Posts tagged york.
RvB: Advanced Zoology
"This seems very familiar," York stammered, leaning against the lamppost.
"You got a case of the deejars," North called over, slipping his loose grip on the flashlight and dropping it on Wash’s head.
"Fucking hold on to it, you jerk!" The flashlight was thrust back into North’s chest. "You have one job, North."
"Obviously it wasn’t DD," York said, finishing off his bottle. "What the hell are deejars?"
"It’s French, you uncultured swine,” North leaned forward, redirecting the light again to Wash’s grumblings. “And no, our DD was totally…erm. Was it Maine?”
"I think he went…went…" York looked around, suddenly losing his buzz. "I think he’s talking to the elephants. Wash. Are you trying to steal a tiger?"
"Liberate," Wash corrected, as North muttered something about a thesaurus and Christmas.
"It’s a goddamn tiger, Wash!”
"That’s the point!" Wash said.
"And/or DUH," North added.
"What would you do with a tiger?"
"What wouldn’t you do with a tiger?” Wash answered.
"I remember this being a bad idea…"
"Look who called the sober police," North added, and then stuck out his tongue. "Have a heart for adventure, York. Tigers, they’re…predators…and…"
"And?" York encouraged.
"And don’t…can’t live on spaceships and Wash, what the hell are you doing?"
Wash looked at his companions, his face full of patient disbelief. “Space tigers are better than any other kind of tigers, and how do you think they’re made, anyway? By taking boring normal tigers into space. I’m furthering evolution.”
North and York exchanged a meaningful glance, after two unsuccessful tries at keeping eye contact, and North swiftly knocked Wash unconscious. “I think he’s had too much,” North said, before giggling.
"Let’s go find Maine," York muttered, walking over and taking one of Wash’s arms while North grabbed the other. "I hate being the grown-up."
RvB: Little Darling
Her dad was never a good singer. He’d try, when she didn’t want to go to sleep, or when she got scared from going to the lab and meeting all the new, tall people. He’d try singing, because he saw her mom do it all the time. But he was never very good, and somewhere between the frightened tears and small laughter at his efforts it would turn into missing her mother’s voice, and he could never get her to stop crying for that.
There was just one song that he could ever sing that would make her smile. It was really old, and she’d never heard the original version of it. Probably so she could never hear how off her father was.
“Here comes the sun,” he would hum, and she’d sway in the rhythm. “And I say, it’s alright.”
It was the song he’d sing while her mom was walking up to the front door of their house. She’d wait patiently until he got done with it and then run to the front door and open it to see her mom, kneeling on the steps so the toddler could run up and hug her as tightly as she could.
That’s why Carolina always thought it was so cruel that there were no clouds in the sky as they buried an empty casket in silence. She spent weeks pleading with her father for him to sing the song, as if it would magically summon her mother to the front door again and it would have just been a mistake, or a cruel joke.
Every time she’d ask, her father would suddenly say he had to get to work. After two months, he didn’t have to say it anymore, he was just always at his office. He came home after she pretended to be asleep, and left the moment she woke up. The babysitter didn’t know the song. It didn’t matter, Carolina knew it had to be her father who sang it.
She’d tried to herself, every night since she was told her mom would never come back. It didn’t work.
Long after she was a child who would sing herself to sleep at night, after she became a soldier because that was the family business, soon after she proved herself good enough for a shot in her father’s program, just after she had been shipped to the Mother of Invention, one of the new agents stopped in front of her at the gym while she was running on a treadmill.
"The Beatles?" he said. She looked at him, a little confused as to why he was talking to her, let alone what he was talking about.
"Excuse me?" she said, not slowing down.
“Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting,” he sang quietly, and she nearly fell off the treadmill.
"Whoa," the man said, putting his hands up as if in defense. "I just recognized the song. You have good taste."
"Where did you hear it?" she demanded. "Who are you?"
"Agent New York. You were humming it." he took a step back as she powered down the machine she was still running on. "Didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry."
Carolina stared him down a second too long, before shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it, it was nothing. I was just confused.” She turned the speed back up and resumed running, staring straight ahead and focusing on her breathing.
"Yeah, alright," the new agent said, unconvincingly, and resumed walking past her to the weight machines.
She didn’t know it, because her parents never talked about such things, but she met York in the same chair that Allison met Leonard.
York leaned himself across the counter, flagging down the bartender with all of the concentration and enthusiasm of someone who is still too sober to be at a bar at this time of night. Carolina glanced at him as his waving hand almost grazed her arm, and scooted her chair away.
Allison pushed the drunk man passed out on the bar counter off of his stool quietly. No one could have possibly seen it, though everyone heard it. The man ambled away towards the street, car keys being confiscated by the bouncer. She put both hands around her glass with a small, relieved smirk, which was immediately wiped off of her face when a man complete with glasses, a tie, and a pocket protector, sat down next to her.
"Maybe if you yell," Carolina suggested, mostly to discourage the dangerous levels of flailing that the man next to her was engaging in. "Obviously the hand motions aren’t doing anything." He didn’t turn to look at her, just muttered, "I think he’s almost going to look my way, any moment now."
"What kind of wine do you have?" the scientist asked the bartender in a low Southern accent, while Allison tried not to stare at this caricature of a man. The bartender laughed, and then pointed to the two bottled behind the counter. "One white, one red," the guy said, "which one would you like?" Allison could swear she could hear the eye roll in the over-exaggerated sigh as the scientist said "The white one, then."
Carolina finally placed both hands on the bar and lifted herself up high, yelling over York’s head at the bartender on the other side of the room, “hey! This man needs to order, for the past five minutes, and I’m worried he might flail himself into my drink if you keep ignoring him.” As she sat down, York turned to her with a frown. “I didn’t want to bother the man - oh, hey.” His voice dropped from reproachful annoyance to a slow, low whistle. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t really… My friends call my York.”
"Aren’t you supposed to ask to be my derivative, or something," Allison finally said, sipping her beer straight from the bottle. Leonard looked at her, sipping at his wine. "Right. And then you’ll pretend you know what it means, and laugh. Or own up that you don’t, and laugh. I think I’ll just sip on this, thank you." Allison laughed, her head tilting to get a good look at the man next to her. "What if I just told you where I lived, and that I’d be heading there in about ten minutes?" Leonard raised an eyebrow at her, put his glass down, and leaned his elbows on the bar, pulling himself up towards her. "I wouldn’t believe you."
For a moment, she considered giving him a fake name. Carol, or Lina, or, as she sometimes said, Allison. “Carolina,” she finally said, mostly because she noticed the metal tags hanging from his neck. York took out a lighter and a cigarette from his pocket, and she instinctively reached for her pack as well. “Seems we share a vice,” he remarked with a grin. She sized him up, and made the connection. York. New York. Everyone assigned to the new project had just been given a month of leave before shipping out. Of course they sent them all to the same city. “You have no idea,” she said, bringing the cigarette to her lips.
Allison smiled at the answer. “Having a bad day?” Leonard looked at her, at the way she was smiling, and leaned back, saying, “that depends.” “On?” she asked, taking another drink. “On what you write on this paper,” Leonard said, taking out a neat square of white paper and a pen. Allison looked at him with that grin, the one he’d have no choice but to love, the one he’d watch on an old film recording for years to come.
York struck the lighter, cupping it with his fingers as he offered it to Carolina. She leaned her face close to the warmth and took a long drag from his flame. “Thanks,” she said as he lit his. “I don’t have much of these left,” he said conversationally after finally having placed his order. “Shipping out soon.” “Yeah,” she muttered. He put the lighter down and picked up the two beers he’d been waiting on, turning away. “Aren’t you forgetting-” she said. He turned around. “Bring it to me tomorrow night,” he yelled out, disappearing in a sea of people carrying drinks and drunk friends. She turned back to her drink, smiled, and waited another minute before picking up the lighter and flicking it open and closed.
Allison folded the piece of paper, finished off her drink, and passed it to the stranger. “Open it after I leave,” she directed, leaving a tip on the bar under the empty bottle, and walking out of the bar. Leonard watched her go, and opened the paper. “Come back tomorrow night, and wear that pocket protector - Allison.”
RvB: The Family Business
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" York asked, his hand trailing over hers in the small bed. Carolina turned to him with a small hint of a mocking smile.
"What is this, York. A date?”
"Hey," he said defensively, kissing her forehead. "We’re cuddling. Cuddling totally means a date. And this is the conversation people have on dates, I think."
She laughed, quietly, and laced her fingers through his. “I think a date involves much more than post-sex cuddling. There should be flowers. And some degree of nearly incapacitating nervousness.”
"You weren’t nervous?" he whispered while kissing her neck. She smiled in that self-assured way that made him a little dizzy sometimes.
"I don’t have any brothers or sisters. You?"
"Two brothers. I was a middle child. What’s that look for?" he said as she laughed it off her face hurriedly. "What does your mom do?"
"Oh." York backed away ever so slightly to see her face. It was simply passive.
"It’s not a big deal, York. She died when I was very young. Soldier of war. I don’t remember much about her anyway." She smiled at him as proof that he hadn’t upset her. "What about your parents?"
"My mom is a doctor. Not an army one, just one that lives in a hospital and visits home for family dinners. My dad is a historian. The house was always full of vintage, dated, somehow-still-functioning technology."
"Have you told North and his obsession with DvPs? I bet he’d love to hear that."
"DvDs, actually. And yeah. I had my dad pull some strings and got him a vintage Captain America movie. He just about kissed me." His fingers were tracing a pattern on her hip bone as he asked, tentatively, "and your father?"
She sighed before answering, “dying, somewhere. He was never quite the same after my mother. At first he was convinced that she was just missing, not dead. He went from a small, wiry watch maker to a soldier overnight to look for her. I guess he’s still alive, because no one from the army has come to tell me otherwise. He wasn’t really there when I was growing up, either.”
"So you became a soldier."
"I couldn’t help it. After my mother and my father decided that our legacy should be lives lost in the name of war, who was I to argue."
"That’s silly," York said, burying his face in the pillow next to her. "You’re much too smart to die in battle."
Carolina looked up at the white ceiling and smiled to herself. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
RvB Drabble: Terse
"You’re sure about this?" Tex said, again. York rolled his eyes, the effort lost behind his helmet. "We can’t come back to save them."
"She told me to go," York muttered finally. That shut Tex up as they were packing, taking armor and ammo and weapons, taking data and provisions and proof.
"I’m sorry," she said, putting the message from CT on a chain around her neck. "What about your bunkmate? He’s still-"
"He’s not going to wake up." There was a sigh in every syllable of that sentence.
"But the doctors said-" she started, unsure why she’s spending this time convincing him out of the act she had spent months persuading him to consider. Something felt weird. He was too quiet.
"Wash isn’t coming back. Not from that. It doesn’t matter if he wakes up." He picked up his weapon. "I don’t like ghost stories, Tex. Let’s just…let’s go."
For AJ! RvB: Extraction
When I have a moment, I will write you something more because it’s your birthday so you need more fics. But for now, here’s that one we collaborated on a long time ago that I found and finished this morning as a small, timely gift (to come before the belated one) :P
"I don’t see why we have a random trooper on this mission," Wyoming said, staring at the offending man in plain, unenhanced armor.
"It is the mission. Protecting a civilian,” South said and the malice was obvious in her voice. Wyoming and Connie laughed.
"Come on, guys," York said with an easy shrug. "Just give the guy a chance, it won’t kill us to learn how to play nice with others."
"Surprise, surprise," Maine growled.
"Hey, we could all use a little more teamwork."
The new guy laughed, and betrayed that “he” was actually a “she”.
"You’re not helping my case," York muttered and the girl raised her hands in defense and defeat.
"You can carry your own weight?" Carolina demanded, speaking for the first time since the Pelican took off. "We’re two minutes from drop point."
"Yeah, no sweat," she said and that seemed enough for Carolina.
"If I had known we were going to babysit, I would’ve brought my gold stars to give you for doing a good job at not dying," South muttered with a smile.
"Who would ever let you within a mile of their kids?" York retorted. North’s small, instinctive laugh came over the radio and died just as suddenly as South’s head whipped around to face him.
"She used to babysit all the time," North said, suddenly very interested in defending his sister’s credibility to watch over children. "Tons of people in our neighborhood would hire her, all the kids were scared shi—-loved her. Loved her, yes."
"I’ll have to make due without that validation, then," the girl said, her voice smothered in sarcasm.
"I see why you stuck up for her, York," Wash chimed in from across the soldier. "She’s got your terrible, obvious sense of humor."
"Hey, I have a fucking awesome sense of humor," both of them said at the same time, and Wash sat back smugly with his arms across his chest, his point sufficiently proven.
"Get ready," Carolina said firmly, cutting the other replies from the agents short. "Showtime."
"Really?" York snickered and Carolina’s helmet turned to glare at him. "Sorry, sorry, I just…really?”
The doors opened before anything else could be said, and the agents rushed out, a surly Carolina behind them.
"Are you mad you didn’t get to have the last word," York asked, head tilted towards the leader in an oddly apologetic stance.
"No," she growled simply.
"Right, because that would be silly."
York nodded. “Sorry.”
She looked at him for a moment, her expression softening slightly under the helmet, and then - “You know, I could’ve sworn you were taller.”
"Must be how I’m standing or something. We ready to go?"
She gave him an odd look- as she normally did -before shaking her head and jumping out. The cement cratered under Carolina’s feet, knees nearly touching the ground. The others had taken up observational cover around her and she was momentarily caught in the revelation that their guest, crouched between the twins, had to be taller than South. The thought was jarred out of her head when York hit the ground hard, stringing together curses as he got to his feet and- was he limping? -moved to cover next to Maine. Carolina just shook her head and barked out, “What’ve we got?” She’d long since come to terms with the fact that, so long as he wasn’t hampering the mission, York just did whatever York did.
"Looks like a full house," North said, scoping the place out on his sniper rifle. "Couple of guards and a lot of traffic in the halls."
Carolina took in the building and surroundings, forming and discarding plans until she said, “Alright, we’ll go for the tried and true method. Maine, you and South make a nice big diversion on the east end. I saw some fuel tanks there and possibly a generator on the drop in. I want you drawing as many to you as you can. North and Wyoming will scope out sniper positions and cover you. The rest of us will head into the base. Connie, we’ll leave you at the data center to get our secondary objective. Wash, watch her back. York and I will get out guest here through to our primary objective. We’ll move once North and Wyoming are in position. Everyone clear?”
They all nodded, “Got it.”
"Get to it, people!"
The Freelancers split up and as Carolina led hers close to the building entrance, she heard York whispering to the newcomer: “She sounds like some cheesey action movie.”
The newcomer whispered right back, “Hey- everyone’s got their kicks.”
"That doesn’t make it any less ridiculous."
"Hey," Carolina snapped at them. "We’ve got a mission to focus on." They held up their hands in almost identical apologetic shrugs.
By Carolina’s elbow, Connie snickered. “What’s wrong, Carolina? Jealous that York’s got a new banter buddy?”
"Try keeping up this time, Connecticut."
Connie just shook her head and laughed which was not the reaction Carolina was going for but at least she didn’t say anything again. In the end, that was fine by Carolina because, even though she’d never admit it out loud, she thought this was pretty useless training mission. Get their special guest party member to the center of the facility to gain access to some prototype only she knew the codes for. Carolina didn’t know why she couldn’t just explain how the Freelancers could get it on their own but the Director had decided and she wasn’t about to question him about it. He already shot down Connie’s attempts to ask, anyway.
RvB Drabble: Overthinking
She had thought about how to greet him, too. She thought about punching him out of anger, or rolling her eyes in that familiar way he always inspired. She thought of taking out a lighter or stealing his, because of course he’d have a lighter if he met her again. She thought about laughing to his joke, for the first time in so long she can’t even remember.
She thought about doing something she was afraid, without him, she’d forgotten how to do. She thought about showing her affection, for once, with kindness and sincerity rather than a thinly veiled jab or playful violence.
She thought about how he would greet her for days and nights, months, weeks, years. She thought about it until Wash unceremoniously pronounced him dead, and dreamed about it until she went to where it had happened.
She was too busy listening to the memory file journal entries to think, but after they finished that missed meeting was all she could see in her dreams, some kind of masochistic cruelty playing all of the scenarios he mentioned and a bigger part - bigger than the hurt or loss or pain - wished it would never stop.
She thought, naively, that more violence and death and holding the director accountable for everyone’s sins would make it better. She thought just one more thing, one more mission, and it would all be worth it.
She thought, but really she hoped, and she imagined it was a fitting tribute to the one guy who had always hoped the best for her.
"Carolina, you’re not ok." She looked at him like he’d just slapped her, and York fought every urge to recoil from the glare. "Stop pretending to be."
"I’m fine," she said firmly. "I’ll be fine, and more than that, I am fine and I was fine, got it?”
"But Sigma-" he said, hopelessly, falling silent when she cut him off like he knew she would.
"Sigma is fine. We’re integrating. It’s a work in progress. I’m fine."
"So I’ve heard," he mumbled.
But she wasn’t fine. It’s been weeks and Carolina was still struggling and it showed. It’s been showing. York was the only one brave enough to say anything. She got implanted the same time Maine went into surgery, and by the time he came back after his physical therapy, he found the leader he almost died for a broken woman.
That was when York had to say something.
That was when York had the idea.
"Carolina," he said quietly, noting how she gave her attention to him, divided, haphazard, unfamiliar. "I’ve been thinking. You do just fine without an AI."
"But the Director told me-" she started loyally.
"I know, I know. But, you know, Maine is getting ready to start going on missions."
"He passed his physical exam two days ago," she rattled off, and it was detached, robotic, almost an echo.
"Well, he’ll need a way to communicate." She nodded, and he pressed on. "None of the other AI are really ready yet, so…"
"I can give him Sigma," she whispered, keeping the secret from herself.
"It’ll be in everyone’s best interest," he desperately encouraged. She grew quiet, like she always did these days.
"It’s my responsibility as squad leader," she told herself, convinced herself, and York could hear the relief in her voice just as clearly as she felt it in his muscles.
"I think it’ll work out better, especially for Maine."
After they carved him back out of her, Carolina could still feel him burn in the back of her mind. She could still hear the cackle of fire at the edge of her ears, and when he showed himself next to Maine, silent, looming, the freelancer’s visor reflecting the way the flames danced, she almost took a step back. But she stood there, willed herself to stand there, as the AI smiled as if taunting her weakness masquerading as kindness and said, “thank you, Agent Carolina. I feel I will be much more useful here.”
Anonymous asked: York+Delta
York had to have a conversation with Delta about the art of the finely crafted innuendo and how much it ruins the joke when Delta jumps in to explain it.
A few months later he had to have another very pointed conversation with the AI about how it’s totally not cool to show up and read off statistics of the likelihood the woman York is currently trying to get to sleep with him has some kind of STD or mental instability.
Delta killed York’s ladies’ man rep. He would have rebuilt it, but then he started having hobo adventures anyway and got distracted by the whole feeling guilty over Carolina and Wash and whatnot. (One night, he had to explain guilt to Delta, too.)
chraystmas asked: YORK
I think I’ve written pretty much every thought I’ve had of York. Ever. I just can’t help myself.
A random list of things I keep in mind when writing him: York loves coffee (thanks mumblybee), he’s completely a ladies’ man and tries his best to get his friends laid when they’re out on shore leave together (usually succeeds, except for Wash and Wyoming - Wash because of awkward and Wyoming because of that moustache), he’s usually the first to get drunk but also the one who retains the most common sense while drunk, he’s obsessed with being Superman until his eye gets taken out and the obsession spreads to Nick Fury (again, mumblybee and nem), Carolina leaving/dying/whatever lie he gets told depressed him deeply until he had to leave the program after which he has many heartbreaking hobo adventures where he almost runs into Carolina or someone who looks like her, but she’s always out of reach, and he’s a sucker for model trains.
"Shut up a minute, I’m workin’."
Wash sighed and looked over to York’s face, five inches from his own and whisper-yelling in his ear. “Fucking what?”
"Are you seriously trying to break into a tiger cage?" York’s eyes were having through focusing on Wash’s face of thought, and he was quietly swaying back and forth on his heels in an alcohol-induced temporary inner ear problem.
"I’m not," Wash slurred proudly. "I’m trying to break into - into - I’m trying to free Calvin.”
"The tiger they’ve got locked up in this cage."
York stared at his very drunk friend, frowning gracelessly through his own haze of alcohol. “Lemme try again. Are you failing to break into a fucking tiger’s cage which has a combination lock a child could pick apart?”
Wash looked from York’s face to the offending metal barrier in question and sighed tiredly. “Fine, Mr. Infal-infel-inter-inf… Mr. Lock Guy, you do it.”
York huffed in importance and knelt down next to the lock, listening to it as he turned the number dial before straightening up and frowning at his companion. “I’m not going to break into this cage so you can steal this tiger, Wash.”
"Libari-liberati-libetari… free. I’m going to free him, and his name is Calvin.”
"Why the fuck is he named Calvin?"
"So we can play Calvinball." Wash pushed York’s shoulder out of the way and went back to twisting the numbers on the lock at random with no show of effort to actually make the item yield.
"You’re going to make him into a ball?" York said slowly, looking around at the dark abandoned zoo and slowly remembering that he was the one who broke the main lock and disabled the alarm on the door when they stumbled in half an hour ago.
"No, that’s not how you play Calvinball," Wash dismissed, letting himself be pulled to his feet by his friend who is slowly remembering more and more of how much shit they’re going to get for this tomorrow morning.
"How do you play it, then," York asked because sometimes, there were more pressing questions than unpleasant consequences.
"Well," Wash said knowingly and with an unsteady finger pointed at York’s nose. "First, you need a Calvin.”
York stared at the man he was leaning on and holding up simultaneously, then scoffed through a smile. “Well, we’re not getting one tonight, buddy. We gotta go, Niner is picking us up tomorrow morning.”
"But my tiger…"
"There’s no room on the pelican, Wash. You know how Niner gets when we don’t follow her flight plan."
Wash seemed to have sobered up for a moment as he remembered the last time Niner had yelled at him. It was two weeks ago. “There’s no way we’d be able to add a passenger to her roster without twenty-four hours notice.”
"Yep," York encouraged, patting Wash on the chest, the biggest target he could reach.
"I’ll be back for you," Wash told the sleeping predator, and let himself be led away from the breaking and entering crime scene.
havefuncarolina asked: Here, have a random prompt because it's Saturday. :) And you didn't mean to do it/So I don't have to believe it/If you didn't really mean it/Then magical thinking gets us by
"It wasn’t her," he bleated out, a haze of drugs distracting from the slow flow of blood. South looked at York for something, a sign, a lead, a word of comfort that she wasn’t sure how to give. But North, predictably, was the one holding the bandage over the gunshot, helping the health pack keeping Wash alive, and it was he who answered.
"We all saw it, Wash. It was CT."
Wash’s eyes focused, eyelids half closed, as he said with determination, “Connie wouldn’t do that. She didn’t mean to. She can’t have…”
South said, quietly, in a voice so unlike her usual, “Connie wouldn’t…but CT might.”
Wash shook his head in disagreement, but didn’t offer more. They rode back to the ship and to the medical bay in silence.
"Ready for training?" York asked, clapping Wash on the shoulder in the process with a little more force than necessary.
"Sure," Wash coughed out. "Yeah. You know, it wasn’t my fault that you got run over by another car last mission."
York scoffed his sarcastic agreement. “What kind of friend would I be if I held onto a thing like that into the next training mission?”
Wash gave this some thought. “A vindictive, cruel, takes-a-joke-way-too-far, unprofessional, total dick kind of friend?”
"See?" York said enthusiastically. "I am none of those! Well, maybe some of them, but not all of them.”
"Yeah," Wash answered, unconvinced, and the mission started.
It pleasantly surprised Wash that the oddest thing about the training mission turned out to be his teammates. Of course, with the exception of York, who behaved himself quite well and maturely and Wash was now convinced that his friend had something even more sinister planned.
North was first, when he passed Wash at the start of the mission he turned around and clapped his hands together as he said with a very noticeable mocking smile, “we always hoped you two kids would get together!”
His twin wasn’t far behind as she muttered “about damn time, too,” and left it at that.
Wyoming spoke towards the middle of the mission, while he was reloading his gun and Wash was covering him. “It’s great that you two finally felt comfortable enough to make it public.” By the time Wash thought to ask what the hell he was talking about, Wyoming had already jumped over his cover, gun at the ready, and ran into battle.
Carolina, right at the end, grabbed Wash by the shoulder while they waited for the others to catch up to their safe point and said, very flatly, “don’t think this changes anything,” before rushing off to finish the objective.
"What did you do?" Wash whispered to York as they were walking back to the locker room.
"What?" York said. "I was professional! Did you see how professional it all was? I didn’t even hit on Carolina while I opened the lock!"
"Oh, give me a break, Mr. Paranoid," York muttered and Wash could clearly hear the eye roll which accompanied the words. Wash dropped the subject.
It was only after Wash removed his shoulder plates that it all clicked into place, and when his head shot up looking for the offender, he found that York had perfected almost-light-speed armor removal because he was no longer in the locker room. The back of Wash’s left shoulder had a very white, very obnoxious sticker that read “Team I LOVE NY!”
((Inspired by this post.))