#and my brain has not known peace since he broke into freelancer's room

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Day 26 of counting until Vega returns

@vegafan69

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Break Your Little Heart In Two

Okay it’s time for the annual “Yorkalina pain train” time of the Steph angst war experience! 

from @powerfulpomegranate “ York’s terminally ill from having Delta plugged in nonstop for [X] number of years. Set after "How to Heal a Broken Heart". (bonus for “-But I just got you back!”) :D

And I mean, who am I to deny the world an angsty sequel to my first RvB fic?

Warnings for: terminal illness, brain damage, impending character death.

Also on Ao3

It happened a few months after Tex left them. One close call, and they were sent away, with promises of joining up again that they knew now to be garbage, because Tex was dead, and never coming back.

It started small, of course, because these things always did. Headaches were getting more and more common as York got older; he and Delta figured it had something to the way his implants were aging. They talked about going to see a doctor, try to figure something out, but at the end of the day, they were criminals with bounties on their heads and very valuable technology in York’s brain, even if Delta wasn’t inhabiting it.

It wasn’t worth it.

But the first time they realized something was seriously wrong.

It was a seizure, just a small one, but it was enough to scramble York’s brain and to send him falling to the ground and cause Delta to scream in panic.

When York came to again, every part of his body hurt and Delta was still freaking out.

He had to risk seeing a doctor.

York had five years to live. He could stretch it to seven, if he took Delta out, but…

Well, what’s the point? Delta could not even bring himself to disagree; separation from York was as good as death, as there was nowhere to implant him or even store him.

The seizures were damaging his implants, which were the cause of them. And as they broke, things would get worse. It would eventually effect his motor skills, killing the nerves in his body. And, as they got worse and worse, eventually the nerves that lead to his heart would die.

York wouldn’t have long to live after that happened.

Years passed. The seizures got worse. York and Delta kept wandering. They stole things. Delta forced York to stay in armor as much as possible—the healing unit negated some of the symptoms, even if it couldn’t do anything to prevent the inevitable.

The years ticked down. Tex died. Wash died. Freelancer fell in a firey blaze, and York bought himself a drink.

His implants splintered in his brain, and York lost all feeling in his left hand and right foot.

It was hard to care, though. He had Delta, at least. Everyone else was dead. York would join them soon enough, if there was an afterlife. If not…

Well, then at least he and Delta could get some peace and quiet.

And then Epsilon’s message was on every screen in the galaxy, and Carolina was with him.

There was really no choice after that.

Fighting was difficult in York’s current state; his limbs didn’t respond as fast as they once had. But he still had Delta, and Delta kept his aim steady and filled his mind with everything he needed to know, and he honestly felt more alive than he had in years, since he’d said goodbye to Tex.

Ironic, considering that the countdown he and Delta both denied keeping said that he only had a month to live.

“Get down!”

An explosion rocked the ship, billowing smoke and fire. There were screams as the Charon Industries guards were taken down. York started to grin.  

“Is everyone okay?” Carolina strode into the room, Wash and a couple of other people that York didn’t recognize behind her. Her stride was familiar—that ease, that confidence, that lethality. There was a worry to it too, that panic when she hadn’t had time to yet take a head count.

Any doubts that York had fostered on the flight to Chorus died instantly. This was Carolina. This was the woman he’d watched die.

Except he hadn’t. Because she had lived. She had lived, and he had mourned her, and she had never found him, never told him, never even contacted him.

And now here she was, and he had a month to live.

York hadn’t regretted not doing anything, all those years. Whiling away his time with Delta, petty theft and the occasional B&E, scraping by.

But here was Carolina, and now all York could think of was lost time. His headache was painful, and Delta was pumping him full of drugs from the healing unit just to keep him upright.

“We’re all alive, C,” Epsilon appeared. “But, ah, there’s something you should probably—”

“Hey ‘Lina,” York said quietly, getting to his feet, straightening up from behind the table. “Long time no see.”

There was a moment of pure, terrifying silence while York prepared to be shot or punched.

“York?” Nope, that was even worse. Carolina’s voice—York had never heard her that hurt, that raw. It sounded like she was on the verge of shattering.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe this was just going to be too much pain for both of them.

Ignoring those thoughts, he spread his left hand out, but used the right one to remove his helmet. A risk, technically speaking, since the fist/bullet was still probably in his future, but one that was probably worth it in the end.

“So,” York cleared his throat, reaching into the depths of his mind, pushing past the knowledge of splintered implants and the dizzying few days he had left. “Are you secretly Agent Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten—”

He was cut off in a hug, and York let himself forget, just for now, and instead savored the feeling of her armored arms around him.

The night passed in celebration, and all York wanted to do was find a quiet corner. By now, he’d learned the signs of one of his seizures incoming—the headache had hit a critical point, and the entire world was becoming fuzzy around the edges, suffocating him.

He hadn’t gone near Carolina yet—she’d been swept up in the celebrations, and there was just too much there; things unsaid, things to say…

York wanted nothing more than to see her face again, than to press his lips against hers and feel her hair under his fingertips. But his fingertips had been dead for over a year now and it wouldn’t be fair to ask for anything; not when so many years had passed, not when she’d healed, moved on, moved on in all the ways he hadn’t been able to.

She’d made a family here, with the Reds and Blues. She’d saved planets, brought down Freelancer, and stopped a war. All York had done was tear his own brain apart out of affection for an A.I.

York spotted her out of the corner of his eye—a flash of teal and red, beautiful, glorious red, sitting at the bar, reminding him of Enera, all those years ago. She was looking at him too.

There was nothing that York wanted more in the world than to go to her side, to lean against her and tell a bad joke, to see her smile again. It had been so many years since he’d seen the way her face would go slack, the lines of tension vanishing just for a bit, her green eyes twinkling.

But he didn’t have much time. He turned and walked away, Delta guiding him slowly to a place where he could collapse and no one would see.

There was a small room, and York closed the door behind him and sat down so he wouldn’t fall. Delta had timed it well. York hadn’t been sitting for two minutes when York began to twitch and spasm, screaming into a microphone that Delta had already muted.

“York!”

Carolina had found him—followed him, probably, and was kneeling over him, face pale. “York, what’s wrong, you said you weren’t hurt—”

York gasped for air as he regained control over his muscles, closing his good eye. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“York, that was a seizure,” Carolina said.

“Those are normal, now,” York said, looking away. Then a horrible thought struck him. “Carolina—” He was gripping her hand too tightly, he was in armor and she wasn’t, but he was staring at her, feeling like lightning was in his veins. “How long have you implanted Epsilon?”

Carolina frowned at him. “A few years now—York? What’s this about?”

“Do not worry, York,” Delta said. “I have informed Epsilon of the danger. He will take… appropriate precautions.”

Carolina looked between the two of them. “Precautions?”

York slumped, looking away from her again. “Turns out having an AI in your implants for so long has consequences. The hardware’s not meant to go on forever.”

It was Carolina’s turn to grip his hand too tightly. “What. Do. You. Mean?”

York tugged off his helmet so he could meet her gaze. He could see her eyes flicker across his features, cataloging the changes more thoroughly than she had back on the ship. He forced a smile, but it was awkward and crooked and tired. “I’m dying, Carolina.”

“No,” she said it like a statement, like a fact, like he was just wrong.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve known for a while now.” He shook his head. “Damnedest luck, isn’t it? That I find you now?”

She paused. “… how long do you have?”

“Did it do any damage, Dee?”

“No York. The prognosis remains the same.”

York’s shoulders relax slightly. Those are the worst seizures, when he wakes up only to find out he’s got even less time to live, because it was so bad it pushed a metal splinter somewhere it really wasn’t meant to be.

“Well, at least there’s that.” He stared at Dee’s tiny avatar. Was it just him, or had he gotten smaller? He wondered if he could get that doctor lady friend of Carolina’s to rescue Delta from the mangled remains of his brain, once he was dead. The idea of Delta surviving, even if he was gone was… comforting.

“York…” Her voice was dangerous, carrying with it a warning. Once, York would have poked and prodded at that, teasing her and provoking her in turn. Now, he just stared straight ahead.

“I’ve got a month. Damage hit the nerves to my heart a while back.”

Carolina stared at him. “A month?”

“About,” York said. Another headache was beginning. He probably had twelve hours until another seizure. Maybe he’d jostled something lose during the fight. “It’s hard to say.”

“We’ve got to get you to Grey,” Carolina said. “She’ll… she’ll figure something out.”

York laughed. “Carolina, there’s not a surgeon in the galaxy which could fix the damage. Maybe if I’d figured it out a few years earlier…” He and Delta had tried, too. Delta had ran scenarios, York had tried every drug they could steal, they had even risked going to doctors and brain surgeons on more than one occasion. At this point, even removing his implants completely couldn’t save him. He was too far gone. Had been for a long, long time.

“You can’t die on me,” Carolina said flatly. Like she could control this, like this was something else that she could fight, could punch. “You can’t.”

“Carolina,” York said, and how he hated saying this, he hated all of this. When he’d dreamed this, she’d been smiling. He’d been smiling. There had been a lightness, and tangled limbs and the scent of her shampoo in his nose as he’d kissed her. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m going to die.”

Carolina stared at him, and suddenly she was kissing him, her mouth hard and demanding against his, as if she was trying to push her own life into him, as if she could somehow save him with this. York kissed back, because he was dying, he’d been dying for almost five years now, and it had been longer than that since he’d kissed her, and he’d missed all this so much that tears were blurring his vision.

Carolina rested her forehead against his, and her own cheeks were damp. From his tears or from her own, York didn’t know. He wasn’t sure it mattered.

“You can’t die,” her voice was ragged, and she cupped his face in her hands, thumbs brushing through the stubble, across his cheekbones. York’s throat was too tight, and he struggled to breathe, inhaling sharply the scent of her, still so similar after all these years.

“I only just got you back.”