A/N from A.C.: B'aw~ This fic is almost over... Epical sadface.
"Come in, Command." Eliza had grabbed her headset out of her helmet and spoke loudly into it, York watching from beside the tub."Command, this is Medical Officer Murdock, come in."
"Command to Murdock." Came the operator-like feminine reply, "What can we help you with?"
"Could you please connect to red team files, location: Sandtrap outpost 19b."
"On it..." The response was stalled by a few clicks of a keyboard."Okay, Sandtrap, 19b. What information do you need?"
"Can you check a private Smith and tell me what blood type he has?"
"Can do, Smith..." The name was drawn out as a few clicks of the keyboard were heard for a few minutes. "Okay, Smith has type A negative. Is that all?"
"No..." Eliza replied with a heavy sigh. "Do any of the soldiers at 19b have type O positive?"
"Er, yes, Privates Morgan and AJ." Came the dull reply.
"Okay, thanks Command."
"Anytime, Murdock. Command, out."
"Murdock, out." She clicked the headset off and put it back with her helmet.
York got up from where he sat and walked to the medic. He lightly put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to turn around. York looked into her eyes and sighed. "He doesn't have Wash's blood type does he?"
She looked up sadly from the floor and stopped playing with the headset's cord. "No, sorry. There are only two people here with Wash's blood type."
"Then let's go get them to help!" York shouted, walking to the bathroom door. He turned to look back at Eliza, who didn't move from the spot York left her at. "Are you coming?"
"York," She started, walking a little towards him. "I don't know if these guys'll just let us take their blood... Don't be surprised if they don't let us."
"I know... I'm just... I want to help Wash."
"I just want to help you..." York sighed, turning to the man sitting on the couch in the freelancer base's rec room. Wash's arm was stuck in a sling, he had fractured it after he was pushed from a moving warthog on a mission to recover Theta.
Wash laughed, and looked to York,"You are, you're taking care of me. That's all I could have asked for."
"Well, call for Smith and ask for one of them."
"Alright." York walked out of the bathroom, then out of the spare room and shouted for Smith. "Smith! Bring Private Morgan to the spare room!"
He heard the familiar voice of the red call back an affirmative answer and silently prayed that Morgan would have the right blood type.
"Yes, sir?" A tall regulation red private stood at attention in the doorway a few minutes later. His helmet was tucked under his right arm; he reached to his head and ruffled his long dark brown hair. His bright green eyes were bright in the dim light of the room, and they complimented his tan complexion quite nicely in the freelancer's opinion.
"Private Morgan, correct?" York asked, taking a step towards the soldier.
"Yes," He replied, noting the serious look on York's face. "Why?"
"Why tell you when I can show you?" He smirked. "Follow me." York started walking towards the bathroom door, he gently pushed it open and held it open for Morgan.
The private glanced around the room, eyes landing heavily on Eliza. She was crouched next to the tub, checking Wash's bandages. Morgan saw the tub, bottom covered in a thin layer of blood. The recovery agent was lying on the bloody bottom, arms propped up on the sides, and head lolled to the side, resting on his shoulder.
York calmly walked over to Wash and lifted something that was lying on his chest, and pulled it over his head. He turned on his heel and walked slowly back to Morgan, playing with the metal chain that he had taken from Wash. He took a last look at the chain he held and handed it to the red.
"These are Agent Washington's dog tags." York sighed, watching Morgan finger the chain. "He was injured by a wound to the skull, now has very little blood. Definitely not enough to survive. I'd show you the injury, but you'd probably vomit... plus, it's covered."
"Who... or what... attacked 'im?"
"We don't know, that's kinda why we called you."
"But... What can I do to help?" Morgan said, looking to Wash then to York. "I'm just a private..."
"Yes. But you have Wash's blood type..." York said softly."He needs a blood transfer or he'll die... But," He quickly added, "If you don't wanna help, I understand."
York turned from the private, hanging his head and looking to the floor, he walked over to Eliza. The freelancer put a hand on her shoulder and looked to Wash.
"How's he doin'?"
"Could be better," She laughed lightly, she looked to Morgan who was standing in the spot York left him in, still fingering the dog tags. Eliza lowered he voice to a whisper, "But, I don't know if he'll make it much longer without a transfer."
"Great..." York sighed, eyeing Wash's breathing. He saw the chest rise and fall, but suddenly his breathing hitched, and stopped for a few seconds before starting in it's slow pace once again.
York whipped around quickly to face Morgan. "Are you going to help us, or what?"
The regulation red private looked into the hazel eyes of York, then turned his head to look at Wash's slow rising chest. He numbly fiddled with the dog tags in is hand as he looked to York again.
"Okay..." Morgan spoke in barely a whisper.
"Y- You'll do it?" York could hardly contain his excitement, "Really?"
"Yeah, I'll help." Morgan's eyes traveled to Wash's body once more as the rising of his chest hitched again.
"Eliza! Get ready, he said he'll donate the blood!"
"Okay, York." She laughed lightly, "We'll get started soon. I just need to get everything ready."
York slid down the wall behind him. He brought his knees to his chest and his arms propped up on his knees. He rested his head lightly on his folded arms. York felt his heavy lidded eyes close lightly, and let sleep take him. He saw things worse than memories; dreams. Dreams of Wash and himself... together... laughing, crying, loving each other, and more. To York the dreams were more realistic and powerful than memories. He would be asleep for a while too, he hadn't slept since the night before he got Wash's recovery beacon.
Wash had gotten into a fight, again... He was getting sick of people degrading York and himself. Tenn had pushed Wash too far this time and Wash's sanity snapped like a brittle twig. York had been ordered by the Recovery Agent, not to intervene and to stay on the dorm's cot.
Wash was pressed into the dorm room's wall, struggling to get away, clawing fiercely at the arm pressed hard into his throat. The Recovery Agent was gasping for air and York was leaning forward at the tense moment, fists in the bed sheets, willing himself not to jump up and tackle Tenn... it was Wash's fight.
Tenn backed away, dropping Wash to the ground. Wash got on his knees and his left hand. His head was down and his right hand was rubbing at his throat. His eyes shifted up, not daring to lift his head. Wash glared at the cocky look on Tenn's face. Tenn turned to take slow, threatening steps toward York. York had nowhere to run, he shifted back on the bed until his back hit the wall.
Wash took this opportunity to catch his breath and leap onto Tenn's back, forcing him to the ground. The shocked freelancer was forced to turn onto his back and Wash brought his face close to Tenn's.
"Never turn your back on an enemy." Wash hissed breathlessly to Tenn. "And NEVER threaten York!"
York shifted in his spot. Eliza had let him sleep as she took Morgan's blood. The red was quietly hissing in pain as the medic pushed a needle into his skin.
Wash was panting hard as he took a fistful of York hair and forced them into a bruising kiss. The smaller agent smiled into the rough kiss, he broke it after a few long seconds to lick down Wash's neck, sucking and biting on the warm skin under his lips. Wash tilted his head, allowing for more room. York gave another small grin and started biting once more, causing a light, throaty moan from Wash.
The freelancer shifted in his spot on the floor once again, smiling softly as a faint blush grew on his cheeks.