thisavrou | text;

Not really.

It's really you though? You know who Sigma is?

[ ... The hell kind of question is that? ]

Greek letter.

[ Not a who. ]

Okay. Okay that's good.

We need to meet up buddy.

Where?

[ So what if he's brand new? He'll get there. Wash said he's not good, so Maine will get there. End of story. ]

You at the Ingress complex? I'll meet you there.

Yeah. [ Then: ] Time?

[ In other words: how long does Wash get before Maine stops waiting and comes to him? ]

Give me 30. I'll take my helmet off as proof.

[ That's a strange offer. What does Wash have to prove? But he lets it go in favor of, ]

Sync.

[ He'll wait exactly thirty minutes. If Wash doesn't arrive by then, Maine's gonna start kicking down doors. ]

Sync.

[that at least is familiar.

He gets down there just before the time runs out and hesitates when he sees Maine before he drags his helmet off]

[ True to his word, Maine waits. Not patiently, but he waits. When he sees Wash, there's a visible release of tension in his shoulders and in his stance. At least, there is until Wash takes his helmet off.

[ Someday, he'll get used to his teammates being years older than they should be. Today is not that day.

[ Setting his feelings about Wash's face aside, Maine quickly looks over the rest of him. No injuries that he can see. Nothing obvious that would flag Wash as being less than good. So ... the problem is probably other than physical. ]

Made it.

[ He says it with a little jerk of his chin in Wash's direction. Wash made it on time. He made it off of the collapsing building. He made it through ... who knows what else. Enough that he's years older.

[ Just like Carolina, he survived to get older. It's good. ]

[He still watches Maine warily, waiting for this to be a trick, some trap to get him off-guard to take him out. But then... then Maine speaks and it's not Sigma's voice. It's Maine!]

Yeah. Yeah I did.

How you doing big guy?

[ He shrugs and grunts, noncommittal.

[ "Could be worse."

[ Could be better. Could be a lot better. Could've not found out all the shit that's making his head hurt. Could be in a place where things make sense, and if something pisses him off he can just take it out.

[ But his current mental state isn't important; the well-being of his teammates is his priority. ]

You?

Could be much worse.

[Because he could just... not be Maine anymore.]

It's been a long few years.

[ What happens to him isn't his priority. Still, Maine tilts his head in curiosity. Texas told him that, eventually, he stops being able to talk. Maybe that's what Wash means. ]

Bad years.

[ That's the impression he's gotten so far. ]

Yeah, really bad years.

[He scruffs a hand against the back of his head. He hasn't been sleeping since he left York's place and it shows.]

There's a lot to catch you up on, if you want. If not, that's fine too. The future sucks.

[ He snorts — "I noticed" — and moves to close the distance between them. Provided Wash doesn't move away, Maine will clap a big hand on his shoulder. It's a companionable gesture, born of concern. ]

Look rough.

[ Sugar-coating? What is that. Wash looks like crap, and Maine wants to know what's going on. If that involves catching him up on bad things ... fine. ]

[He tenses up a bit when Maine approaches, because last time the Meta touched him it left him in bad shape. But now? This is Maine.

He gives a soft snort of derision.]

I look like shit and you know it.

[ Maine doesn't miss the tension. Doesn't know what to make of it, either. He retracts his hand and puts the question of why aside. He can consider it later, right along with the way North recoiled at the sight of him. ]

Old, too.

[ How many years has it been for him? ]

Thanks, you really know how to flatter a guy.

[But he can guess the real questions.]

it's been three or four years. i think. I forget sometimes.

[ Maine just huffs. When has he ever been anything less than blunt? Then Wash says that he forgets sometimes.

[ ... The fuck does that mean?

[ Maine doesn't hesitate. He doesn't like doing it, but he doesn't hesitate. His concern over Wash's current state has officially reached a new level. Whatever's going on, they need to speak face-to-face. So he takes off his helmet.

[ His head is shaved, but there's no metastability tattoo on the back. There's no scarring on his throat or face from bullets or the subsequent fall off the freeway. There are no marks under his eyes from too many sleepless nights with Sigma burning in his mind. He's just Maine. An ordinary (albeit big) guy looking Wash dead in the eye, waiting for him to continue. ]

Edited (words!) 2017-08-03 13:23 (UTC)

[Wash lets put a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, a knot relaxing in his chest that's Brent here since Maine had showed up.]

It's really you.

Right... yeah. [Explanation, he needs to explain.]

You got given an AI. Sigma. He was meant to be Carolina's but your throat...

Anyway, Sigma was fucking crazy. They all were. And last time I saw you it wasn't... you haven't been you for a long time.

[ For a moment, Maine is still. He's trying to make sense of that. To compile the bits and pieces of information he's picked up — words, actions, reactions — and shove them in alongside Wash's explanation. To make it make sense.

[ Something happened to him. Something very bad. His throat? He couldn't speak. Sigma was his A.I., like Theta is North's. Sigma was crazy. And then?

[ It's the last part that he can't figure out. His fingers twitch and he scowls, confused and uncertain and irritated by that uncertainty. ]

Not me?

[ What does that even mean? Who else could he be? What the fuck happened? ]

[He doesn't want to explain this. He doesn't want to remember the Meta, the creature that had burned Maine out and destroyed him. But he owes it to him doesn't he?]

Sigma. Your AI. He... the AIs were just fragments. Parts that had been broken off the Alpha. Through torture. Sigma thought he could become more than that if he got hold of the other fragments. And he used you to do it. Took over bit by bit until I don't think you were in there, or you'd been buried. He used you to do terrible things.

[ Terrible things.

[ Maine thinks of the way North jerked away from him, as though expecting an attack. He thinks of how shaken York appeared. He thinks of the tension in Wash, released only when he took off his helmet. He puts it together. They were afraid — all of them — that it wasn't him. That he was Sigma.

[ Sigma gave them reason to be afraid. Sigma was hostile.

[ Maine puts it together. Doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know what to feel or think about it. It's one more fucking thing that doesn't make a shred of sense. So he thinks of what does make sense. What always makes sense: the mission, and watching his teammate's backs.

[ Right now, Wash looks like shit. He's not good. Fuck Sigma. Fuck A.I. Fuck whatever happens in some future Maine hasn't lived. He'll deal with it later.

[ Maine raises his chin and rolls his shoulders; he lifts a hand to gesture to himself, solid and whole and decidedly him. ]

Here now.

[ Then he raises an eyebrow and nods at Wash with a low, questioning sound.

[ "What about you?" ]

[Despite everything, Wash cracks a smile, tired but genuine.]

Yeah, I know. I'm glad. It's good to see you.

[Maine, and not the Meta. Maine his friend, and not the tool or the monster.

The question, gets a sigh. It's exhausting, but he owes this to Maine.]

I got Epsilon. Alpha's memories. It killed itself in my head and tore me apart and then the Project locked me up and fucked with my head some more. For months.

So I convinced them I was fine, and I am. I'm fine. I'm not crazy.

And then I blew the Project up with an EMP.

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