Freelancer New York (freelancer_york) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-07-17 00:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | fullmetal alchemist: canon: roy mustang, haloverse: canon: york |
Who: Colonel Mustang & York
What: Some soldier bonding.
When: Half an hour after this
Where: The Barracks
Rating: High for possible bad language and mentions of violence.
Status: Log - Complete
There were few times in York’s life were he’d been scared he was going to lose it. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t nearly died many times in his short life (if he was being honest, he was only alive because he was lucky, because despite how good of a soldier he was, he wasn’t immortal, or infallible). No, he’d only been scared to lose his life three times. Once, when he was a little boy, and he thought he still had something to live for. Thought there was some semblance of a life to go back to. He’d wanted to go home to his mother and father, and to his little sister. He’d been scared to die, because he wanted to see them again.
He was sure they were long dead by now.
Then, he’d been scared to die just two years ago, when he and Carolina had been running a mission together. They’d both been badly injured, she’d been knocked out, and York had been afraid to die because if he died, Carolina would most certainly die with him. So he’d fought through it, he’d lived, and he’d gotten her to safety.
She was long dead too, now, if the reports were to be believed..
And today, not an hour ago. Harry had been staring him down like he was something that needed to be beaten into submission, like he was something that needed to be taught a lesson, torn to pieces, chewed up and spat back out. And York, for just a few seconds, had been scared he was going to be killed. Not by the wizard’s hands, but the AI in his brain, who had been failing under the weight of all that magic. Why had he been scared? Really, it was a silly reason. It wasn’t like he had anything to live for, he wasn’t worried about the loss of his life. It wasn’t important. His life was meaningless.
But, if he died, if he let Harry kill him, he was sure his friend would never recover.
So he’d held his ground. He’d toughed it out. He’d willed Delta to hold strong, and they’d made it out of there alive.
But not without damage.
York had snagged some bandages from the infirmary, he’d wrapped his arms up with them to protect the healing burns, and he’d headed back to the barracks. There was nothing they could do for him in the med wing, he’d just be taking up space. His nose and eye had stopped bleeding moments after Harry left, and his ear had stopped bleeding about ten minutes ago, the blood drying against his neck. He was used to the feeling, but he wasn’t keen on anyone seeing him like this.
He was headed inside and straight for the head, to get washed up. A quick wash and he’d be back on the street, so Harry could rest well knowing things were taken care of.
***
Roy isolated himself by nature of his personality and the inability to reconcile what he’d become out in the sands of the desert; he hid himself behind facades of casual unconcern. That he’d be the life of any sort of party was a gimmick at best, one practiced and carefully crafted. It was why he’d gone out to Gambit’s night of debauchery and blissful sin; who he was wasn’t who he pretended to be, but that man was etched so firmly into place it was hard to say if the perpetual smirk on his face was real or something learned. He was a study of contrasts if you knew him well enough. But very few here did. Even Edward Elric was surprised by the apparent concern and kindness that Roy occasionally showed him and they had several years worth of interactions to rely on.
But all that was to say that Roy was highly unpredictable. He’d insisted Ed stay inside and rest, the kid was injured and still recovering after all, requiring the Colonel even go so far as to issue a rare direct order. Ed didn’t respect the Colonel enough to listen to them about 90% of the time, so about 90% of the time the Colonel never bothered ordering them. But he’d listened this time while Roy took it upon himself to venture out.
He didn’t know what he’d hoped to accomplish by doing so. His alchemy had never been used for creation. His hands were only capable of destruction. He couldn’t help these people.
That was what drove him back to the barracks anyway. He’d gone so far as to patrol the area, to make sure nothing was amiss near people uninvolved before he realized it was moot. What was he doing? His wanderings were little more than aimless. He found nothing for which he’d be particularly useful.
But near the barracks then, Mustang caught sight of a familiar hulking shape of a man making his way across the grounds toward his own assigned barracks. Mustang paused his steps then pivoted and followed after.
“York!” He called once within hailing distance, having taken no extra steps to catch up with the man. He was quite a bit larger than Mustang himself, the man might have had a hundred pounds on the Colonel and nearly an extra foot in height. It didn’t stop him.
“Damn, what the hell happened to you?” He asked, angry once he caught sight of the man’s face and the bandages covering his arms.
Roy was familiar with the smell of burning flesh. He knew there had been a fire.
***
York paused when he heard that voice, turning and waiting for the Colonel to catch up with him, he offered him a smile and a respectful nod. “Sir.” It was good to see Roy, he looked well. And the deliberate, methodical way York raked over the shorter man’s form wasn’t to be missed-- head to toes, he took in every inch of him in a quick, ten seconds scan. Head. Neck. Shoulders. Right arm. Left arm. Chest. Hands. Waist. Hips. Thighs. Knees. Shins. Calves. The over-all way he held himself.
And right back up to dark eyes.
Satisfied, York smiled wider, pleased to find the Colonel in perfect order. That was, until that angry tone was directed at him. All he could do was laugh softly and shake his head, carding his fingers back through spiky blonde hair. “Nothing I didn’t let happen. I’m alright.” A pause, then: “Don’t tell Ed about this.” Because the last thing the young man needed was to be concerned about someone else. Ed needed to be worried about himself, first and foremost. “I brought him something from the med bay, I was going to clean up and go drop it off. Is everything alright, sir?” Nevermind him, Roy. Flesh burned. Bleeding from his nose, eye, and ear. And it was business as usual.
The Colonel was going to get a crash course on what sort of beast he had under his command.
***
“I’m fine, York,” Roy replied caustically, recognizing that quick scan for what it was. He’d often done the same assessment to his subordinates, he’d know the look from anyone anywhere. “I lost my ignition gloves, I’m not trying to get into a fight I can’t win.” Which was mostly a lie. He only needed to draw the alchemical circle on his hands and it would work just as well, and it was fortunate he could use his own blood for the doing. Whoever had taken the gloves had scored a pretty deal as far as sparks went, but the real danger was always Roy’s own hands.
Hands that he folded impatiently over his chest while he regarded his newest subordinate.
“I won’t,” he agreed, tell Ed, it seemed both of them were generally of the same mindset; Ed should worry about Ed and neither of the other two’s doings.
“Let’s get inside before he decides it’s a good time to walk around.” Because Roy knew Edward Elric enough to understand that no amount of ‘stay inside and rest’ would result in Ed doing exactly that.
“And wipe that shit off your face, York,” Roy said, casting a glance over the spots of dried blood. “Whose fire are you sticking your hands in? I’d recognize the smell of charred flesh anywhere.”
***
“Yes, sir.” He’d fall into step behind Roy, flexing his fingers a little as he did. His arms hurt, sure, but they were nothing compared to the pounding in his head as Delta ignored the burns and urged the healing unit in his programming to do what it could for the Spartan’s brain. York was honestly afraid to sit down, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stay conscious.
As they stepped into the barracks and the Colonel ordered him to get the blood off of his face, he nodded once, clear understanding. “Yes, sir. I’ll just be a minute.” He peeled off a step, but then that question about his arms came and he gave the older man a smile. “I don’t even know her name. When I find out, I’ll let you know.” That sounded like a perfectly decent deal, right?
***
Roy’s lips parted briefly, his brows furrowed in … surprise? Disdain? Could he be surprised that York had rushed directly into something without knowing the first thing about who he was helping? “That’s the kind of self sacrifice that gets good soldiers killed, York.” Roy shook his head and unfolded his arms.
“Bring back water and bandages. I know more about burns than the burn unit in any hospital.” He didn’t know why York was bleeding from his head and he doubted there was anything in his own medical knowledge that could help the man, but for the rest? Well, Roy could do that much.
Scowl still firmly in place, Roy shrugged out of his military coat and set it aside, rolling the sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows.
“And sit down, I’m not standing on a chair to reach you.” God damned giants.
***
“Yes, sir.” York didn’t question the water and bandages. Who knew what the Colonel needed it for? It wasn’t the Freelancer’s place to question, just obey. Heading into the locker room at the mouth of the barracks, he’d get a cup of water and a towel, and some fresh bandages from the small medical closet there. Then he was returning to the Colonel and he set them down-- he paused, though, as Roy ordered him to sit.
Sit?
That one blue eye focused onto the darker man and he looked confused for a second-- his face was still wet from having scrubbed away the blood on his face. A little remained on his neck, but he’d get it later when he showered.
“Sir?” Questioned with a tone of uncertainty, but the stern look in the Alchemist’s eyes had York closing his mouth and taking the seat, swaying a little as he did. Oh. That sudden change in height was causing his brain to protest. His head throbbed. He swallowed.
Shit.
The color drained from his face as he struggled to keep himself upright in the seat. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
“I can’t stay long.” He’d promised Ed he’d bring him those pain killers.
***
“At ease, soldier, you’re not going anywhere yet,” Roy said sternly. There wasn’t much Roy could do alone if the big man fell over onto the ground, so he reached out a hand to steady York, clasping his shoulder with a firm grip while he examined him - reassessing, really. His initial examination had failed to elicit the more significant details. He noted them silently now, leaning close to peer into York’s eyes.
He wasn’t a doctor, his medical alchemy was suitable only for a battlefield environment, a patch job in a hurry until one could be seen by true professionals.
He shook his head slowly and sighed.
“Idiot,” he scolded York. “This might hurt.” Then he began to patiently peel away the previously applied bandages on York’s left arm.
***
The one blue eye was focused intently onto the Colonel as Roy leaned in to inspect his eyes-- the pupil blown out. It was significant evidence of a trauma to the brain. The blonde soldier also had a little trouble maintaining that eye contact, his eye twitching some to the side as he couldn’t quite control all movement as tightly as he’d like.
Delta was hard at work. Without the little AI, York would be a dead man walking, he wouldn’t have lasted long with such an injury. Then again, he wouldn’t be injured if not for Delta, so.. Catch 22.
As Roy began to unwrap those bandages from his arms, York opened his mouth.. Then wisely closed it. No arguing. He’d just sit quietly and let the other man do as he liked. A proper, obedient soldier. Of course, Mustang had one of those back home, didn’t he?
The bandages unwound, skin would be taken along with them, despite the topical cream York had applied. It helped to keep the sticking to a minimum, but it still always took a decent amount of skin away. Burns were truly an awful injury.
But, perhaps surprisingly, York didn’t even flinch as they were removed. He sat quietly, stoically, and turned his arm when necessary to be helpful. Not only a good soldier, but a good patient! Good patients were rare in soldiers. Unless, of course, you were the medic.
***
Roy appreciated York’s silent obedience; it wasn’t often he had to patch his subordinates up these days, but he knew several of them would personally whine as he was doing it - but they’d at least force themselves to sit through it. No, indeed, Roy was the terrible patient. He went so far as to allow them to patch the holes, but he was often on his feet far before anyone was ready to allow him. No one but Riza Hawkeye and superior officers issued Colonel Mustang commands, not even medical professionals.
“What are these ointments?” Roy asked a moment later; the smell was distinct from that of the burned tissues. The sight of them gave Roy pause, a thousand memories of the charred corpses of his dead flashing before his eyes. Some of them had been too badly burned as to be grotesque shapeless things. But others oozed and sizzled and the sound of sinew burning away would always be in his ears. As would that smell in his nose.
Roy raised his other hand to his face but didn’t touch it, not wanting to soil them lest he have to bother washing again which would require another round of heated water. He cleared his throat and continued his work, his expression remote, his eyes seeing without seeing what he was looking at.
“So you and Ed, huh?” He said quietly, forcing himself back to the present. “What’s your assessment of him?”
***
Upon being asked a direct question, York’s chin lifted a little. “One is for soothing the itch, sir. There’s an additional one spread on top to help the bandage not stick to the flesh as badly. I really shouldn’t have used the one for the itch, but I was certain I’d rub my skin right off if I didn’t do something.” And wasn’t that the truth? Burns be damned, he’d wanted to scratch at them to get that internal burning to halt.
Though he’d fall silent again, allowing the Colonel to do as he pleased. Hell, he would have let Roy do just about anything to him. No. Really. York was loyal to a fault and had sat still for all sorts of.. truly horrific and sadistic things. But, he’d been told to. He’d been told it was for the greater good. So he’d sat. He’d obeyed.
Trusting man.
“Sir?” He questioned when the Alchemist brought up Ed, but then he tilted his head some. “It’s not really my place to assess him. I’m not his superior.” Hell, he didn’t even know the young man’s rank. For all he knew, the blonde could have been higher ranking.. But he doubted it. He himself was a Lieutenant Commander, which in the mis-mash of military styles put him just about beneath the Colonel, as Colonel and Commander were interchangeable in certain branches of Earth’s military-- well, at least the ones in the US government, which was what York was most familiar with, considering the literature he’d found from the 21st century. Times were different now and there was only one large Military, so there was no need for different rankings.
Humans had united beneath one flag.
***
Roy made an indistinguishable noise in the back of his throat, quiet acknowledgment of York’s explanation. “It’s an interesting composition,” he noted. Everything in the Colonel’s life was ordered by scientific laws and alchemy, he recognized some of the more vibrant scents in the ointments but others were either too nuanced or too unfamiliar for him to pick out without really trying. Either way, those they used in Amestris wouldn’t compare; but why should they, given where they were?
Roy paused and looked at York again when the soldier sidestepped the question. Of course he understood the excuse, Roy had used it himself a thousand times or more when declining to answer particular questions or to evade potentially uncomfortable situations. He chuckled lowly and nodded slightly.
“Well, of course not. You might admit he’s an infuriatingly stubborn ass that’s far too clever by half.” Mustang chuckled again. “He joined the State Military at 12? 13.” Roy had recruited him; how could he not when the kid had displayed such talent for alchemy?
As if reading York’s mind, Roy smiled faintly, “He’s ranked major in our military. I won’t tell him if you insult him. Well, I might, if it suits me to.”
***
“Did he?” York found that surprising, but it made him smile just a little. “That’s around the age I headed off to the front line for the first time. It takes a lot of guts, making that sort of decision at that age.” Good for Ed, he’d started out young. The younger the better, when you were foolhardy and trusted your superiors unconditionally. You didn’t know any better and you died thinking you’d made a difference.
“No, sir, I would never presume to insult him. I think he’s very lost. I think.. He’s in need of something he’s unwilling to ask for, lest he be treated like a child. But I think he’s headed in the right direction to be incredible.” Did any of that make any sense? Not that York had an business discussing a fellow soldier, even if he did outrank him. He still wasn’t York’s man, but just another soldier.
It wasn’t like York was anything special, the Director had his favorite, and it hadn’t been Agent New York.
***
The Colonel considered that for a moment; Ed was excused from military excursions until he was 16 years old, which unfortunately for him had come to pass recently. Could Roy abide the notion of sending 12 year olds off to war? Well, he’d recruited Ed to the military so the idea couldn’t have bothered him that much, could it? The Colonel snorted quietly and accepted that sometimes brutal things were necessary. His subordinates had always felt uncomfortable at the fact that Roy had never treated Ed like he was a child.
“I was 16 when I joined the academy, I didn’t see a war until I was 20.” York had far more wartime though both had aged twice their apparent selves. And the man still came out smiling. Roy didn’t understand how.
But York wasn’t a war criminal; his fight was for humanity, Roy’s had been a massacre. A genocide. He accepted the moniker of Hero of Ishval, but Roy knew otherwise; he should be called a butcher.
“He’s headed somewhere,” Roy agreed mildly. “Maybe an early grave if he keeps up.” Seemingly unperturbed, the Colonel shrugged at the idea when in truth it bothered him a great deal.
***
“Twenty?” York asked, and if the surprise in his voice wasn’t enough, the look on his face would help it along. “Wow.” That was.. Well. That was pretty old to be going off to war, considering it was middle age. Older, even, if you were a soldier. Most didn’t make it to twenty. Twenty was an accomplishment. Twenty got you into the elite rankings, like the Freelancers. Soldiers like York had seen three or four generations of new Spartans already pass through and be killed off like vermin by the Covenant. “..That’s impressive.” Whether it was because he’d been so old and still able to join up and learn to fight, or whether he’d managed to keep himself off a battlefield for so long (he must have been incredibly brilliant), York wasn’t saying. But it was impressive all the same.
“He’s got a good heart. He just needs guidance.” And that was York’s assessment. The consideration for Ed’s life wasn’t really there, because there wasn’t a war to lose it in. And while Spartans looked after their own, and did everything they could to keep one another alive.. They ultimately accepted that they were all going to die, they allowed one another to make sacrifices. To make suicide runs, for the good of the group. Suicide among Spartans during war time was surprisingly high-- from flying ships into other ships and crashing them together, to staying behind to fight off overwhelming numbers, giving the rest of your team time to get away. It was all about numbers. If one needed to die, to save twelve? No one gave it a second thought.
They did what they had to.
“I’ve got him, sir.” York had decided to look after Ed. But it didn’t mean the younger man didn’t still need guidance. Proper guidance.
***
“Sure,” Roy agreed mildly. “I used to think so, too. Marching off to make a difference.” When he’d believed the naive idealism of the time, when he thought fighting for your country was the greatest way to help her along. What fools they’d all been in those times. So brainwashed.
Roy applied the bandage to York’s arm with a practiced precision; when your hands were your greatest tools they tended to be steady and well maintained.
What could the Colonel say about York’s final statements though? Ed had a good heart, he didn’t always have a good head. As for guidance? Roy had recruited him and thrown him to the wolves, given him permission to conduct his own research and let him loose in the world. Of course, that was because Roy understood he couldn’t keep a chain on Edward Elric, so why bother trying? He helped wherever he could though.
“Good to hear, soldier,” Roy finally said, stopping again to look York in his blue eye. “He’ll need it.”
***
When Roy looked back up, he’d be greeted to York’s smiling face-- the trickle of blood from his nose having returned, it was just starting, slowly leaking out. The soldier took notice and turned his head to wipe it on his sleeve, along his bicep, before laughing softly and looking over his newly bandaged arms. “Thank you, Sir. It feels much better now.” It was clear to see he appreciated the effort, no one ever having patched him up before. He’d had a few doctors work on him, but only because they were wounds beyond his abilities. Such as his missing eye. Other than that? He took care of himself. And everyone else. Especially on the field.
“I wanted to ask if you’d be alright with me taking the bunk beside yours?” Moving into this wing, so he could be closer to Roy. “Until I’m able to get an apartment, that is.” Really, if the soldiers were smart, they’d go after something they could all live in. Something secure. But that wasn’t on York’s mind now.
“Perhaps you should consider one as well.” Especially with the recent thefts. In York’s mind, the three of them could live within easy walking distance of one another, if they wanted. Though, he knew realistically that the Colonel should have something on an entirely different floor. It didn’t stop his wanting something else, though. Another trickle of blood was wiped from his nose, causing a drop to slip from his ear and down onto his shoulder. “Thank you again, sir.” For the help with his arms, of course.
***
Roy’s eyes narrowed when the blood returned to York’s nose, watching him wipe it away on his sleeve which gave Roy a good view of the trickle leaking from York’s ear again. What the hell had he done to himself? The Colonel’s eyes narrowed further but he said nothing as he reached instead for the last bandage and stuffed it forcefully into York’s hand. York wasn’t in uniform, which would have pissed him off much more if he were, but even so, a man bleeding everywhere was uncouth for a soldier unless it was on a battlefield.
“Of course. Do I need to send you to the med bay too, soldier?” He asked, looking at York with serious dark eyes.
He paused though, not quite folding his soiled hands over his chest but clearly backing off when York asked his question. Roy’s expression darkened briefly then softened. York didn’t know, there was no point in being angry at him. “How much do you value your sleep, York?” He asked. “Because I guarantee I’ll wake you up every couple hours.” There was a moment’s pause before the Colonel admitted in a very even tone, “Nightmares.”
And that was all he said of the subject.
***
“No, sir.” York assured him, slowly standing. It was clear he was having a balance issue, his feet shifted and one of his hands came out, but his body adjusted expertly and he kept himself upright with a few small shifts. It wasn’t particularly graceful, but it was fluid. His muscle memory knew just what to do. The leak from his ear got a little heavier, but he wiped it on his shoulder carelessly.
“I don’t value my sleep as much as I should, sir.” A smile was passed to his superior before he finally-- finally reached down to grab the hem of that white shirt and wipe the blood away from his nose, then his ear, exposing abs that couldn’t have belonged to anything by a sculpture.
Spartans didn’t mess around. York hadn’t been kidding when he’d told the Major he was a tank.
Shirt dropped back down, he leveled Roy with a smile again. “We all have nightmares, sir. I’ll get my things.” Had he just invited himself, then given himself permission? Yes. Yes, he had.
***
Roy laughed, watching York; for all the effort the Colonel had gone to clean him up he was entirely too casual about wiping blood all over himself. Roy craned his neck to look up at York, used to it given he was on the small side himself.
It was like standing next to Armstrong, abs and all. God, that man would fawn all over York if he were here. The thought made the Colonel smile just faintly before the expression passed away.
“Sure, it’ll be a regular sleepover,” Roy replied sarcastically.
***
“Great. I’ll see you tonight, sir.” He gave a little nod, then lifted a hand to give him a proper salute, though the bandage was still clenched in that hand. “Thank you again, sir.” That self-dismissal given, York would turn on his heel, his balance somehow regained, and he’d head off, turning his head a bit as he talked to himself-- well. He was certainly talking to the AI in his head, but it looked like he was talking to himself, even if it was in hushed tones.
Strange man, that one.
But no stranger, certainly, than the men he’d befriended.