Agent North Dakota | Andrew Engelsen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bothbarrels) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hexaflexagons2021-03-15 09:26 am
bothbarrels) wrote in hexaflexagons2021-03-15 09:26 amEntry tags:
bothbarrels) wrote in hexaflexagons2021-03-15 09:26 am
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South doesn’t break the silence Wash leaves, focused on her own food, and it’s a damned fucking shame when he decides to speak up again. She rolls her eyes, picks at something stuck in her teeth with the point of her fork.
“Doing what, asshole? Arguing, or squatting like losers whenever we need to sleep or eat?” Her expression and tone are flat, but edged with annoyance. “The fuck do you care?”
She spits to her side. Sets her finished meal aside. Leans back on her hands and blows hair out of her face.
Two straight years of this shit, and thirty more that keep her here every time she’s thought about leaving. Thirty more that mean she couldn’t have even threatened North with ‘it’s him, or me’, in that fight, because they both know she’s not going anywhere.
She deliberately doesn’t actually answer his question. North can do this buddy buddy small talk bullshit if he wants, but she’s not going to.
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"Just wondering what North was inviting me into." He scoops another forkful into his mouth, then keeps talking. "Life on the run must not be all it's cracked up to be."
It's probably a more disparaging dig than North warrants, but he's in range for the verbal collateral right now. And really, just because the man tried to recruit him now, after all this time, does that really mean Wash should pull his punches?
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"You talk like we took off for the heck of it." He shakes his head. "Really, Wash. You know what they're doing, don't you?"
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He wants to say it. Hell, he's probably already saying it with his eyes alone, and he jerks his face away from the two of them, because if South reports back just how much Wash hates Command, his game'll be up faster than he can say 'prison cell'.
Fuck that. He hates Project Freelancer, but he's trying to be smart about it.
"What I know is that now you're both homeless fugitives with an illegal AI unit you both have to hide, and every major force in the galaxy after your heads."
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"I'm saying that if it wasn't for me, you and your moral superiority would be dead tomorrow."
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Watching North turn his pestering tendencies on someone else is the most entertaining thing she's seen in a long, long time. Not nice to be on the receiving end of, is it, Washington?
She's not really paying much attention to what they're saying, though the things North emphasizes strikes her as a little weird. Where the AI came from? The fuck is he talking about? They're copies, right? ...weird.
"Fucking hell, Washington, stop being so goddamned dramatic about our supposed imminent doom for like five fucking seconds, would you?"
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He breaks off, biting his tongue. He kind of is, maybe the tiniest bit. If the Blues were here they'd call him on it.
"This is serious," He insists, then realizes how dramatic that could be taken, and fumes over it inwardly.
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"When the Meta gets here, we'll be ready. That's thanks to you."
What the rest of it means, he's not so willing to be forthright with.
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He looks at either of them, then picks up his helmet, cramming it over his head onehandedly. His meal's trash gets wadded up and pitched towards an overflowing trash-barrel.
"I'm going to scout the area. If anything happens, com me."
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South just rolls her eyes and neither of them stop him. She doesn't say a word to North, just picks at the remains of her food. This is like the longest evening of her life.
She doesn't sleep particularly well. She figures Wash doesn't either. But there's no real choice but to try, even if it means laying awake with your eyes open behind a visor half the time. The hours tick by and eventually they're awake again, they break out more MREs, sit through more awkward silence and poor attempts at conversation, until—assuming Wash isn't bullshitting—the Meta should be closing in on them.
South doesn't actually like the fact North's bait. Sure, her own plan wasn't totally dissimilar, but this is different. This isn't her plan, and Wash is here, and... it's just different.
"You die before you get it back to us and I swear to god, North, I'll revive you just to kick your ass."
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It's not long after South and Wash hide when North notices the first signs of the Meta approaching. A strange growl, and the sound of boots shuffling along the concrete.
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He tried to keep busy. Planning, double checking plans, wondering what his friends are doing (if they're alive), sending cryptic warnings he suspects won't make a difference to people that haven no reason to trust him, planning...
... Morning comes as a relief. He barely tastes the protein bar he crams down, and when the time finally comes, Wash is ready.
He gives North a nod as the man leaves, then sends a long look at South's helmet as they withdraw from view. He doesn't think she's going to stab anyone in the back before the Meta dies, but really, it pays to be prepared.
They wait. Wash knows what to listen for, and when he finally sees a tall, bright set of armor, he touches the side of his helmet.
His voice is low, as though the Meta could possibly hear straight through their secure channel.
"Target spotted coming in from the East. I'm moving in."
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She's still not 100% convinced this isn't all some trick or exaggeration from Washington until it becomes impossible to accept that it isn't: the Meta's actually fucking here, and she had no idea it was this close until Washington appeared.
What. The. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to be this close, it was miles away based on the last report. There's no way she would've been...
Nope. Not thinking about her plan right now. Time to think about this one. Even if she has to cooperate with goddamned fucking Washington to do so.
"Copy that. Moving into position."
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North's relying on them to do pretty much...everything. He tries to act casual, nonchalant, like he isn't just waiting there for his companions to intercept whatever the Meta would do.
And then he hears the footsteps, and the growls, coming closer, and a grenade explodes nearby, against one of the concrete pillars behind him.
"Target spotted!"
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--when something searing hits his shoulder from his three-o-clock, just on the edges of where two hard plates of armor meet. The pain immediately deadens as angry snarling churns in his mind and diverts processes to identifying the new threat, and the Meta grabs the serrated blade's handle, tearing it out.
"Watch his right side," Wash calls into the coms, ducking behind cover as a spray of bullets pelts the pillar behind him. "It should be weaker--"
A glimpse of white, and Wash knows who it is before he turns. It was too fast for even the Meta to move that far, but he's not going to stake his life on it, and he ducks under a bladed slice that could've gutted him like a fish.
"Shit!"
He doesn't see it, but there there's three white-armored figures in the battleground behind him. As the Meta considers his opponents, one of them flickers, then restabilizes.
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Wash doesn't see, but from her angle, South does. Goddamned fucking holograms, knowing they were a factor doesn't make it any less of a pain in the ass.
"Watch it! Holograms on the field!"
She leaps out from her own cover and catches that sure thing with a spray of bullets, the once flickering hologram disappearing with the disruption. She fires off another burst before ducking into fresh cover, not sure if she even hit any other holograms let alone the actual damn Meta, and losing her line of sight on them, but she doesn't want to get exploded, thank you very fucking much.