There's a bitter twist to Ohio's voice that every aching fiber of York? Echos. Even past the pasted thin smile and too casual slant of his shoulders, past the fact that he's never actually had either his bad eye or his back to Ohio at any point in the conversation. Whatever they'd been? Might be enough to keep him from being shot instantly.
But there are people out there that want him dead- or would if they knew he wasn't.
As much of a relief as it is to finally have somewhere to rest trusting it is...it's not going to happen. Even if it's mobile and secure. There's no one to bounce off his predictions anymore, every word echoing in the void; the empty nest of wires and code that used to house Delta. Empty rattling of hollow shells in an ammunition tin; no fire. No support.
All he's got is his gut and his gut gets him shot plenty.
"...Same." Is all he can offer in return because- it feels a little like an accusation. It can't possibly be sincere no matter how much he wants it to be. Still.
Coffee- another mug should be okay, right? Right. A shower. Scrubbing at the stubble on his jaw. Peeking into the hold anyway out of spite has it's appeal but he stifles the desire; sleep calling him. Or. Something close to it.
Tucked up in a corner, sidearm loaded and at hand, helmet on- he dozes. It's as good as it'll get for him.
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But there are people out there that want him dead- or would if they knew he wasn't.
As much of a relief as it is to finally have somewhere to rest trusting it is...it's not going to happen. Even if it's mobile and secure. There's no one to bounce off his predictions anymore, every word echoing in the void; the empty nest of wires and code that used to house Delta. Empty rattling of hollow shells in an ammunition tin; no fire. No support.
All he's got is his gut and his gut gets him shot plenty.
"...Same." Is all he can offer in return because- it feels a little like an accusation. It can't possibly be sincere no matter how much he wants it to be. Still.
Coffee- another mug should be okay, right? Right. A shower. Scrubbing at the stubble on his jaw. Peeking into the hold anyway out of spite has it's appeal but he stifles the desire; sleep calling him. Or. Something close to it.
Tucked up in a corner, sidearm loaded and at hand, helmet on- he dozes. It's as good as it'll get for him.