follow. “C’mere man, got some stuff I want to hash out with you.”
“M-Me??” Simmons balks.
Grif nods smoothly.
Wash simply gives Simmons one of his rare lopsided smiles, making a shooing motion at him. “Sorry, can’t help you with this part. Go on.”
He watches the pair leave and that old familiar ache is back in his chest. He stares at his own reflection in his half full cup. Maine said the timeline was looking upwards of two or three years. The sector they’d gotten stuck in was in an energy crisis and they’d have to earn fuel like everyone else on the planet.
Sarge walks in, Wash giving a slight wave before running his fingers through his dreadlocks.
“So. Ya’ got a partner, huh?”
Realistically, Wash should have expected Sarge to be awake. Grif was the only nightowl of their team. Still, he’s a bit taken aback by the gruff man’s bluntness.
“Yes, uhm...we were part of the same unit. It was...attacked, and we were separated during the escape.” Wash sighs. “He and the pilot of his Pelican are stranded several planets over. They don’t have the gas to get here, so they told me to stay put until they can get to me”
Sarge takes a seat next to the Freelancer. “He got a name?”
“Maine.”
“You two must’a had hippie parents, huh?” the soldier snorts, reaching for an outdated newspaper.
“They aren’t our real names, just what we go by...in any case, you should be careful when you meet strangers using states as names. Especially Texas.” Wash warns, dark eyes fixed on the other man.
“What’s wrong with Texas?”
“Don’t. Fuck. With. Texas.” He snaps, rolling his bad shoulder to ease the tightness that had built up in it. “Seriously, the dude will tie you into a knot.”
“If yer’ so spooked by the fella, can’t say I’m too keen on givin’ him a go myself, if I’m bein’ honest with ya’.” Sarge gets up to fill his own mug (black, like the souls of the Blues) with the last dregs of the pot.
“Tex is a chick.” Wash goes over to rinse out his empty cup.
“A girl named Texas?” Sarge squints at Wash’s back.
“It makes sense in the context of our group.” he replies, drying the glass with a clean rag.
“Whatever.” The leader of Red team snorts, going back to his paper. “Just tell me when yer boy’s on his way so I can make sure he ain’t some Blue tryin’ to get chummy with a good, honest Red like yerself.”
Wash can’t suppress a chuckle, “I think I’d know if he was a Blue, Sarge.” he says, snapping his helmet back on. “I’m going to start patrol, now.”
WASH: Sarge asked about you again.
MAINE: third time this week
WASH: I think he’s adopted me or something like that. Trying to make sure you’re an upstanding citizen.
MAINE: we both kill people on a regular basis for work
WASH: By upstanding citizen, I mean “not a Blue.”
MAINE: because he thinks you’re a red
WASH: Yup.
WASH: Told him your eye colour.
MAINE: why
WASH: He fucking asked, this is the crazy war vet’, remember?
MAINE: right
MAINE: how’re the others
WASH: Lopez has 100% figured out I can speak Spanish.
MAINE: iota can you just read when she subtitles it for you
WASH: Let me have this Maine.
MAINE: eta says to credit the ai for their hard work and also that they’re not google translate
WASH: Sorry Eta.
MAINE: he forgives you
WASH: Good. Anyway, I told you last time, that Simmons spilled the beans to Grif.
MAINE: mhmm
WASH: I’m pretty sure it’s official now. Caught them all curled up on the sofa this morning.
[Wash] sent a file: [GRIMMONSISCANON.jpg]
MAINE: thats almost as cute as the one of you with the cats
WASH: There’s tons of strays here.
WASH: And they’re all mine now.
MAINE: we can’t keep them
WASH: I know. They were well fed before I showed up, so they’re fine without me. Right now, they’re mine though.
MAINE: i gotta go
WASH: Seriously? It’s already work time?
MAINE: drilling rigs start before dawn wash
WASH: Lame.
MAINE: <3 night
WASH: <3 Morning.
Wash confirms his suspicions, watching Blue base from the sniping nest he’d hidden high up in the cliffs. (North would be so proud of him) Florida hadn’t come back in weeks, and today was no different. Instead all he saw was the one Blue team member he didn’t know getting into a nice familiar teal set of armor. The Freelancer sighs. He heads down from his perch and finds Simmons first.
“I’m certain their leader is either dead, or has abandoned them.”
Simmons starts, voice off-kilter. He, along with the other Reds, could never seem to sense Wash when he approached them. Besides the thin man was easily startled anyway. “H-How do you figure?”
“It’s been over a month since I last had a visual of him, and the one private has just liberated his armor.” Wash reports, deadpan.
“So,” Grif drawls, lounging in the shade of one of the jutting concrete hides. “Teal isn’t the high score target in Rock Chuck anymore, is what you’re saying.”
“If you actually shot as well as you score in your stupid game, this war would be over much faster.” Wash sighs, slinging the rifle across his back.
“Meh.”
“Ladies! Hn, ladies, and freaky clairvoyant spec’ ops’ folks, front and center!” Bellows Sarge from below.
As he hops down, Wash pulls up the text comm’ he has with Grif and Simmons. Grif had been the last to update and- oh.
GRIF: 8==D~
WASH: Grif, that’s disgusting.
[Wash] sent a file: [54W5U5K.jpg]
WASH: There, much better.
GRIF: Prick
WASH: Shush.
WASH: Anyone know why Sarge is calling me psychic, because this is the fifth time he’s done it.
GRIF: He thinks you talk when there’s no one around at night
WASH: People talk in their sleep, Grif. Simmons does it all the time.
GRIF: Yeah well dreams don’t talk back, smart ass.
Wash goes pale, glad his visor masks the reaction. He only talked to Iota out loud when he thought everyone was asleep or out of the base. Fuck.
WASH: Dunno.
GRIF: That’s a dodgy response, but I guess you’re always like that
GRIF: I don’t really care
SIMMONS: Sarge is talking, you unbelievable douchebags.
Wash looks up to see a car launch off the hill and recoils instinctively. For a moment he just stares, then, “Nope. Fuck this, I’m going on patrol.”
Sarge almost can’t comprehend the response, “Where are ya goin’ soldier?! This is a perfectly deadly car, we’re gonna take her for a spin!”
“It only has three seats, and I’m going to let you in on a secret. Cars hate me, and I hate them back. Anyway, someone needs to keep an eye on the Blues while you’re joyriding.” Wash doesn’t stop walking, and hears Sarge sniffle dramatically behind his back.
“What a good officer. Grif! Take notes!”
The Freelancer can hear the mortar fire from below, rushing out the back to be met with a literal godsdamned tank in his face. A tank that sounds exactly like FILSS, if he’s being honest. “Iota, you think you can manage?”
“I’m insulted you feel the need to ask that.” she retorts, voice brisk in the mind they share. “Even more so that you don’t think you can manage without my assistance. You’ve taken down far more threatening things than a Scorpion class tank.”
“Yeah, yeah, my bad. C’mon, let’s get to work.” he grouses, launching towards the tank, dodging an explosion beautifully. Not that it was even really aiming for the Freelancer. Jesus. These sims were so blessed that they hadn’t managed to kill one of their own yet. Wash lands on the tanks canopy, fingers curling into the slats cut into the sides.
“Oh, hello!”
Wash glances beneath himself. There’s a soldier he’s never seen before in regulation blue staring at the barrel of Wash’s pistol.
“My name is Caboose!” He sounds delighted before Wash wrenches open the hatch. When the older man hauls him out of the cockpit by his shoulder, he just whines about ‘not hurting Sheila’. Ignoring him, Wash slides inside the tank, and turns to Iota. She shows up faintly in his peripherals.
“You know the drill by now.”
She giggles coldly.
The tank fries.
He can’t wait to tell Maine about this.
WASH: A mother
WASH: fucking
WASH: tank
WASH: I killed a tank, Maine.
MAINE: you told me 7 times today
WASH: Carolina wo--
Wash stops, erasing it. He switches to something different.
WASH: Yeah, but I got it good.
MAINE: eta says to tell you ‘yes she would have been very proud of you’
WASH: Change the subject.
MAINE: we’ve got a little less than 2/3rds to go
WASH: I can’t wait.
MAINE: yes you can
WASH: Don’t want to.
MAINE: two different things
WASH: ...Maine, I think Florida’s dead.
MAINE: what?
WASH: Or he left, but he isn’t someone that just...leaves.
WASH: He’s been missing for 5 weeks.
MAINE: you know flo’ he’s full of surprises
WASH: They sent another Blue to fill their ranks.
WASH: He shot that Church guy that came with me and Flo’.
WASH: Iota keeps saying Church isn’t dead.
MAINE: she’s probably right
WASH: You know what that means, right?
MAINE: ai
WASH: Mhmm.
WASH: Shit. Hang on.
MAINE: ?
WASH: gtg <3
MAINE: stay safe <3
It has been 17 hours since your last message to user [Maine]
WASH: Tex.
MAINE: ?
WASH: She’s -here-.
MAINE: run
Another year and a half had slipped by. Roughly. Wash had started to lose track of time. His wrists still aches dully where Tex had snapped it. His right arm was all sorts of fucked up now. Strangely enough, he and Tex are sitting next to each other in Wash’s sniping nest. He wasn’t totally clear on what events had brought her to him, but here they are. Wind whips around them, and Wash can’t shake the feeling that something big is on the horizon.
“I’m impressed.”
Wash tilts his head. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. “Come again?”
“You’ve gotten softer than when we first met.” Tex is calm, treating this as if it were a debriefing. Wash can feel his face burning, shame creeping up his neck. Knowingly, however, he waits. Something is telling him she’s not done yet. “But you’ve gotten stronger. You’re faster to move and react. You’re more aware of your environment. Your knife work would have made CT’s day to see. Can’t believe you actually got me.” she lays a hand over the hidden scar just under her ear, dangerously close to being lethal.
Coming from Tex, this is praise of the highest degree. Wash stares at his hands. His life was so fucking weird. Tex gets to her feet, watching over the canyon, surrounded by that dangerous air that followed her like a ghost. She slips away, cloaking herself and vanishing from the cliff. Just like that, Wash is alone with his thoughts once more.
It’s hours before anything disturbs him.
MAINE: hey
WASH: ?
MAINE: what are you wearing
WASH: Excuse me?!
MAINE: d:
MAINE: joking aside
MAINE: i’ll see you in 12 hours
WASH: …
MAINE: c:
WASH: Holy
WASH: shit
MAINE: breathe wash, see you then
MAINE: <3
WASH: <#
WASH: shit
WASH: * <3
Wash’s heart is pounding as he scrambles down the cliff face. Iota flashes in, form more solid than she’d been in three years. Trails of mist mark their path, pulling away from her and dissipating into the air.
“Easy, Wash.” she warns, but there’s no controlling the excitement bubbling up in her voice. Through the Bond, he can feel Eta’s presence at the edges of Iota’s place in his mind. Pure, unadulterated joy was the only way he could describe the feeling. “We don’t need you breaking your neck, or whatever it is that breaks when you fall off a cliff.”
“I know, I know!” he laughs, letting that joy feed into his own. It had been so long since he’d been allowed to feel Iota for what she truly was. Happiness. It’s infectious, and all encompassing. He missed this so much. Wash safely makes it to the floor of the canyon, bringing up a text comm’ he’d never touched outside of missions.
This is the start of your history with user [Texas]
WASH: Tex, Maine’s gonna be here in 12 hours.
WASH: Try to not shoot him, please.
TEX: How much you willing to pay so I don’t.
WASH: Tex, c’mon.
TEX: Cheapskate.
WASH: Shoot that new guy on your side or something if you have to.
TEX: Okay.
Wash closes the text feed and skids into Red base. “Sarge!” he calls out, looking around the common area, noticing Grif. “Grif, where’s Sarge?”
“Why the hell are you looking for him?” Grif groans from where he’s draped across the couch. “Are you high?”
“Where would I even get drugs here? Why are you asking me that?”
“ ‘Cause you’re happy.” The orange soldier grabs a beer from the coffee table. “Like, really happy. We’re talking like, I’m getting freaked out because you’re so happy, happy.”
Sarge leans out from where Red team stores their ammo (and Oreo’s because Grif can’t be bothered to put them away, so one of his many junk hoards has appeared alongside the bullets). “What’s got yer panties in a twist, soldier?”
“It’s Maine!” Wash is grinning like a fool under his helmet. “Maine’s going to be here in twelve hours!” the Freelancer can’t even stay still, he bounces slightly on the heels of his boots.
“Yer boyfriend?” Sarge looks bemused. “He’d better meet up to my veeeery high expectations fer him. Oh, one more thing.”
“Hm? What is it, sir?”
“Why’s there a damn ghost on yer shoulder?”
Wash jolts, realizing he’d left Iota to her own devices. She jumps as well before vanishing into a puff of golden light. “I, uh, you remember that Omega, I mean, O’ Malley guy?”
Sarge grunts, “Radio jumpin’ fella?”
The Freelancer nods. “Yeah, she’s kinda like him, but she can’t jump to others. She’s my AI, Iota. She’s nice, though, unlike Omega.”
“She better not start hauntin’ us.”
“No, she can’t do that, Sarge. She’s stuck with me.” Wash corrects another example of this group's strange fixation with ghosts.
“Just know I’m watchin’ her.” Sarge squints at him. Iota fades in, arms crossed.
“I can hear you, sir.” She says, tone light and playful.
“Good! A proper soldier is always listenin’!”
Wash cuts in, a half chuckle stuttering out. “Sorry, but we really gotta start getting ready.”
“Son, it’s not for another twelve hours, ain’t it?”
“Yeah but-” Wash pauses, thinking for a half second. “I guess so, but we just gotta go, Sarge. Okay?” He turns to dash off before the other man can really get a word in.
Grif leans out of the way, so Wash doesn’t barrel through his team mate. He throws a glance down the hall to where Simmons is standing, wringing his hands together. Grif smirks around the unlit cigarette between his lips. “Wait for a few days before you mob him over the AI thing. Your nerd-gasm can wait.”
Wash stands on the top of Red base, breathing quickly, eyes watching the aircraft hovering in the open field. He waits as the Pelican touches down. Mere minutes seemed to crawl on for hours. Then the hatch hissed, depressurizing. It opened smoothly, tracing a perfect arc through the air until it came to rest on the half-dead grass. Wash can feel his breath hitch. Maine is glancing around as he exits the craft. Only then does Wash allow himself to move. The Freelancer runs with everything he can muster, bolting across the dusty earth. “ MAINE!” streams from his mouth like steam. It mixes with laughter that must be his own, but he can’t find it in himself to care anymore. Not when Maine is there, waiting for him.
Maine turns, catching an armful of of excited Wash so the impact wouldn’t knock him off his feet. He spins a small bit with the force anyway, broken, wheezing chuckles filling the air. Eta and Iota speak in every possible language they can think of to express what they feel.
For the first time since their implantation, Wash can’t tell where he ended and Iota began and where she stopped and Eta started. Unlike last time, however, Wash doesn’t want to feel anything else. “I can’t- I-I can’t believe you’re here.” Wash admits, knowing that he must be a mess, crying and laughing. It had been three or so years that he hadn’t let himself truly cry. That he’d stuffed any strong emotional reaction into a box and locked it away. He hiccups, gasping for air.
Maine sets him down, but keeps close to the man. “Easy.” he rumbles. “Easy, now. Just keep breathing.” he trails off with a hum, rubbing gently at Wash’s bad shoulder.
Wash giggles, because that’s the only word that can fit the sound he just made. He wraps his arms around Maine’s thick waist, resting his head against the man’s broad chest. He sucks in as much air as he can, not even noticing the heat and dust for once. His body trembles with the adrenaline rush.
“Ah-EM.”
Wash simply blinks, glancing over his shoulder. All of the Reds have crowded around and are ogling the pair.
Sarge is at the head of the pack, shotgun resting in his arms. “Y’ didn’t say you were datin’ a giant, Wash.”
Maine snorts.
Wash reluctantly extracts himself from his partner’s arms. “Maine, these are the Reds.” he points to each as he goes down the line. “Sarge, Grif, Simmons, and Lopez. We had a rookie a while ago but he went...missing.”
An interested hiss.
“No, you probably wouldn’t like him if you’d met him.” Wash waves a hand dismissively.
“Okay, my bullshit detector is going off.” Grif complains, hands on his hips. “I know for a fact that those weren’t real words in any language.” he justifiably points out.
“He got shot in the throat.” Wash starts, noticing the way Simmons recoils, hand going up to touch the kevlar covering his own neck. “Let’s just say I’m fluent in Maine-Speak and leave it at that. Let’s go talk in the base, alright?”
Wash is relaxed. He and Maine are in the common room, laid out on the couch. They both still have their armor on, out of habit more than anything else. They practically lived in the suits anyway. Wash’s head is resting in Maine’s lap, close to falling asleep when he feels large fingers run under the edge of his helmet. Maine finds the locks keeping the grey and yellow mask on, flicking them open. Easing it off, Maine takes in the sight. Wash, as he had suspected when he’d lifted the man earlier, had lost weight. A drastic amount in the larger soldier’s opinion. His temples had slightly sunken in, and the ever present bags under his eyes were deeper and darker than Maine thought was possible.
Quietly, he pulls off his own helmet, tossing it aside and rests his forehead against Wash’s. They stay like this, just listening to each other breathe.
Finally, a half-asleep Wash mumbles, “I’m so lucky."