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[ 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.

[ If this were any other day, news of Wash blowing up the Project would get a hell of a reaction. Today, however? Today, it's just one more unbelievable, unpleasant thing that Maine doesn't know how to deal with.

[ One part of him wants to punch his friend square in the face, because what the fuck. Another part wants to pull Wash close and cradle his head, because what the fuck.

[ In the end, he fixes his friend with an intense stare and raises his hand — slowly this time — to settle on Wash's shoulder again. Firmly: ]

Drinks.

[ The two of them. Right now. They fucking need it. ]

[Wash wouldn't blame him. He's not sure he'd survive, but he wouldn't blame him. Maine hadn't been Maine when Wash had found out about the Project. Or maybe... could Sigma have told him It doesn't matter. Right now, as far as Maine knows, the Project is home.

Even a careful hand on his shoulder pushes him down, but he grins at Maine.]

Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. I'm about four years overdue.

[ Maine huffs and shakes his head. "Too long." Wash's grin triggers a half smile in return. That expression? That's more like it.

[ Automatically, Maine starts lifting his helmet to put it back on. Then he pauses, remembering that release of tension when Wash saw his face, and he lets his helmet drop back to his side.

[ Maine already has a bullet hole in his armor from a sniper. Now he's going to be walking around barefaced. The shit he does for his friends....

[ A questioning growl accompanies a jerk of his head. "Let's go" and "Where to?" in one. He hasn't been here nearly long enough to find a bar. ]

[He's grateful for it. He knows that Maine is used to wearing his armour more than even Wash does, but it's nice to see his face, to be reminded that it's him, not the Meta.

Luckily Wash has taken the time to explore the area and get to know where things are. He knows just the place. A little dive bar, somewhere they might have visited on shore leave.]

Come on. I know where to go.

[ With a grunt of acknowledgment, Maine follows, watching his teammate's back all the while.

[ The dive bar is exactly the kind of place Maine would've chosen himself. It brings back good memories. Admittedly, some are hazier than others, but they're good. It feels almost normal. And, just like normal, Maine hits the ground running.

[ If he's downing his drinks a bit faster than normal, what of it? It's been a hell of a day.

[ By the time Maine starts feeling a pleasant warmth and a loosening of his tongue, he's trying to describe the kickass way he caught Carolina and York as they fell off of that building. He's chosen to do this by making a long arc with one hand while the other plummets. There are also low "whoosh" noises.

[ Don't fucking judge him. It's been a hell of a day. ]

[Yep, definitely been too long since he got drunk. They hadn't let him drink in hospital weirdly enough. Or in prison.

He leans his head on his hands and watches Maine try to explain what had happened on the mission. It's been entirely too long since he got to do this, and the nostalgia is a warmth in his gut. He's missed Maine so much that it hurts. It was worse when the Meta was right next to him.]

Uh-huh, I'm sure it was very impressive.

[ The big man huffs in mock-offense. Again, he demonstrates the awesome arc and the deadly plummet. Whoosh! As his hands collide, he grumbles something that would be completely lost on anyone but Wash:

[ "Midair!"

[ Then the arc continues, down and down, until it disappears beneath the bar. Another growl.

[ "Into a tunnel."

[ It was fucking awesome and so is he. ]

[Wash reaches over, pretty drunk since his tolerance has gone to shit since he hasn't drunk in so long, and pats Maine's arm.]

I believe you buddy.

[ Maine, on the other hand, is still in his partying prime. He's got the tolerance of a guy whose outlets consist of exercise and alcohol. Combine that with the sheer size of him, and it takes a lot to get Maine drunk.

[ Which is why, even as one part of him notes that Wash initiating contact is a welcome improvement, he decides that he definitely needs Wash's drink more than his friend does.

[ Excuse him while he smiles and oh-so-subtly (read: blatantly) tries to snag that drink. ]

Edited 2017-08-04 13:19 (UTC)

[It takes a moment but Wash does notice Maine stealing his drink.]

Hey! That's mine!

You can't steam my drink. I've waited four years for drinks! You know what they give you in prison? Water.

Just water.

[ Maine relents with a roll of his eyes — "Fine, fine" — and signals for another drink from the bartender, instead. It'll take longer, but fine. He'll wait. ]

Prison?

[ He doesn't think Wash mentioned prison. Well, there was that part about the Project locking him up and fucking with his head — Maine signals again, impatient and needing that next drink — but that wasn't in a prison, was it? ]

[Wash snags his drink back and gulps it down quickly. It goes straight to his head and he doesn't give a fuck.]

Yeah. The UNSC doesn't like it when you blow up top secret government projects. And when idiots don't turn over the evidence that shows they deserved it to the authorities.

[ At this rate, Maine will probably wind up carrying Wash out of this bar. That's perfectly fine with him.

[ The drink arrives, and Maine growls at the bartender to keep them coming. Hopefully the man will listen, because Maine's pushing the newly arrived drink over to Wash.

[ The shit he does for his friends....

[ Eventually, Maine's pleasantly fuzzy mind figures, Wash will run out of fucked up future events to drop on him. Until then? Drinks, a curious tilt of his head, and a low, questioning hum.

[ "What evidence?" ]

[And Wash will keep drinking as long as they keep coming. Being blackout drunks sounds pretty nice honestly.]

Epsilon. Epsilon remembers what they did to the Alpha. They tortured him. They fucked us up.

[ Epsilon? He frowns. Didn't Epsilon kill itself in Wash's head? As much as Maine doesn't want to think about that — doesn't want to consider the damage it caused — he leans in, seeking clarification.

[ ... But not before he turns to the bartender and barks out: ]

Shots!

[ Never mind the fact that Maine's raised voice sounds like a drill instructor from hell. Getting blackout drunk does indeed sound pretty damn good. ]

[Shots! Yeah, Wash can get behind that. He perks up a bit and gives Maine a bright smile for once before what Maine wants to know is registered.]

AIs can't properly die-die. Unless they're destroyed. They took him out of me, and they put him in storage.

[ It's a smile that Maine would like to see stay in place. Wash looks better now than when he first removed his helmet, but he still looks like shit. Not the rookie that Maine remembers like it was yesterday, because for him, it was. ]

Fuck A.I.

[ He says it with authority, like that's the definitive word on the subject. He's known about them for all of a day, but he's heard more than enough. Fuck 'em. ]

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