text;

[bloodbathing]

[ "Augusta" is the name attached to this TAB. The picture is of curved white metal with a stripe of dark orange — leg armor, for any who may recognize it. ]

UNSC. Marines. RT-636.

[ In order: the military Maine knows, the branch he's in, and the hull classification symbol for the Mother of Invention.

[ North insisted on gathering intel while keeping a low profile. Maine's only interest is in returning to their mission. This is the result of compromise. ]

Comments

[bloodbathing]

[ 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. ]

[notyourrookie]

[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.

[bloodbathing]

[ 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. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash laughs softly and nods.]

Yeah. Fuck them. They can all go to hell.

[The shots arrive then, and Wash grabs one of them and downs it.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine gulps his down in tandem. The liquor burns, and he grins. That's more like it. ]

And water.

[ It can go to hell, too! ]

[notyourrookie]

Yeah! Who needs water when we can have booze?!

[bloodbathing]

[ Whole-hearted grunt of agreement from this guy! He slides another shot Wash's way. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash beams at him and takes the shot, downing it in one. Ooooh, he feels sort of fuzzy.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine shoots his and lets out a huff of laughter. This is more like it!

[ But if they're going to continue like this (and Maine's not about to stop), he should probably figure out where to take Wash, if the rookie passes out.

[ (Not that he's a rookie anymore, is he?) ]

Where're you staying?

[notyourrookie]

[Wash grimaces at the question and slams the glass back down.]

Got a flat.

[Sort of, anyway. It's the tiniest cheapest place he could find on short notice.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine cants his head and raises his eyebrows. Why the grimace? What's wrong with it? ]

[notyourrookie]

It's just a bit of a dump. That's all. Slept in worse places.

[bloodbathing]

[ He snorts.

[ "Haven't we all?"

[ Could always be a hole in the ground. Go planet side, and Space Marines are still Marines. ]

Room?

[ SO CASUALLY, like he's just storing it away for future reference. Just in case of emergency. Definitely not like he's planning on crashing at Wash's place to keep an eye on him in the immediate future. Definitely. ]

[notyourrookie]

It takes him a minute to catch up to what Maine's saying, but then he nods.]

Yeah. If you want.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine grunts an affirmative and, as the bartender brings another set, he shoves a shot Wash's way. ]

Carolina offer?

[ Because why she has room and Wash has room, but they're not rooming together, is a mystery to Maine.

[ Actually, why all the Freelancers aren't staying in a central location, pooling their resources and watching each other's backs in this fucked up place, is a mystery to Maine. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash's expression hardens for a moment and he tries to cover that by downing the shot as quickly as he can.]

We didn't get that far into a conversation.

[bloodbathing]

[ Between Wash's shot and his own, Maine misses most of that expression. But the answer? That gets a groan that sounds suspiciously like, "Fucking future."

[ (Hey, he's not unaffected by the alcohol.)

[ Then Maine stares at Wash. Come on. Lay it on him. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash looks at him stubbornly for a moment before slumping forward. He rolls the shot glass between his hands.]

She didn't come back for me. None of them did. Fucking... fucking years, locked up and interrogated and called crazy and-

And then find out Carolina is alive. Was always alive. And she never- never bothered to find me. Find anyone.

[bloodbathing]

[ Wash is Maine's friend. Maine trusts him. Believes him. Can see that Wash is telling the truth.

[ "We scattered," York said. "Everything fell apart," Carolina said.

[ ... But how could Wash get left behind?

[ Carolina is their leader. Carolina takes care of her team. She wouldn't leave Wash behind. She would never leave any of them behind. It's completely fucking incomprehensible. ]

Something happened.

[ Something must have happened. Why else would Wash talk about her being alive, like that was some surprise? Something prevented her from being able to go back for him.

[ Maine's words are a hell of a lot more confident than his conflicted, confused expression. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash's expression is tight and tense and angry and full of other feelings that he doesn't like thinking about.]

Lots of things happened. Everything is fucked up.

[bloodbathing]

[ Yeah. Yeah, it's fucked up.

[ He would ask where he was. Why he didn't get Wash out of there. Loyal as Maine is to the Project and to the mission, his priority is protecting his teammates. But he doesn't ask. He thinks he already knows.

[ Sigma.

[ Something in Maine's chest twists unpleasantly. He grits his teeth and shoves it aside. Later. He'll deal with it later.

[ He reaches out to rest a large hand on his friend's forearm. ]

Here now.

[ It's less reassurance than a declaration. He's here now, and he's not being used by Sigma. Whatever happened to Wash isn't going to happen again. He'll make damn sure of it.

[ As for what happened with Carolina? ... He can figure it out later. He can figure all this shit out later. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash gives him a small smile and nods.]

Yeah. You are. I'm glad.

[Maine is here, and he's him, not the Meta. At least there's one person who didn't knowingly leave him behind.]

[bloodbathing]

[ A little huff and a quirk of his lips: "Damn right." Maine's not glad to be here, but it's pretty fucking obvious he's needed.

[ For now, he leaves his hand right where it is. He looks for the next round of shots and, when he doesn't see them, scowls. ]

Should take the bottle.

[ "And leave," by the look he's giving the (admittedly busy) bartender. ]

[notyourrookie]

We should, yeah.

[They can drink just as well in his room as they can here.]

Let's get going.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine grunts in agreement and stands up to get the bottle. It's not exactly normal procedure for the bar; selling bottles is what liquor stores are for. But who's going to argue with a seven foot tall wall of muscle in heavy-duty combat armor with a bladed grenade launcher on his back? No one, that's who.

[ He returns shortly, brand new bottle in hand, and raises an eyebrow at Wash.

[ "Good to walk?" ]