Wash and CT were getting married.
It was adorable, really. They had gone from awkwardly avoiding each other to madly in love within three months, and madly in love to happily engaged within eight days. That was a land speed record or something, and York couldn't be happier for them.
They were cute together, and there wasn't enough cute on the ship (Well there was Carolina, but York liked his chances there about as much as he did with a rabid lion. Love sucked sometimes) but also it made them happy and somebody deserved to be happy on this damn boat, and late night viewings of that old show 'Firefly' with Wyoming and talking about engine misfires with 479er was never enough for him.
Maybe dinner with Carolina would help.
She was set to be the Maid of Honor at the big ceremony tomorrow, and he wanted to make absolutely sure she didn't want him to wear the dress instead and listen to her explain why it was good for team morale for her to do this herself and watch her cheeks glow red when he mentioned how cute she looked in it. She was waiting at their usual table in the Mess Hall, looking over infiltration tactics and prototypes that may be ready for field testing (something about AI's, York couldn't understand much else past that) with her burning red hair in a cute pony-tail that displayed her slender neck perfectly. As if to balance it off, South was sat three tables down, clasping a bottle of Vodka she had stolen from North like it was filled with the urine of god almighty. Hallelujah, smell that divine piss.
"Heyyyy Yyyyyork" she wailed, strangely gleeful. Strange was the wrong word, South being happy usually meant an agent she didn't like (which was everyone) was in the infirmary. York made a mental note to check the roster later to see who the unlucky bastard was.
"Hey South. What's with the good mood?"
"Can I ask you a question?" she asked, completely ignoring him and rubbing her body against York's. Drunk-Happy South was a lot more friendly then Sober-Angry South.
"Why isn't Wash marrying me?"
Shit.
The wedding went off without a hitch.
Carolina looked absolutely breathtaking in her dress almost matched by CT's white technically smuggled aboard dress.
Wash looked like a kid at prom in the Tuxedo he borrowed off of North, and Maine's best man 'speech' was entertaining.
Why isn't Wash marrying me?
Most of the ship had arrived to watch the ceremony. Wyoming had enough bootleg alcohol piled away to make for an open bar after North and York had promised to knock his teeth out if he didn't agree to it. They were good friends when it counted. A couple of engineers from below deck formed a makeshift wedding band, and the cleared out center of the training room made a convenient dance floor for the happy couple.
South, I had no idea
The Director never showed, god knew how Carolina persuaded him into allowing this in the first place.
Yes you did. Everyone did. Fucking Maine probably knows and he never even talks to anyone!
South spent the entire ceremony sat at the front where everyone could see her, daring people to make a comment. She was wearing her 'Fuck you for being happy' smile, which went great with the rose colored dress which North made her wear and the black 'fuck-me' shoes she wore to spite North. She had replaced the bottle of vodka from three nights ago with a big bottle of Scotch, and at this point York could probably get mildly drunk off of her breath.
"How are you holding up?" he pried, wondering if he would be tempting death. She looked at him without reaching for any near by potential weapons, and let her smile drop a bit.
I can't take this bullshit anymore
"I'm holding up" she lies, watching as North and 479er (he had to find out her real name sometime. Her bland, clinical call-sign was getting boring) slow danced next to Wash and CT.
Why do you care anyway? You and the fucking princess have already got your fucking happy ending in the works. Leave me the fuck alone.
"Why aren't you with her?"
South asked, pointing at their Red headed leader from across the crowded ballroom. York was starting to wonder who was actually flying the ship while everyone was down here.
"Why would I be?"
"You've been on top of each other for months now York. Just bite the fucking bullet." He wanted to hit back, ask her why she never did the same with Wash. The pained look in her eye was enough to stop him.
"Maybe later. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to get very drunk, and then fuck Maine." she replied, completely matter-of-factly, and swallowed the rest of her drink. York remembered something from his high school history lessons, how female death row inmates in the French Revolution would have sex with anybody who climb on top. Anything for that last fuck. South didn't seem french.
"Okay. I'll tell him to get a condom ready. Are you going to be okay?" he already knows he's going to get her middle finger in return, and she gives it to him without prompt.
"Okay, I'll go see Carolina now." he mutters, and headed over to his flame haired friend.
"South, are you okay?" Connie asks with a soft tone. She was oblivious. Bitch.
Why isn't Wash marrying me?
"I'm fine" she mutters, and pours another shot of scotch down her suffering throat.