(A/N) Hey guys, time for another update, and somehow, against all odds, I've managed to get this one up on time! In fact, technically, this is going up a few hours early. I know, crazy, right? Explanation - I have fencing. Yes, I'm that guy. Retro as hell. So…last chapter was…emotional, I'll leave it at that. Obviously, there are a lot of characters still reeling from this, and everything has changed between our favourite group of space-marine misfits. (Well, okay, second favourite group). Expect a lot of angst in the next few chapters, as people deal with the MAC-ing of Triestina, and how this affects our characters, as we approach the end.

Seriously, we're like eight chapters away from the end. That's less than three weeks, people! So be prepared. It's going to get crazy. Oh, and if you'd like to apply to write Carolina in the sequel, move your ass and PM me right away! I'm only going to repeat this a few more times!

Enjoy!


Chapter Ninety-Six - Last Call

Agent New York

Written by WargishBoromirFan


"It's tough holding a grudge against someone who doesn't even notice." - Pete on Jim, Darths and Droids: "Venting"


"Hey, York," Massa called. "Can I bother you for a lunch meeting?" Florida was already in tow, scanning the mess hall for a good place to talk.

"Sure, no problem." York grabbed a ready-made tray of ambiguous cafeteria staples - that was probably some sort of pasta today - and followed them over. It wasn't like the place was particularly noisy, but there were a lot of tables occupied by a sullen soldier and at least three chairs' worth of personal space, quadruple that for Penn and Maine. "You doing all right?"

"I'm peaches, really, but I feel as though I ought to be asking you that question." The combat medic toyed with a fork, glancing at the tables around them. The Dakota twins were at least seated together, though South was focused on her food and ignoring her brother's attempts at small talk. Cal had half a table to himself, but whether that was only because Sota and Wyoming hadn't come down yet and Georgia was likely tied up in another experiment or due to California's temper flaring up again wasn't something York was up for investigating at the moment. Ark was bent over a data pad, hardly even touching his plate. He looked as if he'd come down more to escape his roommate than to fill up. York still hadn't seen Carolina come out of the training room, but he really wasn't expecting her to show up any more than Mich.

York dodged the question. He'd been doing that a lot recently, and he was hardly the only one. "You know me, as good as the Director'll let me get."

Massachusetts smiled, but there was little humour in it. "And isn't that the crux of the issue?" she deadpanned, her gaze sweeping around the mess hall with more purpose as she stabbed and twisted at the noodles with a force York more normally associated with Virginia. Massa's taller roommate had come and gone, inhaling her rations in order to avoid meeting anyone unexpected over her meal.

"It's not like you to get this riled up at the boss," Florida spoke gently to the woman seated next to him, a subtle warning in the sympathy.

"I have my reasons." Massa tilted her head away from him, half closing her eyes as she put the fork back down without ever raising it to her lips. "You've seen what's been happening here lately, with Al and Ark and Carolina and Penn and Mich, especially, but we're all feeling it."

"Bored of the board, eh?" York asked, and the medic across from him rolled her eyes at the bad pun or the worse connotations.

The leaderboard had changed again, but only for Ark, really. He'd done well on the last couple missions, rocketing himself up to fourth place, but so had a lot of the others, and the next biggest change had been Sota and Cal's switch. Neither of them had even attempted to argue about the MAC, - Cal was brutally on board with anything that got rid of Innies - though York wasn't sure if the Director rewarded such lines of questioning or not. If there was a pattern to who was driven up the board and who was knocked down, York was losing sight of it. He wouldn't care, except that despite her steady buffer, Carolina seemed to be expecting the rankings to twist and bite her and kept preparing herself for it. At least, that's what he hoped she was constantly practicing against.

"We all know it's causing more problems than it solves," Massa replied. "The constant competition changes people, and not for the better. But that's hardly the only thing the Director won't hear, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Honestly, everyone had been acting off. Last time the group had gotten together for Grifball, Cannonball vs. Castle, he and North had teased each other about their favoured teams, - North couldn't help it if his poor underdogs got beat like red-headed step-children any more than York could be blamed for the Castle team captain injuring his Tank with his own hammer late in the game - but Cal and Killian had practically had their own weapons out over the first goal.

"That was bullshit!" Killian insisted. "That was totally a foul on Johnson, and the ref ignores it like he wasn't even there!"

"Bad call," Georgia agreed, raising his beer.

Cal snorted, arms crossed smugly as he leaned back from his victory cheer. "Dude, how would you know? You haven't even learned the rules, Georgia, so watch and learn as we beat them into you."

"Mr Football might not know all that much, but a first-time observer could tell that blew," Killian insisted.

Georgia's usual modus operandi was to cheer for whoever scored and enjoy the takedowns, not to even think about foul plays. And it wasn't like Beckett had intentionally gone for the Cannonball Runner's kneecaps or anything.

"Speaking of first-time observers, I thought you were bringing Ark along," North cut in before California needed to find a new medic.

Georgia just shrugged. "Didn't want to come. He's been… broody since last mission; figured he needed some time to himself without the racket."

"Basically, he kicked you out," Killian Jay summarized bluntly.

Georgia lifted his shoulders, but didn't deny it. Then the new guy Castle had picked up from the Spoikers got struck down by a lucky swipe from Spinnet and it was York and Cal's turn to groan and yell for their defence - California adding several uncomplimentary conjectures about the Cannonball player's parentage - as North and Killian high-fived and the rest of the Freelancers were left unmentioned for the rest of the game.

Unmentioned, but not forgotten. Ark wasn't the only one who'd been "broody" since the MAC incident.

Carolina had protested. Carolina had dug in her heels. Carolina had offered to hunt down every remaining Innie sympathizer herself, no matter how impossible the task might be in practice. Carolina had pleaded for another way - any other way. Carolina had attempted to convince the Director through a private conversation in which not even York had been privy to the details, while Florida and Maine had argued next to him. Carolina had been ignored.

The Director had gotten the go-ahead from the UNSC, so who else could she take it to? The Counselor had accepted it as a necessary sacrifice. Ark, Massa, North and, surprisingly, Maine, had less power than she did. York didn't like it any better, but there was nothing he could do to stop this, only try to offer a distraction.

Wyoming's "Hellooo, Cleveland!" hollered during fire had been in really poor taste, though.

Carolina hadn't been there when it was shot to glass. After putting so much time and tears arguing over it before the Director set off the MAC, she couldn't be there to watch him burn the city to ashes. She said she was afraid she'd try to kill him if she'd stayed.

Ark had held a little more steady, keeping his excited, quivering roommate in place and not running gleefully from the display to the window and back, no matter how much Georgia insisted that at least it had to be made good for science. Watching those two, one might have almost mistaken it for a legitimate military operation, if it weren't for just how still and quiet Arkansas had held himself, eyes burning as he stared at the Director. He'd dragged Georgia out immediately afterwards, but had hardly been the first to leave.

Mich was still jumpy. She'd take up whatever corners Penn, Maine, and Alaska weren't currently occupying, but seemed to skitter away whenever York tried to talk to her. The only two people she seemed to let within five feet of her anymore were Sota and Florida, leaving Massa looking saddened, even a little wounded, whenever she tried to talk to the smaller woman.

"It's just some bad memories," Florida had told them by way of half-explanation, when Massa brought it up with him and York. "Give her some time."

Which explained why she might be avoiding the rest of them, but not really why she and Cal hadn't said more than six words to each other since the destruction of the city. Cal deflected the subject, but York had noticed that they had stopped spending their downtime together. She'd still give him those glares for bad jokes, but Mich had quit making contact within a day, leaving the dope slaps up to Sota, Maine, and the Dakotas. Her glare was less censuring and more angry now; the expression of a raw wound freshly reopened.

Sota seemed to smack his roommate upside the head a lot. The lankier agent in white and grey stood a warning shadow stretched between Cal and Michigan, cool blue eyes studying the two as if determining whether to herd them closer or walk Mich away until California put down the knife and quit bringing up the Innies. Normally, she ended up walking away even if Sota felt comfortable enough to hang around.

He wasn't exactly looking comfortable today as he slunk into the mess, but when Massa waved him over, Sota approached their table, sneaking glances from behind that mop of black fringe.

"She'll find a way to make even the downtimes work for her," Florida insisted. "What she's got is too good to lose in the dumps." Even the famous Flowers smile was stretched a little thin, but he kept trying anyway.

"Can I skip the gossip?" Sota asked tartly as he sat on Massa's far side.

"We just want to make sure that everybody's all right," York assured him. "We haven't seen enough of Michigan to ask her directly. How did you wind up with the job as Mich's self-appointed bodyguard, anyway?"

Minnesota just shrugged and grunted, looking away. "Grew up with a sister." That was obviously more than he felt comfortable sharing; getting personal information out of Sota was like pulling teeth to begin with and he'd just been even more standoffish since the MAC.

"I'm just glad someone's looking out for her," Massa placated him, finally wrapping the pasta around her fork and taking a bite. "Everyone needs a friendly ear."

"Sometimes the closed mouth is more important," Sota grumbled, but he remained seated anyway. Florida gave York a slightly pained glance while the youngest agent at their table was absorbed in his food, and York just shrugged and picked at his own meal.

"They'll figure it out," he murmured to Butch. "We're all going to figure this thing out." Really, York wanted to finish his own lunch rather quickly. As much as he enjoyed Massa and Florida's company, he had a delivery to drop off by the training room if things continued down this path.

He looked up as the mess hall door swung open once more, but it was only Georgia. Arkansas absently shoved a few bites in his mouth, eyes on the data pad to avoid allowing any trace of guilt to flicker across his expression. Massa might be the worst about mother-henning her roommate, but she was hardly the only one to start hovering if said roomie forgot to eat for three days straight. Georgia nodded at him, but didn't try to talk right now, leaving his hands jammed in the pockets of his coveralls, toying restlessly with something small, flat, and coppery that occasionally flashed between the dark, callused fingers. York wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"You. Me. Fifty-yard range. Fifteen hundred. Bring your best shotgun." York blinked. Was Georgia challenging someone to a shooting match, or was this just one of the strange mating dances of foolhardy idiots and the women that could happily kick their asses? Not that York would know anything about the latter…

"You're on." South's response left him no clearer answers. Her eyes were narrowed but glimmering dangerously as she accepted the time and place, and her arms remained crossed in front of her, not even bothering to try to break the finger Georgia had stuck out at her. York shot a questioning look at North, but the male twin just shrugged helplessly from his sister's far side as Georgia nodded and spun on his heel.

"What just happened?" Massa looked as lost as York felt, and Sota just put his head down and attempted to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

Florida, at least, seemed to see the humour in the situation. "Think you might be righter than you think you are, York," he chuckled.

"Well, somebody's got to be." It wasn't like things could get much worse around here. "Guess I'd better make sure that there's still anything left for them to spar with," he said, wolfing down the last of the unidentified pasta-like substance without ever tasting it. Even so, he grabbed another plate as Massa and Florida waved him off, covering it with a napkin before he headed out to the training room.

He knocked before entering, knowing that she could very well be absorbed in long-range target practice to the point of not noticing exactly what the latest target was. "What?" Carolina snapped, attention and weapon still focused downrange even after F.I.L.S.S. swept away the targets, but both ready to turn on him in the burst of a synapse.

"You know, it's usually customary to tip the delivery guy with something other than the trailing edge of your new grappling hook," York said as he pulled the napkin off the plate with a light flourish. "Lunch is served, madam."

She glanced back over her shoulder and then pulled off her helmet, a smile threatening to dimple her right cheek as she lowered the gun. "I don't remember ordering any food."

"What, this food? That's compliments of the house." York recovered as quickly as he could from those sharp green eyes and smiled a little wider.

"Don't start." Her tone was still a whip-crack of cool professionalism, cutting him off before he could insinuate anything he shouldn't, but that spark in her eyes remained. "I really do need to keep training, York," she told him before he said anything about her long regimen, either.

At least she'd set the grapple gun down and taken the plate from him. "For who, Carolina? You know you're easily the best." She looked away to where her name shined atop the leaderboard, and it was answer enough. Massa was all too right. "He knows you're the best, too, as sure as I do."

"Still not good enough," she muttered.

There had to be some way. Maybe not to fix this rift, maybe not to make things right for the destruction of Triestina, but at least to get Carolina in a better frame of mind without letting her train herself into the ground. "You're good enough for me," York offered with guileless honesty.

Carolina just snorted at the sentiments. It wasn't his proudest, smartest response ever. "Good enough to handle some barfly with a tendency to get into places he shouldn't," she summarized with fond apathy. She settled herself in a chair just out of the range, plate on her lap. York made to follow, but she motioned him toward the range with an imperious wave of her fork. "If you're coming to the range, you may as well get in some practice."

York tilted his head towards the grapple gun she'd set at her side, letting his now-empty hands swing freely. "Well, I didn't exactly come prepared for dinner and a show…"

"You can never get in too much unarmed CQC." Carolina couldn't, anyway. The grappler had extended her range, but even with it, her time out on the training floor was spent practicing a kinetic ballet of destruction far more often than standard sharp-shooting. "And it's not like we don't have paint weapons around here."

"Yeah, but I'm not dressed for the occasion." They'd been staying in armour more frequently than not; forget the threat of Covenant incursions or Insurrectionist counterattacks, the other agents in the wrong mood could be dangerous enough. Still, York had left his helmet in his locker during lunch.

Carolina just shrugged, the tension in her tired shoulders obvious despite her attempts at a cocky slouch over the plate. "If you're thinking you're going to wheedle me into a chance to mess around with my personal equipment, you've got another thing coming."

He pouted slightly at the pronouncement, if only for show. "It seems like you decided on your favourite birthday present pretty quickly."

"It's not the only one I've been working with," she told him, eyes on her food.

"Oh." York kept is voice studiously neutral. "While I freely admit that Cash was one of the greatest songwriters of his century, whoever told the man that he could carry a tune was obviously ingesting approximately an entire night's worth of Club Errera's greatest source of income at the time…"

She laughed him off. "I know why the alexandrite," she said, and for a minute, they were back in the club, teasing each other with all the randy shyness of a couple of strangers prepping for ship-out, not sure they'd see each other again, he just happy that he'd gotten to see her at all, that she'd walked over and stolen his fires. "I finally got it open."

"And?" Someday, he'd get enough practice with slipping her small hinged containers.

For now, he'd just left a note, just a little scrap of paper that read "I can wait." The contents of the lighter could be rid of it easily enough.

She looked up at the noise of brash, overweening second-wave Freelancers making their way to the next training room. At least they were talking to each other. They didn't try to interrupt Carolina or push her out of her arena, even when she wasn't currently making use of the bigger space. "Wait."

That he could do, no problem.