So this took a bit longer to write because I started basing a lot of things off my hometown which made me stop and revise a few things. Also because getting into Sad!York's head is a bit more taxing on me than I first realized! But never fear for those concerned about York, we've got a long way to go and what I believe to be a good journey ahead : )
Special thanks to the support of freshzombiewriter, fasterthxnyou, the-unintelligent-hologram, analiarvb, secretlystephaniebrown, sroloc–elbisivni, nogoawayok, ephemeralelysium, staininspace, and Yin from ffnet, AO3 and tumblr!
New Jazz Age
Chapter Two: The Guy Who Walks
The best part of his morning is the few minutes it takes for him to remember where he is.
He likes the early morning puzzle of untangling from sheets or limbs, groping around for some surprise next to him in bed.
Some mornings it's a scratchy "York" that gets him back with a light elbow or foot aimed his way. Some mornings it's a heavy sigh and a shove back to his side.
The best mornings he manages both.
This morning he's grabbing at wrinkled sheets and a still warm pillow. And that's the biggest wakeup call of all.
He sits up straight and peers around the room and –
Definitely Carolina's. Which is twice as odd since she sleeps like a log and has no problem with stomping around in her morning routine even if there's anyone else around.
He makes a fast grab for the worn jeans he left on the floor and is already halfway down the stairs before he hears his partners' voices from the kitchen.
"Has he talked to you about it yet?" Carolina's curt tone cuts through the air like a knife.
"You know he can't make it that easy. It's against his genetic makeup," North replies. York isn't surprised in the least to see a coffee mug at North's lips as he rounds the corner. "He's cagey about personal issues. Let him bring it up."
York curls his nose at the topic being beaten around the bush and decides to interrupt with a casual, "Hey. I gotta work in, like, forty minutes. I can't get a wakeup call?" When that gets the other two veterans' attention, York gestures toward the door. "It's like a thirty-five minute walk, so… now I gotta get booking."
There's a look shared between North and Carolina that York doesn't like at all. It only ends when North raises his cup and begins sipping, leaving Carolina to take the charge.
Carolina's face reads of pure frustration before she shakes her head and looks at York.
"Actually, you didn't sleep so well last night so I thought you could get some extra rest and then I'd drop you off at work," Carolina explains as if there isn't a twitch in her cheek from how much she's forcing her smile.
Frowning, York puts his hands on his hips. "I sleep just fine."
"Do you?" North asks, pulling up a pad of paper from the stuff he has sprawled out over the counter.
"I'm adjusting," York replies. He glances to the clock and grunts before moving back to the stairs. "Oh, forget it. I'm going to be late. Where'd I leave my shirt?"
"My room," North answers while Carolina lets out a choked off growl, as if she'sso put off by York.
He pauses halfway on the stairs, thinks intently on just what the night before was like, before deciding he doesn't really care and continuing on his way.
The fact that North is accurate and his shirt is somehow in North's bedroom isn't even a blip on York's radar. After all, it's not like his things are ever in his own room.
He skips some of the otherwise essentials of getting ready, grabs a jacket, and is on his way out with an affirmative slam of the door on his way out just for emphasis. Which he's sure Carolina loves.
But, honestly, it's just rude that they didn't get him up at all.
The walk is wet, and it takes a good minute or two of scratching the soles of his shoes against the rug at the furniture store's entrance before there's nothing for York to track in. And even then he can tell by the manager's face that dingy blue jeans and the collared shirt from yesterday aren't the most impressive things an employee has worn.
Still, it doesn't stop York from doing his best to shine that kilowatt smile at the guy who keeps an eye on his clock and carry on toward the back office. "Morning, Bob."
"Robert," the manager corrects without hesitation. "You're–"
"Two minutes late, sorry, my alarm's screwy," York answers and moves on toward the back.
"And you don't have your name tag–"
"It's in my locker!" York assures him as he continues on.
The store isn't much. It's a dying company, really, one of the few independents left that can only really exist in small towns like theirs, and yet can't survive without servicing a larger area. Which makes convincing people to buy furniture and appliances that they don't really need all that much an art form they're very interested in.
And York has been told several times that despite himself he's really rather charming.
Which makes him a perfect fit for a miserable job.
That kilowatt smile is already down to barely a gleam by the time he reaches the employee lounge and has come across the lockers. He stares at them. Neatly padlocked down the whole line. Save one, of course. His.
There's a fond memory of Basic – if really any memory of Basic can be considered fond – where he and Delta pranked their entire squad by picking the padlocks.
Or. Rather, York picked the locks while his reluctant partner in crime was forced to stand lookout.
It was harmless. Switching out the contents of every locker with the others and watching the confusion grow among their brothers in arms until it all came to light.
Delta even cracked a smile at that.
York grabs his name tag and considers hard just what he planned to do next. There was all of no customers when he came in. And, really, they rarely expected people before ten anyway.
He stares, goes back out. Stares again.
The manager isn't even looking his way, playing something on the front desk's computer that's probably not work appropriate. Which is fine by York.
There's only so many times that he can test out the display drawers and see where all the weak screws are that customers will complain about later before he's back in the lounge, scuffing his shoes on the tile and feeling like he's about to explode.
He never did get any relief for the whole bullshit of the morning.
Which makes him reach to pull his phone out a few dozen times to see if either North or Carolina have tried to get a hold of him since he left.
That, of course, makes him realize he left his phone.
When North first started taking night classes in the area and York half-heartedly began his job search, the two of them had thought it was just breezy that York could get a job based off talking people into things. A sales associate was a near perfect fit for all the attributes York was best known for in their little group.
But the aggravation of waiting. It's a daily suffering York goes through.
His fingers itch for something to do as he waits around stewing about the rest of his morning. Which somehow lands him back in the employee lounge.
Really, York feels like he's not even really doing it himself. It's all muscle memory after he grabs a paperclip from the desk.
Lockpicking is one of those things he just always has had a knack for, and in the army it was something of a novelty and parlor trick that his CO helped turn into something of a specialty. And like any task one does with their hands, a certain euphoria sets in after success is reached.
One that, unfortunately, carries some aspect of diminishing return.
It is just one padlock. Bob's. Just to mess with him a bit, make the manager think either he forgot to lock up his lunch or that someone is messing with him. He's done it a few times before, just to see the manager's reaction come noon.
But as it swings on the locker door, hanging free and open, York exhales hotly from his nose and waits for some sense of accomplishment.
Nothing.
He has nothing against Pam, but her lock gets popped next. And while the act makes him something of an asshole, it carries a bit more satisfaction than Bob's lock did.
It feels like he's only blinked when it's the whole line.
It's nearly eleven thirty and the bell hasn't rang for a customer even once.
York puts his forehead to rest against one of the columns near the center of the store and wonders how the hell he got to this point. He thinks maybe he should jump on some of the beds in the kid's section – just to make sure they're ready for actual children, of course – when he hears the jingle of keys that is a signature of Bob's hurried waddle.
"What the hell happened in the lounge?" the manager demands. "Did you do that?"
Blinking, York thinks a few times about what he did beside pop the locks off the lockers. As far as he remembers nothing. "The locks?" he asks, forehead still on the column.
"Yes, Sean, the locks on the employee lockers!" Bob snaps back.
"Ugh, I hate when people call me Sean," York sighs, finally straightening up. "Yes, I did the locks. I use to be a locksmith," he replies. "It's something to do when I'm bored–"
"Mess with employee property? That's just something to do when you're bored?" Bob demands, his face is growing red and blotchy.
York blinks before crossing his arms. "Look, not everyone plays Starcraftexpansions at work, Bob."
"That is not an invasion of your fellow employees' personal property!" the man explodes, and York thinks there's going to be calamity on this road if he keeps going but…
Well, it's the most interesting thing that's happened at work in four weeks.
"Do you even want to work here?" Bob growls like it's a threat.
"Not really, no," York replies without a second thought.
He clears out his own locker before noon.
For some reason, the walk back home isn't nearly as terrible as the half-jog it took for him to get to the furniture store to begin with.
It's still dreary and wet from the past night's rain, sure, but York isn't bursting through the doors of employment this time around. Just the numb, listless insecurity of joblessness.
In some ways it's as terrible as the day he was released from the veteran's hospital with a firm salute and a kick to the ass.
Where to go from here?
He pauses at a few street corners and thinks how he hasn't walked down them before, really explored the ins and outs of the sparse town.
If there's one truth to the continuous joking from Carolina and North it's that the little town from the middle of nowhere is nothing like New York. At least not in scope. There's not a single towering skyscraper, no alleys littered with the smell of desperation and claustrophobia.
For a town so small, every space is so big. And York thinks that it's just about a crime that the tallest building is a bank with the audacity to have a fourth floor.
There's no time like the present so he turns and investigates for himself.
For a town with absolutely nothing, York finds that it has a genuine interest in filling itself with useless novelties as far as shopping is concerned. There's at least two antique store, a pharmacy with a 50s diner malt counter that hasn't changed the stool seats since said decade, an arcade that is shamefully closed, and no less than twelve churches between First Street and Sixth.
He sits by the fountain in the city square for half an hour before it begins to rain again. which just about sums his luck up lately.
The walk home is a little fresher from a different angle. And though it's no surprise that he's the only one strolling in at two in the afternoon, he allows himself a little disappointment at the discovery all the same.
His pockets are a little fuller than when he left, now filled with the few bearing his locker at work contained. So he spills them out haphazardly on the counter tops in the kitchen.
Scratching his head, York looks toward the barren planned-dining room.
"Maybe I should have used the discount on a table before quitting," he muses out loud.
And that spoken out loud, for the first time, really lets it sink in what's bound to happen.
Not so much that he's bound to be jobless for an unknown period of time. Not that he's uncertain of what this means for himself and his viability to be a good fit for future employment.
But he's going to have to tell Carolina and North tonight and that is going to be rather sucky.
He groans and rubs his face a few times before remembering to get his phone.
York sends out a simple enough group message to his partners:
YRK: Ill grab dinner k?
The good thing about both of them working today is that he doesn't need to wait on a reply to know neither of them wants to deal with making dinner themselves.
Which gives him the proper excuse to run out to the store and not stay in the smothering house by himself any longer than he has to. Else he might just crawl onto the couch and not wake up until Carolina or North try to get him up for a job he doesn't have anymore tomorrow.
The grocery store is part of a chain that York never heard of before the move.
North knew about it, but from what York can tell both North and Carolina are familiar with living disconnected from the present and the rest of the world in general.
York, meanwhile, is still just marveling there's a single aisle labeled International Foods and it basically lacks anything of true substance.
He stands looking at the crowded shelf shared by 'Asian' and 'Mexican" and almost wonders out loud about whether anyone on the staff realizes how hilariously wrong it all is. But York's attention still gravitates to the brand name bags of brown rice on the bottom shelf.
Squatting down, York grabs a bag and inspects it
There's a recipe he's aiming to try for dinner. A good one that'll hopefully make his partners a bit more receptive to bad news. And if he believes what he's heard about said recipe then at the very least it's going to be delicious.
Which makes York take pause and breathe.
There had been a shine to Delta's eyes as he explained how excited he was for the dish. He detailed the recipe to York several times, whether York had wanted to hear it again or not.
Then he explained how much he looked forward to his mother – they were close, she took up raising Delta by herself, even if York highly doubted Delta was ever a hard kid to deal with – making it for him.
He was excited enough to invite York to come home with him and try it.
Delta never got excited about things, so it wasn't like York could even dream of saying no.
When his phone vibrates in his pocket, York sucks in a thick gulp of air, only hazily realizing he had forgotten to breathe at all.
He blinks a few times, trying to reorient himself, when the hairs stand on the back of his neck. Someone is looking at him.
On instinct, York viciously turns toward the person behind him only to realize it's a girl no older than seven. She's staring at him with wide eyes. It's enough to make his stomach turn uneasily.
As her eyes drift down to York's hands, York looks too, realizing that he's been shaking the bag of rice so much that it is beginning to come apart.
Without another word, York sets the bag back and rises up to stand.
For some reason he's completely winded, so he rubs at his face. It's colder and clammier than he predicts it will be and his cheeks are damp. He easily rectifies the situation with the cracking sleeve of his jacket. Then, with another breath, he shakes his arms and legs loose, having began to feel them cramping up.
As he walks to the end of the aisle, he finally checks his phone and sees it's a belated reply to the group chat.
LNA: ok
NRH: What's for dinner?
York heads toward the freezer section as he hastily types back.
YRK: Pizza.
North and Carolina are back within ten minutes of each other and York's had the pizza in the oven for about twenty minutes already which makes his timing just about as perfect as it gets.
They both seem exhausted and worn around the edges, like their workday is an unexpected amount of work they barely overcome by the end of their shifts.
Carolina is pouring herself some wine because pizza be damned she thinks she deserves it and neither North nor York are nuts enough to contradict her on it.
More observant to something he can't quite form into words yet, North is looking at the size of the formerly-frozen pizza as York pulls it out. "Did you carry that all the way from the store?"
"Yup," York replies, making sure his lips pop with it. He reaches for the pizza cutter and North hand it to him. "Doesn't it look amazing?"
"It's amazing how much I crave pizza at the end of a long day if that's what you mean," Carolina laughs airily. "God. Have I mentioned to you guys how annoying techs are? I know one of them's just mad because the hospital hired outside for my position, but the rest ganging up with her? What's with that?"
York slops a too-big slice of pizza onto a paper plate and offers it up to Carolina first which she accepts readily. By the time he's turned back around, North is helping himself and just eating over the kitchen island.
"Animal," York jokes before grabbing a slice and beginning to fold it over.
North and Carolina both groan in aggravation at the habit.
"The secretaries are about as close as I have to deal with that," North shrugs. "Which is a shame. If I don't kiss ass then I won't be the first one they think of when a teacher calls in for a substitute." He gives a meaningful glint of his eye toward Carolina. "You could always butter up your lab techs since you have to work with them anyway."
"Eh," Carolina dismisses without a second thought. "Complaining about it gives me too much energy to run on. I can't get rid of that just yet."
There's still a fuzziness to York's head as he pulls himself off another slice and puts it on his plate. He tries not to think too much as he carries himself and the pizza of one hand and the plate of another over to the floor where Carolina's eating.
"We couldn't do this if we had a dog," Carolina reminds York with a casual smirk.
"We absolutely could," York counters as he plops down and rests his head against the wall. He takes a breath and closes his eyes.
He wonders idly if he should think of a good explanation before their conversation gets him there to begin with.
By the time he opens his eyes, North and Carolina are sharing glances of concern and sitting next to him.
"Bad day?" North asks.
"If you're worried about your commission it's okay," Carolina says. "We know you guys don't get a lot of business. So we'll just work the cut of bills around your hourly until then."
"No more buying groceries we don't need, though," North warns before taking a bite of his pizza. "No matter how good they taste."
Guts twisting a bit at their sincerity, York lets out a low laugh and rubs his face. "Well, that's the interesting thing about work today…"
"Did you get in trouble for being late?" Carolina talks over him immediately. "Dammit, York, just let us drive you on days like today–"
"No, not… really trouble for that," York responds, throat dry enough that he puts down both his pizza and his plate.
Both of his partners sit back and look at him in confusion. North, though, suspects something immediately. "What did you do?"
"Nothing worth getting upset over," York claims. "All I did… Okay, look. I wasbored out of my mind–"
"York," Carolina falls back onto that patronizing tone of a commanding officer.
"And I played with some of the locker locks for shits and giggles," York continues. "It wasn't… It's not a big deal."
North takes a breath and shakes his head. "You can get fired for pulling shit like that, York."
"Ha, well, not anymore," he shrugs. "I quit."
They both stare at him like he fell to Earth from another planet.
"You can't be serious," Carolina snaps.
"Look, we all know I hated that stupid fucking job," York rationalizes. "Now I've got the inspiration to look for another one." When his partners' expressions don't quite live up to his expectations, he scratches at his head. "And don't worry about the whole paying stuff. I've got that covered."
"How?" Carolina asks thinly as North puts down his food and settles back, waiting for the momentum to die down.
"My VA check," York answers.
Done with the conversation apparently, Carolina picks up her plate and wineglass before heading to the kitchen, dropping one in the trash and the other in the sink. York can tell she's at least somewhat flustered because it was the pizza in the sink and glass in the trash.
"Lina," he tries to call after her only for North's hand to tug on his sleeve.
Realizing what she's done Carolina leans against the sink and lets out a long string of incomprehensible curses.
Looking back, she points at York. "Those checks are supposed to be helping you take care of yourself."
He blinks before shrugging. "Isn't that what living expenses are all about?"
"Oh my god, no!" Carolina growls. "When's the last time you even went to the doctor, York? Not since I moved in! I can tell you that much!"
"And how would you know?" he sniffs defiantly.
"Because North or I would have driven you and… and…" she stops and pinches the bridge of her nose before she shakes her head. "I'm going to bed. I had too shitty of a day already for this to…"
She storms off, leaving both men blinking after her.
"Bed at seven?" York asks critically.
"It's not bed," North sighs as he gets up. He grabs his own plate and wanders over to the sink, picking up the discarded pizza from Carolina and properly disposing both of them in the trash. Then he grabs a six pack from the fridge. "Get out to the porch," he orders.
"I like your version of patronizing me a little more than hers," York announces, pushing back up to his feet.
There's a tired twist to North's smile. "No one said any of this is for you."
"Hardy har," York sighs, not even bothering to put on shoes as they step out. He glances up to the second floor instinctively when he hears a door slam. "Shecan't be going to bed already–"
"People deal with emotions differently," North says, plopping down on one of the three lawn chairs they've bothered to set out. "I deal with my blinding rage toward you like I do with any of my preschool students: imagining your head's a balloon I can pop."
"Yikes," York comments as he grabs one of the beers despite North's lack of an offer. "It's not really something you two should be pissed about anyway, you know. You both have said I've not been happy there."
"It's the how not the why, York," North argues with a slight grunt. "There's all of twenty places within walking distance around here. Are you about to get your license?"
"No," York answers too soon. He knows it's too soon because of the immediate look North gives him.
"Are you ready to talk about why?" North presses.
"I don't need a why," York shrugs.
"Then, yeah, quitting at one of those twenty places and starting up a reputation in a town that has nothing else to talk about? Kind of a big deal," North argues.
Though he knows the genuine points should be more of a pressing concern to him, York tilts his head back and hums a bit at the thought. "What's my current reputation then?"
"The cute guy who walks everywhere," North answers between sips.
"Bullshit," York laughs.
"I'm friends with school secretaries, York," North reminds him.
York sighs and melts into his only somewhat comfortable seat. "I guess I need a job."
"Yeah, I guess you do," North sighs back.