Chapter 2: Washed

Schk...click...schk...click...

"More coffee, sweetie?" York looked up to see the waitress of the Corner Orchid smiling over the counter at him, warm, heavy-lidded eyes with just a little too much make-up. York cleared his throat, realizing that he'd finished his second cup while he wasn't looking.

"Uhm... sure, that'd be great. Thanks"

"You look like you could use it."

Thanks, thought York, like I need the reminder that I'm tired. Even thinking it made him slump into his seat a little more. The waitress arrived with cup number three, and York wrapped his hands around it, slipping his lighter back into his pocket. It wasn't cold outside or anything, but it was pouring down rain, and the diner, of which he was the only occupant, felt small...Almost cozy. The sheets of water rolling down the windows gave the brightly lit, one-room building an air of...isolation? York was thinking, No, that's not it. Solitude. That's it.

"Well this is cozy."

York half-turned, took a breath, and turned all the way... and burst out laughing.

Agent Washington, elite soldier and now a Recovery Agent for Project Freelancer, looked like nothing so much as a soaking wet cat. Sopping wet, yellow-blond hair matted to his forehead, Wash stood dripping on the diner floor and glaring at York. York, for his part, eventually noticed Wash's dead stare and sobered quickly. A long moment of terse looks passed between them. "Aheh. Sorry. You just look... uh..."

"Coffee, hon?" The waitress interrupted mercifully, forcing the two men to break eye contact and cough nervously.

"Uh, yeah, I'll... I'll have a coffee. Thanks." Wash looked at the row of stools attached to the counter and turned, walking toward the back of the diner. York sighed and carried his and Wash's coffee back to the rear-most booth. Wash slid into the padded seat and rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as he did. Rivulets of water slid down his hands onto the table between them. "It rains too much on this planet, York." It was more of a sigh than a sentence.

"Must be why they grow so many flowers here."

Wash raised his head "I need to take Delta back."

"Hey, it's good to see you, too." York sipped his coffee. He wanted to be casual, play things off smoothly like he always could. For once, he wasn't sure he could. "You look good."

"No I don't. Neither do you. This cat and mouse game is killing us both, and we both know it's only a matter of time before the Meta catches up to you. And that's not something you can survive. Freelancer can keep Delta safe."

"Like it kept Alpha safe? Like it kept us safe?" York set his coffee cup down just a little harder than he meant to, sending little droplets of brown fluid flicking onto the table. "Freelancer caused all this, Wash. I'm not going back, and Delta's not going back either."

"So you'll take your chances with the Meta? Remember, he was already a better fighter than you when he was just Agent Maine-"

"He's still Agent Maine."
"NO!" Wash slammed his hands onto the table. "No, he's not..." he murmured, though whether to York or himself it was hard to tell. There was a pause, as the waitress bustled over and fussed about the table, wiping it clean, though not, they noticed, refilling the coffee.

York shifted uncomfortably "So how's, ah, how's North doing? Is Theta still with him?"

"I'm not... at liberty to talk about that."

"Alright, Wash, how are you, then?" York studied his old friend and squad mate closely for the first time. He noticed a lot of familiar wear lines on the face across from him.

"That I don't want to talk about." Wash avoided York's gaze, staring off across the empty diner, hands playing idly with his coffee cup. "I'm fine."

"Wash, I haven't seen you since... since..."

"Epsilon. I know. I said I'm fine."

"What the hell happened, man? I heard it freaked out in your head, and you were out for a really long time."

"And when I woke up, you had run off with a stolen AI, Carolina was dead, and the Mother of Invention was buried in the side of a mountain. A lot happened, York. Everything's changing. I need..." Wash's face softened as he trailed off. Both of them sat, looking out of the diner windows at the rain. Some workers were packing some boxes into a truck across the street. Or unpacking. York wasn't paying attention. "You need what?" He asked softly. A friend? Someone you can trust? He thought, but didn't say.

A moment passed, and Agent Washington's face became lined and stern again. "The Delta AI is Freelancer property, York. Where is it?"

Feeling the abrupt change in tenor, York's expression flattened in disappointment. "D's on holiday. Taking a vacation. Probably cross-referencing matrixes or something."

"Matrices." Both men sat up sharply as the green glow of Delta's small figure reflected off of the freshly polished surface of the table. "Apologies. I do not wish to interrupt, but I have noticed several important details that I estimate will not wait."

Confusion, not for the first time since gaining an AI, crossed York's face. "What are you talking abou-"

"You brought it WITH YOU?!" Wash gripped the table, incredulous. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"That an extra pair of eyes might come in handy?" Returned York "That I might want someone interesting to talk to? Or, maybe that D's in my head, and that taking him out isn't exactly like plugging in a thumb drive?".

"Again, I do not wish to interrupt your... discussion," Delta glanced between them hesitantly "but the situation, as I said, will not wait."

"What situation, D?"

"The gentlemen just southeast of the diner, on the opposite side of the street. I believe they are preparing for a military action of some kind."

Both men looked out the window, this time more intently. Sure enough, the men unloading the truck had unpacked assault rifles, and one even had a shoulder-mounted missile launcher. York blinked. "How the hell did someone smuggle that thing planetside?" And how did I miss it? Must be more tired than I realized.

"As a primarily agricultural planet, it is unlikely that the planet's import customs regulations are very thorough. If you'll recall, it was also a primary reason that we relocated here ourselves."

Delta was right. No two-bit farming planet was going to exactly have MAC guns or checkpoints, an advantage they themselves had counted on.

"Alright, Wash, what's the plan? Did you bring any firepower?"

"To a diner." Wash looked at him evenly. "For a chat. With you."

"Alright, that's fair. Can we call a drop from Freelancer?"

"We? And no, for a lot of reasons;" The men across the street were idly checking their equipment. "We lost a lot of that stuff in the crash, and in this rain I doubt a signal would punch through anyway."

"If I may: they do not have radio equipment, either short or long range. If we were to leave without their knowledge, they would not be able to relocate us very easily."

"There's an idea;" deadpanned Wash "all we need to do is just sneak past six armed men staring at us through paned glass, through the building's only door, which is also right in front of them." He sipped his coffee nonchalantly, though York could see the muscles in his neck were tensed.

"It would not be entirely accurate to say that this building has only one exit."

York looked around as casually as he could manage, willing the adrenaline out of his movements "There's a back door to this place, D?"

Both former Freelancers looked at Delta, who seemed to hesitate.

"...there is a bathroom window."

Wash pinched the bridge of his nose, laying his head in his hand. It occurred to York, amusingly, that this was probably not the way most Recovery missions went. "Okay, D, so we sneak out the back, take a few side streets, and we're clear?"

"I have reviewed the building plans on file with the local city planning office. The window may be slightly... unaccommodating for Agent York."

"Delta, are you calling me fat?" York looked at Wash, who had his fist planted firmly over his mouth to stifle his laugh.

"The inaccessibility is due to the width of your shoulders, York."

"Oh, so I'm not fat, I'm handsome."

"That is a subjective judgement that I would not feel comfortable making."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"York."

"Alright, alright. Other ideas, besides asking the waitress for more butter?"

"There is a city sanitation vehicle scheduled to make a stop here in 3 minutes. It should provide adequate cover."

"Wait, so I'm supposed to walk out the front door, toward, y'know, the guys with big, incredibly deadly guns, and wait for a garbage truck to, what, jump in the back of?"

Delta seemed to blink for a fraction of a second "Yes. It is the least non-ideal plan of action."

"Oh, well, good. Alright, Wash, you ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Rendezvous 3-2 Northeast?"

York looked at Delta, then back at Wash. "Yeah. 3-2 Northeast."

Wash got up as Delta winked out of existence, ran his hands nervously through his hair, and muttered "Well, here goes nothing."

York, suddenly (mostly) alone, pulled out his lighter and nervously flicked it open and shut. He thought of Carolina, and hoped she was alright. He thought of Delta, and for what felt like the millionth time wondered if he had made the right choice, any of the right choices. He thought of Agent Washington, and wondered if maybe-

"Don't worry sweetie."

"Wha-?" Snapped out of his musing, York looked up at the warm, oddly comforting smile of the diner waitress.

"Don't worry about it. I've seen dates go a lot worse. Tell ya what, coffee's on me. You can tell him you paid for his when he gets back." She winked conspiratorially.

York sat, dumbfounded, as she walked away toward the counter, and for a moment, laughed madly into his hands. Then "Sync" a voice in his head prompted, and he slid out of the booth toward the front door, and the waiting rain.