There's not much call for private security on Thisavrou, but York managed to find work as a locksmith. His days are generally slow -- life is far more peaceful than he's used to and he's not sure if he likes that. Without the constant distraction of action, it's... lonely. He finds that his favorite times of the day are when he's training in the mornings, back in his armor, and the downtime after work when he goes to see Angela or Kurt. Especially Angela, and not just for the coffee anymore. She's kind and smart and sassy and beautiful and he's been lingering around her more and more recently. It's embarrassing if he thinks about it too much. He feels like he's back in basic with a crush and no idea how to act on it. That's about how long it's been since he was with anybody, anyway. The hell is he supposed to do? Buy her flowers?
And that's how he wound up standing outside her clinic with a bouquet, feeling ridiculous.
Might as well go inside, though, she knows he comes by about this time for coffee. He waves to the receptionist and heads for Angela's office to wait if she's with a patient somewhere, but when he gets there she's sitting at her desk looking over a chart. York raps his fingers on the open door.
Angela doesn't take terribly well to the peace either, but the missions to other planets have kept her busy in waves— if not directly by tending to some herself, then by the influx of patients that followed such outings, bruised and broken or clawed up from some alien monster or another. The highlight of those slow days was the promise of good company and luxurious coffee breaks, but emphasis on good company. And she was just about due her usual visit, she notes.
Beyond those from home occasionally swinging by or messaging her over the network, Ahab was a scheduled presence that either came by or hailed her every couple of days, and David was on the daily— he had been since the first week she'd arrived on the Moira, finding the quiet hours of the gym together and sharing mission after mission. Shiro was also fairly regular with his biotic arm, scheduled checkups— and then more recently there was Kurt. And more frequently, York. She's rather spoiled by those who surround her, well aware that she's blessed in her friendships and their presence in her day to day.
It's a pleasant surprise, then, when after one more patient there's a knock at her office door and she glances up after a brief moment to finish jotting down a sentence and she's greeted not only by York's familiar face, but the brightness of flowers in his hand— and she's quite clearly delighted to see him (and such lovely flowers, here in space) if her bright smile is any indication. They don't even have to be for her; Angela hasn't seen flowers so vibrant in some time and they're a visual treat even in passing.
"York; you've changed it up today, I see."
His name is spoken with fond warmth, pen set down and chart slid up to the corner of her desk before she rises in greeting to move her coat from her other chair.
When he's acknowledged York steps into the room, heading for the chair she's freeing up and circling around her desk to offer her the bouquet. A flush rises to his face as their fingers brush when she takes them -- a raucous arrangement of color and shapes that neither of them have probably seen before.
"I passed a market with flowers on the way here -- first I've seen them in this world, I couldn't not get you some. Brighten up your office."
He sits, then, folding one leg up, ankle over his knee. "How's your day been?"
The flowers are offered to her and her smile brightens even further, teeth flashing and shoulders drawing up as they're scooped graciously from his hand and brought to her face without a modicum of fear— she should be wary with alien flora, perhaps, but they already smell lovely and her nose is lost to sky blue petals, soft lavender brushing one cheek and white against the other with splashes of sunny yellow peppered throughout in charming puffs of unopened buds. They almost smell of citrus and honey and some are even spicy, trying not to hug them to her chest. It hadn't taken much to fluster him, but she isn't particularly trying to tone it down, either. Angela is observant beyond her years and the color in his cheeks only corroborates what she's noticed before; she's fairly certain he may be courting her.
"They're beautiful, thank you süässli. I haven't seen any since we left the midway hub with the thistle plants. Let me get some water for them."
Her office is formally an exam room with an added desk, and the glass pitcher gathered up from the opposite end is filled with water from the tiny sink while he arranges himself, taking her time to snip the ends at an angle beneath the running water before placing them in the pitcher. They're arranged with care to maintain the bouquet's color balance, and she returns to set it on her desk with a fond smile, returning to her chair (stool, really, as all doctors seem to favor) as she edges closer. The cross of one leg over her other nearly brings them knee to knee, holding a hand out for one of his to squeeze appreciatively.
"And they'll do just that. It's significantly better with your company, as always. The clinic's been quiet so I've been able to catch up on some research. How about yours?"
It helps having something physical to focus on, but that's assuming he's in a state to focus in the first place. And tonight he's just not. He traces the ornate embroidery without actually feeling it on his fingertips, too overloaded by the crashing in his ears, the crawling on his skin, the lights flashing behind his closed eyelids. Stubbornly he keeps trying but the anxiety ratchets up, getting worse as he fails to control it, until it's choking him. Pushing his pulse hummingbird fast and spinning the room around him when he opens his eyes, searching desperately for anything to ground himself.
And of course the only thing he finds is Ratchet in the bunk across from him. York moves slowly, carefully, quietly, sitting up in bed and struggling to keep his breathing even as he crosses the space between their beds. He wakes his friend with a shake instead of just crawling in under the covers -- he's a bit too far gone for that, too worried about waking the others with his impending panic attack. His grip on Ratchet's shoulder is just slightly too tight, the shake just a bit frantic. Wake up, Ratchet. Help.
Ratchet's whole body is tense in an instant when York grabs his shoulder--he'd barely been dozing and it takes him no time at all to come fully awake and, thankfully, recognize York immediately to keep from elbowing him in the jaw.
"York," he says, his voice low and rough with sleep, half-sitting up but not really pulling out of York's grip, reaching up to close a hand around his elbow and squeeze reassuringly. "I've got you, c'mere. You all right? Talk to me."
There's a little bit of guilt in this, in waking Ratchet from what little sleep the other man manages to get. But he's offered countless times, has outright told York to wake him on purpose rather than accidentally by letting it get too bad, so here he is. Shaking and hyperventilating but here, and he holds on for a moment before just standing up, catching Ratchet's hand and tugging. Not in here. He's not going to wake anyone else.
"Common room?" he manages to keep his voice quiet, swaying on his feet as the room spins again. "I can't stop it..."
"Yeah." Ratchet just nods and pushes up without hesitation, keeping a grip on his hand as they make their way to the common room. He relaxes a little once they're in relative private, turning back to York and searching his face intently, closing his free hand on York's shoulder.
"S'all right. You're all right. Walk me through what's going on, okay?"
York just shakes harder once they're alone and he doesn't have to keep such tight control over himself, leaning forward to press his forehead to Ratchet's shoulder, his other hand coming up and gripping his shirt desperately. "It's... like I'm misfiring," he gasps out, not sure how else to describe it. It's an overload of sensation that he knows isn't really there, but that threatens to drown him anyway. He's not sure whether he needs to be distracted from it or just watched until it passes, but Ratchet helped the last time. York grits his teeth and focuses on putting it into words. He doesn't beg to be knocked out this time, but there's a hopeless edge to his voice.
"Everything's too loud. And bright. And moving, it's like I'm falling or exploding or--" Fuck. He just wants it to stop. He can't hack it-- "It's not real. Why is this still happening?"
It had taken almost a week's worth of convincing, but Carolina had finally agreed to come out on shore leave with the rest of them. York hadn't even been the only one trying to get her to lay off training for a night -- pretty much everyone had asked her if she was heading down to the planet they were stopping at. Even if she'd just given in out of a desire to get them to stop asking, York was pleased. And he'd done some research. Just to make sure she'd actually have fun... they wouldn't just be going to some bar with the others and stumbling back in the morning with a passed out Wyoming or bailed-out South. No, he'd found the best club within five miles of the drop and planned to split off from the others and take her there instead. She could have a night off without babysitting the rest of the team, maybe cut loose a little.
He doesn't exactly have clubwear in his closet anymore but now he waits for her in the docking bay in fitted jeans and a skintight v-neck that should do the trick, and give her a hint where they're headed. It doesn't matter what she chose to wear, he thinks, she won't have any problems getting into a club. Most of the others have already left, so it'll be just them heading out. Unless she's changed her mind. Maybe he should go look for her...
Shore leave. Alright. Not her favourite thing, when there's so much they could be practicing, but Carolina knows that she'll be training alone if she stays and well... maybe it'll be worth it to have an evening out. Maybe she'll even enjoy herself.
So she does a relatively boring black dress and her favourite turquoise jacket and her makeup, because she can, but her hair holds her up. By the time she realizes everyone's leaving without her, she's too frustrated to keep trying, so a low ponytail it is. As usual. Unimpressed, her face is set in a scowl when she finally hits the docking bay, nearly running into York in front of the elevator.
"What?" she asks, tilting her head as she looks over him, trying to figure out where he was headed, not thinking that it might have just been to look for her. "Are you not going now?"
York turns when he hears her voice, his smile unfaltering even when he sees that she's wearing a scowl to go with her leave clothes. Which are fine for a club, even if he wishes she'd take her hair down. Maybe he can convince her when they're on line to get in.
"I'm going. I was worried you weren't." He shifts away from the elevator and motions for her to follow him out. "I should warn you, I have no idea where everybody else went."
"So you lost them already." It's a flat statement, but at least it's less angry, more typically unimpressed. If they survive an evening of drinking without losing someone at least briefly, it's a miracle. It's only happened once, that she can remember, but still.
She falls into step beside him, head angled his way as she asks, "Do you know where we're meeting up?"
He's hardly sleeping, hardly eating (though food is scarce to start with so he might not have been eating more even if he was hungry), and the attacks have been coming with more frequency. He's worried all the time, and spends all his patrol shifts watching the snow and hoping that he'll see his friend trekking through it. The others won't let him go back and if he snuck out alone he wouldn't stand a chance, so he just waits. It's a selfish hope -- it might be what feels right morally but now that he's actually on the other side he knows Ratchet's better off where he is. The Cetagandan base was warmer and cleaner and actually had food.
Another night and another panic attack, and York doesn't want to wake anyone in the extremely crowded outsiders tent so he gets up, sneaks outside and curls up at the base of a tree until his breathing evens out. Until he can lift his head again. He watches the guards pacing back and forth to keep warm and the snowstorm behind them, and off in the distance he sees a figure.
No. There's no way anyone would wander out in this storm, he must still be hallucinating. But then the guards see it, too, and York's on his feet at their first shout, running forward and narrowing his eyes to see who's coming.
Ratchet hears the guards' shouts and raises his gloved hands lacing them behind his head as he approaches, his coat open and his expression mild. The amount of effort involved in busting out of the Cetagandan base after everyone else had already done so would be wasted shamefully were he to be shot on sight trying to haul the pack of medical supplies he managed to run out with into camp. He sees one unarmed figure scrambling up, moving faster, and he squints through the snow, feeling something lurch in the vicinity of his belly as he draws close enough for his vision to start to clear.
"York?" he calls, but he doesn't move his hands from his head yet, hesitating. "York, is that you?"
Luckily for Ratchet the Barrayaran guards aren't armed with anything long range, just their swords. York hears his name and his heart leaps into his throat -- he catches up to the guards and holds up a hand. "It's okay," he tells them, "he's safe." In so many ways. The guards don't lower their weapons but they let York run out in front of them as they call for backup. Just in case -- he's not offended they don't trust his word, and he's more focused on the snow covered figure in front of him.
And when he reaches the other man Ratchet is getting a hug, jostling the pack over his shoulder. "How did you get out?"
Ratchet barks a laugh as York collides with him, bringing his arms down to wrap them hard around York's shoulders and squeeze.
"With great difficulty," he says, grinning with relief as he buries his freezing cold nose against York's neck. "Brought presents, though. As many medkits as I could shove into a bag, mostly. You guys have an overabundance of surgeons here? I'd hate to have to wait in line."
It's York's fourth night straight on the road but he can't stop. Has no safehouse in this town, has to keep moving until he hits a place to crash. He pulls his motorcycle in at the only place with the lights on in this shithole he's passing through, a shady looking bar, and reaches into the storage compartment of his armor. A little money, not much, enough he can get a few drinks and whatever passes for food here. Just something to keep him going. Keep him alive another day.
Fuck, he's so tired.
The bar's actually nicer on the inside than he would have expected, low lights and the drone of music playing over tinny speakers. Crowded but clean. He weaves through people to get to the bar, slips onto a stool and pulls off his helmet. Instantly the scent of alcohol hits him, heady and tempting. Food first, though. He lifts a hand to signal the bartender.
[North had been quietly in love with York for years and had resolved himself to keep that secret to the grave if necessary. Because York had been so utterly head over heels for Carolina so he’d kept quiet and done what he could to help support the other man through his many relationship struggles with the fiery redhead.
But rumor had it Carolina had died in the crash of MoI, that she’d been killed by the same person who’d attacked Wyoming. He’d fallen out of touch with his fellow Freelancers after that and had no idea what had become of that or if the rumors were true. The simple fact that York was here on his doorstep sort of confirmed that rumor somewhat, right?
North wasn’t going to interrupt what they were doing though and ask about the man’s ex-girlfriend. Not now when he was finally getting the thing he’d wanted for so very long. And that probably made him a selfish son of a bitch but he couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment.
Not when York was pressing his mostly naked body weight down on top of him and the blond man was finally getting to explore the body that had been the focal point of some of his more raunchy fantasies for years. In point of fact, it felt even better than he could have imagined. York’s accidental grinding of their respective hard-ons together felt staggeringly good and he found himself groaning into the kiss quietly.
When the brunette put some distance between them so he could look at North, there was a hungry look on the man’s face, one tempered with longing and a little bit of uncertain anticipation.]
Yeah. [He said a little hoarsely as he fought the urge to rock his hips upwards into the teasing touch of the man’s hand.] What about you?
[ It's wise not to bring up Carolina, that would ruin the mood. And York isn't thinking about her right now... not at all. He's completely focused on North, on his warmth and scent and taste and the solid feel of his body, the way he squirms and how his breath catches as York strokes his stomach. It's captivating, and that little groan... York bites his hip as he meets North's gaze, those bright blue eyes, trying to get himself under control. ]
I'm good. [ He's a little breathless, voice rough with want. ] Great.
[ Part of him wants to just shove North down and grind against him shamelessly, but he can be patient. He doesn't want to rush this... he wants to see. The hand in North's hair slips free and around to cup his jaw, thumb running over the other man's bottom lip. ]
Lie back?
[ Aaaaand as for his other hand? It's slipping into North's underwear, nimble fingers caressing before wrapping around him and giving a firm stroke. ]
[North was generally such an easy going guy that it was nearly impossible to ruffle his composure. The man had ice water in his veins when they were in the middle of a heated firefight with bullets zinging over their heads but right now, he looked surprisingly undone. His hair was disheveled from York’s fingers combing through it repeatedly and his normally pale skin was flushed pink with all the adrenaline and sheer want pounding through him right now.
He swore, it felt like his skin was overly sensitized just from York’s touch and it was all he could do to rein in the need to keep from rutting up against the other man until both of them reached a fast and messy completion. His legendary patience had gone out the window and now, all he wanted was to experience everything right now.] Okay, good.
[His voice was just as ragged as York’s but the assurance seemed to help a little and he laid back as instructed with a shaky breath. Even stretched out on the bunk, he couldn’t keep his hands completely to himself and North reached up to splay his hand across the small of York’s back so he could urge the other man closer.
When York stroked his thumb across his lower lip, North flit his tongue across the pad of the man’s finger and tried to draw it into his mouth. It wasn’t necessarily the part of York he was eager and interested in sucking on but it would do for now. And then, the other man finally dipped his hand inside his underwear and the blond groaned around the finger in his mouth when York wrapped warm fingers around him firmly.]
[ North urges him closer and York goes, muscles flexing under North's palm as his weight shifts, holding himself above his friend. His lover, he can probably say after this. And North can have that finger, can watch York's tongue flick out to lick his lips as he watches North's close around it, as the other man's tongue strokes along its length. It's hard not to imagine it other places, the heat and wetness against his skin. Soon, maybe.
His other hand, though, is working North slowly. Thumb swiping over the head with each stroke. He feels North shudder under him and savors his groan, the way his hips jerk up just slightly despite York's weight on him. Every shift and sound is committed to memory -- he doesn't want to miss any of this, doesn't want to lose it. Anything could happen tomorrow but this is now and he's not going to forget a thing. The flush to North's skin, the heat in his eyes. York's mouth curves into a smile, warm and happy. ]
Can I...? [ York pulls his finger out of North's mouth so the other man can answer, eyes flicking down between them. He can do better than his hand. If North wants it. ]
York hadn't expected things to be so confusing, but he'd never been in a fight while surrounded by and trying to protect civilians. He quickly lost sight of Carolina and shoved down the burst of panic he felt when he realized that -- she could handle herself. She'd be fine. He took down another handful of the armed guards that had rushed to meet the breakout effort and ushered more non-combatants forward, sending a mental command to Delta to help him find Carolina. She'd be fine, but he wanted the assurance of her at his side.
Delta caught her -- to his left, it was always something on his left -- facing a wave coming from that side. Rushing there, to help, York spotted her just in time to see an inexperienced fighter with a shock stick knocked backwards straight into her. She went stiff and shuddered, fell, and York screamed for her though she probably couldn't hear him even if she were conscious. He knew just how much voltage those things held, it was stupid not to know your weapon and he had one in his hand as well. She'd survive, but was definitely knocked out by it, and in danger of being trampled. The crowd parted before his shoving, though, and he was able to get to her. Lift her dead weight into his arms and try to escape the crowd.
That was the last thing he remembered. Now, he was lying somewhere soft and bright, and as he came back to his senses he felt that he was restrained. Opening his eyes and squinting into the light, he recognizes it as some kind of medical bay. The Savrii must have taken him out somehow while he was distracted... his head still feels fuzzy.
"Delta? D, what happened?"
Delta answers him mentally, confirming his suspicions. Then telling him someone else is here.
"You're awake." A gentle voice, of course on his left. York rolls his head to the side to see a woman there, approaching his bedside. "Would you like some water?"
"...please." Then, before she'd even reached him, "Was I brought in with a woman? A redhead."
"She's here," she tells him, nodding off to his other side.
York forces his head up and turns it the other way, looking, and sure enough. Carolina is in a bed several down the row. He exhales in relief and collapses back to the pillow. "Is she okay?"
A hesitation. "She hasn't woken." And then a cup is being offered to him, to tilt his head back up and drink. So he does, and he must have been out for a while himself because he's thirsty, and finishes the cup before speaking again.
"Can I sit with her? I'm not a threat, I didn't want to fight. I was just protecting the others."
"I wasn't there," she says simply, voice hardening a bit. "But many of you were 'protecting' people with your fists. It is not our way."
"You came with weapons."
"It's not my decision to make."
"Do I look like I'm lying? Please. I'll just sit there."
The woman gives him an intent look, almost looking through him rather than at him, and it makes York distinctly uncomfortable. But then she relents, and reaches for his restraints. "I'll get you a chair."
Once his hands are free, York sits up, ignoring the wave of dizziness to look around a little more. There's an armed guard stationed at the door at the far end of the room -- maybe that's the real reason the nurse thought this was okay. Or maybe she'd read his mind. Who knows, with the Savrii? Either way he's getting what he wanted. Moving slowly he slips off the bed and around the others, to Carolina's side. She's similarly restrained but doesn't seem injured. Was it just the taser that knocked her out for this long? He reaches to stroke her hair back from her face and notices a strange, lightning-esque red mark spreading from the back of her neck. Must be where the stick zapped her, that's all. The nurse comes back with a chair and York sits in it gratefully, taking Carolina's hand. And that's where he'll be until she wakes up.
Her first thought when consciousness returns is that she hurts, a steady throb radiating out from the base of her neck to spread into her skull. And with that pain comes a deluge of other sensations that all vie for her attention even though all she wants is to sink back into that dark place where pain doesn't exist. She has aches all over and her throat feels like sandpaper. In the end it's her thirst that finally drags her wakefulness.
Groaning softly, Carolina's eyes flutter as she wakes up and stares at the ceiling. Where is she? Turning to look around she finally notices York holding her hand. Before she can speak, do anything the nurse approaches just like she did with York and offers her a cup of water that Carolina gratefully accepts.
"How do you feel?"
"My head hurts. Did I get hurt?" Or... did she hurt someone? She's not blind, she's noticed the restraints. That must mean something, right?
"You were." The nurse glances at York for a moment before continuing. "Due to reckless actions you were struck with an electrical weapon. Our scans have shown you may have experienced some neural scarring. We'll know more when a doctor comes to check on you."
It doesn't feel real, the words don't line up to make any kind of sense. Does that mean she has brain damage? As the nurse retreats to call a doctor, Carolina searches for something to focus on in the interim, settling on York since he's right there. There's something about him, like a word on the tip of her tongue but bigger. He's handsome enough, even with a scar covering his left side.
Neural scarring? What does that mean? York tenses, squeezes Carolina's hand and watches the nurse's back as she retreats to get a doctor. It's okay, Carolina will be fine, they just--
...do I know you?
York looks back to Carolina, her green eyes confused, the way she's studying his face like she can't place him.
His stomach drops out.
"Yeah, you..." Fuck, what does he even tell her? His voice softens, lowers. "You know me. I'm. Everybody calls me York."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for angela;
And that's how he wound up standing outside her clinic with a bouquet, feeling ridiculous.
Might as well go inside, though, she knows he comes by about this time for coffee. He waves to the receptionist and heads for Angela's office to wait if she's with a patient somewhere, but when he gets there she's sitting at her desk looking over a chart. York raps his fingers on the open door.
for meeeeeeeee? bats lashes
Beyond those from home occasionally swinging by or messaging her over the network, Ahab was a scheduled presence that either came by or hailed her every couple of days, and David was on the daily— he had been since the first week she'd arrived on the Moira, finding the quiet hours of the gym together and sharing mission after mission. Shiro was also fairly regular with his biotic arm, scheduled checkups— and then more recently there was Kurt. And more frequently, York. She's rather spoiled by those who surround her, well aware that she's blessed in her friendships and their presence in her day to day.
It's a pleasant surprise, then, when after one more patient there's a knock at her office door and she glances up after a brief moment to finish jotting down a sentence and she's greeted not only by York's familiar face, but the brightness of flowers in his hand— and she's quite clearly delighted to see him (and such lovely flowers, here in space) if her bright smile is any indication. They don't even have to be for her; Angela hasn't seen flowers so vibrant in some time and they're a visual treat even in passing.
"York; you've changed it up today, I see."
His name is spoken with fond warmth, pen set down and chart slid up to the corner of her desk before she rises in greeting to move her coat from her other chair.
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"I passed a market with flowers on the way here -- first I've seen them in this world, I couldn't not get you some. Brighten up your office."
He sits, then, folding one leg up, ankle over his knee. "How's your day been?"
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"They're beautiful, thank you süässli. I haven't seen any since we left the midway hub with the thistle plants. Let me get some water for them."
Her office is formally an exam room with an added desk, and the glass pitcher gathered up from the opposite end is filled with water from the tiny sink while he arranges himself, taking her time to snip the ends at an angle beneath the running water before placing them in the pitcher. They're arranged with care to maintain the bouquet's color balance, and she returns to set it on her desk with a fond smile, returning to her chair (stool, really, as all doctors seem to favor) as she edges closer. The cross of one leg over her other nearly brings them knee to knee, holding a hand out for one of his to squeeze appreciatively.
"And they'll do just that. It's significantly better with your company, as always. The clinic's been quiet so I've been able to catch up on some research. How about yours?"
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It helps having something physical to focus on, but that's assuming he's in a state to focus in the first place. And tonight he's just not. He traces the ornate embroidery without actually feeling it on his fingertips, too overloaded by the crashing in his ears, the crawling on his skin, the lights flashing behind his closed eyelids. Stubbornly he keeps trying but the anxiety ratchets up, getting worse as he fails to control it, until it's choking him. Pushing his pulse hummingbird fast and spinning the room around him when he opens his eyes, searching desperately for anything to ground himself.
And of course the only thing he finds is Ratchet in the bunk across from him. York moves slowly, carefully, quietly, sitting up in bed and struggling to keep his breathing even as he crosses the space between their beds. He wakes his friend with a shake instead of just crawling in under the covers -- he's a bit too far gone for that, too worried about waking the others with his impending panic attack. His grip on Ratchet's shoulder is just slightly too tight, the shake just a bit frantic. Wake up, Ratchet. Help.
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"York," he says, his voice low and rough with sleep, half-sitting up but not really pulling out of York's grip, reaching up to close a hand around his elbow and squeeze reassuringly. "I've got you, c'mere. You all right? Talk to me."
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"Common room?" he manages to keep his voice quiet, swaying on his feet as the room spins again. "I can't stop it..."
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"S'all right. You're all right. Walk me through what's going on, okay?"
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"Everything's too loud. And bright. And moving, it's like I'm falling or exploding or--" Fuck. He just wants it to stop. He can't hack it-- "It's not real. Why is this still happening?"
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carolina; shore leave
He doesn't exactly have clubwear in his closet anymore but now he waits for her in the docking bay in fitted jeans and a skintight v-neck that should do the trick, and give her a hint where they're headed. It doesn't matter what she chose to wear, he thinks, she won't have any problems getting into a club. Most of the others have already left, so it'll be just them heading out. Unless she's changed her mind. Maybe he should go look for her...
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So she does a relatively boring black dress and her favourite turquoise jacket and her makeup, because she can, but her hair holds her up. By the time she realizes everyone's leaving without her, she's too frustrated to keep trying, so a low ponytail it is. As usual. Unimpressed, her face is set in a scowl when she finally hits the docking bay, nearly running into York in front of the elevator.
"What?" she asks, tilting her head as she looks over him, trying to figure out where he was headed, not thinking that it might have just been to look for her. "Are you not going now?"
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"I'm going. I was worried you weren't." He shifts away from the elevator and motions for her to follow him out. "I should warn you, I have no idea where everybody else went."
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She falls into step beside him, head angled his way as she asks, "Do you know where we're meeting up?"
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another one for ratchet;
He's hardly sleeping, hardly eating (though food is scarce to start with so he might not have been eating more even if he was hungry), and the attacks have been coming with more frequency. He's worried all the time, and spends all his patrol shifts watching the snow and hoping that he'll see his friend trekking through it. The others won't let him go back and if he snuck out alone he wouldn't stand a chance, so he just waits. It's a selfish hope -- it might be what feels right morally but now that he's actually on the other side he knows Ratchet's better off where he is. The Cetagandan base was warmer and cleaner and actually had food.
Another night and another panic attack, and York doesn't want to wake anyone in the extremely crowded outsiders tent so he gets up, sneaks outside and curls up at the base of a tree until his breathing evens out. Until he can lift his head again. He watches the guards pacing back and forth to keep warm and the snowstorm behind them, and off in the distance he sees a figure.
No. There's no way anyone would wander out in this storm, he must still be hallucinating. But then the guards see it, too, and York's on his feet at their first shout, running forward and narrowing his eyes to see who's coming.
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"York?" he calls, but he doesn't move his hands from his head yet, hesitating. "York, is that you?"
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And when he reaches the other man Ratchet is getting a hug, jostling the pack over his shoulder. "How did you get out?"
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"With great difficulty," he says, grinning with relief as he buries his freezing cold nose against York's neck. "Brought presents, though. As many medkits as I could shove into a bag, mostly. You guys have an overabundance of surgeons here? I'd hate to have to wait in line."
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for nat; rvb au
Fuck, he's so tired.
The bar's actually nicer on the inside than he would have expected, low lights and the drone of music playing over tinny speakers. Crowded but clean. He weaves through people to get to the bar, slips onto a stool and pulls off his helmet. Instantly the scent of alcohol hits him, heady and tempting. Food first, though. He lifts a hand to signal the bartender.
North/York; nsfw
[North had been quietly in love with York for years and had resolved himself to keep that secret to the grave if necessary. Because York had been so utterly head over heels for Carolina so he’d kept quiet and done what he could to help support the other man through his many relationship struggles with the fiery redhead.
But rumor had it Carolina had died in the crash of MoI, that she’d been killed by the same person who’d attacked Wyoming. He’d fallen out of touch with his fellow Freelancers after that and had no idea what had become of that or if the rumors were true. The simple fact that York was here on his doorstep sort of confirmed that rumor somewhat, right?
North wasn’t going to interrupt what they were doing though and ask about the man’s ex-girlfriend. Not now when he was finally getting the thing he’d wanted for so very long. And that probably made him a selfish son of a bitch but he couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment.
Not when York was pressing his mostly naked body weight down on top of him and the blond man was finally getting to explore the body that had been the focal point of some of his more raunchy fantasies for years. In point of fact, it felt even better than he could have imagined. York’s accidental grinding of their respective hard-ons together felt staggeringly good and he found himself groaning into the kiss quietly.
When the brunette put some distance between them so he could look at North, there was a hungry look on the man’s face, one tempered with longing and a little bit of uncertain anticipation.]
Yeah. [He said a little hoarsely as he fought the urge to rock his hips upwards into the teasing touch of the man’s hand.] What about you?
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I'm good. [ He's a little breathless, voice rough with want. ] Great.
[ Part of him wants to just shove North down and grind against him shamelessly, but he can be patient. He doesn't want to rush this... he wants to see. The hand in North's hair slips free and around to cup his jaw, thumb running over the other man's bottom lip. ]
Lie back?
[ Aaaaand as for his other hand? It's slipping into North's underwear, nimble fingers caressing before wrapping around him and giving a firm stroke. ]
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He swore, it felt like his skin was overly sensitized just from York’s touch and it was all he could do to rein in the need to keep from rutting up against the other man until both of them reached a fast and messy completion. His legendary patience had gone out the window and now, all he wanted was to experience everything right now.] Okay, good.
[His voice was just as ragged as York’s but the assurance seemed to help a little and he laid back as instructed with a shaky breath. Even stretched out on the bunk, he couldn’t keep his hands completely to himself and North reached up to splay his hand across the small of York’s back so he could urge the other man closer.
When York stroked his thumb across his lower lip, North flit his tongue across the pad of the man’s finger and tried to draw it into his mouth. It wasn’t necessarily the part of York he was eager and interested in sucking on but it would do for now. And then, the other man finally dipped his hand inside his underwear and the blond groaned around the finger in his mouth when York wrapped warm fingers around him firmly.]
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His other hand, though, is working North slowly. Thumb swiping over the head with each stroke. He feels North shudder under him and savors his groan, the way his hips jerk up just slightly despite York's weight on him. Every shift and sound is committed to memory -- he doesn't want to miss any of this, doesn't want to lose it. Anything could happen tomorrow but this is now and he's not going to forget a thing. The flush to North's skin, the heat in his eyes. York's mouth curves into a smile, warm and happy. ]
Can I...? [ York pulls his finger out of North's mouth so the other man can answer, eyes flicking down between them. He can do better than his hand. If North wants it. ]
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for lina; amnesia
York hadn't expected things to be so confusing, but he'd never been in a fight while surrounded by and trying to protect civilians. He quickly lost sight of Carolina and shoved down the burst of panic he felt when he realized that -- she could handle herself. She'd be fine. He took down another handful of the armed guards that had rushed to meet the breakout effort and ushered more non-combatants forward, sending a mental command to Delta to help him find Carolina. She'd be fine, but he wanted the assurance of her at his side.
Delta caught her -- to his left, it was always something on his left -- facing a wave coming from that side. Rushing there, to help, York spotted her just in time to see an inexperienced fighter with a shock stick knocked backwards straight into her. She went stiff and shuddered, fell, and York screamed for her though she probably couldn't hear him even if she were conscious. He knew just how much voltage those things held, it was stupid not to know your weapon and he had one in his hand as well. She'd survive, but was definitely knocked out by it, and in danger of being trampled. The crowd parted before his shoving, though, and he was able to get to her. Lift her dead weight into his arms and try to escape the crowd.
That was the last thing he remembered. Now, he was lying somewhere soft and bright, and as he came back to his senses he felt that he was restrained. Opening his eyes and squinting into the light, he recognizes it as some kind of medical bay. The Savrii must have taken him out somehow while he was distracted... his head still feels fuzzy.
"Delta? D, what happened?"
Delta answers him mentally, confirming his suspicions. Then telling him someone else is here.
"You're awake." A gentle voice, of course on his left. York rolls his head to the side to see a woman there, approaching his bedside. "Would you like some water?"
"...please." Then, before she'd even reached him, "Was I brought in with a woman? A redhead."
"She's here," she tells him, nodding off to his other side.
York forces his head up and turns it the other way, looking, and sure enough. Carolina is in a bed several down the row. He exhales in relief and collapses back to the pillow. "Is she okay?"
A hesitation. "She hasn't woken." And then a cup is being offered to him, to tilt his head back up and drink. So he does, and he must have been out for a while himself because he's thirsty, and finishes the cup before speaking again.
"Can I sit with her? I'm not a threat, I didn't want to fight. I was just protecting the others."
"I wasn't there," she says simply, voice hardening a bit. "But many of you were 'protecting' people with your fists. It is not our way."
"You came with weapons."
"It's not my decision to make."
"Do I look like I'm lying? Please. I'll just sit there."
The woman gives him an intent look, almost looking through him rather than at him, and it makes York distinctly uncomfortable. But then she relents, and reaches for his restraints. "I'll get you a chair."
Once his hands are free, York sits up, ignoring the wave of dizziness to look around a little more. There's an armed guard stationed at the door at the far end of the room -- maybe that's the real reason the nurse thought this was okay. Or maybe she'd read his mind. Who knows, with the Savrii? Either way he's getting what he wanted. Moving slowly he slips off the bed and around the others, to Carolina's side. She's similarly restrained but doesn't seem injured. Was it just the taser that knocked her out for this long? He reaches to stroke her hair back from her face and notices a strange, lightning-esque red mark spreading from the back of her neck. Must be where the stick zapped her, that's all. The nurse comes back with a chair and York sits in it gratefully, taking Carolina's hand. And that's where he'll be until she wakes up.
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Groaning softly, Carolina's eyes flutter as she wakes up and stares at the ceiling. Where is she? Turning to look around she finally notices York holding her hand. Before she can speak, do anything the nurse approaches just like she did with York and offers her a cup of water that Carolina gratefully accepts.
"How do you feel?"
"My head hurts. Did I get hurt?" Or... did she hurt someone? She's not blind, she's noticed the restraints. That must mean something, right?
"You were." The nurse glances at York for a moment before continuing. "Due to reckless actions you were struck with an electrical weapon. Our scans have shown you may have experienced some neural scarring. We'll know more when a doctor comes to check on you."
It doesn't feel real, the words don't line up to make any kind of sense. Does that mean she has brain damage? As the nurse retreats to call a doctor, Carolina searches for something to focus on in the interim, settling on York since he's right there. There's something about him, like a word on the tip of her tongue but bigger. He's handsome enough, even with a scar covering his left side.
"...do I know you?"
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...do I know you?
York looks back to Carolina, her green eyes confused, the way she's studying his face like she can't place him.
His stomach drops out.
"Yeah, you..." Fuck, what does he even tell her? His voice softens, lowers. "You know me. I'm. Everybody calls me York."