"Well- yes and no? On the record- dead as dicks. Kind of needed to be since Wyoming shot me up and I'm pretty sure the shoot to kill order would still be a thing." There is, of course, a really fucking easy way to solve this bout of yelling and now that he's more than fifty percent sure he's not gonna get shot?
Might as well.
Slow- because an unarmed freelancer is never really unarmed and never, ever harmless, York reaches up to work the catches on his helmet.
"I'm alive. And I kinda need somewhere to crash for a little while. Just to rest up." Not for long.
It's him. It really is him. It's hard to fake a face, and impossible to fake that scar. York looks older than he did, probably older than the intervening years should account for, but he's undeniably himself.
Ohio opens his mouth, closes it, reverses the process with a hand, then finally manages: "Shit."
It's not just that York was dead, but also everything York was part of in his memory. Ohio is facing down more than one ghost right now, and he's still tired and his head still hurts and it all needs to fuck off for a little while.
But it won't.
He sighs, a hard and rattling sigh, and turns to put on some fucking coffee and continue his planned raid on the freezer. "Give me a minute," he says. The system needs to reboot. By the time he's heating up his... fuck, he's not figuring out what you'd call eating right now, he's started to formulate a response to this situation. He looks back at York.
"Why didn't Saunders shoot you?"
Because Lane not shooting is... well. He's too nice a kid for this job, honestly. Saunders has all the meanness Lane missed out on, and it makes him reliable for this kind of thing.
Ohio's volume is down, at least. What little fight he had is gone, his posture has sunk, and exhaustion has crept indelibly into form and features. York isn't the only one who's been worn by some hard years.
More years on him, a spattering of grey at his temples, more creases at the corners of his eyes, the downturn of his mouth. A leaner edge to his jaw and a weary cast to his...well. Everything upon closer inspection. Living on the run with Delta had been rough, but doable. He'd had someone and as a terribly social person? As long as he's got one person he's fine. He'll live.
But without Delta...
It'd been worse. Not that he's gonna tip his hand here. Desperation doesn't look good on anyone.
With all the care in the world he sets his helmet on the table and sits up properly, eye following Ohio around the kitchen in case he changes his mind about the 'not killing him' thing. It could happen. He'd trusted Reggie and Maine for years, after all, and look what happened to him.
"I'm really charming and you dropping like a sack of bricks had him rattled. Also I bribed him." He gestures to the pile of 'contraband' he'd been carrying. Dried fruits, snack cakes, canned chocolate syrup; whatever he could get that he could sell offered up in the name of keeping one person from possibly dying out in the world. He couldn't save anyone else but- maybe he could save Ohio. And he's done the thing. Whoopty fucking do.
"Goddammit," is his reply to the explanation. They were scared, someone offered them help, and they took it. The worst part is he can't even be completely angry with them, because it worked, didn't it?
The timer beeps and Ohio hits the button a little harder than necessary.
"No."
He puts his food on the table (it's soup: make it from anything, hard to screw up, keeps frozen) and goes back to fill two chipped white coffee mugs, and puts one in front of York.
"This is one hell of a way to ask to couch camp," he says as he sinks into a chair and grabs a couple packets from a recess in the center of the table to deal with his coffee. He's still reeling, but doing his best to roll with it. York's serious about this, and there's no point making him repeat it when Ohio believes him.
"Someone after you?" he asks. First things first, liability check.
You're considering this, he chides himself. The smart thing here is definitely to turn York over to Command and let them deal with this. It might even get him some sorely needed favor. It's what he should do.
...But it's not what he wants to do. Ohio and York had never been close, but they'd never been enemies either. York's a direct link to a time when his head still worked right and he still felt like what he was doing with his life meant something. It's been a damn long time since he's seen anyone he knew then at all, much less anyone who wasn't hostile.
It's stupid and it's sentimental, a weakness to be sure, but if Ohio is honest with himself? He's not eager to throw someone back out of his life when he has a chance at...
Well. Talking to someone who knew him. Maybe even someone who might be a friend.
"No." This armor is a replica, the old one had to be left behind to seal the ruse that he was, well. Dead as dicks. "I've got nothing left that they want."
Delta's gone. The armor they fought so hard to keep is gone. All he has- all he had was the contraband he used to bribe his way onto the ship and the armor on his back. No civvies, not even an extra round of ammunition. Hell, the only gun he's got is his sidearm and it's worn to shit. He's not even sure if it fires but- it's a good prop.
Besides.
If he was gonna pull the trigger he'd only need to do it once.
Those thoughts are easy to shake off with the promise of coffee- he reaches out and curls his hands around the mug, inhaling steam like it's the goddamn mana of life. How long since he'd been somewhere with coffee? How long since he could afford to have any instead of keeping what he found to sell? "I just need somewhere to rest up."
Running constantly- it takes a toll. But he's got no right to anything more than a quiet question, too exhausted to even reach for hope. His smile is resigned more than anything- maybe he'll get to stay the night but the odds are he won't. He's trouble. Ohio, though while not entirely remarkable, was always pragmatic. He's smart enough to know to avoid top ten bullshit.
You and me both, he almost wants to say. He can fill in the gaps. Delta was recovered, after all, and it's not like anyone cared what happened to Ohio after Pi was pulled.
That doesn't mean Command wouldn't be very interested to know York is alive, or that they wouldn't have certain particular opinions about this fact, but...
Ohio rests his elbows on the table, leaning a little on long forearms, and sighs.
He can run cost-benefit of this into the small hours, but it doesn't matter. He already knows what he's doing here. York did him a good turn he never asked for and wouldn't have expected, and even did it at personal expense (to judge by that stack of contraband). Ohio doesn't have much left to stand on and call himself a "good person", he knows that about himself, but he doesn't have it in him to turn his back on this.
It's only fair, and a call to what little personal honor he has left is a lot easier to justify than a little loneliness.
"I do have the space," he says. "You might not have noticed, but Command hasn't exactly seen fit to give me a full crew."
He must be feeling a little better, he thinks he's hilarious again.
"Favor for a favor. You helped me out, you can crash on my ship until we find somewhere better than this shithole to drop you off."
And maybe that trip will sate some of Ohio's need to talk to someone who isn't Lane, Saunders, or the poor goddamn ship AI.
He's run the numbers and...they do not tip this way. Not normally. There's so much he can predict by looking at patterns and running the numbers but people? Are always a little too varied for him to pin down. Ohio was somewhat contrary back in the day but he's not about to make any assumptions as to what did or didn't change.
Trauma affects people deeply.
And everyone involved in the project? Was traumatized before they ever joined. Doubly so after if they were lucky enough to survive. Though that's about all York's managed in the past while. Surviving. It ain't living and it ain't much of anything other than hide, run, steal, rinse and repeat. Somewhere to rest where he probably won't get shot in his sleep?
Sounds good. He sips his coffee carefully, almost delicately, like he won't get another cup for a long ass time and- kind as Ohio is being? He's not sure that isn't the case. "That'll work. Want me to get rid of your AI's blindspot? It was kinda quick and dirty so...far as he knows I don't exist. I'm the invisible man."
Complete erasure is easier than erase and replace, after all. Reworking what he's 'tagged' as will be a matter of finding a substitution. Foxtrot 12 will work well enough.
Ohio's meal has cooled enough for him to get started on it. He nods in reply, but has to swallow before he can give a full answer.
"Retiarius is pretty harmless. He's a distributed intelligence. Around thirty nodes. His real processing power has bigger fish to fry than me most of the time."
It's like having a time share on a smart AI, really.
"You can have berth five. I'd give you four, but we still haven't got the smell out."
...Wait, there's another step here.
"Reti, unlock berth five. Set it up to imprint the palm lock."
"Yeah, but that means he can relay something like me being not dead along if he doesn't know otherwise." And no AI is ever really harmless. Even dumb AIs. But...he's got somewhere to stay. He's got coffee. And he's got- he's borrowing- people. That'll be a nice change of pace.
Some of the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders goes loose as he codes in a more thorough fix- a swap and replace. His face swapped out with someone not wanted by the UNSC, his name and callsign changed to Foxtrot 12, John Smith. Keying it into Reti is, well. A matter of holographic flicking and fiddling. "And...done. Hi buddy."
"So far he hasn't tattled on me for bitching, but." Ohio shrugs one shoulder.
He watches York tap into Reti's systems in silence, mostly because he's wolfing down his soup. Everything feels steady, now. The painkiller is working, and coffee may not be a great decision in the current circumstances, but he doesn't care.
Retiarius accepts York's tweaking without alarm.
"Hello, Mr. Smith," he says, voice all polite customer service.
Ohio arches one of his brows at York, just a note of really? Not going to go with Bob McNotfakename? But he doesn't say anything.
Well. Anything about Retiarius, anyway.
"The boys tell you what we do?" he asks. He needs at least some idea of what Lane and Saunders told York. That, and this is actually sort of a normal conversation. The tension in the room has dissipated now that they're square.
Live around them long enough and you notice what they notice. Live under surveillance long enough and the idea of anyone being able to easily report shit on you is- he's not unreasonably paranoid.
Just. Tries to play it off with a wink and a grin. Smith works. No one complains about Mr. Smith and he won't complain about being called something else. It's a slick bit of code that'll work no matter what these people call him or what they talk about. Easy. "Well..."
Another slow sip of coffee- god this is good- before he answers. "We run and shoot where they point was more or less what they said."
"More or less what I've been doing since... well."
The "since" is pretty obvious, given their circumstances. Which reminds him of something else:
"It's everywhere still, York. Lane and Saunders were sim troopers."
He's not sure why he even wants to bring this up. Maybe it's just York being back, maybe that's waking up the tendency to gossip he'd thought died along with so many other things.
And maybe it's that while Ohio has had a team around him, he hasn't had anyone he feels like an equal with to talk to in a long time.
"Yeah." Words best left unsaid. THe Project. The Crash. The day you fucked everything up you fucking asshole why'd you have to do it why did you leave me with them why couldn't you get your head out of your ass long enough to actually help anyone-
His hands don't shake but some of that earlier tension creeps back in around his eyes and jaw- he hides it in measured sips of his coffee. He's fine, they're fine.
No ghosts pointing fingers at him today.
"...Shit. I probably could've offered just the chocolate syrup and called it good." Sim troopers are...well. Remarkably resilient. "I'm kinda surprised they didn't shoot me on accident."
It may have been years now, but it still brings up shitty memories. It could've gone differently, Ohio knows. Somehow. Someone smarter and tougher could've changed things. Maybe if he hadn't run, maybe if he'd staid back a little longer and-
He can't afford to do this, not now, not with York here. Ohio shouldn't have even touched the topic, but it's also the thing they share. There is a horrible need to talk about it deep in Ohio's chest, currently tangled up with an equally horrible need to avoid thinking about the particulars.
At least talking about the troopers gets them further from the bone.
"They're... not the worst I've worked with," he says, diplomatically. "Saunders might've, but it wouldn't have been an accident. He's a little trigger happy. Lane prefers to look before he leaps, but tends to get stuck there."
A note of familiar exasperation has crept into Ohio's tone. It's not entirely unlike how he used to talk about Indiana. They're idiots. But they're his idiots.
"...Thanks for getting them back in one piece," he says. He takes another sip of his coffee before adding: "Optional mission objective."
"A sim trooper that can actually hit what he's aiming at?" Bullshit, Ohio. Bullshit. He's seen their records- hell he ran a few training sessions for recruits that ended up shuffled into the program and it's. Well.
They try.
By god do they try. It's ridiculous how much they try and don't make it but they try, bless their hearts.
Another slow sip of coffee, another easy breath as he props his elbows on the table, cheek resting against his hand. The old fidgeting's been hammered flat. Fidgeting makes noise. Noise means death. "I thought they were-"
You see Ohio- you wonder about the other two. "...I figured you had 'em for a reason. Didn't wanna leave them hanging."
"We're... working on that." Which is to say that Lane still can't be trusted with a grenade throw, but nobody's died. "We shoot things and scare people. It works if I do the heavy lifting and they don't talk."
Ohio, the cornerstone of the squad that had been him and Indiana and Alabama, eager and chatty and too much the class clown to ever be imposing. He's the one they have out here menacing scum and villainy. The busted face helps, probably.
He catches the little break where York has to pause and redirect that sentence. Ohio and the other two had always been inseparable, it's not a crazy thing to notice. It takes him a moment to decide whether or not to just take the out and pretend he didn't catch it. Maybe that would be easier.
But York may have been top ten, but he had treated them pretty well for someone high on the board. Maybe he really does give a shit.
It's better than any of the the other news he has, anyway.
"...They got out," he says, suddenly quiet. "Last I heard anything from them, they're safe."
He's glad, it's the best things could be. But there's still a pain in this worse than anything he endured today. He can keep it together, school his expression, but his eyes flick away from York at the last.
"...I'm in that weird bizarro universe where you're the badass and I'm the tragedy, aren't I?" It's a joke, a familiar one, an easy one without teeth or heat because...bumming around in his armor- that's pretty goddamn tragic, innit? He huffs a laugh at himself more than anything else and finishes his coffee, setting the mug down with a thick swallow.
Life's. Weird lately. But this is a good kinda weird. one he can get used to.
Especially if there are little gems like that to hold onto. That he's not alone. That there's coffee- and that he didn't fuck everyone over. Ohio offers that olive branch and he doesn't bother trying to hide his relief, shoulders slumping, head drooping into one hand. "Oh thank god."
they'd been good kids. People. Good people that wanted what they all wanted- to do something good. To help save humanity. And he'd never thought to spread the word.
"That's- that's good to hear, man." He's got no such news. The twins-
Yeah. He. Tries not to think about them. "I've got no tabs on anyone. Used to, but- yeah. Been drifting in the wind on my own for awhile."
Ohio makes a face at the joke, like a kid whose aunt just told him he's growing up to be so handsome. "Don't make me laugh, York," he says. "I don't do that anymore. Ruins the image."
...Which is carefully avoiding that York has called himself a tragedy. Given that he's lost Delta and (apparently) any of the luck that would've kept him off this boat, that's a joke that's probably not far off from truth.
Ohio is used to being a resident of fuckup town, but it's a little weird that York has come to visit dressed in full local flavor. York was one of the best of them, and that image of him still lives in Ohio's memory. Maybe they were all a mess in various ways and he can only see that now, but damn if it didn't seem like some of them had their shit together.
Then again, being better on the board hasn't seemed to matter anywhere else now that it's over.
"It's... usually worse circumstances than this when I run into anyone," he admits.
"Same." Though he's tried to not run into anyone until there was no one left to run into- or so he thought. Now there's suddenly Ohio and the other two off somewhere safe. Him here with two sim Troopers working for Control and...he should go. But he needs somewhere to stay just for a little longer.
Till he's gotten a chance to sleep properly. Till he's gotten something in him that's more than the barest dregs of a few cans he hadn't been able to sell. Till he's something close to human again. Then he'll...figure something out. Make his way like he's always managed to do. But this time it'll be alone and he's not sure how much longer he could possibly swing it. But for now it's only a few days. Maybe a week. Just till they get somewhere else.
Ohio's finished with his soup and his coffee. He gets up and takes his dishes with him. "Here's to the fucking good old days," he says as he dumps them in the sanitizer to worry about later.
He needs to go hassle the boys and be evidently alive at them. He can't hold back a weary exhale at the thought. That priority didn't go away just because someone came back from the dead.
"I need to go check my team. You need anything, ask Reti. Stay out of the hold and anywhere that'd make him nervous."
He's almost across the threshold when he realizes that maybe there's something else he should say, it's an impulse more than anything. He pauses, but doesn't turn.
"And York?" Ohio says, "Glad you're alive."
It's best to say something real as a parting shot without a backward glance. Too easy to dwell otherwise.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Might as well.
Slow- because an unarmed freelancer is never really unarmed and never, ever harmless, York reaches up to work the catches on his helmet.
"I'm alive. And I kinda need somewhere to crash for a little while. Just to rest up." Not for long.
no subject
Ohio opens his mouth, closes it, reverses the process with a hand, then finally manages: "Shit."
It's not just that York was dead, but also everything York was part of in his memory. Ohio is facing down more than one ghost right now, and he's still tired and his head still hurts and it all needs to fuck off for a little while.
But it won't.
He sighs, a hard and rattling sigh, and turns to put on some fucking coffee and continue his planned raid on the freezer. "Give me a minute," he says. The system needs to reboot. By the time he's heating up his... fuck, he's not figuring out what you'd call eating right now, he's started to formulate a response to this situation. He looks back at York.
"Why didn't Saunders shoot you?"
Because Lane not shooting is... well. He's too nice a kid for this job, honestly. Saunders has all the meanness Lane missed out on, and it makes him reliable for this kind of thing.
Ohio's volume is down, at least. What little fight he had is gone, his posture has sunk, and exhaustion has crept indelibly into form and features. York isn't the only one who's been worn by some hard years.
no subject
But without Delta...
It'd been worse. Not that he's gonna tip his hand here. Desperation doesn't look good on anyone.
With all the care in the world he sets his helmet on the table and sits up properly, eye following Ohio around the kitchen in case he changes his mind about the 'not killing him' thing. It could happen. He'd trusted Reggie and Maine for years, after all, and look what happened to him.
"I'm really charming and you dropping like a sack of bricks had him rattled. Also I bribed him." He gestures to the pile of 'contraband' he'd been carrying. Dried fruits, snack cakes, canned chocolate syrup; whatever he could get that he could sell offered up in the name of keeping one person from possibly dying out in the world. He couldn't save anyone else but- maybe he could save Ohio. And he's done the thing. Whoopty fucking do.
At least he's not getting yelled at anymore.
"...look if it's too weird I can go."
no subject
The timer beeps and Ohio hits the button a little harder than necessary.
"No."
He puts his food on the table (it's soup: make it from anything, hard to screw up, keeps frozen) and goes back to fill two chipped white coffee mugs, and puts one in front of York.
"This is one hell of a way to ask to couch camp," he says as he sinks into a chair and grabs a couple packets from a recess in the center of the table to deal with his coffee. He's still reeling, but doing his best to roll with it. York's serious about this, and there's no point making him repeat it when Ohio believes him.
"Someone after you?" he asks. First things first, liability check.
You're considering this, he chides himself. The smart thing here is definitely to turn York over to Command and let them deal with this. It might even get him some sorely needed favor. It's what he should do.
...But it's not what he wants to do. Ohio and York had never been close, but they'd never been enemies either. York's a direct link to a time when his head still worked right and he still felt like what he was doing with his life meant something. It's been a damn long time since he's seen anyone he knew then at all, much less anyone who wasn't hostile.
It's stupid and it's sentimental, a weakness to be sure, but if Ohio is honest with himself? He's not eager to throw someone back out of his life when he has a chance at...
Well. Talking to someone who knew him. Maybe even someone who might be a friend.
Fucking pathetic.
no subject
Delta's gone. The armor they fought so hard to keep is gone. All he has- all he had was the contraband he used to bribe his way onto the ship and the armor on his back. No civvies, not even an extra round of ammunition. Hell, the only gun he's got is his sidearm and it's worn to shit. He's not even sure if it fires but- it's a good prop.
Besides.
If he was gonna pull the trigger he'd only need to do it once.
Those thoughts are easy to shake off with the promise of coffee- he reaches out and curls his hands around the mug, inhaling steam like it's the goddamn mana of life. How long since he'd been somewhere with coffee? How long since he could afford to have any instead of keeping what he found to sell? "I just need somewhere to rest up."
Running constantly- it takes a toll. But he's got no right to anything more than a quiet question, too exhausted to even reach for hope. His smile is resigned more than anything- maybe he'll get to stay the night but the odds are he won't. He's trouble. Ohio, though while not entirely remarkable, was always pragmatic. He's smart enough to know to avoid top ten bullshit.
no subject
You and me both, he almost wants to say. He can fill in the gaps. Delta was recovered, after all, and it's not like anyone cared what happened to Ohio after Pi was pulled.
That doesn't mean Command wouldn't be very interested to know York is alive, or that they wouldn't have certain particular opinions about this fact, but...
Ohio rests his elbows on the table, leaning a little on long forearms, and sighs.
He can run cost-benefit of this into the small hours, but it doesn't matter. He already knows what he's doing here. York did him a good turn he never asked for and wouldn't have expected, and even did it at personal expense (to judge by that stack of contraband). Ohio doesn't have much left to stand on and call himself a "good person", he knows that about himself, but he doesn't have it in him to turn his back on this.
It's only fair, and a call to what little personal honor he has left is a lot easier to justify than a little loneliness.
"I do have the space," he says. "You might not have noticed, but Command hasn't exactly seen fit to give me a full crew."
He must be feeling a little better, he thinks he's hilarious again.
"Favor for a favor. You helped me out, you can crash on my ship until we find somewhere better than this shithole to drop you off."
And maybe that trip will sate some of Ohio's need to talk to someone who isn't Lane, Saunders, or the poor goddamn ship AI.
no subject
Trauma affects people deeply.
And everyone involved in the project? Was traumatized before they ever joined. Doubly so after if they were lucky enough to survive. Though that's about all York's managed in the past while. Surviving. It ain't living and it ain't much of anything other than hide, run, steal, rinse and repeat. Somewhere to rest where he probably won't get shot in his sleep?
Sounds good. He sips his coffee carefully, almost delicately, like he won't get another cup for a long ass time and- kind as Ohio is being? He's not sure that isn't the case.
"That'll work. Want me to get rid of your AI's blindspot? It was kinda quick and dirty so...far as he knows I don't exist. I'm the invisible man."
Complete erasure is easier than erase and replace, after all. Reworking what he's 'tagged' as will be a matter of finding a substitution. Foxtrot 12 will work well enough.
no subject
"Retiarius is pretty harmless. He's a distributed intelligence. Around thirty nodes. His real processing power has bigger fish to fry than me most of the time."
It's like having a time share on a smart AI, really.
"You can have berth five. I'd give you four, but we still haven't got the smell out."
...Wait, there's another step here.
"Reti, unlock berth five. Set it up to imprint the palm lock."
"Acknowledged."
"Thanks Reti, you're a peach."
no subject
Some of the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders goes loose as he codes in a more thorough fix- a swap and replace. His face swapped out with someone not wanted by the UNSC, his name and callsign changed to Foxtrot 12, John Smith. Keying it into Reti is, well. A matter of holographic flicking and fiddling. "And...done. Hi buddy."
no subject
He watches York tap into Reti's systems in silence, mostly because he's wolfing down his soup. Everything feels steady, now. The painkiller is working, and coffee may not be a great decision in the current circumstances, but he doesn't care.
Retiarius accepts York's tweaking without alarm.
"Hello, Mr. Smith," he says, voice all polite customer service.
Ohio arches one of his brows at York, just a note of really? Not going to go with Bob McNotfakename? But he doesn't say anything.
Well. Anything about Retiarius, anyway.
"The boys tell you what we do?" he asks. He needs at least some idea of what Lane and Saunders told York. That, and this is actually sort of a normal conversation. The tension in the room has dissipated now that they're square.
no subject
Just. Tries to play it off with a wink and a grin. Smith works. No one complains about Mr. Smith and he won't complain about being called something else. It's a slick bit of code that'll work no matter what these people call him or what they talk about. Easy. "Well..."
Another slow sip of coffee- god this is good- before he answers. "We run and shoot where they point was more or less what they said."
no subject
The "since" is pretty obvious, given their circumstances. Which reminds him of something else:
"It's everywhere still, York. Lane and Saunders were sim troopers."
He's not sure why he even wants to bring this up. Maybe it's just York being back, maybe that's waking up the tendency to gossip he'd thought died along with so many other things.
And maybe it's that while Ohio has had a team around him, he hasn't had anyone he feels like an equal with to talk to in a long time.
no subject
His hands don't shake but some of that earlier tension creeps back in around his eyes and jaw- he hides it in measured sips of his coffee. He's fine, they're fine.
No ghosts pointing fingers at him today.
"...Shit. I probably could've offered just the chocolate syrup and called it good." Sim troopers are...well. Remarkably resilient. "I'm kinda surprised they didn't shoot me on accident."
no subject
He can't afford to do this, not now, not with York here. Ohio shouldn't have even touched the topic, but it's also the thing they share. There is a horrible need to talk about it deep in Ohio's chest, currently tangled up with an equally horrible need to avoid thinking about the particulars.
At least talking about the troopers gets them further from the bone.
"They're... not the worst I've worked with," he says, diplomatically. "Saunders might've, but it wouldn't have been an accident. He's a little trigger happy. Lane prefers to look before he leaps, but tends to get stuck there."
A note of familiar exasperation has crept into Ohio's tone. It's not entirely unlike how he used to talk about Indiana. They're idiots. But they're his idiots.
"...Thanks for getting them back in one piece," he says. He takes another sip of his coffee before adding: "Optional mission objective."
no subject
They try.
By god do they try. It's ridiculous how much they try and don't make it but they try, bless their hearts.
Another slow sip of coffee, another easy breath as he props his elbows on the table, cheek resting against his hand. The old fidgeting's been hammered flat. Fidgeting makes noise. Noise means death. "I thought they were-"
You see Ohio- you wonder about the other two. "...I figured you had 'em for a reason. Didn't wanna leave them hanging."
no subject
Ohio, the cornerstone of the squad that had been him and Indiana and Alabama, eager and chatty and too much the class clown to ever be imposing. He's the one they have out here menacing scum and villainy. The busted face helps, probably.
He catches the little break where York has to pause and redirect that sentence. Ohio and the other two had always been inseparable, it's not a crazy thing to notice. It takes him a moment to decide whether or not to just take the out and pretend he didn't catch it. Maybe that would be easier.
But York may have been top ten, but he had treated them pretty well for someone high on the board. Maybe he really does give a shit.
It's better than any of the the other news he has, anyway.
"...They got out," he says, suddenly quiet. "Last I heard anything from them, they're safe."
He's glad, it's the best things could be. But there's still a pain in this worse than anything he endured today. He can keep it together, school his expression, but his eyes flick away from York at the last.
no subject
Life's. Weird lately. But this is a good kinda weird. one he can get used to.
Especially if there are little gems like that to hold onto. That he's not alone. That there's coffee- and that he didn't fuck everyone over. Ohio offers that olive branch and he doesn't bother trying to hide his relief, shoulders slumping, head drooping into one hand. "Oh thank god."
they'd been good kids. People. Good people that wanted what they all wanted- to do something good. To help save humanity. And he'd never thought to spread the word.
"That's- that's good to hear, man." He's got no such news. The twins-
Yeah. He. Tries not to think about them. "I've got no tabs on anyone. Used to, but- yeah. Been drifting in the wind on my own for awhile."
no subject
...Which is carefully avoiding that York has called himself a tragedy. Given that he's lost Delta and (apparently) any of the luck that would've kept him off this boat, that's a joke that's probably not far off from truth.
Ohio is used to being a resident of fuckup town, but it's a little weird that York has come to visit dressed in full local flavor. York was one of the best of them, and that image of him still lives in Ohio's memory. Maybe they were all a mess in various ways and he can only see that now, but damn if it didn't seem like some of them had their shit together.
Then again, being better on the board hasn't seemed to matter anywhere else now that it's over.
"It's... usually worse circumstances than this when I run into anyone," he admits.
no subject
Till he's gotten a chance to sleep properly. Till he's gotten something in him that's more than the barest dregs of a few cans he hadn't been able to sell. Till he's something close to human again. Then he'll...figure something out. Make his way like he's always managed to do. But this time it'll be alone and he's not sure how much longer he could possibly swing it. But for now it's only a few days. Maybe a week. Just till they get somewhere else.
no subject
He needs to go hassle the boys and be evidently alive at them. He can't hold back a weary exhale at the thought. That priority didn't go away just because someone came back from the dead.
"I need to go check my team. You need anything, ask Reti. Stay out of the hold and anywhere that'd make him nervous."
He's almost across the threshold when he realizes that maybe there's something else he should say, it's an impulse more than anything. He pauses, but doesn't turn.
"And York?" Ohio says, "Glad you're alive."
It's best to say something real as a parting shot without a backward glance. Too easy to dwell otherwise.
no subject
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.