( OPEN )

[classification]

WHO: locus + YOU ; also assorted mine + others
WHERE: bajiKHAAAAAANN
WHEN: thru the event
WHAT: a bunch of rando things
WARNINGS: nothing off the top of my head, will edit if necessary


( SUPERBIA )

[ At first, he thinks this whole thing is stupid. Locus tells himself to just stay on the ship and keep to his own business. There's no reason to go down there at all. Besides, he's been to pleasure type planets before and has absolutely no interest.

And then, he reads the information.

Because he's Locus and because he's paranoid, he makes a rather odd picture. For the better part of the morning, there is a rather tall ( as in 6'5" ) man lurking around the district in full armor. Perhaps it's a little ridiculous, but Locus doesn't trust anyone—let alone people here in some alleged anomaly fleet. It's all a load of bullshit as far as he's concerned.

However, toward late afternoon, the armor will be mysteriously gone and Locus will be wandering the district. He seems like a rather non-descript sort of fellow—just loitering around from here to there. Because now he can wander and blend in with the crowd as he's gotten his hands on some micro-tech to hide the scar on his face.

Which is why he feels little shame in ducking into what looks to be a promising day spa with little foot traffic at this time of day. Or even that fancy looking barber shop. Because, hey, sometimes a mercenary who's just been through hell and back deserves a little pampering. And, Locus, being one who never does this, believes that it might be time. ]

( LUXURIA )

[ This is a ridiculous place to be, Locus knows that. And yet he finds himself touring the district for some unknown reason. It's uncomfortable and he sees little point to the way people are behaving, but he's not judging.

Much.

Well, all right. He's not openly saying anything, but the judgment is all too clear by the slightly pinched look on his face.

Eventually, he comes to the beach and that gives him pause. He can see people milling about and enjoying themselves in the water, on the sand, in the bars. He can also see everything. Quite literally. They're all naked and seem to have no issue at all with that or anyone else. It's... odd? Don't these people have any shame????

Yet only minutes later, Locus finds himself on that beach and—well, he's not quite enjoying himself, but it's a close approximation of that as he lounges on a chair near the water or wanders along the bars and shops that welcome nudie patrons. Except, he does have the decency to cover up with a modest towel during that time. He's giving it his best shot to not feel awkward skulking around nearly naked in various places. At one point he does stop at a certain bar that is mostly open facing the sea and it's quiet with no blaring music with a heavy bass and people mostly are leaving each other alone.

Which means that, yes, that seat next to him is open! ]

( AVARITIA )

[ If there's one thing that Locus lowkey appreciates and doesn't really talk about is fine attire. Usually he prefers the protection of his armor, but when doing jobs that don't require it, he's in a suit nine out of ten times. He just likes them. ( Maybe because at least one part of him should be put together well... )

So, he procures more than several in the luxury shops here. Grabs a few accessories to go along with because why not make the whole ensemble match well? Once night hits, he does treat himself to nice dinners tucked away in a back corner of a restaurant then hits the casinos. He doesn't need the money ( because it's not really important to him ), but he knows that it can't hurt to have extra laying around when he needs to get information.

And considering he's at a loss as to what's really going on here? Money can only talk. So, hey, wanna blow on those dice for good luck?? ]

Comments

[rumbling]

[ In truth, Wash probably won't ever make Maine see that the whole fiasco with Sigma isn't fully his fault. Maine knew things weren't right and he should've pulled Sigma. But, he didn't. He let himself be manipulated by an AI and most days he things Sigma only encouraged feelings he already had and we're just lying dormant. But, everything about it is so muddled and Sigma dug around so deeply into his brain that he isn't really sure if his thoughts and memories are fully his own.

It's annoying.

Since Maine has been on this island for a while, he's just sitting there in dark swim trunks and nothing else. Granules of sand are stuck to him and his skin lacks the stickiness of the oceans on Earth might give. Who knew alien seas were better in that regard?

A hand lifts in greeting when Wash gets near enough and he rumbles an acknowledgement about the island. So far, it's the second best thing to happen on this second chance at life. He doesn't know how long they're going to be here, but, he doesn't plan on leaving here until the last second. Maine tips his head to the side to gesture to the spot next to him. ]

We need to talk.

[ The disembodied voice comes from his side where the device sits atop a balled up shirt. It should lend to the importance of this conversation that he's using this stupid thing to talk rather than their usual means of conversation. ]

[sixth]

[ Wash is already expecting a serious conversation, if not because of the fight then because of what he has to tell Maine about Chorus. But when he hears that fake voice, something in his gut twists in discomfort. The talking aid isn't necessary between them. If Maine feels that it is... He doesn't know how to take it and he doesn't like it. ]

Yeah. [ It's a little quiet, a little subdued. ] Guess we do.

[ Facing down a squadron of Sangheili with an empty rifle seems easier than this, but Wash just nods once and takes a seat in the place Maine indicated. He brushes his sandy hands against his pant legs, then looks at him, expression neutral. ]

What's on your mind?

[rumbling]

[ He doesn't like using this thing. Least of all with Wash. But, they need to talk about a lot, and this just seems like the best way to do it. So, chalk it up to one more thing he can ask forgiveness for from Wash.

After Wash sits, Maine doesn't talk right away. It's hard to know where to start when there's so much ground to cover. His lips press together and his jaw works on the multitude of shit he needs to get out.

He shifts enough to look at Wash, just checking him over to make sure he's fine. Maybe he should ask but that's just stalling for time. ]

Where do we stand?

[ As much as he hates to ask a dumbass question like that, he needs to know Wash's side first. That will drastically change where he goes next. ]

[sixth]

[ It's such a dumbass question that he has to debate with himself whether he wants to call Maine on it or treat it like the asinine thing it is. And after making him wait so long for it, too. ]

Well. [ He says it slowly, drawling it out. ] Right now, we're sitting on some island in the middle of an alien planet, so your guess is as good as mine.

[ But that's not enough. It's a stupid fucking question and giving a smartass answer doesn't make the irritation go away that he asked it in the first place. Wash lets himself glare at him a little. ]

What the fuck kind of stupid question is that?

[rumbling]

[ Wash can glare all he wants, but Maine doesn't back down or away from this. It might be a stupid ass question, but this is something they need to discuss. No matter how obvious any answer may seem. Which is why he gives that same sort of look right back to Wash without any hesitation.  ]

Don't be an ass. You know what kind.

[ Because they haven't talked about what happened since Freelancer and before Sigma. Because they haven't talked about the Meta and Sigma. Because they haven't talked about Maine fucking up. Because they haven't talked about what happened three months ago. Because they're both avoiding putting names or words to anything. Because they're fucked up and always have been fucked up and are always going to be fucked up. ]

We can't avoid all this shit forever.

[sixth]

[ His jaw works for a moment as he rides out the surge of irritation he feels at being asked this. It's obvious. It should be obvious. If it isn't, he doesn't know what the fuck he has to do to make it obvious. ]

I can't believe you have to ask. [ It's a low, irritated mutter. ] After everything... [ He trails off, shaking his head and looking out over the alien ocean. ]

Sigma tried to kill me. Multiple times. Wearing your face. [ He looks back to Maine then, expression caught between exasperation and disappointment. ] Do you really think a stupid fight is going to change how I feel?

[rumbling]

[ Maine can't tell if Wash is being purposely combative or purposely obtuse. But either way, he's doing his best to not let his temper go unchecked. Not right now. So, he swallows back what he wants to say and tries to be as blunt as he can muster. ]

No, I don't. It's been months, Wash.

[ Months that they've just been coexisting like Sigma and the Meta never happened. Avoidance can work but for so long. Fighting with him in Ira just brought everything to the surface. He's too inside his own head. A side effect of all this bullshit and he can't fucking stand it. ]

Even longer if you want to count that extra shit. You gonna hold it against me that I just want to know what you're thinking about all of this?

[ He rubs a hand over his face and pushes it back over his head. Since he's been here, he's let his hair grow out just a little. It itches and he wants to shave it off again.

He also wants to go right back to Ira and get his frustrations out on someone else. ]

Not asking for a proposal. Just asking if this is what you want again. Because, yeah, I need to fucking hear it.

[sixth]

Yes.

[ It comes out as a snarl. The urge to punch Maine is strong and it has nothing to do with Ira. Of all the bullheaded, stupid fucking doubts... ]

They told me you were dead. [ The words come out of his mouth in sharp, short bursts. Wash has never been good at having feelings, much less talking about them. And he really doesn't want to talk about those days after Epsilon. ] My head was a fucking mess and they said you were dead. I tried to deal with it. [ A muscle twitches in his face. He didn't deal with it veey well. ] Then I found out that you weren't. Except Sigma buried you so deep that even when I killed the son of a bitch I couldn't get you out.

[ Because that EMP was personal. Very, very personal. ]

And then you died. Again. Right the fuck in front of me.

[ There's a lot of guilt in those words. Wash blames himself for Maine's second death and always will. Until the day he dies, he will always believe that if he'd tried harder, if he'd had more time, he would have been able to reach him. ]

I thought—I don't know what the fuck I thought. I just kept going. It was over and I was still here and I had to live with it somehow. [ He jabs a finger in Maine's direction. ] Now you're alive. You're here. You are here. And you think, what? I've changed my mind?

[ It's laughable. Even after that... whatever that was in Luxuria with Locus. There's only one thing Wash wants and it's the same thing he's wanted for years. ]

Of course I didn't fucking change my mind. It doesn't—Even if the rest of my life is just a long string of finding you and losing you over and over, I don't fucking care. I'll take it. [ He glares at him again, eyes narrowed. ] I want you. That hasn't changed. It's never fucking going to.

[rumbling]

[ He doesn't really know why Wash is so angry. Though, if he thinks longer on it and how much they both got fucked over by Freelancer, it might not be a far stretch. Those AIs really fucked them up. And he hates that it came between them; between all of them. ( But what he hates most of all is how he still wants one; even if that is something buried so deep he's not fully cognizant of it yet. )

But, in all of this, he doesn't think he's out of line.

Time has passed, albeit it a bit different for them both. Wash had time apart from Maine while he'd taken on being the Meta. Even more time apart after Maine died and Wash kept on living. Things change. People change. For all he knows, he can't even give Wash what he wants anymore. Or maybe it's just this easy and he can do it again.

He looks at Wash—really looks at him—and studies his face. Even though there are little differences, it's still Wash and he still cares about the bastard. ]

No, I don't think you've changed your mind. Just seemed like we should talk about this shit without beating the shit out of each other.

[ But, between the two of them this kind of thing isn't easy. And Maine still doesn't know what he's doing or what he should or shouldn't be saying. He should've asked that guy for some sort of script to follow or something. ]

Sorry. [ Maine stares out over the water, staring at nothing or maybe just staring at the past. ] Didn't mean to leave you.

[ Any of those times. ]

[sixth]

[ It occurs to him then that that's the reason Maine thinks he's so angry. It's part of it, but it isn't the bulk of it. That's more than being left behind through circumstances that had gotten beyond Maine's control. It's older than that. Deeper. The root of the problem insofar as Wash sees it.

Looking at Maine's profile, he searches for something he can't pinpoint, unable to say if he's found it because he isn't really sure what it is. ]

Why didn't you tell me? [ The question comes out softly, borne on the hurt, so long buried, that Wash has felt since he learned the truth of what happened. ] In the beginning. [ He shakes his head. ] All those headaches.

[ The clues had been there. Wash had seen them. He'd known something was wrong but he hadn't been able to piece it together. North and York hadn't had bad reactions to Theta and Delta. He hadn't known anything could go wrong until Epsilon and by then... Well, it had been too late. ]

I could've helped you. [ Maybe not. ] I could've tried. We could've left. [ And he would have done it too, if only Maine had said the word. ] Why did you shut me out?

[rumbling]

[ Because he's had practice and training to never flinch, even under the most stressful of situations, that's the only reason he doesn't react to Wash's questions. He doesn't do much of anything for several passing moments because he's doesn't really know what to say. He fucked up a lot when Sigma came into the picture. ]

Thought I could handle it.

[ Is what he winds up saying, because it's the truth. Maine was built to handle shit like this and overcome it. He was meant to be stronger than that. ]

They said shit was going to happen. Pain and headaches. Didn't think much about it.

[ Because he hadn't. He wasn't going to pussy out on the program because of a few headaches. That's a failure on his end. Of course, he hadn't realized at the time that those headaches were Sigma rooting around and entrenching himself in his brain. ]

Didn't mean to shut you out.

[ Finally, he turns to look at Wash again. There's a deep pit of regret reflected in his eyes and twisting in his gut. ]

Shit just happened. Couldn't stop it.

[sixth]

[ Wash knows how he is. As stubborn as he is, he knows Maine is worse. And he knows that he's had training far more intense than anything Freelancer put them through. It isn't surprising to hear that he thought he could handle it and deep down, Wash has always kind of known that. Maine isn't the sort to ask for help. Even with him.

There's nothing to be done about it now. They can't go back in time and change what's been done. It's why Wash can push past the Meta and Sigma and everything involved with both of them now. The present is all they have. Ruining it because of the past would be dumb as fuck.

He looks back at him, silent and accepting. Wash can hold grudges forever. He does. But he can't hold them against Maine. He's tried. God, how he tried. But although it would have been easier to deal with his loss if he could hate him, he's never managed it. ]

I know what's it like to have one of those things in your head. [ Wash never really got to know Epsilon, but he knows he wasn't like Sigma. ] Epsilon. The Alpha. It's rough. I know that.

[ He's dimly aware that he's picking at his pants. There are probably things he should say but he doesn't know what those things are. He just doesn't know how to talk about this kind of thing. ]

Can you just— [ Where's he going with this? Wash makes a frustrated sound. ] We aren't in the Project anymore. We're out of all of it. So just—just let me in. Don't shut me out anymore.

[rumbling]

[ Unfortunately, it's going to take some time for Maine to learn how to not shut people out. He only does it now, here, because he has bad days. And his bad days are like a normal bad day for a normal person—except for the part where it's amped up on steroids and meth. He just thinks it's better to isolate the problem ( him ) away from all the variables ( Wash and everyone else ). Because that way he'll cause the least amount of damage.

At least, that's his way of thinking.

He watches Wash pick at his clothes for a passing moment. Without consciously being aware of it, he lifts his hand and covers the one nearest him. Then, curls his fingers under to rest against Wash's palm. Sometimes he still doesn't know how or when they became so close and why Wash was able to handle him as the Meta.  ]

Yeah. Okay, yeah.

[ His arm lifts to nudge his elbow against Wash's side gently. ]

Can give it a shot, anyway.

[ It'll probably take a while, but he's going to actually try. ]

[sixth]

[ Life is complicated. No one knows that more than Wash. But some things aren't complicated and have never been. Whatever has passed between them, the way he feels has always been the simplest fucking thing.

Wash takes Maine's hand, twisting his hand around until he can slot their fingers together and hang on. It's a declaration as much as it's symbolic. He will hang on to this for as long as he's capable of breathing. Words aren't necessary. They've never been. And that's precisely why he says it now. Just because a thing doesn't need to be said doesn't mean it shouldn't be. Regret's taught him that much. ]

I love you. [ It's quiet, but it's firm. Implacable. Wash doesn't question it because he knows down to his marrow that's true. ] Nobody—not Sigma, the Director, not the whole damn Covenant or whatever's going to take its place gets to take that away.

[ Because something worse always rises in the absence of whatever problem they've struggled against. The Covenant. The Prometheans. The AI. It's always something. ]

Nothing's going to. [ He thinks then about the transience of life. How easily a planet can get glassed or a whole civilization wiped out like it never existed. Unconsciously, the grip he has on Maine's hand tightens. ] Some things last forever.

[ Or at least until he dies. And from Wash's prospective, that's all forever really needs to be. ]