SURVIVOR'S GUILT. (SEMI-HIATUS)

【w】>>> WASH HADN’T BELIEVED in heaven or hell since he was little. His faith                        was something that had been all but STRIPPED away as the years went on.                   ( Not that he actually cared all too much. ) 

                       But now, he was convinced he was in hell.

                  ( It was almost humorous–who would have expected that the ship he had                               come to look at as a HOME would be his hell ? Waking up in a crashing                                   home while his mind unraveled ? Waking up alone with no one there to                                       explain what was happening. Of course he already knew. He knew all of it. )

                        It was almost jarring to be called by his nickname. He was either Recovery One                         or, very rarely, Agent Washington. ( Sometimes he was Church. Sometimes he                         was Epsilon. Sometimes he was Leonard. Was he still David ? He was pretty                         sure David was D E A D. ) No one called him Wash anymore. 

❝ Your armor. Your AI. I can’t let you leave with them. ❞ His voice is flat. Emotionless.     He wishes he was happy to see her. He wishes it was anyone else but her. 

                                                               But wishes, of course, are for CHILDREN.

                                   The lack of emotion in his voice frightens her. The ambiance the poorly lit room with flickering lights provide don’t help to ease any nerves inside her. Excitement was all she felt, but his voice isn’t his own, and whoever that is, that isn’t her Washington. She’s not proud of her response to it... a part of her thinks it would have been more like her to push him, to cry a little more, but she didn’t.

                                    Shoulders straighten, and a quiet click indicates the safety of her rifle turning off. Agent Delaware is tense and scared of the boy she once (and still does) consider a son, and internally she’s choking up about it. Her pride won’t let her lose whatever’s about to happen, and neither will her glitching AI with control on what she does.

    Displeasure makes itself known with a low hum in his throat. The sound of shattering glass could attract enemies with ears as sharp as his. But at the same time, if the Captain could get the doors to open on the other side there wouldn’t be a need to worry. The duo would be long gone by the time someone came to investigate.

    The Rookie steps in behind her and kneels, holding out his linked hands for her to step on. With a soft grunt, he rises from his position and hefts her up as high as he can. Which may kinda be over kill but better too much than too little in this case. No alone, the Helljumper keeps his back to the fence and watches the silent city street. Now would be a fucking horrible time to be caught unaware.

    Her words take him by surprise and the Rookie turns his head to look once more at the panel, still a bright, negatory red. He mused for a moment before throwing out a theory.

                             “ Perhaps it’s a kind of half truth?

                            Norma tends to forget that not all people are used to how loosely she operates on the field; leaving her completely ignorant to the others displeasure in her actions. SHE herself knew what she was doing would have adverse consequences, but she’s spent enough time in the middle of a warzone to know how to either work around, or face the music.