Freelancer New York (freelancer_york) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-09-24 22:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | haloverse: canon: north, haloverse: canon: york |
Who: North Dakota & New York
What: Tribble killing.
When: Evening, after leaving the mess.
Where: Around Knowhere at large.
Rating: PG-13
Status: Log - Complete
Having stayed at the mess all day, collecting food, they’d left the pathetically small stores of food in the capable hands of York’s friend Carlos, who had reassured them that he got it and that the two Spartans would be better served out looking for more food, or dealing with the ever-growing tribble population. So, they were doing both. The two giant soldiers were on foot. The wizards (the ones who could make it, anyway) had gone off in another direction. Harry with Mustang (York was sad he was missing out on that), and with Texas unable to be too near Harry with all that magic-work in his lab and outside, she’d paired up with Riza and the two were sitting on a rooftop somewhere, both utterly silent and picking them off. They wouldn’t admit it, but they were in a rather fierce competition. What? They both wanted to win the unspoken bet. It left North and York patrolling the streets with guns. Two sniper rifles for North and two SMGs for York, who let them dangle at his sides as he walked. “I feel terrible about having to kill these things.” He’d feel less terrible tomorrow, when that bounty came out and he could turn dead tribbles into money, to help feed those boys at a later date. “Al sounded so devastated.” So had Ed, honestly. *** North had been quiet for the day. A lot of it had to do with the fact he’d had some awful news dropped on him about Project Freelancer and no outlet with which to let it out. York was usually the person he’d talk to about his problems, and that was still true, but they’d been more concerned with the current problems for North to intervene with his own issues. He wasn’t about that ‘but my feelings!’ anymore than any of the other Spartans were. Knowhere was being overrun with tiny, fluffy balls of … fluff. Starvation was a real concern. It was a problem that needed solving, and so they were out solving it. That didn’t mean North had to be talkative while they did it. He was walking with York, two sniper rifles on his person, one slung over his back, the other in hand and pointed low while they scoured the streets. He smiled a little sadly when York spoke, looking at him. “I feel bad we’re trying to shoot them,” He replied. One bullet from his rifle would rip the thing to a billion little pieces of tissue and blood. It was, honestly, a waste of ammunition. But he didn’t say it. He wasn’t so cold as all that. “I’m sorry for Alphonse, too. These sorts of things are always difficult.” North shook his head a little. “He’ll be okay.” *** “Yeah.. he’s a strong one. They both are.” The pull of a trigger sent a spray of three bullets out, taking another Tribble off the list as they walked. For every one they killed, they were really killing thousands. They had to think of it that way, otherwise the Spartans would find better ways to spend their time. That blue eye shifted over to his friend as they walked. “Your head in the game?” He knew that the other man had a lot on his mind and if North wasn’t in shape to be out here (sure, it was just tribbles, and they weren’t in any real danger, but it was just habit to ask, if something felt off) then he shouldn’t have been out here. York could certainly do it himself if he needed to. Gun lifted again, he took out a small group that had been scurrying across the street. His attention lifted briefly to one of the taller buildings he knew Lieutenant Hawkeye and Tex were settled in. He felt a little better, knowing they had eyes in the sky. But he would have preferred those eyes to be North. He was the best, after all. But Tex on the ground wasn’t the best decision, she was a little.. Too destructive, sometimes. *** Was his head in the game? North looked at York, pausing briefly, before he picked back up and looked around their surroundings. In the distance he could see the rise of smoke and fire. Scary, what humans could do with their bare hands and a thought in their minds. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good, man. Just feels like the end of the world, doesn’t it?” Two lone soldiers patrolling the streets of Knowhere.. Which, while the streets weren’t empty, were slowly being evacuated block by block by Mustang and the wizard Dresden so that people wouldn’t fall under their fire. Slowly, the extermination crew was moving through. North and York were a part of it, two looming figures in the hazy dark bearing assault rifles and firing rounds into harmless looking creatures. North settled his rifle against his shoulder and took a single shot at a tribble Theta picked out of the rubble of Knowhere. North didn’t waste bullets quite like the others. He rarely spray fired into a crowd if he didn’t absolutely need to. Theta’s scans helped him target his small opponents now. “We’ve come a long way to be doing this.” *** “Feels like Harvest.” Being on a half-glassed planet, with nothing but you and your team, and dead bodies all around. The silence in their vicinity made the crackling fires in the distance, coupled with explosions miles away, sound so much louder. It seemed so wartorn. Of course, North and York hadn’t known one another back on Harvest, but they’d both been there. On separate teams. On different sides of the world. They’d all been in green armor back then, their designations written on their chests in bold letters and numbers. There hadn’t been much talking back then, coms were needed for important conversations. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Yeah, who thought we’d go from what we were doing, to patrol? It’s like the worst sort of demotion.” He smiled over at his friend and swayed so he could bump his shoulder into North’s. “You’ve been real quiet all day, buddy.” Too quiet. Theta had been, too. It was a little unnerving. *** Yeah, it felt like Harvest. Without all the terror and the constant threat of death looming over your shoulder and the corpses of the dead around you, offering no comfort beyond the sullen, insidious promise that you were inevitably going to join them. North liked to close their eyes after they died, if they died within proximity. Something about respect for the dead. But he pushed it all away, walking across the dusty paths of Knowhere. They’d survived it somehow. They’d come out alive. They’d come out breathing, anyway. There wasn’t a Spartan left that North could think of as truly ‘living’ anymore. If they ever had before. North swayed a little at the shoulder bump. He was big, but York was a tank, a mountain on two legs, he couldn’t touch without a ton of force behind it. “Just a lot to think about, man,” he replied evenly, pausing to look over his shoulder at a noise. Best not to let the paranoia settle in.. They weren’t in a warzone. “It’s the longest I’ve been away from South,” he admitted after a moment, exhaling a breath. “And Freelancer…” He’d learned just earlier that everything they’d been told was a massive lie. Everything they’d been led to believe. They’d killed C.T. on that premise. It made North a little sick. Did South know? She’d always been so… North took his finger off the trigger of his rifle. “It never seems to end, does it, York?” *** Slowing their walk, the shorter Spartan looked over at his friend and offered a small smile. “It’ll end some day. Don’t be too eager for that day to come, man.” Because the only time it would ever ‘end’ for them, was when they were put in the ground. If they ever got put in the ground. Chances were, they never would be. Like most Spartans who died on planet, it was likely their corpses would be left to rot in their armor, and then glassed over. Or if they somehow managed to win the day, their armor would be retrieved and their bodies surely left in a large pile somewhere to be burned. The dead were left on world, lest their empty shells cause another Spartan to die, trying to drag them home. If you were lucky enough to get back to the ship, then die.. Well. At least you got a proper burial, shot out into space with a flag-draped coffin. It was all any of them could hope for. Most wouldn’t make it back, though. Spartans either lived or died, most didn't limp along. Almost all of them went out in a fantastic blaze of glory that left nothing of them behind. No hope for survival. Because if they knew they weren’t going to live through an injury, they stayed behind so as not to slow the forward team. It was just how they were. The injured could always buy the strong some time to get a head start. York had lost so many teammates, he couldn’t recall all of their faces. He felt bad about it, but it wasn’t as if they’d seen one another much, they spent most of their lives in their armor. “I’m sorry, about Freelancer. I should have told you when you got here.” Furthermore, he was sure Texas knew something else, something she wasn’t telling, but he hadn’t pressed her too hard for it. Sometimes, though, he thought Harry knew. Because sometimes, Harry.. Looked at him funny. It was an odd sensation. *** “Oh, I’m not eager, I’m just lamenting.” He smiled a little. “Being so fantastic gets tiring after a while.” Because you had to wonder what kind of creatures survived the kind of war they’d been through. Only the best. The smartest. Some of them like York just the luckiest (as was the running joke). But it all boiled down to hard skill, a touch of luck, and being stupidly efficient. Was that sustainable forever? Freelancer was proving it false. Freelancer. York apologized and North turned his head to look at him, pale blue eyes sharp and hard for a moment. North was a nice fellow, genuine, but like York he was still a Spartan and there was something else inside him, too. Something cold and ugly he didn’t like but that gave him the resolve to pull the trigger on someone whose face he’d never see anywhere but in his dreams afterward. “Yeah,” he said, “you should have. That’s something I would have liked to hear from a friend I trust, and not read on a network in a sarcastic reply to some young people from a hostile woman I only sometimes consider a friend.” He scolded him, let him know York was in the wrong. That it bothered him. But he also let it go a moment later. Slip forgiven, because they were friends. North reached out and clapped York on the shoulder lightly. “You didn’t tell me because you wanted to protect me, I understand it. But you and I aren’t the kind of people that lie to each other out of a false sense of safety, York. So tell me now, is Texas going to drop any other details I should be aware of? Is South okay?” Was she alive? He could live with his own demise so long as his sister remained safe. She’d find a way to move on without him, if it became necessary. It was something they’d always been aware would happen. Though they both also figured South would be the first to die. She was just too reckless and hotheaded. North smiled at the thought. The twins were codependent. Their happiness was inexplicably bound in each other. *** York let out a slow breath. He did feel bad about it, but there wasn’t anything to be done now, and North had forgiven him. So he took that clap of a hand and nodded, leveling his gun and picking off another tribble, before North had his attention again. “I don’t know. After Freelancer, we all went our separate ways and the Meta-- Maine-- started hunting us all down. He came after me but I managed to get away and I assumed you and South were dead. Tex recently told me you weren’t, she says you’re both still alive.. But the way she said it was a little strange.” He lowered his gun. “She’s from a little later than I am and.. I’m pretty sure that in her time, I’m dead.” That blue eye came back to North. “But I think the two of you are okay. I think you made it through alright. You’ve got one another’s backs.” They weren’t okay, of course, they were both dead-- but it wasn’t something Texas knew. She’d find out about both of them before her own death, though. Just not yet. The Freelancers fell like dominoes. Lifting his gun, he picked off another two tribbles, then lowered it again. “I haven’t actually asked her. I could be wrong..” But he didn’t think he was. *** I’m pretty sure that in her time, I’m dead. Damning words, by all accounts. What did you say to that? What did you say when you lived all your life watching your teammates die around you and the voice inside your head insisted it was normal. That it wasn’t anything new. Was it different when your team were also your friends? Yes. Yes it absolutely was. Your team was family, the only unit of people you’d ever know and the people you trusted to have your back in a fight. The people who would die for you if they had to, to give you time to get away. But when your brothers and sisters were also your friends… when their lives were more than a number on their armor and how many rounds were left in their weapon and the solid undeniable fact that their guts were still inside their bodies so they were useful.. When they were more than the combination of those facts, it felt different. It felt more personal. It felt devastating. So North said nothing. He looked ahead and nodded slightly, acknowledging York. He sighed softly after several seconds and eased his rifle up and around his shoulder to free his hands for just a beat. He trusted York to watch the field and warn him of coming danger if it was necessary. “I sure as hell hope that isn’t the case, York, but if it’s true… “ He looked at him. If it was true.. It probably was true. There were no happy endings for Spartans. He didn’t finish the thought. What could North say? He was supposed to be the comforting one and he was failing in that moment, but there was nothing.. No set of words that could unmake one’s death, no comfort in the fact the inevitable would happen. So North just leaned against his friend. “We’re here now, York, that’s what matters. Whatever comes, comes, and we’ll survive it or we won’t. There’s no use in worrying about it.” *** What could North say? There was nothing to say. Not really. “I’m not worried about it. It’s been months since we’ve seen one another, North. I know now that you and South got out safe, Wash is out safe, and Tex is, too. And you’re all doing just fine without me. That’s all that matters to me.” He wanted his friends to be safe. They were. It meant York could die and there’d be no real repercussions. Hell, North might never even know-- well, he did now. But he might not have. How would he know? How would he find out? It didn’t matter. Spartans died. It was what they did. It’d happen to North, eventually, too. And even his beloved South. A hand came up and York turned some, grasping the back of that paler head and bringing North’s head down so he could press their foreheads together. “I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again, man. I don’t care what happens after this, because this has been the best part of my entire life.” They had an apartment. They had friends with personalities. They didn’t have to go out every day and kill. They had a bed to sleep in. Knowhere was like heaven. *** What a sight they must seem, standing out in the middle of the lane with four guns between them, more than half a ton in weight by way of solid muscle and metal in their bones, foreheads pressed together in a moment of perfect unity. Of solemn harmony, at peace with themselves and the chaos around them. The irony, because their silent bond was met by a background of fire and the booming sound of explosives and the brush of ash and smoke that filled the air. North closed his eyes, his hand having risen to curl in against York’s head right there at the base of his skull and his neck. They were safe here. As safe as two Spartans could ever feel anywhere. And even if Knowhere was temporary and this time here a delusion of peace and comfort and safety, they’d accept it, because it was what they were given. It was more than they’d ever had before or would ever have again. It was peace. York was right. This was heaven. North smiled again, it was more genuine than earlier, less solemn and less distant. Sure, he missed South, he missed her with everything he was, but at least he had his best friend to counter her loss. It was okay. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he told him. “But I guess I’ll stop clinging to you.” He’d been around York since he’d arrived. He still didn’t move though, even after he said it. *** That caused York to chuckle softly, lifting his chin just a bit. “If you stop clinging to me, I’ll have to start clinging to you and that could ruin my entire reputation as one of the most badass Spartans to ever live. And no one wants that.” He tightened his grip just some on North, but eventually let his hand slide away. They had to get back to their patrol. Sure, they weren’t in a war zone, they weren’t in any real danger out here, but instinct still tugged at both of them. They had their backs to the world, when they should have been standing back-to-back. But for the moment, the golden soldier really didn’t mind that much. The world seemed less important now than it did thirty seconds ago. “Come on, big guy, we’ve got a job to do.” And with that, he was leaning back again, withdrawing and turning to start their walk once more. Slow and steady, neither one in a particular rush. Everyone else rushed about in their tasks, blocks away, but the Freelancers could spare a few moments to just enjoy the company of one another. *** “Well, of course not, because then they’d know your reputation is a lie,” North replied candidly, but he chuckled too and then he released York the moment the shorter soldier loosed himself. Weirdly in tune, they turned, the taller blonde dragging his rifle back around and into position. And if you have never seen a giant at 6’9” and some three hundred pounds of muscle carrying two gigantic sniper rifles and looking like he could use them, count yourself lucky. Neither of the soldiers moved quickly. People would part way for them. No one would meet their eyes. It wasn’t anything new. Neither of them seemed to mind. They weren’t there for the people of Knowhere (not entirely anyway) but for each other and the ones they cared about. Maybe it was selfish. But they were only human, after all. Pale blue eyes moved around with steady consideration, only occasionally roving upward to check the rooftops for signs of the snipers. He could spot them not just because he knew their position before he and York had gone out, but because he knew where he’d have gone and what to look for if he were searching for others of his kind. They must be having an interesting time. Texas hadn’t even fired a shot in their direction to let them know what she thought of their silent moment on the job. *** There was a small flash of light from Tex’s scope when North looked up. It’d been a purposeful tilt of the rifle so he’d know she’d been watching. But she hadn’t fired a shot. It was a little strange, but not entirely unusual. On a mission, she didn’t usually mess around. Not that this was an actual mission. “Come on. Only ten more hours.” Or somewhere around there. They were trying to pick off as many as possible before the next burst of population. They had ten hours to work. Ten hours to kill as many as they could. |