Chapter Text
It was hell, his head hurt. A ringing in his ears, he couldn't see. And he couldn't quite remember it. A white hot blur. He sat in the infirmary, head bound by bandages, and hooked to painkillers only a junkie could dream of.
The three on one, that soldier in black, Texas. She must’ve really kicked his ass. He sat up, aching with each movement. He panned his working eye around, the bay seemed empty, maybe it was late. Wyoming was laid just down the line, his arm in a sling, and passed out so hard you could probably hear him snore from the hall. But that was all, no bustling medics, no other soldiers getting stitched or bandaged up. No Texas, as if she'd need help after giving such an ass beating. And no Maine.
Where was Maine? Normally York wouldn't worry about not seeing Maine in the bay, he avoided it like the plague, he hated the needles and harsh lighting . But something was odd. Maine took the brunt of Texas's abuse, being the first to fall and get back up, there was no way he didn't need medical attention.
He stood, disorientated, unable to fully balance. He wandered, pulling along his IV drip. It took a few minutes, but he reached the hall, the corridor dark in the midst of the late night cycle. He could hear voices down the hall, it sounded like north, and maybe Washington. With an uncoordinated wobble, he placed his hand along the wall, using it to waddle down to the hushed volume.
It's North, Washington, and Maine. Maine's banged up, a black eye and leaning against the wall to take pressure off his legs, he's hurt, but trying not to show it. Everyone was in comfortable clothing, not an under-suit or piece of armor in sight. He watched from afar, listening as north scolded Maine, he'd never been the type to lose his temper like this. "what the hell where you thinking? I don't care if it was a direct order, York and Wyoming are both in critical condition!"
Maine's gaze panned as if looking for an escape, his eyes landed on York, who was peering down the hall. He moved toward York, an actual physical movement away from the other two. His hands gently grasp York's jaw, cupping his face. Staring so deeply into York's available eye, York was worried he would almost go for some sort of kiss despite both their bruised lips.
“Maine what's.. Wrong?” Wash pans his eyes to where the giant had moved. “York you shouldn't be up.” The small group ushered York back to his bed, Maine letting York lean on him, despite limping himself. Once they had settled York back in, North watched, waiting for a brief moment before speaking. “I'm going to go get a nurse, stay put.” Maine went to stand, his face in a small grimace. Within an instant, North's hand planted on his large shoulder “No, you need to stay too, you're not thinking straight,”
There was a strange feeling in the air, so tense it could be sliced with a knife. “She really got us that good huh?” Wash seems to tense looking between York and Maine, a long and uncomfortable stare.
“You. You don't remember, do you?” Wash continued to stare, a frown painting his face. York moved to look at Maine, who seemed to be washed in shame, his gaze pointed anywhere but at York. “A grenade went off a few feet away from you. The- the medics don't think you'll be able to use your left eye again.” Wash explained, his tone was hushed, and York couldn't quite hear him. His gaze was so fixed on Maine, who refused to look at him.
“Maine?” York practically whispered, before Maine stood and walked out of the bay. As quickly as his injured legs would carry him.
“Maine is the one who threw the grenade. They feel awful about it.” Wash tried to reason, his stormy grey eyes troubled, tired, he’d likely been dealing with Maine since the accident. Wash always tried to hard to help the others through their emotional issues, even when it was someone as private as Maine. “I know that they generally don't say it, but you do matter to them.”
York was pissed,it was as if the memory had hit him all at once. The live rounds on the training floor, the grenade, Texas coating him in lock-down paint. Anger rose in his chest, he felt betrayed and hurt. It must've shown, because Wash gently planted his hand on York's shoulder, gently squeezing.
When York finally pushed past his anger he went to open his mouth, he was cut off by the nurse finally arriving. “Agent New York, How nice to see you awake.” York simply nodded, he shoved down that hate, the anger stirring in his gut.
“You've been in and out for the past day or so, are you feeling alright?”
York takes a moment to think, he's queasy, hungry, and has a headache from hell, and his not quite official boyfriend almost killed him. He must've been staring blankly at the nurse for some time because Wash's hand gives him another squeeze. “Um, yeah I'm- I’ve got a bit of a headache, but other than that fine.” The nurse nods, turning to a data pad just a few feet from York's bed,typing away quietly.
York waits to feel the pulse of new medicine flooding his system via the IV attached to his wrist. It never came, his head throbbed, his back stayed stiff, his only comfort the other soldier gently gripping his shoulder. “I want Maine. I don't care how, just bring him back." He speaks up. Cutting through the silence with a dagger like tone. Wash retracts his hand, staring blankly, unsure of what to think.
Wash nods, looking up to north who was still lingering in the corner, arms crossed at just the mention of Maine. He pulls out his phone, quietly typing out a quick message, and sitting it back down on the bedside table. “I sent them a text, I'm sure they'll be here soon.”