#suckington

She stepped over the corpse and offered him a hand up.

York reached up and accepted, taking it and then using the momentum to collapse against her. Relief coursed through her. If he was able to trick her into a hug, he was going to be fine.

“Is he…” York said, staring at the body behind her.

“Yes.” She said. She offered no explanations or apologies. She knew that Locus had been his friend once. The thought was strange in her mind, sharp like jealousy and bitter like rage.

York’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, then he exhaled sharply.

“That is excellent news, Agent Texas,” Delta said, appearing on York’s shoulder, as if attempting to reassure himself that York was, in fact, still alive. It was as close to physical contact that an A.I. and host could get.

“Dee, when did you get so bloodthirsty?” York asked, but there was relief in his voice too. One more ghost gone.

Tex bent over Locus’s dead body, and pried the healing unit out of his fingers, already stiff. Carefully, she pressed it back into place on York’s chest plate, watching as his body language slowly relax as painkillers did their job.

“They’re gone,” Tex said, and there should have been satisfaction in that, but there wasn’t. It had been too close.

She’d watched York die before, and it had been a long, long time ago now. She had stopped that world, she had punched a hole through reality itself to save him, but…

She had watched him die once.

She had come this close to seeing it happen again.

Tex reached out and pressed a hand against his shoulder. “York,” she said, struggling to find words. “I—you know you’re—you’re my—” the words felt like they were strangling her, which shouldn’t even be possible.

Church, in her brain, remained shockingly silent.

“I know,” York said. “Me too.”

She scowled and clenched her hands into fists. “No,” she said. “Don’t let me off like that.”

“Tex,” York laughed, his voice unsteady, his breathing labored. He took a step forward and stumbled. Tex leapt forward to catch him. “I know, okay?”

“I love you,” Tex spat out.

She wasn’t programmed to. It was an aberration.

She was programed to love Church. She was built for it. She was built to love Carolina. She was built for the strange affection for Delta, even.

She was a shadow, an artifice, a series of ones and zeroes all strung together, forming the very core of herself. Pieced together, placed in a body of a robot, built up and pulled apart and put back together again. Put back together by Reds and Blues and Church and Carolina…and the idiot in front of her.

She had not been built for this. This strange, tumultuous, bizarre course, which no one could have seen coming.

There was no romance in the sentence, there was barely even affection. It was brusque and harsh, somehow a declaration and a question at the same time.

She loved her idiot best friend, and she had nearly seen him die a second time.

She couldn’t see his expression.

“I love you too, Tex,” he said. He leaned against her. “Now, uh, not to rush you or anything, but I think I need to submit myself to Dr. Grey’s terrifying medical expertise.”

“Right,” Tex said, putting an arm around his shoulder and starting to lead him away.

The tightness in her throat, the one that should be impossible because she had no muscles to lock up or lungs to draw air with, didn’t go away.

“Let’s go back to Armonia,” she said. York’s blood dripped onto the cavern floor and Locus cooled next to her feet.

She was not built to be this way.

Teleport cubes and the knowledge that they might all be dead soon made the journey back to Armonia fast.

Kimball wished she could just have time to think.

Carolina had made the report over the radio—Felix with a key that could kill everyone on the planet, Locus dead, Church’s body destroyed, York injured but not in critical state. The last one was said grimly, through gritted teeth, taking any potential satisfaction from Locus—one of Kimball’s longest living nightmares—being dead.

The Reds and Blues and Freelancers moved back into the war room. They looked the worse for wear for their journey, and there’s no sign of Church in physical form, although Kimball would guess that he was implanted into one of their implants, like Delta or Epsilon.

Agent York’s armor was in the worst state—it had never been great, old fashioned, a patchwork of repairs and replacements—but now there was also a horrific looking puncture on his shoulder. Locus’s work, if Kimball had to venture a guess. She’d seen wounds like that before, just usually on the dead.

York was forced into one of the chairs by Carolina, who was unmoving, cold, and solid. Her concern for him might not have been visible to many, Kimball realized as she watched York insist over and over again that he was fine. But Carolina was solid, and insisted on him sitting the fuck down, York. Kimball found herself trying not to smile as York acquised, reluctantly.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, one last time.

“That’s not what Doctor Grey said,” Kimball said. “She said you lost a lot of blood.”

“I’ve got a healing unit! I’m fine!” York said, throwing his hands into the air.

Carolina tilted her head at Kimball, a silent gesture of appreciation for her support. Kimball felt her cheeks warming, and she ducked her head, even though no one could see it.

She saw York tilt his head, curiously.

Dread filled her, a different kind of dread than the kind she’d lived with every day since the war began, that had doubled and tripled since Felix had betrayed her, that had multiplied infinitely since the last few hours, when Felix had gotten his hands on a weapon to end all weapons.

This was different. Smaller. Stranger.

Dread might not even be the right word, she realized, unable to stop turning it over in her head. Apprehension? Anxiety?

York took off his helmet, revealing the now-familiar face. Was there more grey in his hair than there had been? Kimball forced herself to look away, as Carolina placed a hand on the shoulder that had not been shot.

Kimball had not intended for this to happen. They were at war. There was no time for her to fall for two idiot Freelancers, with noble intentions and mistakes and blood on their hands and—

She needed to focus.

“Felix will be heading for the Temple,” Kimball said, drawing her mind away from a gloved hand on an armored shoulder. “He might take backup.”

“Siris is the likely candidate,” York said. “He’ll be the only one who can…” He hesitated.

“What?” Carolina asked.

“Uh, look, I’m not one to really throw stones about co-dependency when Delta lives in my head, but, uh. Felix and Locus, uh… well, let’s just say my glass house has a few holes in it.”

“So Felix will be off his game?” Tex smelled blood in the water.

York shrugged. “Maybe? Or maybe he’ll be redoubling his efforts in order to avenge Locus. Hard to say. Felix is… again, not to damage the glass house, but he’s not… stable.”

“No shit,” Tucker said.

“He’s kind of unpredictable,” York said apologetically. “He takes pride on that. But I do think he’ll want to keep Siris close to him after this.”

“Then we’ll want a small group to head them off there while the rest of us make a run for the Communication Tower,” Kimball said grimly.

“That… sounds like a surprisingly solid plan,” Doyle said, and Kimball tried not to be annoyed that he sounded surprised.

“Carolina and I will go,” Tex said.

“I’m coming too,” York and Washington said in unison.

“Hey Wash,” Tucker said, sounding overly cheerful, with Kai on his side. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”

“Um…”

Before Wash had time to formulate a response to that, Kaikaina and Tucker had swept forward, and propelled him out into the hallway, each of them grabbing one of his arms in a show of shocking precision and coordination.

“So I guess it’ll be the three of us then,” York said cheerfully, and Kimball really wanted to strangle him in that moment. How could one man manage to be so infuriating? If she’d been a younger woman with more free time, this might have been worth a spreadsheet, or at least a list. As it was, she allowed herself to audibly sigh.

“You’re injured, York,” she said, and she couldn’t help how gentle the words came out.

“Hey, I’m fine!” York protested.

“She’s right,” Carolina said, and Kimball couldn’t tell, but she imagined Carolina’s fingers were digging into his uninjured shoulder. She tried not to focus on that, or the strange surge of pleasure that Carolina agreed with her, even if it was about something as objectively true as the fact that York had been shot recently, again.

Kimball was starting to realize why it was, exactly, that Agent York, despite being an infiltration specialist, might have needed a healing unit. He seemed to have the most atrocious luck when it came to obtaining injuries.

He did, however, have a pretty good streak going when it came to surviving them.

“I’m fine!” York said. “I’ve survived worse—”

“Not encouraging,” Tex said dryly.

“Dr. Grey said I was okay—”

“Emphasis on okay, sweetie—”

“Felix might bring additional backup—”

“We have plenty of reds to spare!”

“What? No we don’t! I don’t want to fight Felix!”

“What Simmons said!”

“Traitors! Cowards! Leaving the Freelancers to hog all the glory, even if one of them is a Red? Why you blue-livered—”

“Kimball,” York said, changing tactics. “Please. I’ll be okay.”

She looked at him and felt herself go still.

York’s face was pleading and desperate. His good eye was focused right on her, as if he could see her expression, beneath her own helmet, and she swallowed, because she knew why he was appealing to her.

She was the only one who knew about him and Siris.

“Fine,” she whispered. She shook her head, and then spoke louder. “Very well. But be careful. All three of you. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Can’t afford to lose the planet either,” Grif muttered. She shot a glare at him.

Tucker, Wash, and Kaikaina re-emerged a moment later.

“Hey,” Tucker said, grinning. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Aaaaand now I’m terrified,” Carolina said, her voice drier than a desert.

Kimball should not find that as attractive as she did.

Tucker took his sword out and turned it on. “Why don’t we even the odds?”

Doyle and Kimball exchanged a look.

Something like hope began to stir inside of Kimball’s chest.

“Okay, so a quick detour first.”

Most of the others went off to arm up, but Carolina stayed behind.

“You shouldn’t let him go,” she said, grabbing Kimball’s arm.

“Agent York is a professional.” Epsilon made a noise that sounded a bit like an incredulous snort. “I give him the courtesy of assuming he knows his limits.”

Carolina shook her head. “This is the second time he’s been injured this week. The healing unit is effective, but even it has limitations.”

“He needs to do this, Carolina.” Kimball says, and winces. She forgot to add the “Agent.” “You should ask him why.”

“… You… already know?”

“He told me,” Kimball said, wincing as she realized she’d probably overstepped somehow. “I asked him, after he got shot by Siris last time.”

“I… see.”

“You really care for him, don’t you?” Kimball asked, unable to stop herself. She pressed a hand against her visor. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“You care as well,” Carolina said, and she sounded half-resigned, half-surprised.

“What can I say?” York said, sticking his head into the room. “I have a type. Anyways, we should probably get going Carolina.”

Kimball felt as if she was suddenly, horrifically, rooted to the floor. Did he just… did he just… what did he just say? And if he… he didn’t mean it like… like that? He couldn’t. There was no way he had just implied what she thought he had implied…what she wanted him to be implying…

She shoved that thought to the side to deal with much later and turned to face York instead. “Remember what I said,” she said. “Don’t give him the chance.”

He saluted, jaunty and confident, using his just-injured arm to boot.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“I’ll bring him back,” Carolina said quietly.

“Just be sure to bring yourself back too,” Kimball said, and then blushed again. She had never been so grateful for her helmet in a non-life-threatening situation.

How were those two possible?

Tucker and Kai’s grip on Wash’s arms were like steel as they propelled him into the hallway.

“You’re not going,” Tucker said.

“Not without us,” Kai added, looking stubborn as hell.

“I—”

“We’re not being separated again!” Tucker said, and Wash flinched. Tucker’s voice echoed in the hallway.

They hadn’t had time to reunite properly, with everything. They hadn’t been alone, hadn’t had time to talk, hadn’t had time…

For anything.

And now things were ending, spiraling out of control, and Wash had been about to go off on another mission without them…

Time was running out for him to say everything he had to say.

He took off his helmet.

“You’re right,” he said. “We stick together. No matter what.”

Kai immediately tried to kiss him, but she was still wearing her helmet, so Wash had to duck out of the way to avoid a bruise.

“Ha!” Tucker said, pulling off his own helmet, which meant he got to kiss Wash first.

Something soft and giddy unfurled in Wash.

A moment of quiet peace, stolen, in the hallway, as Tucker kissed him, Kai making loud protesting noises as she struggled to get her helmet off.

The world might be ending, but he still had this.

He’d always have this.

As long as they were all alive—and that sounded almost too close to a wedding vow, so Wash shied away from that train of thought, and settled for whispering, “I love you,” against the shadow of Tucker’s jaw.

“We love you too, dumbass,” Tucker said. “Which is why we’re going to kick ass at the Temple of Communication, together.”

“That’s great,” Kai said, “Now let me kiss our boyfriend.”