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“…Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Wash’s voice is hushed, the line of his spine tense at her side. Carolina is surprised she can hear him at all over the roaring in her ears and the sound of Epsilon absolutely freaking the fuck out inside her head.
He was a mess of flickering pixels at her shoulder, changing rapidly between his normal blue and Delta’s shade of green that forever sent her stomach into knots. But her gaze was focused on a completely different color at the moment.
Standing across from them was a soldier plated in golden armor that she would recognize anywhere. He stood with a weary, but easy confidence, letting the bag on his shoulder fall to the ground.
“Some welcoming committee,” the soldier says with a grin, his voice sparking a familiar pang in Carolina’s chest as he motions out to the mix of soldiers that guarded the Armonian central base. The mix of Feds and News were clearly wary about him, about how he could have their two Freelancers set so on edge. The soldier holds his hands up, playfully displaying his lack of weaponry, “This how you greet all your old friends?”
Wash goes tenser at her side, his hands curling and uncurling methodically into fists, over and over again. She doesn’t move, she can’t.
It can’t be him.
“Stand down,” Wash calls out the command, his voice strong and tense. Immediately the guards all step back into their ranks and lines, their guns falling into rest. The soldier laughs, his whole body moving with the sound. Tears threaten to sting at her eyes.
“Well look at our rookie,” he’s moving now, walking with an easy sway to his gait down the newly created path. “Wash, dude, you’re in charge of some shit now!” He sweeps a hand toward them and to the rainbow of sim troopers at their back. “And all of you! The sim troopers who took down PFL. Shit you have all been setting stuff off! All the circuits are buzzing about you, and yet you’re damn near impossible to find.”
“I…” Wash’s voice cracks. He’s already shrinking back to the rookie soldier with the good shot that Carolina knew back in Freelancer. The Reds and Blues are thankfully staying out of this mess, but Carolina can hear them fidgeting behind them, holding rank behind her and Wash. She can see that Tucker’s taken a step forward as the soldier in gold comes closer. Wash hasn’t noticed, his shoulders squared forward, sputtering now. “I don’t… this can’t.. how— I blew up your body!”
“Yeah I know,” he laughs again, coming to a stop with his feet planted in front of them, amusement setting off the twang of his voice. “I saw it from where I was recovering from the number D did on me after helping Tex out. Had to let the bullet wound heal up a bit more before I could keep moving.” There’s a genuine sadness to his voice when he talks about the AI and oh good God it’s him. It’s really him.
Now that he’s stopped moving, his attention is centered on her. She’s staring back at the still unfamiliar look of her helmet in his visor and she has to wonder if he knows? Can he know it’ her when she looks so different? He’d know her right? He has to…
“Hey Carolina,” his voice is warm and fond and her stomach churns.“Long time no see.” Wash is looking to her now, she knows he’s chewing on his lip under his helmet. She tries to swallow past the painful lump in her throat, but doing so only makes it harder to speak.
Her hands work though, and they’re coming up to unlock the seals of her helmet. Audible surprise rolls through the accumulated crowd, but she can’t even see them as she takes the helmet off and blinks up at him. All she see’s is gold.
It only takes the amount of time for her ponytail to unfurl down her back and her bangs to sweep into her eyes before he’s doing the same, peeling back the mask that was more their own identity than their reflections. She’s the one with the soft, surprised gasp this time as it’s confirmed.
Same stupidly done up hair, dark and messy. There’s grey in it now, edging up the sides. It looks good. His skin has lost some of it’s healthy glow to it, which is honestly how they all look now. Tired, drawn, but he’s grinning at her, his smile warm and wide, the edges of his scar quirking up with the movement.
There’s a murmur rippling through the troops again at the reunion as York, there was no doubt now, reaches out to take one of her hands. Delta-Epsilon is fucking freaking out right now, words glitching and skipping like a badly rendered song track but York doesn’t even look toward the flickering green light that bathes the side of his face, the AI still not stable enough to be a corporeal thing.
“I always wanted to find you again,” he says softly, his eyes never once leaving hers. Carolina can feel her breath coming in short bursts now, getting caught in her chest before she can use them, making her feel dizzy and lightheaded as the pads of his gloves move over hers when he gives her hand a squeeze.
“What’s the matter, Lina?” He asks, lips shirting to the side, his good eye wrinkling at the corner. “Never seen a pretty face before?”
“York…” Wash manages, his voice weak and oh god he’s shaking at her side. “York how did–”
“York,” she’s speaking now, cutting off Wash before she can process it, her helmet falling from her grasp to leave her hand free to come up and touch his chest plate. He’s beaming at her now, bright eyed. Carolina holds his gaze for a moment longer before moving on instinct and using that free hand to catch him on the jaw with a sharp jab of a punch.
“Carolina!” Wash cries out as York stumbles back, clutching at his jaw as he too drops his helmet. He doesn’t even look upset or surpried. Just more fond if anything. Fucking dick!
“Yeah,” he’s laughing. “Missed you too, Carolina.”
“This dude has a death wish,” Grif mutters behind her and okay she’ll deal with him later. Carolina strides forward and pushes his chest hard enough to startle him back another few steps.
“You fucking prick!” She shouts, still throwing punches and hits. Her voice goes near shrill. Ask her if she gives a fuck. “You fucking son of a bitch York!”
“Easy, easy!” York is defending himself now, blocking her hits with an ease that makes her ache for the training rooms on MOI, early morning spars followed by coffee together in the mess, his ankle locked with hers under the table while he swiped her breakfast as a game. Prick always stole her cereal. “Christ Carolina, calm down!”
“Calm down? Calm down?!” She demands. “How dare you tell me to calm down? I have every right to be angry, fuck who wouldn’t be angry? You fucking fake your own death and drop off the grid for years, YEARS York, and then you show up here on fucking Chorus of all places and waltz in here like… like nothing has happened…”
The hits have stopped now, her fists resting clenched on his chest plate. She’s gone tense and quiet, the wake of her shouting leaving a sort of silent void around them. Carolina shuts her eyes tight and tries not to shake and cry, even as her breathing gets ragged and York’s hands carefully find her hips.
“Easy,” he mutters again, his voice so soft, so close now. Delta-Epsilon has quieted now, calmed with being so close for the moment. “Easy Carolina, I know you’re mad. I would be too.” He pulls back to look at her a bit, the rough grip of his gloves coming up to catch at her chin as he cups a hand to her face. “I’m not going anywhere though. You can be mad at me later.”
“You bet your ass I will be,” she mutters, exhausted now. His laugh soothes her like a salve and she almost shivers at the sound. The soldiers of Chorus are still watching, the reds and blues still flank her back and Wash is clearly gaping at them both.
She doesn’t care. He’s here, that’s what matters. He’s here and he’s alive and she doesn’t even care that he’s going to steal her cereal the moment she gets him in the mess.