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]

[ Fifty-fifty odds? Could be worse. They're not even getting shot at.

[ He keeps them moving along at a steady pace, eventually asking, ]

Close?

[notyourrookie]

Yeah. Yeah we're-

[There! He points, more excited about recognising his own apartment than it really warrants.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine snorts another laugh and grins. This is worlds better than the sullen, troubled mood Wash was in before. Clearly, alcohol is the answer.

[ Up to the apartment door they'll go. Hopefully Wash has his keys on him. ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash grins back and stumbles ahead. He does, in fact, have his keys on him, and he fumbles open the door.

It really isn't much to look at; there's what can charitably be called a bed, and a couple of crates serving as a table and... well, not a whole lot else. He'd left York's place before really getting settled.]

[bloodbathing]

[ It's not much, but it's something. As always, it could be worse. Briefly, Maine wonders again what, specifically, happened with Wash and Carolina. Her place would definitely be a step up. Or a staircase. Then he pushes the thought aside and — after setting down their helmets — opens the bottle.

[ Less thinking. More drinking. ]

[notyourrookie]

[No-one is shooting at him here. More importantly, no-one knows how to find him here. And if they do, it's easy enough to pack up and leave. If he doesn't own anything, if he doesn't get attached, then he doesn't have to care if things come crashing down.

He goes to sit on the bed and takes the bottle when it's offered, taking a long swig.]

[bloodbathing]

[ While his hands are free, Maine starts unfastening the clasps securing his chest armor. If he's gonna try to relax, he might as well get comfortable. They're no longer in public, and this is a place where Wash feels safe enough to sleep. That's enough to convince Maine that it's safe to remove his armor.

[ Well. The plating, at least. The bodysuit is protection in itself, and a far cry from the civilian clothes Carolina had suggested he wear.

[ Like he'd actually agree to that.

[ The newly patched chest piece comes off easily. Underneath, there's still a hole in his bodysuit from the sniper's bullet. He hasn't had time to patch that yet. Maine looks at the newly repaired area for a moment dropping the whole thing unceremoniously to the floor. Then he reaches for the bottle.

[ His turn. ]

[notyourrookie]

[That... is not what he had expected. He watches for a moment as Maine starts to strip off the armour. It's as much a show of trust and security as anything else they could do. They'd worn the armour for longer and longer as the Project had gone on, until sometimes they wouldn't see each other's faces for days.

And then the Meta... well, he's not exactly sure how the fuck that worked. He'd caught glances, but he'd never cared to look closer, to see if it still looked like Maine. Didn't want to know.

Eventually, he passed over the bottle and strips down to his undersuit. The hole on Maine's suit doesn't go unnoticed.]

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine drinks deeply and lets out a satisfied rumble.

[ "Better than shots."

[ Who knows? He might actually get drunk tonight. He'd sure as fuck enjoy it.

[ He pointedly doesn't think too hard on what it means that Wash is comfortable removing his armor as well. Doesn't think about North recoiling, or York's scars, or Wash saying that he — Sigma, whatever — had done terrible things. Just notes that it's happening, and waits until Wash's hands are free before offering the bottle.

[ Once he's stripped off all the plating, he takes a seat on the bed as well. It creaks under his weight. He ignores that, too. ]

How long?

[ Asked with a gesture to the room. How long has Wash lived here? Been here, for that matter? ]

[notyourrookie]

[Another swig and yeah, he is definitely pretty drunk now. But it settles warmly right through his veins and he can't bring himself to care right now.

At the gesture he shrugs.]

A few days. And I've been here a couple of weeks.

[bloodbathing]

[ That explains the lack of ... well, much of anything in the place, aside from the bed and the crates. Maine hums and declares, ]

Chairs.

[ That'll bring things together. ]

[notyourrookie]

I don't need chairs. I'm not exactly planning to bring anyone else over.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine stills for a moment as that sinks in.

[ Wash has been alone here. By choice? Necessity? The pile of shit calling itself the future? Doesn't matter. Point is, he's been alone.

[ ... Well. Not anymore.

[ Maine looks at Wash with a raised eyebrow and points to the crates. "Way too low." How is he supposed to sit there? Wash needs chairs. And a table. ]

[notyourrookie]

[When Maine points, Wash gives a small, tired smile. Okay, Maine is here now.]

Okay, I'll get one chair.

[bloodbathing]

[ He makes a face and holds up two fingers. What is he gonna do, sit in a chair while Wash sits on the floor? That'll be awkward as hell. Two chairs are needed. ]

[notyourrookie]

[He has a bed! The bed is fine. Wash rolls his eyes.]

Fine. Two chairs.

[bloodbathing]

[ Satisfied, Maine smiles and nudges Wash with his elbow. It's friendly, but it's also Maine, so it might be a little harder than necessary. Then he reaches for the bottle. Don't hog the alcohol, buddy. ]

[notyourrookie]

[The nudge does manage to shove him over but he sits back up and hands the bottle over.]

Gonna have a fucking hangover tomorrow.

[bloodbathing]

[ To that, Maine shrugs. ]

Fuck the future.

[ And he drinks to that. A lot. ]

[notyourrookie]

[He huffs a laugh at that, and follows suit when Maine has finished swigging from the bottle. They are definitely going to finish it aren't they?]

[bloodbathing]

[ Most definitely.

[ It takes a whole lot to get Maine completely drunk, but his head is light and fuzzy, and there's a pleasant tingling in his limbs. He relaxes back on the bed, keeping himself propped upright with his elbows. When it's not his turn to drink, he asks, ]

Like it here?

[notyourrookie]

[He drags the back of his hand against his mouth to give himself a little more time to think about that one.]

No-one's tried to kill me yet.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine hums in agreement and glances down at the hole in his bodysuit. Little to the right, and that shot probably would've hit his heart. He can survive a hell of a lot, but that? Unlikely. He's guessing it hit a lung instead. Not that there's any way to check: his arrival healed the wound entirely. All that's left is a scar. ]

No war.

[ Which is honestly pretty hard for him to imagine, but here they are. ]

Weird.

[ The fuck do civilians even do? ]

[notyourrookie]

[Wash gives a nod. That is fucking weird. He doesn't know how to live without a war; it's been going on for his entire life.[

Dunno what I'm supposed to fucking do here.

[bloodbathing]

[ Maine lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He was all of a year old when the war started. He's never known life without it; never thought of life after it. ]

Garden?

[ It's no more ridiculous than anything else. ]