(A/N) It's that time again – time for another update in Phase Two: Betrayal – and this chapter is written by the wonderful Warg, featuring one of her boys – namely the smooth-jazz talking Agent New York. As I did in last night's Grifball update, I want to give a big shout-out to our very own Jerem6401, the writer of Pennsylvania and Maine in Phase Two: Betrayal, who's spent the last few days working in Achievement Hunter, building some Minecraft Let's Plays, and appeared in the last AHWU! As you can imagine, we're all very proud/jealous of him!
Enjoy!
Chapter Fifty-Five – Us and Ends
Agent New York
Written by WargishBoromirFan
"I know." - Han Solo, The Empire Strikes Back
They stumbled into the Mother of Invention and dragged each other to the rec room as a compromise: she wanted to go straight to the training floor as soon as she got out of debriefing, even if she was having trouble so much as picking her feet up above the height of her toes, let alone over her head, they needed to stop in at the medical bay, even if they'd been relatively light on their injuries, compared to the others from his team's latest fuck-up, and he'd just as soon crash into bed as soon as the couch - and at this point, it didn't matter so much as to whose.
He probably ought to pull out an old physical lock or two to toy with - not many people used them anymore, but quiet distraction seemed the name of the game today and his lighter was long gone, left somewhere in the bottom of his superior's footlocker, if he was lucky. He had no desire to turn on the television and Carolina might try to fight him if he tried. Still, propped against Carolina's side, fumbling off his helmet just to have the chance to breathe while she squeezed a gripmaster between teal-gloved fingers more out of habit than any actual attempt to strengthen her hands, York sank into the abused cushions with something resembling relief. As long as it relieved her stress, that level of training wouldn't hurt her.
Still, helmet aside, that left York's hands unoccupied while Carolina's mind very obviously was. This was the first time in weeks she'd let herself just relax and sit quietly with him, her minimal protests made more out of token obligation than a real desire to be up and improving herself for their next round against the Crimson Sun. Her green gaze was on something far away at the moment, well past the metal spring futilely resisting her grip. Her free hand was still clamped in place beneath York's shoulder, but she didn't try to extract herself, nearly leaning into him. When he wrapped his closer arm about her shoulders, she just huddled into his chest.
Honestly, York was a little worried.
"We'll get 'em next time," he reassured her, because it seemed like the thing to say if anything was going to break this uncomfortable silence. "We'll get some rest, so that next time, we'll have the energy, wits, and power to find them and take them down."
She grunted an absent-minded snort of incredulity, but otherwise remained unresponsive, squeezing and releasing as if she were picturing now Ark, now Penn, now Harper in the little grip-spring. York set his helmet down by his feet. "There will be a next time," she promised herself after too long a pause. "Not sure if it'll be the last time. Not sure I want it to be."
"Still not sure of what to do after we're done here? 'Cause I know a few guys in the NYCPD…" It didn't pay as well, but it was the safer bet, and surely by now he'd saved up enough for his old goal of settling his mother somewhere comfortable. He shouldn't give her any more reason to worry, not when the military had already charged her for a widow's pension. But there were new goals on top of that to consider, too…
Carolina turned under his arm, not quite facing him, but definitely pulling up and away. Her hands were still, clenched. "York, we'll never be 'done here.' Not the way you're thinking."
Not again. He could accept that her drive might send her in another direction than he'd planned to go, but he couldn't bear to see her self-destruct the way she seemed to accept as her eventual fate. "Ark has recruited a lot of Innies, true. But there are less of them than there are soldiers - good soldiers - in the UNSC." They'd seen their share of incompetent ground-pounders; the Sim exercises alone virtually guaranteed that, but it was all about percentages. "Besides, how many of them do you think could really stand toe to toe with a Freelancer? Utah could blow through a dozen Crimson Sun troopers on an off day by himself, let alone you and me. The numbers and training are in our favour."
"Even if we take out the Crimson Sun, what about the next rebellion to crop up? What about the next alien invasion? You're telling me that you can stand back and let those happen?" It was almost a relief to see her getting worked up. It was better than seeing her give up.
All he could do was shrug, letting the movement slide along her side. "I was never good at figuring out judicial reform or border patrol sorts of things, but to fix those, I guess we need the diplomats as much as the warriors, in the long term."
Unfortunately, her next words lacked the fire, only its venomous aftertaste. "There's no such thing as happily ever after, whatever you think it looks like in your head. Especially not for people like us."
"Happily ever after…" York sat back, sinking further into the couch as if in deep contemplation, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Haven't unlocked the secret of immortality yet, though I'll keep working on it if I can get enough time, so I guess the 'ever' part is out of the question for now. Happily? I like that every now and then, but I can't risk the ones I love to complacency - or worse, boredom - so, we'll just have to settle for 'generally satisfied but open to new ideas' on that note; besides, arguments keep things fresh and open to makeup -" he rambled over her attempts to stop him before he went too far. Hell, they both knew it and nobody else was in the rec room right now - why not say it?
"York. Shut up." Carolina turned, placing her palm flat against his chest plate with enough force to feel the pressure between it and the arm of the abused old sofa. Well, certain things were best left implied.
Still he set his hand on top of hers as she leaned over him on the couch. "But I believe, seriously, fully, and honestly, in 'after.' Maybe it won't happen to me. My dad died in the army, after all. It might not even happen for you. But I'm gonna try, because I think there's still a future for people like us, outside of this war." The way she settled back on her heels, her chin lowering behind her helmet, she seemed to realize that York wasn't just talking about "kids" like Cal, Utah, and West. York wished the best for them, too, but there were people more like them on his mind.
She remained silent a few minutes, watching him from the other side of the beaten sofa that really hadn't been meant to support multiple sets of armour but had been rigged to do so anyway. Her hand remained against his chest, but lacked pressure under his fingers, even if she wasn't trying to pull away. That rogue helmet was really damned difficult to read an expression through, though York didn't doubt his was clear enough, despite the exhaustion. "My mom died serving active combat duty in the marines. Dad… didn't." Carolina paused, and willed York to understand through brilliant green eyes. "I don't want to do that."
Slowly, he nodded. "I don't think you will." Carolina would never end up like his mother; he had faith in that, but she had her own living ghosts casting their shadows, not just the fear of ending up like hers. Together, they'd be able to carry their hauntings, but she needed time. He needed time. But as always, he could wait. He was trying to unlock that "ever," after all, and that wasn't something you did in just a couple minutes.
"Agent York, your presence is requested in the Counselor's office," F.I.L.S.S.'s voice cut through the PA speaker behind them, calling them back to reality.
It could be worse, York supposed. He could have sent another Freelancer to call him in, or York could be headed to see the Director after that. "Okay, the fact that I've been out of high school for over ten years and still get detentions with the counselor doesn't really lend much credence to 'after,' but I still believe in it." He leaned forward as Carolina untangled her hand from his grip, not quite reaching her cheek guard before she'd moved away. "See you once I get out."
"Later, York," she replied, and he had to turn towards the door to hide his smile.
He tried to get his emotions back under control by the time he made his way to the Counselor's office, throwing his helmet back on during the walk over before any of the other personnel with reason to linger about the hallways had a chance to notice or comment on the dazed grin permanently epoxied to his face. The cut-string gait was certainly in-character for a beaten agent newly returned from yet another painful dead end in the hunt for the Crimson Sun, but usually, shell-shock didn't manifest itself in the form of a starry-eyed smile directed at the whole universe. York all but bit his lip as he approached the door, trying to rule his features into an expression that suggested less "idiot in love" and more "capable but disheartened cream-of-the-crop soldier." No real reason he couldn't be both, but it paid to let one's superiors only see the latter side.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" York saluted as he walked into the Counselor's office. The ONI officer motioned him to come in and shut the door.
"These last few missions have been difficult, York. It has to be very taxing on you and your fellow agents. I'd like the opportunity to talk with you and get a better sense for how these developments have affected our team." He was always so calm; his tone honeyed, understanding reason as he offered York a seat. York could swear every hair on his neck stood as he sat.
He slumped deep and tried to push them down between the roots on his back and his armour pressed against the chair. The Counselor couldn't see them, of course, but York didn't trust polarization to cover everything. "Guess it's obvious that we're not at our best right now," he trailed off, looking away. "But I wouldn't say we're completely to the edge yet, just tired."
"Would you posit that the team is banding together over this shared difficulty or put under more interpersonal conflict as more stress enters the task force?" the Counselor asked. To hear him speak, one would think him a kindly but disinterested bureaucratic automation, but those dark eyes were pinning York to the chair like a beetle under a carbon dioxide chamber.
"We do our best to look out for each other. Some of the agents - like Wyoming and Cal - seem to be retreating off into their own heads, but we do our best to keep them involved, remind them that there's more than revenge to be fighting for, more than the past to live for." He shouldn't have added that, York chided himself as soon as the last phrase passed his lips, but his talk with Carolina was too far forward in his mind.
The Counselor nodded mutely, giving away nothing as his fingers danced on the data-pad. "You wouldn't say that there are any... untoward connections among the group, the sorts of bonds that could cause trouble down the line?"
"You mean Georgia? Honestly, I'm kind of glad he's been mostly left on the ship while we search, because I'm not sure anymore what he'd do if he confronted Ark, but he did stay with us. Can't fault him for that." It was hard, not trusting old friends, but York adapted to paranoia. Hopefully the rest of the group would, too, without losing sight of what they were trying to protect with the heightened mistrust.
"There are other connections that could, from past experience, be of concern to the group, the sort of relations that have historically been frowned upon within a military unit such as yourselves..." the Counselor trailed off, and York feigned ignorance as mutely as he could. "You did name Agents Wyoming and California as two specific individuals 'retreating off into their own heads.' Could you think of any specific catalysts for these occasions, Agent York?" He quoted too damningly to end on such an innocent tone to his question.
"You know, Wyoming's never been a real people pleaser. He likes an audience, but only when he can tweak them," York evaded the pointed barb of the question. "Cal, well... he's always been a loose cannon as far as Innies are concerned; all drive and no patience. If they take those tendencies further as the hunt drags on, I can't say I'm surprised." The Freelancer shrugged, as if he weren't the one being hounded right now.
The Counselor interlaced his fingers atop his desk, leaning towards York as if in either collusion or accusation. "You wouldn't say that the two of them have become more unstable about the same time as the project went on hiatus? You wouldn't happen to have recognized any similarities in their heightened reactions to the losses of Agents Massachusetts and Michigan that were perhaps absent in other agents?" The dark man's voice was soft and curious, but it was only bait for the trap.
"Massa was like a sister to everyone aboard; she was one of the few who reached out to Wyoming, Virginia, Alaska... even Penn." And that was the worst part to York; Massa had given the brute chances he'd never deserved. "She was one of the few who could get past those prickly sides that even Florida and I couldn't always reach; Wyoming didn't really have anyone else he could relax around with her gone and Florida closed off in mourning. Even now with everyone back together, Wyoming and he are still as close as Wyoming is with anyone, but Florida gets distracted trying to take care of the new kids, so Wyoming is left to his own cold. I live with him and I still can't get much idea of what's going on in his head." York focused on the desk rather than meet the Counselor's dark eyes. "Cal... he and Mich were close. Everyone knew that. Her death was just one more thing to hate Harper and the Innies for."
"And yet Minnesota, too, was close to Michigan and California in ways he did not interact with many of the other agents..." That soft voice continued to burrow deeper. "California seemed to have more friends in the project than he did, at the time. California stayed with your group when the project was temporarily disbanded. Agent Minnesota did not. He left as Wyoming did. Yet he is not one of agents you worry the most about?"
York worried about all the agents at one time or another. Now, with their second-in-command's attention on him, he was worried about them all. "Sota left to see his family. He might not be so close to us, but he's got a support system in place. Wyoming never told me exactly where he ended up, but I saw a ticket to Brisbane in his locker. He didn't really have any connections there that he's told me about."
"Besides Agent Massachusetts." The Counselor didn't have his data-pad in hand, but York could see the notes slotting into place as the older man nodded. "You have, of course, heard rumours about California's history."
"If he wants to tell me about why he hates Harper, I'll listen to him. Not gossip," York shot back, icier than was probably healthy for his position on the board. Well, spend enough time with Number One and her methods of defending their comrades would rub off on a man. And yeah, York had heard the stories about Harper being some sort of slimy ex who still had a metaphorical root in California. That didn't mean he believed them.
The Counselor just met his eyes, poker face slipping for neither amusement nor reproof. "Emotions can be a very dangerous weapon, Agent New York, no matter what consequences they lead to. I'm sure you'll watch your team members for anything that might bring them into... trouble."
"To be honest, Kent's obvious crush on Jersey has been a source of stability more than anything else," York dropped his facade of complete ignorance, at least a little. By the Counselor's standards, he had been all but bludgeoning the Freelancer with the subject. "But I will. It's just that the important thing is to insure that no one gets completely disconnected." Especially not their Number One. Especially not his Number One, regardless of their positions on the board.