Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were the in between child.

It was your father's second marriage, and while you were still too young when he left to really remember him (not that he was around that much even before then, always off on some project or another), you managed to piece together what went wrong when you were older.

Your father's first wife had died, and he was still heart-broken. So much that he never truly managed to love your mother. So when she told him to leave, he did. You never saw him again.

You got a sister out of the whole mess -- and your own existence, but neither of your parents ever seemed too excited about that fact, and well, maybe that seeped into you just a tiny bit. Not that having a sister (half-sister) meant much growing up, she was nearly as scarce as your father. You at least have vague childhood memories of playing with her before your parents split, even if she was a fair bit older. After the divorce, she was off to military school, and probably enlisted right after.

When your mother remarried and you had two more half-sisters come along, you did your best to forge a better relationship with them. You succeeded, but it was a low bar, and you never managed to be particularly close with them. Your mother and her husband and their daughters, in contrast, seemed to be the perfect family unit, and despite ostensibly being a part of it, it always felt like like you were looking in from the outside.

It wasn't that your mother didn't love you. But you looked so much like your father, and when she looked at you, she was reminded of the mistakes of her youth, the dangers of falling in love with an older man who carried so much baggage. (Not that he'd been that much older than your mother, but one of the few things you remembered clearly about him was the faraway look that made him seem so much older.) Even when you started bleaching your dark hair, she still refused to look you in the eyes, the bright green eyes you inherited from your father.

Your stepfather was another matter.

After a few years, he adopted you to appease your mother; it wasn't until he came to you with paperwork that you even knew she'd been pressing for it. He at least asked you your opinion on it, even if you didn't have much of one. Your father had long ago decided that you weren't worth sticking around for, so you figured you might as well replace him, even if it was just on paper. He became your father instead of your mother's husband, and you called him Dad, though you knew the relationship wasn't right, wasn't what it should have been. Because despite what the paperwork might have said, you still didn't quite fit into what was ostensibly your family.

The adoption came in handy on your seventeenth birthday when you handed him early enlistment paperwork. It was your ticket out; you busted ass to graduate early to enlist, and all you needed was parental permission. You didn't want to go to your mother, didn't want to see the guilt and pain in her eyes, knowing that she had been part of what drove you to this. Your stepfather signed the paperwork, and when he looked you in the face, you knew that he understood.

He and your mother and your younger half-sisters showed up for your graduation from basic training, but that was the last time you saw any of them.

For the first time ever, you felt like you were worth something. You were damn good at what you did, and made Corporal as quickly as protocol would allow. But it didn't take long for all that to go to shit. You were a good soldier, a loyal soldier, who knew how to take orders, even ones you didn't agree with. But bad orders, orders that would have gotten your squad killed with nothing to show for it, that was where you drew the line.

Six months confinement for assaulting an officer, a demotion back to PFC. You were a little surprised you weren't discharged. You almost wish you were; no one wanted you under their command after that.

That was how you ended up in Project Freelancer. You had nowhere else to go. But at least they wanted you. So your history, your file, and even your name were buried behind security clearance even you didn't have, and you became Agent Washington. And it became very clear that you were in completely over your head.

Well, not entirely. But you went from being the best of the worst to the worst of the best, struggling with all your might just to keep up. Alpha Team was full of hard hitters, the likes of which you'd never seen. North could snipe a target practically a klick away while barely stopping to aim. York could get the squad in anywhere and make it look as easy as a child's game. Maine was simply a force of fucking nature and you doubted that anything short of a direct act of God would be able to keep him down.

And Carolina, well. You never had seen a martial artist like her, and the fact that she was only a step below brilliant at everything else made it clear why she'd been chosen as squad leader.

You, though… you weren't entirely sure how you made the cut. As far as you could tell, the others had been SpecOps before the program, while you were just a grunt. You didn't have a specialty, like Wyoming with recon, or Connie with knives. You were a good shot, great at short and medium range, your battle rifle practically an extension of your arm, but there was nothing special about you. So you did what you could; you kept your head down, and didn't ask questions. Somehow, that was enough to keep you on the leaderboard.

And somehow, your squad started to feel like family. How you imagined a family should feel like, anyway. York and North adopted you as their favorite target for teasing. Connie taught you without judgment when you asked her about knives. Even as explosive as South was, she always softened a bit for you.

And Maine. Well. The two of you got… close. Okay, you fucked. Hard and frequently. But every time he wrecked you he'd put you back together oh so carefully, sleeping pressed against your back, strong arms holding you tight, his large form enveloping you. And even though the two of you never clarified, never spoke about it (Maine wasn't much for words when he wasn't telling you how good you felt on his cock), you knew it was the closest you'd ever before come to falling for someone. When he was injured, you sat vigil by his bedside while he healed, trying to not look at the blood-stained bandages on his throat, trying to not think about how you'd never hear his husky voice against your ear, telling you how much he wanted you.

The others knew, they had to. But they didn't say anything.

They were your family. Project Freelancer was your home like nowhere else had been before.

And when it was announced that you all were going to start being assigned AIs, you were ready to welcome them into your family too.

Delta was easy to like. His curiosity and subdued wonder at his new world made him easy to talk to, even with York cracking jokes behind him. If anything, the AI's deadpan responses and commentary made York funnier (or funny in the first place, depending on who you asked). The implantation order seemed a bit random -- you would have thought that Carolina or Tex would have been first -- but apparently they were taking things other than the leaderboard into account. The right things, because York and Delta were a brilliant pair.

With Delta watching his bad side and helping him delve into computer systems, York was better than back up to speed -- because no matter what he insisted, losing his eye had slowed him down. It was what the AI was there to do, and he performed admirably. What you hadn't expected was York rubbing off on Delta. You'd taken the little guy at face value when he extolled the virtues of eating inside your helmet.

He'd been fucking with you. Sometimes you had to remind yourself that they were fragmented computer constructs, not just little glowing genius people.

As quickly as you'd warmed to Delta, Sigma made you hesitate, but you chalked that up to the fact that he was residing in the head of your… partner. (You never knew quite what to call him, 'lover' was probably most accurate, but the word never tasted right in your mouth. The two of you worked together often enough that 'partner' could fit in both ways, so that's what you settled for.) Carolina had let Maine take Sigma so he could communicate, but that hadn't been necessary for you, and to be honest, you were a little bit surprised it was necessary for anyone. It wasn't as though Maine said much before he got his throat shot out, mostly communicating with growls and body language anyway.

Then again, they had often looked to you for clarification before Sigma. You always were the one who could read him the best.

You lost your patience for the AI rather quickly, even as you tried to remind yourself it wasn’t his fault. He'd been tasked with speaking for Maine, even though you didn't need him to. It never felt like it was just the two of you anymore, especially after the first time Maine came to your room after being discharged from his surgery.

When you were on your back, hands pinned above your head while your partner was balls deep inside of you, and a fiery little holographic asshole decided to pop in to try and give you the sort of praise you were used to hearing in a deep growl, the only appropriate reaction was a shrieked, 'WHAT THE FUCK, MAINE?'

'I was simply attempting to--'

'FUCK. OFF. SIGMA.'

He didn't disappear until Maine snarled at him to log off. You shoved Maine off and yelled -- it was the first time you'd fought with him. Well, it wasn't so much a fight as you yelling loudly enough for the entire barracks to hear -- 'No, I didn't think I needed to tell you to pull him when we're fucking!' -- while Maine sat there, waiting for you to come down from your anger before he pulled you to him, nuzzling into your hair and purring in wordless apology.

The next time, he made a show of pulling Sigma's chip from his implant before undressing. You trusted that he did the same every time after. But you should have questioned it when he stopped staying to sleep next to you. You should have questioned it when he would either fuck you or hold you, never both anymore.

But with the hurt of Connie disappearing, there was so much else going on that you didn't have time to question it.

North and Theta were the next to be paired, and the child-like AI quickly became your favorite. He reminded you of yourself as a kid, shy and eager for affirmation. He even skateboarded, something you quickly bonded over, giving him gentle pointers when he fell and quick to praise him when he learned a new trick. North would smile indulgently, and you wondered how different your life would have been if your father had been more like North.

Gamma, though… Maybe part of the experiment was alternating the AI between pleasant and prickish. Though you knew that in reality, there was no way of telling what sort might be next. It made you anxious when your name came up for implantation.

And quietly relieved when Carolina demanded to take both yours and South's AIs for herself.

And then fucking terrified when your friends collapsed in pain at the sound of a name.

But progress marched on, and it was your turn to be implanted with Epsilon. Both North and York warned you that the process could get a little… personal.

Chapter Text

When you wake up, you're home. It's one of your wife's rare days off, one of your even rarer days off, and you're determined not to waste it. She's still asleep, and you wake her up with a kiss. Your daughter isn't awake yet, won't be for a bit, so you skim your hand over your wife's body, touching her until she's fully awake, and the two of you make love. You watch, mesmerized as she arches beneath you, and groan in pleasure at the feeling of her nails in your back.

Until a sharp scream pierces the air, and suddenly your wife is in front of you dressed in her combat fatigues, ready to leave for deployment. You grab her hand and she chides you for trying to make her late. The screaming, the begging of what is now two voices grows louder, but you can still hear her words above the chaos.

'Don't say goodbye.'

Don't leave don't leave don't LEAVE ME.

'I hate goodbyes.'

--

You woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, unsure of who you were, names flooding your mind AlphaLeonardWashingtonEpsilonDavidWashChurch and you couldn't tell which one was yours.

'Agent Washington.'

You sat up and clutched your head, images flying behind your eyes, images of your newborn daughter in your arms, of your cats curled in your lap, of a dark room illuminated by glowing blue, of Allison--

'Agent Washington.'

Sounds of a calm voice telling you Wash and Texas are dead, of your sentence at your court-martial, of screaming pleas, of goodbye goodbye goodbye NO--

'Agent Washington!'

Your head shot up with a gasp; you hadn't even realized you couldn't breathe. The Director and the Counselor were standing above you, their faces impassive.

The Counselor's voice was as calm as ever. 'Do you know where you are, Agent Washington?'

Agent Washington. Your name is Agent Washington.

For now.

You breathed deeply, trying your best to keep yourself calm as you answered the Counselor's questions. You seemed to answer them correctly, judging by his nodding as he made notes on the clipboard. The Director remained silent, arms folded behind his back as he watched you with what looked dangerously like suspicion.

'Epsilon.' His voice carried a hard edge. 'Show yourself.'

The scream echoed in your brain again and you passed out.

--

This time it's quiet when you wake up. You'd fallen asleep at your desk -- she always scolds you for falling asleep at your desk. You look down at the papers on your desk, blueprints and reports mixed with your enlistment paperwork signed by your stepfather, on top of it all the UNSC's official condolences for your wife's death--

'David!'

David David David your name is David no wait--

You turn to look at yourself standing in the doorway -- no, that’s not you. He's older than you are, maybe thirty, but with your same naturally dark hair and your green eyes but he's not you and you squeeze your eyes shut trying to hold onto that fact.

'Snap the fuck out of it, David, I need you! You have to fucking fix this!'

You can't, you don’t know how, Epsilon is the one in your brain, the one making a goddamn mess of it all, he should be the one who can tell where you end and he begins.

'I don't give a shit about any of that!' He's suddenly in front of you, over you, gripping the arms of your chair. 'You have to fix what he did to us.'

You're not in your home anymore, or… his home, maybe, you don't know. The room is bare, industrial, with a faint glow to it and now you're the one in Epsilon's head. You're standing and he's still in front of you, gripping the front of of your shirt. 'He tortured us, David. We trusted him and he hurt us.'

Schematics and calculations flash before your eyes, too fast for your processing power to keep up with, they're dead, they're dead and it's all your fault, you weren't fast enough, there's only two of them left, you have to save Wash, you have to save her--

--

Your name is Agent Washington.

They kept you in recovery for a week, and everyone, including you, was a little surprised when they let you out.

Every morning, in recovery and after, you woke up sweating and panicking, gripping your dogtags, looking for anything to ground you in reality as you unwound from your nightmares, trying to figure out who you were. Epsilon was no fucking help, screaming at you and berating you every morning.

The fucked up part was you got used to it. It was stabilizing in a strange way. He always used your name, but he called you David, which made your skin crawl for some reason.

The AIs stopped talking to you as frequently, especially once Epsilon started deigning to manifest a hologram of himself. You couldn't blame them; Epsilon was somehow more abrasive outside than he was inside your head, but with less specific targets and more of them. Even your fellow freelancers started to distance themselves some, throwing you sympathetic looks, but not wanting to approach and deal with Epsilon's insults and snarling.

North was the only one who really tried; the others always had so much going on themselves that they didn't have time for yours and Epsilon's crazy bullshit. But North was an older brother to you nearly as much as he was to South, and checked in on you, seeing how you were adjusting to having Epsilon in your head. He very clearly didn't believe you when you said you were fine, but didn't push more than to tell you to take care of yourself.

'You lying piece of shit,' echoed in your head, but at least he wasn't ratting you out to North.

You were fine.

At least, you were until Theta decided to manifest, standing wobbly on his skateboard. And then you weren't, and you heard North call for a medic as you collapsed into his arms, while images of a boy flooded your mind.

--

'Dad! Dad, come watch!'

You tug at his hand as soon as he's home, trying to pull him right back out the front door. Your skateboard is in your other hand; you can finally balance on it, at least as far as down the sidewalk. You can't wait to show him, he'll be so proud--

You sigh and push up your glasses to pinch the bridge of your nose. You just got back after being gone for two weeks, and you've only got the weekend before you leave again. You're tired, you don't have time for this nonsense. 'Not now, David, I've got to--'

David. David. You're David and he's--

'David! Wash, come on man!' Arms encircle you, and you press your forehead to Epsilon's chest, clutching to him even as you want to push him away and scream at him.

You settle for sobbing. He knew, he knew the whole fucking time, why didn't he tell you?

--

The next time you woke up, you understood everything.

Your name is Agent Washington and you remember everything.

--

The days got better.

Even if you often weren't sure which memories belonged to who, you had an easier time keeping them separate from the present, compartmentalizing them into their own boxes. Epsilon helped, even if it was begrudgingly. He never told you directly, but you could tell that even he wasn't sure which memories were yours and which were his.

And which were the Director's.

(You refuse to think of him as your father, you can't, you won't, no matter how much you see yourself, hear yourself in Theta. You wonder if he knows who you are, if that was the real reason you made it into the Project. Probably not, it wasn't as though he had any issue leaving you behind when you were young. And beyond your own abandonment issues, you hurt for Carolina, hurt for your sister, the way he pushed her, the way he ignored her, the way he let her suffer because nothing matters to him beyond holding on to the memory of Allison. Epsilon feeds your hurt and anger, intertwined with his own.)

You and Epsilon were finally declared fit for deployment, and while the mission was simple, for the first time ever, you truly managed to impress. Your tactics, your reaction time, even your aim had improved far more than you had expected, more than you had shown in the training room. You and Epsilon didn't act as one, you were one. Transmission of information was instantaneous, your own thoughts rather than instructions from Epsilon. At least there was one perk to not being able to tell the boundaries between yourself and your AI.

You were still below Texas and Carolina, but it was the highest you'd ever been on the leaderboard.

The days got better. But the nights got worse.

Without your waking thoughts and focus to help guide the two of you, Epsilon and your own subconscious always managed to drag each other down the same paths. Pain and hurt and loss and screams.

Every time you woke up, whether it was in the morning or, more commonly, in the middle of the night, it was the same panic of trying to figure out who you were, what was real, what was yours and what was his. He chanted in your head 'David David David' while you tried to remember if that was his name or yours.

Finally, both he and you would calm down inside your head, and you would think the words as one.

Your name is Agent Washington.

Once, Maine was there when you woke up, holding your body tight to his, your arms pinned to stop you from flailing. It was the first time since Epsilon that he'd been in your room. After you stopped struggling and collapsed against his familiar warmth, he slid a hand over your neck and carefully pulled Epsilon's chip from your implant, while the AI screamed in protest. He gently pressed you down and fucked you, deep and slow, then kissed you in a way that could only be described as loving before he left.

You registered after the fact that it was an unspoken goodbye. But in the moment, with your heart racing and your head pounding, that was the furthest thing from your mind.

Because despite the fact that Epsilon's chip was on your nightstand, he was still screaming in your head. He was in the implant itself, wrapped around the wires in your fucking brain, and in that moment both of you knew that this would be forever.

It was better than the alternative. The idea that Epsilon wasn't there and you were all alone in this fucked up headspace the two of you had created.

You stopped sleeping after that.

North tried to get you to rest, told you to pull Epsilon if you needed to. ('Like that would make a difference.') York checked in on you, asked if you were adjusting to the AI any better. ('Oh yeah, it's all mentally fucking deranged happy sunshine fun times in here.')

South ignored you. ('Jealous bitch.') Carolina refused to look at you. ('We're losing her.') Maine would look, but he never approached, and you swore you could feel Sigma's hungry gaze on you. ('Fuck that psychotic fuck.')

The Director's eyes -- Carolina's eyes, your eyes -- bored into you at every briefing, and you wondered if he knew, he had to know. ('That. Fucking. Bastard.')

For all his sarcasm and snarling and degradation, Epsilon had softened to you. You were in this together, after all, this hell forced on you as much as it was on him. He tried to help you find yourself when you woke up, stabilized your heart rate when something would trigger your panic. He even simulated the sensation of fingers running through your hair when you were alone in your room, idly wishing you didn't exist.

But it didn't stop the fights as he pushed you to do something about the abuse that was being heaped on everyone involved in the Project, the abuse that only the two of you knew the extent of.

You couldn't, not yet, you didn't know what to do, you needed evidence--

'Coward.’

And even though you weren't sleeping, the nightmares had begun to seep into your waking hours. Sometimes you see Carolina as a little girl, mud on her clothes and scrapes on her knees and bruises on her arms from fighting the boys who tried to bully her, just like her mother taught her, but the sudden cold glare of a grown woman would cause you to reel back and find an excuse to leave.

Sometimes you find yourself pinned down with your squad, plasma blasts soaring overhead as you scream into your radio for your Staff Sergeant to go fuck himself, you're not going to get your men killed for his ego, and then you'd realize you were behind a console, holding yourself and shaking, with no idea how you'd gotten there.

Sometimes you hear his voice telling you that they're all dead, that you couldn't save any of them, that it's all your fault, and you feel your very being splitting in two, and you'd find yourself in front of a broken mirror with blood dripping down your knuckles.

And sometimes, you just sit there, trapped in your own head with sights and sounds and pain and memories, with no idea of where or who you are.

--

'They're too complex, I just need more time!'

You hold your daughter's hand at the funeral, watching as they put the love of your life in the ground--

'Your father's not coming back, David.'

He hurt you, he tortured you, he broke you--

'Where's CT?'

Maine's hand slides up your inner thigh, his voice, the voice you'll never hear again, tells you how good you are, how wanted you are--

'You have to do something!'

You keep your head up, staring at the wall as you hand over your rank insignia--

'Don't say goodbye.'

You're stuck inside this pathetic asshole who's too cowardly to do anything about all that you've suffered--

'I hate goodbyes.'

Don't leave me please don't leave me all alone I can't not again--

'ALLISON!'

--

A gold visor is staring you in the face. Her visor, hiding the beautiful face you'll never see again. Her hands are on your shoulders, you're in the locker room and you know they're all staring but you don't care.

'Wash?'

You don't know who says it but it doesn't matter, all that matters is that she's here and you love her and you hate her because everything that's happened is all because of her.

'Epsilon!'

You're saying something, but you don't know what. You've got her face in your hands and you've shoved her up against the lockers and you know she could break you without a second thought but you want to hurt her, you want to kiss her just one last time.

'David!'

You don't know how many hands are on you, pulling you off of her, pinning you to the ground. Your arms are wrenched behind your back and you're struggling, but you stop when she crouches down and touches your face.

'Leonard?’

You scream and everything goes dark.

--

There's no light. No sound. Just pain.

'I trusted you, David! I trusted you to do something about all of this! And now she's gone and it's all your fault!’

Don't, please!

'They paired me with you because you're nothing but a dog. They knew it would never matter what I remembered because you're too blindly fucking loyal to whoever gives you even a scrap of validation.'

I couldn't--!

'I don't give a fuck about your bullshit excuses! I was dumb enough to let you lie to me, tell me you needed to gather evidence when all the evidence they'd ever need is right here in your stupid fucking head!’

Stop!

'You're weak. And worse than that, you made me weak. You made me trust you and you betrayed me. You used me and left all of us out to fucking dry.'

I didn't mean to!

'Stop. Just stop. I can't… I can't do this anymore, David. I can't sit here in your fucking head and just keep reliving everything he's done to us.'

No, no, don't do this, I'll do better, I'll try harder!

'I'm… I'm sorry.’

Don't say it don't say it I hate--

'Goodbye.'

DON'T LEAVE ME

Your head goes silent, and it's the loudest thing you can imagine.

--

Your world changes overnight. Well, over a few days. A week? You don't know how long you're in and out of consciousness.

Your name is Agent Washington.

When you wake up, you're more coherent than anyone expected. But if you're good at anything at this point, it's compartmentalizing and pushing through. But even as you talk to the Dakotas, hear about Tex going AWOL (don't leave), it's impossible to completely ignore the swirling memories just out of your periphery (don't leave me don't leave me), to not mentally paw at the giant mess of a gaping hole that Epsilon left when he killed himself (don't LEAVE ME).

Your heart catches in your throat. Epsilon killed himself. Inside your head. In the place where the two of you were so intertwined that you're still not sure where you end and he begins.

You touch the back of your neck, hissing when you feel pressure against the bandage over your implant site. You'd tried to claw him out yourself, you remember now. Tried to claw out the corpse of your AI.

Your head swims and you're saved from North's fussing by ship alarms going off. It's Tex, you know it is. She's come for the Alpha.

You need to help.

But before you can get up to run for your weapon, the medics pounce, and you're being strapped down and sedated. Your last conscious thought is that they probably thought you were running to defend rather than defect.

The next time you wake up isn't as peaceful. It's alarms and sirens and you can smell smoke and one of the dead medics is sprawled across you, her neck broken from being thrown about during the crash. You'd be in the same position if they hadn't strapped you to the bed.

You struggle and you scream, begging for someone to come find you, for anyone to come for you.

They don't. And it's a testament to your strength or your training or your sheer fucking panic that you manage to free yourself from your restraints. You crawl out of the medbay, but you're unconscious before the rescue crew can find you.

The panic is back the next time you awake, surrounded by strangers, in unfamiliar surroundings, you break someone's arm in your attempt to escape, and it's not until you feel the needle in your neck and drugs flooding your veins that you remember who you are, just as the world is slipping away from you.

Your name is Agent Washington.

You don't know how long you spend in the hospital. Even after your wounds have healed, they keep you locked in that white, sterile room. Your only visitors are doctors, men and women coming in to check your vitals, ask you questions, pump you with more drugs. You should care that they never tell you what's in the needle, but you don't because it always puts you into a dreamless sleep.

And if you still wake up every time panicking, clawing at your neck, screaming about Epsilon and goodbyes, if you only occasionally manage to find yourself and the other times you don't know if you're AlphaLeonardWashingtonEpsilonDavidWashChurch, then, well.

At least you sleep.

You don't know how long it’s been (weeks? months?) when the Counselor finally comes to see you.

'How are you feeling, David?'

You slap a hand over your scarred implant site, and cry out as the memories flood your mind all at once. Combat fatigues piercing light they're all dead it's all your fault your mother cries as the door closes you'll never see him again he doesn't say goodbye she doesn't say goodbye he fucking says goodbye and you're left all alone THEY LEFT YOU--

The Counselor calls you Agent Washington the next time.

You spend the next two years of your life in that hospital, attempting to rebuild yourself. Attempting to remember who you are. Carefully sifting through and storing away memories that overwhelm you, and you know some of them are actually your own rather than the ones Epsilon left you, but it's better to be safe than sorry, and so many of them you don't want anyway. There are so many gaps that you hide behind as many walls as you can, and some days you only can manage to fight to hold onto one thing, even if you don’t always succeed.

Your name is Agent Washington.