anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

Somehow Delta just knows as soon as he makes his way back up to the ship. It's been long enough that he doesn't look particularly ravished, no bruises or puffy kissed lips- but guilt is probably damning enough. The usual brief 'you did something stupid' 'yes' 'why did you do something stupid' 'I don't know' 'go talk to Locus' 'already on it-' goes pretty quick and painless because somehow Delta gets that there are times when York simply cannot help but do a dumb. And this was a big fucking dumb and he's locked tight, free hand fidgeting where its slung in his pocket, head down as he peels off the wig and pops out his contact, rubbing off the appliance covering his scars. It's not often his hands tremble but in the moment? They are, enough that York fumbles with the damn keycode to the rest of the ship.

It's his ship, it's their home as long as they're running from the damn AI commune and still he slinks his way to where he knows Locus is waiting, shoulders hunched, eyes flicking up to take him in- everything he did. Everything he ran from, every crime, every idle thought about going back he ignored...was it worth it?

Did it do anything other than save his own skin? Was the life he'd built with Locus worth this churning in his stomach, the reminder and bone deep certainty that he's never really been worth a damn thing?

Voice tight with forced humor, he knocks on the wall. "Honey, I'm home."

Locus waits in what is largely considered 'their' part of the ship. Of course the whole ship is theirs, but this is where they've spent the most time together, sitting and planning, sleeping and eating, spending their nights together. It's where York would absolutely know to find him, and where Locus knows to wait.

He isn't quite expecting him to look so utterly crushed on his return. Immediately his brow furrows as he stands, looking him over.

"Taylor. What happened?"

Something happened, that much is clear. A lot is riding on the former Freelancers coming to their aid, and suddenly he feels a chill of trepidation.

"...he said no."

Taylor. Taylor, not York. Not the cocky one eye'd agent that fucked everything up, that killed fuck knows how many people in crashing the MOI. Doesn't mean he didn't do those things but he's moved past them, right?

If you have to ask... his mental ghost of North murmurs, and it's answer enough for him.

"No, no- they'll help. We got uh- we got a rough plan put together on how to move next. Hit up that old facility where we found Delta, all that." It's happening, they'll figure it out like they always figure it out-

And normally when distressed he immediately seeks out Locus or Delta to lean against as he shakes his way through the anxiety. Tonight? He hovers a foot away, listing toward Locus but visibly uncertain, eyes darting to and from him, hands fiddling with the hem of his coat. "It just...dug up a lot, seeing him again. Talking about what happened. He's, well. Less than impressed with me for running."

Some of that tension released. He'd been worried for a time that York would withhold aid, given their past history. Though it sounded as though that wasn't the history he should have been concerned with, the way York was talking.

They had a plan. That was something. But the other still looked so uneasy, anxious, and he wasn't coming any closer. Not picking up on what was troubling him just yet, Locus opts to close the distance instead, reaching for his arm to pull him in closer.

"Let him judge. You did what you had to in order to survive."

"I crashed a ship full of people I'd been living with for years. Pretty sure that killed a lot of them." He leans in, not fighting the tug, forehead settling into the curve of Sam's shoulder. This is them. This? This is worth it. It has to have been worth it-

Because when one of them fucks up, they talk about it. He fucked up.

"...I kissed him." Taylor swallows, not daring to look up. "I don't know why, but I did and I'm sorry."

He'd known. Taylor had left nothing out in those files he'd handed over, and Locus had gone over them again and again. There was nothing in those files that changed how he felt, nothing that he felt could outweigh the blood on his own hands. And it wasn't about that. It wasn't about who had done the most damage, killed the most people, felt the most guilt.

They were trying to do better now. To be better people. One hand fell soothingly to the back of Taylor's neck, though it hesitated as he spoke again. Confusion once again tugs at Locus's expression.

"...what?"

"Have you seen him without his helmet when he gets all wound up? When he was younger he'd just go pink and it was fucking adorable and I always wanted to sort of- mess him up a little. In a sexy way. But now he's older and broader and won puberty and we're both wound up and I fucked up." Which isn't news. He wants to lean away and give Locus space, wait for the anger he's earned, and quietly crawl onto the sofa to sleep for the next howeverlong.

He's Sam's. Sam is his. They're each other's and they both belong to Delta (who gives zero fucks here and that's kind of a relief) but Sam is- possessive. Normally it's hot. It's fun. but Taylor is very, very aware of how he's messed up here and it's not a joke or game or anything like when they're out at a club.

This is history and impulse. "I'm sorry."

Oh.

On the list of things he had not expected, York's feelings regarding his former teammate -- feelings Locus himself had not been aware of until this precise moment -- overwhelming him and getting him to initiate the way that he does? Probably near the bottom of the list. Of course, had he known York felt that way to begin with, the expectation might have been there earlier.

He does have very little in the way of self-control.

"You kissed him." Locus cocks his head slightly, watching the way York hunches slightly, like a dog expecting to be reprimanded. And that won't do at all.

"...you want him."

There's no...growling. No insistent kissing or bruising, none of the usual 'rawr you are mine and MINE ALONE' things that are both hot and fun an amazing and fairly predictable. Maybe he read this wrong? He's-

It doesn't make sense that Locus is alright with this, there's no reason for him to be alright with this. York does look up now, eye wide, brow furrowed. Trying to read the lay of the land here but- when in doubt? go with honesty. "A lot of unresolved sexual tension that I kinda tried to resolve."

A beat.

"...I do. I'll- stick to texts, stay in the armor when we run the op- it won't happen again. I'll get over it, I'm good at that."

Perhaps it would be more in line for him to feel angry about this. And yet he doesn't. Maybe it's simply that he understands that York has a past, has people he felt a certain way towards, and him acting on those feelings was who he was. Not an attempt to hurt Locus, but to set some of those ghosts to rest.

Perhaps he understood more than a little exactly how quickly Agent Washington got under your skin, despite your best efforts to keep him out. The man didn't even have to try. It was...unnerving at times.

"How did he react?"

Still no trace of anger. Not much of anything to be read on his face, save curiosity.

"I'll- what?" Another deviation from the norm and he's trying to apologize here. He is trying to make things right, ready to grovel for forgiveness and Sam just keeps on looking at how this is supposed to play out and doing the opposite.

What the fuck?

At this point Taylor should be used to this kind of surprise from Sam but it always catches him off guard for a moment.

"Confused, at first? Angry. He's bitey. For a little bit he was into it, like half a second- aaand then he pushed me away because he was upset and confused and we both remembered that I'm fucking married."

"Hn. A salient point."

There, a little hint of a grumble. He doesn't like the idea of being forgotten about, least of all for Washington, but the rest of it? It follows a pattern he's come to recognize.

Taylor always expects the worst. Always. Especially when it comes to people judging what he's done.

"And this...pledge to keep your distance. This is for my benefit, I assume."

"It's just tension. I don't love him. I didn't back then and I don't now and it was a stupid thing to do, I'm fucking awful with impulses-" He scrubs a hand through his hair, wincing at the rumble. "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight."

He's earned that, he's very sure he's earned that and it'll suck not sleeping curled up with Sam but he fucked up. You fuck up you sleep on the sofa.

"Yes. I don't- we don't need me getting distracted over a bullshit nothing kneejerk reaction while I'm trying to keep the people that mean the most to me safe. I don't wanna be that guy, I can't believe I was that guy for a hot second-"

"You love me."

It's not a question, but the tones says it requires an answer all the same. Those pale eyes don't shift an inch, staring down at Taylor as he squirms and ruffles his hair and starts to inch closer to that self-imposed exile he tends to resort to when he feels he's crossed a line.

As though that would change anything about this.

"Of course." Brows pinched, eye narrowed, jaw set- visibly confounded because this? Not how he saw this talk going. "More than anything."

He'd give up everything for Sam in a heartbeat. Do anything to keep him safe and happy. There's nothing he wouldn't give up or try to get if Sam asked, nothing.

"And you would return to me."

Because this isn't so different from the dance they've done before in clubs. York goes and gathers attention, flirting and feeling and feeding from the adoration. But he doesn't go home with anyone else, and Locus is always certain to cover any marks left behind by his own. They're both content with that arrangement.

He doesn't love Washington, he simply needs to 'resolve' this. It would benefit them to do so before the mission, certainly, but more than that? He finds it's difficult to deny York anything he openly wants...particularly when he's so ready to deny himself, and punish himself for daring to want.

"Always- wait, what?" That sounds an awful lot like the agreement they came to their first time in the clubs. Sam cutting him loose with the understanding that Taylor comes home with him, that no one else touches him in a way that matters. This?

This might matter. But mostly it's chemistry and unresolved issues he can get over with time and distance.

"You know that."

His eyes narrow, and one hand lifts to cup the edge of Taylor's jaw, holding him firmly in place. "Then stop preemptively punishing yourself."

None of this slinking around, banishing himself to the couch, imagining the worst scenarios. None of it. He's having absolutely none of it, even if he knows why Taylor might have anticipated that reaction. The corner of his eye twitches slightly in vague annoyance as he shakes his head.

"You want him. And the only thing stopping you from resolving this is your fear of my disapproval."

"I shouldn't." That's what it comes down to. He shouldn't want wash, they weren't anything and aren't anything other than complicated and he had Sam. Who he loves, who loves him, completes him, grounds him. Why does he want anyone else?

"I am not angry with you for wanting him."

It would be rather hypocritical, for one. But that's a complicated matter.

"...what?" That- that doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. "But I shouldn't. And I can not. I just need some time and it'll- I won't do it again."

"Perhaps. I'm simply stating what is, not what should be. And I am not angry with you for having kissed him. Or any of the rest of it."

With a frown finally creasing the edge of his lips, he cups a hand to the back of Taylor's neck. A tried and true method of calming him down again.

"Now, stop looking like you want to run away from me."

"..." He has to take a few seconds to chew on that, blinking into the middle distance as Sam's hand settles on his neck, right over the port-

And as per usual the tension unwinds from his shoulders, his head rolling forward to thud against Sam's chest. "Sorry."

Tentative hands slip up to curl in his shirt. "You're really not mad?"

"I'm really not." The frown eases somewhat as York's head settles against his chest. "Though I understand why you imagined I would be. The situation is more...complicated than that."

"...You kind of want him too, don't you?" The way he'd spoken about Wash in the past- he could see that easily. And oddly enough it doesn't...make him tense up all frustrated and angry. If anything part of him would find it really fucking hot.

After Wash - All The Guilt

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