Freelancer New York (freelancer_york) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-08-04 21:32:00 |
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York had a pretty rough day, to put it mildly. To be a little more accurate about the day’s events, he’d been emotionally traumatized. It’d been tough to hear Roy talk about the things he’d done the way he had. So calmly and factually. Sure, York had done some pretty screwed up things in his day, but he’d never killed women and children, he’d never killed the defenseless and the innocent. Who could do something like that? Attack civilians? Slaughter them? Colonel Roy Mustang, apparently. The very thought had chilled him through. It was made better, thankfully, by the fact that Mustang had been under orders, but the Colonel was right, he’d still made the choice to do it. That was something York understood. He’d been given orders to kill his friends, but he’d made a choice not to. He’d gone against Project Freelancer, with Texas, and they’d done the right thing. Roy hadn’t made that choice. But he wasn’t a bad man, York knew that much. No one wanted to die for their crimes if they were a bad person who’d enjoyed what they’d done. Mustang felt remorse. He wasn’t sure if Hawkeye did, but he couldn’t imagine Roy loving a woman who was a cold-blooded killer. The Colonel was his friend. And he was the exact sort of man that York had been fighting against the last seventeen years of his life. The knowledge of that had rocked him to the core and he didn’t know what to do with it. So he’d focused on the things he knew: Roy Mustang was a good man. He loved Riza-- he loved a woman, and that could only make him a better man, right? They were just soldiers, they’d only been doing what they were told, and York had to accept that and move on. He was trying. And after the day he’d had, nothing was going to keep him from showing up at his best friend’s house. Not, of course, that Harry knew he was York’s best friend, it wasn’t like York had told him-- it was really pathetic, when you thought about it, after all. They hadn’t known one another very long and Harry was twice his age. And dead. Really dead. Well, by the time York was born he was dead, anyway. So yeah-- even with the wizard living to four hundred, he’d never make it to the year 2488, so he was most certainly dead as a doornail, especially considering the Earth had exploded. Sort of puts a damper on living things. Heading into the lab, he’d cross through it easily and head up the stairs at the end, tugging out the key that would open up Harry’s door. The crystal he wore around his neck gained him access through the wards, and the key gave him access to the house. He’d brought food, of course, and he’d call out for Harry as he set it on the table and wandered further inside. Mouse found him first, expectedly, and he dropped to his knees to give the dog a warm greeting and ruffle up his fur and kiss his muzzle before offering him a treat. He always came with treats. Then, when Harry finally appeared, the soldier was on his feet and heading his way. He didn’t pause to say hello, he didn’t hesitate when stepping in, he just walked straight up to Harry, lifted a little bit onto his toes, and wrapped his arms around the taller man. And held on. Fuck. He’d needed this all day. Give it a few seconds, Harry. Just let him have a little bit longer. *** York may have moved out but he didn’t move on by any means. Admittedly, Harry figured once the Freelancer had packed up and left he wouldn’t come back, but that was more a testament to Harry’s pessimism and not at all accurate per York’s character. And much to Harry’s quiet pleasure, he was proved wrong - York came around almost as often as when he’d lived there, he just also went home at the end of his visit. That was what friends did. It was nice. Harry felt the shift in the wards against his senses, telling him someone was coming through them. The crystal he’d given York was designed to let him slide by like some invisible giant without disabling the wards or melting York into a puddle of goo; the Freelancer had been adorably excited when Harry had given him the necklace. It had also been a huge moment of trust between the the two men, because Harry was a paranoid asshole and access to his home was access to him. Bob’s eyelights flicked off the moment York stepped into the apartment - he was Harry’s lab assistant, but Harry had forbidden Bob from communicating with York under any circumstances. And since Bob was too valuable to be left downstairs in the lab, he had taken a shelf in Harry’s own bedroom where the Wizard could keep him safest. Harry nodded his approval at Bob shutting up and turned to trek into the main room of the apartment, his eyes moving from the giant dog to the Freelancer without missing a beat. “Hey,” Harry said and was halfway to extending a hand for a solid manly shake when- Oh, okay. York hugged the wizard and Harry stood there like an idiot for a solid ten seconds, like a deer in some headlights, before he reacted. He reached around and pat York’s back then hugged him. Clearly York needed it. Clearly something was wrong. The look on the Freelancer’s face said as much, his tight hold on Harry now confirmed it. Harry’s stomach clenched, his heart sped up a little, and a shot of worry bolted through the wizard. “York?” he asked, “What happened? Is Tex okay?” Because she would be the reason York would seem so desolate. A mean, scary friend was still your friend. Especially in a world where it was only the two of you. *** York continued to hold for a few more seconds before he finally released the older man and stepped back, a smile slipping onto his face easily. He'd really needed that. Both hands were stuffing into his back pockets shortly after, so he didn't reach out again like the idiot he was. And he was a total idiot. “Yeah, she's fine. Everything's fine, Harry.” No, no it wasn't. But York was fairly incapable of throwing shit out there. He was the one who took care of other people, not the other way around. It worked for him, for his team. Why change it? “Crystal works great, didn't get killed when I came through the door, so kudos on that. Brought some dinner.” He reached out to pat his hand against Harry's bicep and give it a squeeze before he let go and headed for the dining table and the food he'd left there. “Nothing fancy, just some starch and protein.” He had a bad habit of referring to food as the nutritional substance instead of the actual type of food, but Harry could be pretty sure of it being meat and potatoes, they were something the Freelancer had taken a liking to. “How was your day?” With York splitting his time between Ed and Harry and Tex, it gave him no time alone, but didn't burden any of the three of them with too much of his time. They seemed to all be ready to get rid of him when he left, so that was good, he supposed. Was it bad that all he really wanted to do was move back in with Harry and live there forever? He felt like a complete idiot. *** “You’re a shitty liar, York,” Harry said, not for the first time. The Freelancer was utterly incapable of telling even the vaguest of fibs. He was worse than Harry, which was saying something because the wizard too was awful at telling lies. So he just stared at York for a minute but he also let the younger man walk away and start rambling on about food, “Meat and potatoes, York, that’s what we call it in the real world.” Harry followed after him, eyes still pinned on the soldier because something had happened. He just also didn’t want to force the Freelancer to talk about if he didn’t want to talk about it. Harry wasn’t that kind of guy, for one, and for two, York was a grown ass man who could make his own decisions. The more Harry pried into the secret thoughts of other humans the more right they’d have to pry into his. And no, no thank you. So after another round of just assessing the soldier, Harry let it go with a nod of his head. “Yeah, I’d have known - it’s like getting hit by a hundred thousand volts of electricity.” That was exactly what it was. It was a blast of lightning to human flesh, amped up by magic and designed to do nothing but kill. No warning shots, no paltry knockout, just direct death. Harry grinned, “Lucky I know what I’m doing with my freaky, magic talismans.” Harry moved around to fetch two plates and silverware for their starch and protein dinner, he even grabbed a bowl for Mouse, and between the three of them doled out acceptable serving sizes for giants. “Gambit’s an asshole, but I guess his money’s solid.” That had been Harry’s day. Planning a job to finish for his landlord. Great. Lucky Harry charged half up front, so he had a decent amount of money on him now. He’d get the rest when the job was done. *** “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be good at it, but it’s really not anything worth talking about. Just another friend of mine-- another soldier-- Colonel Mustang. He’s just an idiot. You should meet him.” Because that was clearly some sort of pre-requisite for Harry getting along with someone. They had to be a complete and utter moron. Just like York. He’d been pulling the food out of the bags (enough for three, no need to divide, he’d realized that Harry fed Mouse from his plate, so now he bought three meals, to make sure the wizard ate enough) and setting them on the table, smirking for the reference. Meat and potatoes. Yeah, like that’d ever catch on! “It’s like-- what?” He paused in pulling out the food and just stared at Harry for a moment, dumbstruck. Like getting struck by lightning? More than lightning, you could survive lightning. A hundred thousand volts? That’d stop your heart. Or cook you. Or make you explode. Or.. something. York didn’t want to think about it. “Yeah.. lucky me.” That, you know, Harry hadn’t screwed up. “I’ll let Tex know she can’t just waltz in here whenever she wants.” Because she was just the type to do it. Hell, she was the type to do it even when told not to. Especially when told not to. “You’re really serious about your security, huh?” Well, a hundred thousand volts wouldn’t do too much against MJOLNIR armor, York knew for a fact-- he didn’t even want to consider that Tex might waltz in wearing her armor. That woman was going to be the death of him (no, really, she was). “So what’s the pip-squeak got you doing?” The soldier asked once his food was dished out. He sank down into a chair and stretched out long legs, then tugged the plate closer to himself so he could start to eat. Meatloaf and potatoes, not bad. Better than what York was used to, but no where near as good as Earth food. Gambit, of course, had Harry making some potions. Sleeping potions as well as a few others, he had something in mind for all of them. *** “Stunning recommendation, York,” Harry laughed a little, “Is that how you introduce all your friends to your other friends? ‘This is my friend, the idiot’?” He shook his head as he speared his fork into a potato then put the whole potato into his mouth, with the fork sticking out, as he bent down to serve Mouse his own plate--bowl--of food. Mouse wagged his tail and started eating. Good boy, Mouse. Only then did Harry sit down and turn his attention back to the Freelancer, taking the fork out of his mouth and leaving the potato behind. He swallowed it after a few seconds. “Yeah, do that. I don’t want to kill her if I can help it and I’ll be annoyed if I have a pile of six foot two inch Freelancer goop to mop off the floor.” Because you didn’t just have your heart stop, you were turned to puddles of melted tissue. Fun times. “I’m paranoid, my paranoia and I are really close - we cuddle in our sleep. But just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean there isn’t an invisible demon about to eat your face, York. As Mad-Eye Moody said, constant vigilance!” The wizard occupied himself with his food for a few minutes after that, chowing down at a much more sedate pace than the dog who acted like this was his first and only meal in his entire life and swallowed it out of fear someone would take it from him before he could get it down. Dogs. So dumb. “Potions, they’re stupid, they take a long time to make and they can get stupidly expensive.” Gambit had asked about a few different types, Harry had confirmed he could do them all, and they’d haggled over the price because Gambit could do nothing without aggravating Harry. Harry was fairly sure Gambit did it just to annoy him and would have paid any price the wizard asked, regardless. Idiot. “I kind of hope someone kills him,” Harry said conversationally. Let the Freelancer decide if Harry was serious or not. *** “No, not generally-- this one’s really an idiot.” York paused for a second, considering his next words. The Colonel had told him in confidence, but this was Harry and.. “I guess he and his Lieutenant did some pretty bad things in a war, years back. They feel so guilty about it--” He paused again, staring at the potato on his fork. “He’s got plans to go back home and.. Hold trials, or something. He means to see her executed for what she did, then he plans to get himself executed, too.” And that clearly hadn’t sat well with the blonde. Who would it sit well with? A little smirk trailed over his face a moment later. Fuck. The Colonel was an idiot. “Yeah, we don’t want any Tex goo-- wait. Would I be York goo if this hadn’t worked?” He held up the little necklace, his eyes a bit wider. Really, his face had been made for expressions. Whoever had turned York into a soldier had grabbed the wrong child. He shouldn’t have been forced into that life. Not like Tex, Tex had been born for it. York was and always had been a peg that just didn’t fit. “You’re a crazy person, you know that?” He accused before letting the crystal drop back against his chest and returning to eating. “And you do not, so stop wishing death on people, you’re as shitty at lying as I am, Harry.” The fork was pointed at him and waggled a little. *** Harry stopped and stared at York for a moment, brows raised. Mustang had a death wish and wanted to get his own soldier in on the fun? “Moron,” Harry said, “If the guy wants to die that’s fine, but you don’t drag other people into it too. That’s fucked up. No one should suffer for the choices you make.” York was right, that guy was an idiot. Jesus. Who did that to themselves and their own people? Harry had been on the shit end of a war too, he’d done shitty things for its effort, but in the end his only regret had been the people on his side of things that had gotten hurt. People he couldn’t save, people he’d sacrificed in his bid to rescue Maggie. Harry shook his head, “Maybe someone will slap some sense into him.” The wizard didn’t answer York’s question about the crystal. Some things just didn’t need to be said. He didn’t want to make York paranoid every time he came through the wards now, but hey, a little extra caution never hurt anyone. York could probably stand to be a little more paranoid, he was already too friendly as it was. Harry snickered though and raised a hand to salute the soldier, “Crazy comes with the job description, York.” *** “It makes it worse, ‘cause he’s in love with the Lieutenant.” He shook his head again, looking over a fork full of the meatloaf. “And she’s incredible, and she’s going to just stand there and let him put her to death. And he’s going to go through with it.” Pushing the meat into his mouth, he chewed in a decidedly angry way as he thought about it again. What an idiot! He would, however, try his best not to dwell. It was a little late, though. It was stuck in his head now. “You should meet her, too. She’s..” The soldier paused once again. “She’s pretty amazing.” More than that. Fuck. He missed Carolina. “Not that you need any more crazy women in your life. I think you’re sort of at that cap. Hell, crazy men too, for that matter. And dogs.” He leaned to rub a hand over Mouse’s head. “I think you must attract us. Your crazy attracts our crazy.” Because York had no doubt he was utterly insane. *** Harry’s blood ran cold. He’s in love with the Lieutenant. She’s going to just stand there and let him put her to death. Suddenly not hungry anymore, Harry pushed the rest of his food away and stared at the table. He had a blank space in his memory that was two minutes long, from the night Harry had rescued Maggie from Chichen Itza. When he’d …. He’d used the knife on Susan, it had released the curse and the magical outpour had been too much that his brain had simply stopped recording for Harry’s own safety. He had a blank space but nothing in the world would ever take away the memory of Harry executing the woman he’d loved. Holy shit. Mustang was insane, but Harry had done the same thing if for different reasons. He couldn’t judge a man for that. He could only relate and hurt and wish that things could be different because no one in the world deserved the pain of that misery. No one. Harry missed the rest of what York said, the whiplash was too much to process, so he just blinked and wiped a hand over his face, pushing himself to standing so he could mechanically start cleaning things up. Cleaning was a distraction, cleaning meant he wouldn’t have to face whatever came next if he could just find things that had to be done first. Maybe he should meet Mustang and tell him what a fucking moron he was, tell his Lieutenant that no amount of sacrificing yourself for someone would ever make it okay. Susan had died knowing she was saving their daughter, but it didn’t make it okay. It was still shitty. It still hurt. *** It was shitty. The whole thing was shitty. York would watch as Harry got up and began cleaning, his one blue eye intent on the other man as he made his way around the kitchen. He’d let the silence hang for a while, until he’d finished his own meal and was standing up to head over and begin to wash off his own plate. His shoulder bumped into Harry’s purposely, at the sink beside him. The kitchen was large enough for two full grown men. The sink was not. York took advantage of that. “So Tex and I were talking,” he began after a good, solid ten minutes of nothing but the sound of eating and dishes and water running between them. “And we both think it’s pretty weird you keep a skull around. We’ve got a bet going. I say it’s something to do with your magic or something, like it helps with spells, or whatever.” It was a legitimate guess, it made sense. “Tex says you got it out of a cereal box when you were a kid and you think it looks cool.” Which, clearly, was a load of crap. You couldn’t fit a skull into a cereal box. However, it was the absurdity of the statement that the woman had liked. *** The reminder that York was there was welcome, because Harry had abandoned ship in the present and took a trip into Loonyville by way of his errant thoughts. He was on his second pass with the Crazytrain when York bumped into him. Oh, right, okay. The real world still existed outside of the wizard’s troubled thoughts so Harry blinked himself back into existence in the present and looked at the blonde. Huh? Oh, Bob. Oh, shit. Shit. Harry pushed a hand through his hair, he really needed to get it cut, and turned to lean his back against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “Just a skull, I found it in the trashcan outside the morgue and decided anyone in the dumps like me could be my friend.” A lie, Harry was bad at lying but if they could keep up the pretense of banter Harry wouldn’t feel compelled to explain. Fucking Bob. *** “You haven’t gotten any better at lying in the last half hour.” York told him with a grin, still facing the counter as he dried off his last dish, but he left their shoulders pressed together all the same. He liked the reminder. Tex never liked him touching her. She didn’t like to be reminded. “It’s not.. Like a family friend or something, is it? Oh, shit, it’s not your dad, right?” Would he really be carrying around the skull of a man he hated? Maybe to use it as an ashtray or something.. But putting it on a shelf? York didn’t think so. “I’m serious though.. What’s it do? It helps with spells, right? Amplifies them, or something? Or you.. Make your little symbols-- wards-- around it? I guess it could make for a pretty impressive candle holder, too.” Really, the blonde was curious, and he’d do anything not to think about Roy and Riza anymore. “It’s important enough you gave it to Ms. Ryder for safe keeping.” Which meant it was important. *** That was probably the one thing Harry disliked about York; once the blonde locked onto an idea he didn’t stop; he continued his relentless pursuit until his curiosity was satisfied. And nothing less than a full explanation was enough to sate him. Harry sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. “No, that’s not--no, York, magic doesn’t work like that,” he said, annoyed. “And I definitely didn’t keep my adopted father’s skull. It burned. All of him burned.” Harry had seen to that. But Bob? Well, Harry had rescued him from the flames and ran away. He’d managed to stash Bob and the other few things he had before the Wardens had found him. As far as the Wardens knew, Bob hadn’t survived the wizard Kemmler, his master before DuMorne, and Harry intended to keep it that way. But he paused, looked at York for long critical seconds then said, “He talks.” Harry shrugged. “It’s a talking skull.” Not technically a lie but not the whole truth either. “He helps with the magical theory.” Because he couldn’t be trusted outside of the skull so his help had to rely strictly on information giving. *** As if Harry could fault York for that. For being curious and for going after what he wanted until he got it. Wasn’t Harry the same way? York paused, though, having finished his drying and looked over at the wizard when he spoke with that annoyed tone. “What? Like I’m supposed to know these things? The next time you ask me about space travel, I’m going to be annoyed about it, too.” As if Harry had ever asked him-- he hadn’t, and he wouldn’t-- but York was making a point! And as it was explained the skull talked? The soldier stared for a moment at Harry, then blinked once. “Oh.” A talking skull. Okay. It helped with magic. “So I was right. Tex owes me.” And that, Harry, was that. York moved away to put the dish back, then wiped off the counter and threw the rest of the trash away. “How’s the lab downstairs working out for you? Big enough?” York certainly knew how to move on. But he needed to. He couldn’t dwell on things too long. Moving on was essential. Then again, some things he’d never moved on from. *** Harry scowled, “Yeah, whatever, at least I don’t get my ideas of space travels from movies and books.” Liar, where else did you get them from, Harry? He looked at York, grouchy, but it wasn’t a real feeling of irritation as much as it was playful. York hadn’t done anything to warrant that level of annoyance and Harry could forgive his curiosity. If he’d been the wizard’s apprentice he’d be fully entitled to ask anything he liked, but also expected to stop whenever Harry said so. He was the wizard, after all, and had to know when too much information was too much. York was just a regular guy though, which meant Harry had to be extra vigilant in everything he said without hampering York’s ability to navigate the nasty shit involved in Harry’s life. Hence a willingness to explain but a reluctance to go full force with it. But apparently York’s curiosity had been satisfied, so the wizard blinked and lowered his hackles, looking less like a wild dog backed into a corner and therefore not so defensive. “Uh, yeah. My old one was a sub basement, just a little box under my apartment. More like a cellar than anything, cold as hell in Chicago in the winter.” Since Harry couldn’t keep heaters. “This one is like… eight hundred times the size of it. Hell, half the time I don’t know what to do with myself down there.” And it was fabulous. *** Harry would learn, in time, that while York wanted information, he wanted to know what was going on, he didn’t want too much in-depth knowledge. He was a soldier. He wanted the basics. Leave the complicated things for the men in charge, there was no point to York learning about it, unless he needed to. And then he’d put his effort into it. Until then? He was fine. Delta, of course, was another matter entirely. But York had specifically forbade him from coming out around Harry, it was just too dangerous, and too painful. “Yeah, winter-- seasons were a thing back on Earth, right? Um..” He snapped his fingers as he thought. “Winter, Summer, Spring and.. There was a fourth, right? What was the last one?” He just couldn’t come up with it. Didn’t it come between Spring and Summer? Or Spring and Winter? Wait. Wasn’t it Spring, Summer, Winter.. And then something else? *** Harry watched York try to order the seasons and felt a rush of irrational freaking envy at the idea of living somewhere without them. If there were no seasons there were no faeries, if there were no faeries there was no earth and that meant Mab had lost the war at the Outer Gates and the universe was no longer its own. It would mean that reality had succumbed to Outsiders. But for one, glorious moment, Harry wondered if that would be so terrible because then he wouldn’t be the god damned Winter Knight. No seasons, no Knight. Freedom. But no seasons included the rest of everything he just thought about so the pipedream died a second later and the wizard slumped. “Fall, you’re missing Fall. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall.” A world with no seasons must mean a world without sunlight and everything else that made earth, earth. That sounded bleak. A world without flowers or snow, or the beach in the summer. Man. What a world. “Why don’t you go down to earth, York? Go with a cute girl and experience things while you can.” *** Oh, it wasn’t that there was no sun, there was-- it was. Well. Reach was a different sort of planet, was all. And York had been born there, he’d been there several times later in life, all of them fighting, of course. He’d never really had a chance to enjoy it. And during Freelancer he’d lived on a ship.. Now? Well, back home now he lived on an abandoned moon. Fun, right? “Fall.” He repeated with a grin. “Winter, spring, summer and fall. Isn’t there an old song about that?” Finished cleaning up the garbage from the take-out, the soldier paused and turned to look back at Harry, clearly considering the idea. He hadn’t before now. Were you ready for this, Harry? “I’d rather go with you.” Maybe it was time the two of you talked about those boundaries. York would rather spend time with Harry than with a pretty girl? He stumbled over his words with girls on the network, sure-- and he’d been awkward as hell with Sara, but he hadn’t really.. Shown too much interest. His interest was in Harry. And, most recently? Well, he’d certainly shown interest in the Colonel’s Lieutenant. But mostly, it was Harry. It’d been Harry since the two had met. Funny, that. Boundaries, wizard. *** Okay. Well. That was awkward. How could it not be? Harry had wanted to avoid this conversation but it looked like his attempts at ignoring it into non-existence weren’t going to work. Okaaay. So he blew out a breath and looked at the Freelancer for a second in indecision. Harry wasn’t equipped for this shit. He needed Karrin to come over and be an adult for him. Man, what would he do with Karrin here? Harry rubbed his face. She’d just laugh at him, actually. She wouldn’t help him at all. She’d tell him this was his mess and he’d need to fix it on his own. Jerk. “Uh, York?” Harry started, awkward already. “You do know that I’m … not gay, right?” There, he said it. Ugh, why did his face feel red? Why was this embarrassing? Harry rubbed his face with one hand and squinted at the younger man. *** Now that had York pausing and he turned to stare at the wizard. What? What was it? Was this going to be Harry telling him to go away and not come back? Was this about the bedroom thing? He’d thought they’d just pretend it hadn’t happened and-- What? Gay? “Well.. considering you tell everyone on the network that you’re not gay, at least twice a week.. I figured either you weren’t gay, or you were and you were just seriously in denial.” He turned to face Harry fully, straightening up. “So.. is this you telling me you’re not gay, or insisting you’re not gay because you really are.. And you want to talk about it?” Sorry, Harry. Not sorry. *** What? What? “No,” Harry said flatly. “What---why is that even a question?” He asked, his face more red now than it had been a second earlier. Why was he embarrassed? He turned away to fetch a Coke from the icebox, using it as a distraction and a reason to move away from York. To move away from the awkward. He couldn’t escape either of them. Harry took a drink then looked back at the Freelancer, a scowl on his face. “I’m telling you I’m distinctly not on that side of the spectrum, York.” He leaned back against the island in the kitchen, folding his arms back over his chest, defensive. “I thought you were because-” Because the Freelancer was always touching, because he was oddly close, because he’d come into Harry’s room that night to watch him sleep. Because he would rather spend time with Harry on earth than be alone with a girl. What else was he supposed to think? The wizard ran a hand through his hair. “... can we just pretend this conversation didn’t happen?” Bullshit, he knew as well as everyone over the age of five that you couldn’t unmake anything by pretending it went away. He sighed. *** Why was it even a question? “Well, look at you.” He gestured to Harry, the way he was standing, the scowl, the arms crossed over his chest like he could keep the Huns out of China with just those arms. “You’re so defensive about it-- I just thought, you know, maybe you’d had a bad time of it before? I mean, it’s fine if you are, Harry, it’s not gonna change anything between us. And it’s fine if you aren’t, it’s not any of my business-- I just. You know. If you ever need someone to talk to, about anything, I’m right here.” But Harry was denying it again and all York could do was let it go and tilt his head curiously when Harry said that he’d thought York was gay, because...? But he’d stopped himself before then and the Freelancer was left with more questions. Way too many questions. Questions that just weren’t good to be floating around inside his head. He’d never been particularly good at holding back questions. “Hey, Harry?” He let the question hang a second, until he got back the wizard’s attention. “...Is this.. I mean..” The soldier looked a little uncomfortable as he asked. “Do you not want me coming around anymore?” In that moment, the blonde man, buzz-cut, scruff, scar and glass eye, had never looked more like a child. Were you telling him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore? *** Oh he knew how hard of a time kids who were gay had it. He grew up in an orphanage, you didn’t see how bad of a time anyone slightly different had it anywhere else but inside group homes, around a bunch of broken unwanted children. Harry didn’t say anything about that though, because his heart flatlined a second later watching the Freelancer and his childlike expression. Oh, god. Oh god, no. “What?” Harry said, “No, York, that’s not what I’m saying. Not at all.” Harry’s defensive body language slipped and he stepped closer to the Freelancer, just as awkward as he always was and reached out. York needed the human contact as much as Harry did, so he didn’t mind touching his shoulder with a hand. “You’re always welcome here, kid. Okay? Don’t ever think otherwise.” *** York seemed to relax when that hand landed on his shoulder. It was like all the tension just drained right out of him. It was the first time Harry had ever actually touched him-- not initiated by the Freelancer, that was. They touched a lot, but it was always York. York standing close, York bumping shoulders, York wanting to shake hands, York patting Harry’s shoulder. This time, Harry had actually touched him. It was enough to make the blonde want to throw himself right into Harry and hug him again. But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there like a good soldier, and nodded once. “It’s about being in your room the other night.” That was it, then, wasn’t it? “I apologized for that-- I mean,” he swept out an arm as if to prove a point, “I moved out the next day and everything.” He hadn’t been ready to go, but he had, because he’d made Harry uncomfortable. *** Shit. This was going wrong. All of it. Harry squeezed York’s shoulder, laughed a little, and shrugged. “It was a little weird, York,” he admitted. “But… no. I mean, yes? Look,” he paused to collect himself. “I don’t have a lot of friends at home. I don’t have a lot of friends that like touching other people. And it sucks,” he said. “A lot. But I accept that’s just the way it is. So yeah, the touching is weird but it’s… you know, it’s nice to know there’s someone in the world that wants to touch you because they give a damn. Usually that’s reserved for people who are into other people. Not for guys like us.” Because society was stupid. “I’ve never had anyone want to be that close to me, not even my own brother. It’s just… new.” And he was still learning how to deal with it. “You haven’t done anything that makes me want you to go away, kid. I just didn’t want you developing some kind of crush I can’t reciprocate.” Because he’d already gone through that with his apprentice and things with Molly were difficult. He didn’t want that with York, too. He liked York. “You’re good people, York, I like you.” *** The soldier stood there quietly, enjoying the weight of that hand on his shoulder, as Harry explained it all to him. It was a little weird, he knew-- it was why he’d gotten up and left the way he had, because he was well aware of how strange he’d look, sitting in the other man’s bedroom like some sort of.. Pervert. And the odd thing was, York was used to the touching. Not so much hugging, but sitting close, back to back, arm to arm, sleeping practically atop one another. Smashed together so close sometimes you didn’t know where you began and the next soldier ended. Not so much of it was deliberate, it wasn’t like they were seeking out comfort, it just turned out that way. Sleeping back to back, pressed together, ensured you knew someone was there, watching your six. It meant you could feel their heartbeat and know they were still alive. It helped share warmth. Being arm-to-arm helped in communication. Your partner didn’t need to tell you if there was a noise he heard, or if he’d seen something-- the tightness of his muscle would alert the man he was sitting against. And if they ever laid down and slept? Well, it was very nearly in a pile. For warmth. For the sheer safety in numbers, for ease of alerting the group of something happened. And if one woke, the entire group woke. It was an eerie sight to see, one of the soldiers who had seen a group of Spartans wake up once, had likened them to a school of fish, or a flock of birds. The movement had been so quick and nearly simultaneous. Eerie. And York was missing that. Desperately. He felt so fucking alone, even around other soldiers. Other soldiers who, when he had touched them, had reacted violently. Harry hadn’t. York had latched onto that, the poor dumb bastard. “It’s-- look, I need you to know I wasn’t in your room doing anything weird, okay? Just, you know.. During the war we slept in groups.” He shoulders rolled up some. “Especially after a fight, when someone was hurt. Their breathing told you if they were alive or dead and the sound of someone else still breathing helped you know it was safe to sleep. And when they stopped breathing, it woke you up. You knew it was time to go.” Because sitting around like that, you were usually waiting for someone on your team to die. He smiled just a little and shook his head. “Back home-- where I’m living right now-- there’s nothing but corpses. And.. and there’s no breathing but my own.” The smile slipped away as he said that, his eyes having fallen to Harry’s throat as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, Harry. I was just so tired.” And he’d wanted to rest, and he knew hearing someone else breathing would help. “I should have asked or something.” And now he felt like an idiot. “And you don’t have to worry about me falling in love with you or anything, you’re a little too rugged for my tastes.” Too manly. He liked them more.. Well, not feminine. Carolina was far from feminine. Let’s just say he liked green eyes and red hair and leave it at that. *** Harry listened to York explain, and his heart broke just a little more. The life this kid had lived, the place he’d come from? God. So Harry did the only thing he could do; he hugged York. Harry wasn’t against hugging, or touching, he liked it when it happened it just didn’t happen often in his life. So Harry pulled the younger man close and they were completely manly about it, not like a pair of women at all. “I’d have given anything in my life to have a family like that, York,” Harry said. Because the soldiers York lived with had been his family, of that Harry had no doubts. “I grew up alone and when I was adopted I had an adopted sister and we were each other’s everything because we had no one else. Our father didn’t encourage us to make friends. He isolated us from the world so we leaned on each other and then I--” Harry sighed, “I killed her in the same fire I killed him.” Or so he’d thought. More than ten years after Elaine had popped up again, but Harry had lived with that idea for so long. “And then it was just me and it’s been just me.” He kept everyone at a distance because his blast radius swept them up and hurt them, too. Releasing York a little, Harry pulled back enough to look the young man in the face without directly meeting his eye. “I get how lonely it is. Okay? You can come over here any time you need, York. I’m not saying come crawling into my bed or anything but if you need someone to watch while you sleep, just come over, dude.” Harry could give him that much. *** Good work with the boundaries there, Harry, because you might have had York climbing into your bed if you hadn’t mentioned that. There was the line. The soldier wouldn’t cross it. The hug was taken, and he held for a few long seconds. There was no way it could be anything less than manly, with a six-nine and six-four man, both with scars on their faces, scruff, and only three eyes between them. Jeans and boots and t-shirts and enough scars to send a gaggle of women swooning. No, there was nothing to be mistaken about that hug, it was totally manly. Yeah. Ahem. “Well you’ve got that sort of family now.” Him, Harry. You had him. “I’m the handsome younger brother, of course. But there’s no helping that.” Hug released, he grasped onto Harry’s bicep briefly and gave it a squeeze before letting go. “Thanks. It means a lot.” It meant everything. *** Harry laughed, “Yeah, okay, Quasimodo, don’t get too cocky. You might look like an ox but I’ll still put you on your ass.” Probably not. Not if Tex was any indication of a Freelancer’s ability to fight but that wasn’t the concern right now. Harry released York and punched him in the shoulder lightly, manliness resumed, testosterone flowing they could continue on their masculine ways. And that meant turning into a bunch of apes that used violence and grunts to communicate territory. The wizard pushed a hand through his hair again and offered York a faint smile. “No problem, York. You gonna hang around tonight or go home?” He collected his Coke again, chugged the rest of it like a boss, then burped. See? Man. He tossed the can into the trash. *** “I figured I’d hang around a bit if you don’t mind. Tex isn’t expecting me for another two hours, and I’m trying to give Ed a little time to himself, you know? Everyone needs a little alone time.” Except York. York did not need alone time. Ever again. “You got some movies or something?” Yes, manly movies that they could sit on the couch together and watch. York just didn’t want to leave yet, he hadn’t had his daily dose of Harry fulfilled, so the wizard would have to let him linger a little longer. |