Funny story, so I hardcore OT3 NorthxYorkxCarolina for the simple reason that it started out as a joke I told some friends because GET IT their initials make NYC. And it devolved. Hardcore devolved from there. To the point that I made myself a modern-esque domestic-ish AU for it. Like, what has happened to me, I blame the entirety of the RvB fandom for being just too much fun.
Red vs Blue and related characters © Rooster Teeth
story © RenaRoo
New Jazz Age
Chapter One: War's Over, Kid
Carolina doesn't write down her thoughts, but she still thinks on them like she did when she thought they were an artifact worth recording.
When she boards the monorail and first hears the soft tunes of jazz in the background of every room, she has an instinct to put down her every thought on the discovery.
She likes jazz, but she finds the circumstances surrounding herself and the long bored background music more interesting than her preferences.
Jazz was born from an age of ended war and the existential crisis that broke down every rule people thought they knew before it. And those who found revitalization in the way jazz tore to pieces the established music scene often felt like the rules of what was before war should not bind those who survived after it.
Which is why, over a century past that revolutionary history, Carolina clutches to her OD green backpack's traps and finds herself whole heartedly endorsing the sentiment.
The rules she once thought she knew are no longer rules she can adhere to nor enjoy. And the jazz on the train is perhaps the first music she's heard since she got back to the country that's made her feel anything at all.
Other than appreciate the background noise, she looks out through the window of her cart.
She doesn't mingle with her fellow passengers, does not remove her fifty pound backpack, does not touch the phone still burning a hole into the pocket of her cargo jeans.
She doesn't wonder if she's doing the right thing.
Carolina just thinks about what tortures she'll inflict upon the two knuckleheads who invited her out to the middle of nowhere if this happens to be an elaborate hoax.
The anxiety she still feels at that real possibility - that they're just fucking with her and there isn't anyone waiting on the other end of her ride - is enough to make her tighten her fist until her nails are scratching through the thick callouses of her palms.
She doesn't think about what it will mean when she walks off the train and finds them there, waiting, as promised. She doesn't think about how it will mean breaking more rules, about how there will be territory untraveled before her then.
Carolina can process the anger and disappointment and humiliation if she's wrong about them. But she can't begin to fathom the next step if she's right.
So when the train pulls into the station and unloading begins, Carolina prepares herself for very many things. But none of them are the two men immediately outside looking eagerly at the exiting passengers, with a hand crafted sign in crayon on cardboard with BOSS written on it.
Her fingers curl around her backpack straps as she stares through the window. She hardly knows what to make of either of them.
York's tan has slightly diminished and his face made sharper by the hollowed out way his cheeks look. He's completely ditched the eye patch but the skin around it is puckered, still a little red and angry. His clothes are faded and worn. The leather of his jacket cracked and fraying.
But he's wearing a brilliant smile, and the moment his good eye sets on her he begins waving enthusiastically at the sign as if to show it off.
North is tall, stiff, and bundled up in more presentable wardrobe, but it's offset by the fact the black messenger bag at his side is covered in tacky rainbow and pink stickers from some cartoon Carolina is sure she missed while she was gone. North's appearance has not changed so much as York's, however, there's a tiredness to his eyes that keeps what small smile he is wearing from quite meeting them.
Rather than draw further attention to the sign once they have Carolina's attention, North has the good sense to simply wave back at her.
Carolina breathes steadily and forces herself to move forward despite the fact that she still can't believe all of this - or rather that any of this - is remotely real.
As she approached them, York dropped the sign enough to animatedly elbow North's rib cage. All it gets him is a casual glance from the taller man.
"See, now don't you feel dumb? I told you she was going to get off that train," York says with a sharp toothed grin. "Now you're going to owe me money."
Carolina stops a few feet short of them, an all new anxiety for the scenario stirring up in her head.
North meets her gaze evenly and almost seems to nod to something they have not agreed upon yet before he turns and ribs York right back. "Priorities," he reminds the one eyed soldier.
"Of course!" York says back cheerfully before breaking away from North's side and pulling Carolina into a tight hug.
She stiffens, every muscle prepared for something she can't quite decide on. Carolina feels her mouth grow dry and her knees lock awkwardly. But even so, she can't stop a smile from cracking as she realizes the cardboard sign is beating agains her back.
Smoothly, she manages to slide the sign from York's hand to hers as she breaks the embrace. She inspects it with a scrutinizing gaze.
"If you're going through the trouble of this gag, couldn't you have spent some more time on the sign?" she asks before letting York take the sign back.
When York looks back at her it's almost like he's offended. "Gag? What gag?"
North is more receptive to her brand of humor and offers a lazy smile and shrug. "York lacks commitment to such things," he jokes back.
Which really sets York off as he shoves his hands harshly into his jacket pockets and lets the cardboard drop to the ground. "Pfft! I don't even know what planet you guys are living on. I'm like the proprietor of commitment!"
Smirking, North drops to one knee and picks up the cardboard. He starts folding it as he stands back up. "Proprietor," he repeats. "That's a big word. I should suggest it for a bonus on the next spelling test."
"Just make sure they actually know what it means," Carolina joked.
Ignoring their joint musings, York waggles a finger at them both. "Not to mention, assholes, just who suggested this plan to begin with?"
Humming, North tucks the cardboard into his messenger bag and looks curiously toward Carolina.
She takes a calculated breath as both men's eyes fall directly on her.
"So," she begins, swinging her hands together. "This is actually happening. We're doing this?"
York doesn't have a hesitant bone in his body as he looks back at her and beams. "Yeah, of course we are."
North remains far more pragmatic as he looks back at Carolina. "If this is still something you want," he replies gently.
Carolina stays quiet for a moment, truly contemplates it all, before drawing a breath and nodding.
She does not miss the way both of the men relax in relief.
"Where's the car?" she asks.
North's car leaves something to be desired and he seems to be at least partially aware of the fact as he mentions without prompting that York has a newer car that Carolina can use as she likes parked at the house they're renting.
"Doesn't York need it?" she asks curiously.
There's an uncomfortable shift between the two and North gives York a somewhat annoyed look before answering for him. "He let his license expire on tour and would have to take his driver's test again to get a new one in a different state."
Carolina blinks. "You're kidding." She waits a beat then glances more directly to York. "York."
"Oh, you two need to stop," York retorts, waving his hand. "I barely drove anywhere before I enlisted anyway. I love walking!"
"You also could take a bus in the rain back then because you lived in New York City," North points out accurately.
York's face scrunches together as he looks back at them both. "So?"
Still amused with York's stubbornness months out, Carolina nods toward the window. "York, we've been in the car for five minutes and I haven't seen a sidewalk."
"I like nature," he argues.
"Again: New York City," North replies curtly.
"What is this? Dump on York day? Unbelievable."
There's a good air in the car as they pull into a small neighborhood and navigate a series of streets which require a lot of concentration to memorize on their way through. Carolina wishes she were more surprised as they turn onto Foxtrot Drive.
"You chose a house because it was on a street with your old codename? Really?"
"I did not," he defends with a sniff.
"Is it house number twelve?" she teases more.
York deflates some and sighs. "No, it was already rented out."
North looks to the rearview mirror to catch Carolina's eyes. "Remember what I sat at the station about lacking commitment to jokes?"
Whatever protests York carries to the sentiment dies in a single frustrated grunt as North pulls them into the driveway of a two floor house, parking alongside the very car Carolina has been promised.
Again, the minimalist approach Carolina has been taking with her expectations proves to be woefully inaccurate.
It's not the largest or grandest home she's seen, yet somewhere in the expectations she had for a house she forgot to dream of a yard or a porch, a smattering of shrubberies or windows with shutters. The sort of details that took such an abstract idea, some unaccomplished dream, and makes it more real than weeks of preparation and anxiety could have prepared Carolina for.
And if all of North and York's messages to her continue to hold true, then there is a line on the lease ready to make at least part of it her own.
Her reaction times are still slow, ridiculously so, and she watches North and York step out of the car before it registers that she should do the same. She moves twice as as fast to get to the trunk at the same time as York.
It pops open and they have a silent stare off before Carolina sees North snickering and heading to the door with his bag and hers.
"You weasels," she says before York loops his arms in hers and begins marching them toward the door.
"We're just making your grand tour the full experience," York replies, commentary well prepared as always.
The house continues to surprise in the most inane of ways. It has a short foyer with empty picture frames - FILL SOON written in sharpie on sticky notes hanging from them. There are stairs to the right, a skinny door behind them, and a wrap around series of rooms starting on the left leading into a living room, then a small dining room, and a kitchen in the back.
Boxes far out numbered furniture and appliances at this point.
"Don't worry, I'm sure we can fill this place with junk soon enough," York promises sincerely as he leads Carolina toward the stairs with the enthusiasm of a boy on christmas morning.
"Is that really something we want?" she asks as she follows.
Slower behind them, North climbs the stairs and gives a, "That's what I asked."
"Well aren't you two just a match made in heaven," York grumbles in response. His tune reverts, however, the moment they're setting foot on the second floor landing. He waves his free arm across the hall like a good showman. "And the living quarters. North figured no matter what silliness we decide to tangle up as-"
"Phrasing, York," North warns as he passes them with Carolina's bag and heads to the last door.
"-we could still use our own spaces," York continues without missing a beat. "That one's North's. That one's mine. That's a full bath. And then this is yours."
They enter the bedroom as North gently lays Carolina's bag on the bed.
Carolina blinks and lets go of York's arm, walking further into the room that's supposedly hers. She scans the room - the closet, the full length mirror, the crown molding. And then she turns back to the two of them.
North and York are still waiting on baited breath for a full reaction. Carolina's been told before she's bad for reading such responses from.
"You gave me the master?" she asks.
"You're still the Boss," York jokes. "Troop assignment or no troop assignment."
She waves to her bag. "That is literally everything I own and you gave me the most space."
North shrugs. "So you're a little light on the baggage. Considering how much York and I are carrying, that's a bit of a plus."
Carolina honest to god laughs. "I never claimed to not have baggage. I'm sure we'll unpack that when we least expect it." She looks at them a little more seriously. "This is all... you two are so..." She collects herself. "I am ready to make this a home already. Thank you."
North returns a rather sad smile. "Soldiers coming home... Might require a little more relearning in the department of trying to be human first," he replies.
Taking a breath, Carolina steps over to them and gently locks her fingers into each of their hands. "Yes, well, I think we have the perfect company for doing that step with." She pulls them both to her, yanking North an extra tug to bring him down to where she can reach. "Thank you," she says sincerely before pressing kisses to the corners of their mouths as she wrapped her arms around their necks.
Still held by the hug, York chips in, "I think putting a dog in that already fenced backyard would do wonders for the whole homeliness and humanness factors, personally."
"No," Carolina and North echo together without breaking the embrace.
The room gets larger at night, when York and North are gone and there's the bare walls and the white sheets alone to keep her company. She still hasn't taken the essentials out of her backpack, York and North apparently determined to take her to the mall tomorrow to fix the pitiful state that is her wardrobe.
The conversation from dinner hours ago still rings clearly I can't believe you have no clothes.
And Carolina stands by the statement. She doesn't have clothes, not since the moment she was discharged and she took her military issueds and bought an extra shirt with that month's allowance at the first touristy venue she saw.
Breathing in the solitude, sitting atop her bed in her room in her new house, she feels a strange sensation.
Like things are actually new.
Which is probably why pulling out her laptop and giving herself a reality check was not the best idea for her.
There's an ache in her knees still as she reads about the end of the war, about the treaties and the end of an era and peace but not the kind of peace that soldiers give their lives for. There's still ringing in her ears from gunfire now that there's no other bodies around to fill her space, and the headline of PEACE does not diminish that.
Nothing really diminishes that. That loss of a human being - that loss of who she once was and who she once dreamed to be.
So she moves on from the news, feeling like the freshness and newness of living a new life with old friends peeled off with the tact of an old bandaid.
She looks at the interviews and appointments lined up for her in the town, compares her prospects, checks the email she had been avoiding with all her might for the last several weeks, tries to fill her phone with the contacts listed for job interviews.
Carolina tries to remember basic human things for a moment when thumbing through her phone - very structured LAST NAME, FIRST NAME - and comes across a short area that is exactly the opposite of that.
Three names are listed on her name in A, E, and T of her contacts, very inappropriately with FIRST NAME the only slot filled in. The names she hasn't breathed a word of in so many years it's nearly criminal.
She stares at them for a moment too long, then remembers herself, remembers why she can never say those names out loud again. That they don't belong to her after she has long since forfeited that right.
And after that reminder, she simply deletes them.
The war took many things from her, but she thinks it especially took the right to call herself a sister.