#desert warthog

[nocternalrandomness]

A Warthog seen in its natural habitat

[dronescapesvideos]

Munitions specialists load 30mm rounds of ammunition into an A-10A Thunderbolt II attack aircraft for its GAU-8/A Avenger cannon prior to a sortie in support of Operation Desert Storm

VIDEO ➤➤ https://youtu.be/DPPHZBvMzvc

[antiqueanimals]

Phacochoerus aethiopicus. Struik Pocket Guides for South Africa: Mammals. Written by John Skinner. Illustrated by Penny Meakin. 1988.

Internet Archive

[fancykraken]

random screencaps I took from the Namib and Kalahari Desert live streams because I have nothing better to do with my life atm

[autisdicksimmons]

Everyone says Grif and Simmons were hooking up in the warthog or that they weren’t, but what about the secret third option where they were going to hook up and Simmons was like, “hey, we may be in the middle of nowhere but we’re still outside, maybe we shouldn’t take our clothes off??” And Grif’s like “dude. No one is looking.” And Simmons is like “BUT THEY COULD BE” and they just bickered back and forth about if you could be added to the sex offender registry for fucking in the shade in the middle of a desert away from all the other people in the area and THATS why Grif is like “well, I can tell you what we weren’t doing” and Simmons rolls his fucking eyes but honestly the whole thing is just funny to them both bc it stopped being about actually fucking so quickly and just devolved into their normal sitting around and talking

[kuueater]

STREAM TONIGHT @ 6PM EST

DESERT WARTHOG MEDIA SHARE

[devilsrecreation]

thoughts on the tlk movies?

B E T

Legit my favorite Disney movies of all time. The original is actually perfect in every way, from the Hamlet-based storyline to the characters to the songs (✨chef’s kiss✨)….PERFECTION.

I LOVE how the deleted Scar and Nala scene was actually put into the musical instead of forgotten like the other deleted songs like “To Be King” and “Warthog Rhapsody”. Those are pretty good, but have nothing on “Hakuna Matata”. Although the scrapped version of Timon and Pumbaa mockingly singing “Can you feel the love tonight” will never NOT be funny

TLK2 was amazing as well! Definitely one of the better disney movie sequels out there, plus Zira ROCKED as a villain! Nice how we got some depth on Simba where he obviously isn’t perfect, but he means well and eventually comes around yk?

I’ll admit I haven’t seen TLK 1 1/2 from start to finish, but I’ve seen most of it and it’s ICONIC. We get to dive into Timon’s backstory and how he met Pumbaa AND THERE’S HYENA CONTENT? Like HELL YEAH. Also love the direction they went in story-wise. They COULD have had nothing to do with the OG movie until they met Simba but nah, they canonically were always there, we just never saw them until Simba was unconscious in the desert. Like they were there during “Be Prepared” watching the hyenas and also happened to be in the gorge running from the stampede

“Shall we run for our lives?”

“Oh yes, let’s.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”

😭

Although my favorite part has to be where Timon “proposes” to Shenzi as a distraction and she’s just there DUMBFOUNDED bfhfhrhrtf

Also Digguh Tunnuh fucking SLAPS and you cannot tell me otherwise

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Say Hi to the Spotted Hyena

The spotted hyena is also known, perhaps most famously, as the laughing hyena (Crocuta crocuta). This species once ranged throughout Eurasia, but following the end of the Ice Age was restricted to sub-Saharan Africa. Today they can be found in many types of dry, open habitat, including savannah, semi-desert, and mountain forests. At times, the spotted hyena may also enter urban areas in search of food.

Unlike other hyenas, Crocuta crotuta is a predator, not a scavenger. They most commonly prey on wildebeast, but they may also hunt zebra, gazelles, Cape buffalo, and warthog. In addition, desperate times may cause packs to hunt on more dangerous prey such as young hippopotamus, giraffe, and rhinoceros. Spotted hyenas have incredible endurance, reaching speeds of 60 km/hr (37 mph); a single chase can last over 24 km (14 miles). When live prey is scarce, the laughing hyena can also turn to carrion, as well as snakes and ostrich eggs. In turn, this species may be killed by lions, though this may be motivated more by competition than prey drive.

Spotted hyena females are typically larger than males, weighing 44.5–67.6 kg (98–149 lb) to the males' 40.5–69.2 kg (89.3–153 lb). The height range for both sexes lies between 70–91.5 cm (27.6–36.0 in). In addition, female laughing hyena are somewhat famous for their masculinated genetalia; the clitoris is enlarged, resembling a penis, and is accompanied by sacs filled with fibrous tissue that resemble a scrotum. As the name implies, the coat is light brown with darker spots over most of the body. Because the species has such a wide diet, it has was is considered to be the strongest in relation to size of any mammal. The bite force is stronger than that of a brown bear, and can exert a force of 4,500 newtons-- enough to crush bone.

The laughing hyena is a highly social animal, and individuals live in communities up to 80 strong; size largely depends on prey availability and whether or not the group migrates. A clan territory can be anywhere from 40 km (24 mi) to 1000 (621mi) squared. Females dominate the males, and a pack is usually led by a matriarch. Hierarchies are strictly enforced, and positions are primarily inherited through birth and transferred through death. In addition, one's rank is maintained and recognized through social alliances and their contributions to the clan rather than size or dominance displays. The entirety of the clan comes together most often when defending a territory, gathering at the communal den, or at a kill; however, these kills are more commonly produced from smaller offshoots of the clan.

Crocuta crotuta can breed year-round, though mating is at its peak during the wet season from April to June. Members of both sexes pair indiscriminately with multiple mates, both within their clan and without. To offer himself, the male performs a mating ritual in which he lowers himself to the ground before the female, and retreats if any aggression is shown. Once impregnated, the female carries for about 110 days before giving birth to two cubs-- three is fairly rare. Weaning takes another 14 to 18 months, during which time cubs learn to hunt and defend the clan, as well as establish their place in the social hierarchy. Sootted hyenas reach maturity at about 3 years old, and can live an average of 12 years in the wild, though individuals as old as 25 have been recorded.

Conservation status: The spotted hyena has been determined Least Concern by the IUCN. However, outside protected areas the population is declining due to deforestation and hunting as a nuisance species.

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Photos

Augusto Bila

Elise Pianegonda

Evie Davidian

Art Wolfe

[silverhart-makes-art]

If this week's Bestiary Posting is the creature I think it is, I will be very happy, because it reminded me of a sweet little fairy tale I wrote and illustrated about this critter when I was very young. Even if my guess is wrong, it still made me smile. Gonna do my best to not draw that critter, much as I might want to though.

The Dirubael is described as having horns it uses in fights, and any chance I get to draw an ungulate I will gladly take, so an ungulate it must be. I decided to go with a sable antelope as the base for this critter, partially because it's described as black, but mainly because they're my favorite antelope to draw - I just love their unique proportions. The main trait about the Dirubael is it's horns, which it can move, and I decided to get a bit creative, because when I think of 'movable horns' I think of eye-stalks, like on a slug. So that's what I gave this fellow; movable eye-stalks from which the horns grow. I don't know what the skull of such a creature would look like, but I bet it's insane. I also decided to give them a second pair of horns that grows behind the first, because if these beasts are losing their horns often enough for it to be remarked on, it makes sense to have a couple more backups. Bonus feature, when the first point is damaged, it can move it's second into the position of the old one, just in case it needs to lock horns with another dirubael.

It's jaws are said to be that of a boar's, which probably implies tusks, but I decided to interpret it as the literal jaw of a boar - a big, robust jaw, able to crush tough fruits, tubers and even bone. I also decided to make the neck and body considerably thicker and more swine-like, sort of a boar-antelope hybrid. I was bit worried using boar and antelope might make it look too much like the Dikebael from a previous entry, so I looked at the babirusa for inspiration, rather then a warthog or Eurasian boar, exaggerating the head shape a bit, just to make it even more strange looking (also curious if maybe 'Dikebael' and 'Dirubael' names come from a common root word in this crazy hypothetical world. Maybe 'bael' means something like 'pig' or 'beast' so Dirubael means 'antelope-pig' or 'antelope-beast', and Dikebael means 'desert-pig' or 'desert-beast'. Did not set out to do that, but I kind of dig it now that I've thought of it.) Elephant tail is easy enough to add, but gotta make it a little fluffier for fun.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Advice... Again

Fred-104 was sprawled on a moth-eaten couch that had seen better days, probably around the time the Covenant thought humans were an easy target. He was idly flipping through a digital magazine, "Cuisine for the Super-Soldier Soul," a title so absurd it had to be military issue.

Kelly-087 was beside him, her legs thrown over his lap in a casual display of affection, her attention on a holoscreen displaying a list of 'Top 10 Quiet Getaways for the War-Weary Soldier.'

"Look at this," Kelly said, pointing at a blip on the screen. "There's a place that serves a dish called 'The Master Chief.' It's essentially a steak so tender it sneaks up on your taste buds."

Fred chuckled, the sound gruff but warm. "Sounds like something John would accidentally invent and never realize it's named after him."

Their banter was abruptly interrupted by a sound resembling a Warthog crashing through a supply depot. Except this depot was their living room window. Glass sprayed across the room, a makeshift reminder that peace was always temporary.

John-117, the epitome of Spartan stoicism and the most unlikely window-smasher, lay amid the chaos he'd created, looking momentarily perplexed by his own entrance. Fred and Kelly, veterans of countless battles, could only stare.

"John, ever heard of knocking?" Fred finally said, his tone dry enough to make a desert jealous.

Kelly, ever the pragmatist, was already calculating the cost of replacing the window. Again. "Or, you know, using the door like a normal person?"

John rose, shaking off glass like a dog shedding water. "Apologies for the dramatic entrance. I require... assistance."

Fred raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you run out of doors to knock on?"John's gaze was serious, a storm brewing over an ocean of uncertainty. "It's Linda. I need to ask her out. On a date."

Silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the distant hum of the station's life support systems. Kelly and Fred exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them.

"You flew through our window... for dating advice?" Kelly's voice was a mix of incredulity and amusement.

John, unfazed by the absurdity of his actions, nodded. "Yes."

Fred stood, adopting the stance of a mentor about to impart wisdom upon a wayward student. "Well, step one: don't start by breaking her personal belongings. It tends to set the wrong tone."

Kelly, finding her voice again, added, "And maybe try using words. 'Linda, I value our time together both in and out of combat. Would you be interested in exploring a more... personal mission with me?' See? Easy."

John considered this, his brow furrowed in concentration. "No tactical overlay? No mission brief?"

"Definitely not," Fred deadpanned. "Try to sound less like you're planning an assault on a Covenant stronghold and more like you're, you know, human."

A moment passed, then John nodded, a determined glint in his eye. He turned, assessing the room with a tactical eye that unfortunately included the remaining intact window.

"Not again," Kelly sighed, already knowing what was coming.With the grace of a Spartan (which, in domestic settings, translated to 'bull in a china shop'), John made his dramatic exit through the second window, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Fred and Kelly, now facing the prospect of explaining to UNSC property management why two windows needed replacing due to 'Spartan relationship advice,' couldn't help but laugh.

"Dinner and window shopping, then?" Fred quipped, offering his hand to Kelly to pull her up from the couch.

"Let's just hope the restaurant has a discount for heroes," Kelly replied, accepting his hand with a smile. "Because at this rate, we're going to need it."

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Dikebael

This animal's name is, admittedly, a bit of a "Tirion upon Túna (upon Rye)" situation in that I did not process that there was anything unusual about the name until, shortly after the entry went up, it got a "heh. Dick-ball" reply. (And they weren't alone; at least one of the art posts that's gone up has acknowledged the unfortunate name.) It probably doesn't help that this entry references the animal's testicles.

I can't even go, "well, it's not pronounced like that," because by the orthographical rules of the conlang I used to generate these names, it would be pronounced /dɪ·kɛ·bæ·ɛl/, so the start still pretty much sounds like "dick". I'd say I'll be more careful about that in future, but I scheduled all of these ahead of time and I'm not sure it's worth digging through the queue, so we'll just have to see.

Anyway, for anyone who's not sure what this whole "bestiaryposting" thing is, you can find an explanation and previous posts here: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. The entry that people are working from this time is here:

(Also, I just want to remind anyone reading that you're free to join in -- this is not a closed thing, just check out the "maniculum bestiaryposting" tag and sort by latest to see what the current beast is. Felt I should say that since we've had the same group of people for a while and I don't want anyone seeing the same set of usernames each time and thinking this is an exclusive club.)

Anyway, art below the cut in roughly chronological order.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here), acknowledging the lack of physical description in the entry, has opted to just have fun with it and put together this strange chimerical creature. I think the flat little horns on top of its snout are really interesting -- the linked post describes them as functioning like a stone circle to make sure it has the right date for its annual announcements. I have no idea if that would work at all, but it seems like it fits the general logic of the bestiary, and I like it.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has an interesting explanation in the linked post about how they decided to combine features of various desert-dwelling animals with the basic body plan of a peccary (which is apparently the same animal I know as a "javelina" -- I learn a lot looking stuff up while I write these posts). They then acknowledge that, without the context of all the things they're working in here, it kind of just looks like they've drawn a very large warthog. It's a very good hog, though. Something neat that you might miss if you're just looking at the drawing without the context of the post, for instance, is that it has the same fat-storing tail as a fat-tailed sheep. For more little bonuses like that, check out the linked post.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has given us a whole herd of critters here. They've also hooked onto the "desert" thing due to the lack of physical description, collected traits from real-world animals that make them successful in a desert biome, and combined them into a new creature. They make me think of jackals, which aren't mentioned in the linked post, and also make me think of donkeys, which (kind of) are. Let's all take a moment to note the baby hiding behind a pile of rocks to the right, watching a smaller animal of some sort. I think it's cute.

CheapSweets also wonders about the significance of March 25th, and I have to say so do I. It's not explained in the text. The symbolism bit does say they call the same number of times during the day and night to represent the devil wanting to make day and night the same, which... what?

@pomrania (link to post here) clarifies that this is a grayscale rendering and that the animal would actually be a sort of dusty tan in a color version. They also went the direction of "this animal lives in the desert, so let's focus on desert adaptations." So we've got the split hooves and nostrils that can close to keep out sand. I particularly like the overhanging lip; it adds a certain charm, I think.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has decided that this is an excellent excuse to draw an elephant, since we're short on specific description beyond them living in Africa and being able to make loud noises. As a bonus, this means that the young Dikebael can be conveniently hidden behind the mother's large ears. The other aspects of this illustration relate to Coolest-Capybara having a pretty solid theory as to "why March 25th" -- apparently that's the Feast of the Annunciation, which of course the medieval author would have known. So here we have the Archelephant Gabriel trumpeting at Mary. (Actually it seems like the baby is doing the trumpeting, and it looks adorable doing it.) The linked post describes the medieval artworks that are being referenced in the illustration, so I recommend checking that out.

Anyway, time to check the Aberdeen Bestiary...

... well, we can't, actually. The Aberdeen Bestiary is missing a few folios, and this is on one of those. I got the text from MS Bodley 764, since I have a print translation of that one and it's fairly similar. For the illumination, we're going to go to the digitized Ashmole Bestiary, which is even more similar but I don't have a translation of it.

So this is the onager or wild ass.

Interestingly, it looks pretty much identical to the image of the tame ass on the same page, but to be fair, I don't think I'd be able to distinguish between an onager and a donkey with any reliability. Makes one wonder why they have separate illustrations, though.

And yeah, I have no additional explanation for why... any of the stuff in the entry.

[brevityisnotmywit]

RANDOM RvB FICS

General Tags: Mainewash, Tuckington (Mild), Grimmons, Yorklina

10 Fics

FIGHTING THE WIND

The first time it happens, Wash is in the med bay on the Mother of Invention. He was startled out of sleep, feeling like he was being throttled by someone. They told him he’d been clipped hard by a Warthog that Wyoming hot wired wrong. He tried to pay attention, taking sips off of the blissfully cold water a nurse shoved into his hands. They guessed the breathing issue was hyperventilation and said he could go.

The next time, he was awake. Awake but begging any higher power that might exist and listen that he wasn’t. Wash would have given anything for this to be a nightmare. There was no ignoring that he was in fact awake, the sounds were too real. The communication channel blaring in his ear, saying that Maine had been shot. If it was just one or five bullets they wouldn’t even mention it. This had to be bad. Wash didn’t notice the way his breathing started to hitch at first. Not when he was letting Maine clutch at his arm, even if it hurt like hell. Not until he was chasing after the medics, trying to keep up with them as they rushed his partner, the one who he was supposed to keep safe, into the operating room. Only when the air felt thick as water, and he stumbled over his own feet. Only when he couldn’t get up did he realize that it was happening again, and it was worse. The medic that came back for him said it was hyperventilation like before. Wash accepted the diagnosis and waited for any news on Maine.

Then it happened in the quiet of the recovery ward. He was reading one of the few books he’d managed to scavenge since he’d gotten wrapped up in PFL. He wasn’t worked up or worried, just waiting for his partner to wake up after the most recent operation. It was a minor one and there was no danger involved. That didn’t seem to matter though. Wash blinked a bit, as he realized his breathing was becoming labored again. The on call nurse wasn’t sure what to make of it but chalked it up to all the stress lately. He was beginning to think something might actually be wrong.

It didn’t happen again for a while. At least, not as obviously as it did before. He’d have little episodes here and there, but nothing to write home over. The next notable one was after he’d gotten into an argument with Maine. Well, more Sigma than Maine. The AI didn’t seem to like the fact that Wash could understand Maine enough that, most of the time, they didn’t need Sigma to play translator. It wasn’t like they had big long discussion like politics or anything. It didn’t take a wizard to understand that pointing usually meant “Look” or “That Way”. 

Sigma exploded at him roughly 3 months after. He was shouting about assumptions and manners, how Wash should be ashamed of himself. It didn’t make sense. Maine seemed to just be there. Like a glorified car the fiery AI would use to move around. He wasn’t stopping Sigma from screaming like he did the first two months. His eyes almost looked lifeless. Almost.

That was enough to trigger the reaction again. The fear that Maine wasn’t Maine anymore. He realized that he’d been ignoring the red flags. Worst of all, he had the awful feeling that he couldn’t save his partner from this. He had to try though.

The next day, Epsilon came into his life. For the next day and a half, machines had to do his breathing for him.

Everything fell apart around him. Yet, he had a job to do.

He learned to hide it. Pretending that there was nothing wrong. He got very good at appearing to breathe normally.

Delta started to voice his concerns before Wash hushed him. Before he was spirited away by that one person Wash was supposed to keep safe and sane. By him and all the others that made his mind their home. Or their prison.

He fought back the gasping breaths as he had to wander the desert with that shell of a Freelancer. Struggling against the awful heat and dust. Snapped at the sham of a medic when he tried to ask him about the wheezing he heard.

He forced his way through the burning pain when he realized once and for all, that he could never have done his one job for his partner. He couldn’t even be the one that killed him. To let him finally have peace. 

No, he wasn’t able to just put a bullet through his head. He let him be dragged off that cliff. Let him fall. Let him drown in the freezing depths. How fitting when Wash collapsed, feeling like he was drowning just like Maine was. Suffocating on the crisp air. He wished that they would have just killed him there. Of course he was never that lucky.

He moved on. Learned to hide it better. Learned to fight it better. Pretended it didn’t exist. He couldn’t do this forever though. 

Many days and many attacks came and went. While Wash kept pretending, his team started to notice things. They weren’t sure what to make of it. Then Tucker was wearing Maine’s armor, and Wash couldn’t keep pretending. 

He crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing for air, his body desperate to get oxygen. He could faintly register someone shouting orders, sounding like they were worlds away. Then there were large hands, clumsily pulling his helmet off and unlatching his chest plate. When his vision finally refocused, he realized it was Caboose. He was gently easing Wash into sitting up against a wall, mumbling nonsense (or maybe it made perfect sense, he couldn’t tell) and pushing the hair out of his face. It took a bit, but he finally understood what the worried man was asking.

“M-Mr. Washingtub, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It was a while before Wash was able to figure out how to explain, while the crowd grew while soldiers regrouped and heard what was happening.

“It…it’s not-” He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know what it is. It’s been happening for years now I just-” Words caught in his throat as he spotted Carolina watching intently. He took a shaking breath before continuing.

“It feels like I’m fighting against the wind.”

DRESS TO IMPRESS

CW: Vomiting, Angst

Wash hadn’t seen Tucker after the shit hit the fan. He knew that he was okay but that was about it. That wasn’t really the biggest thought on his mind at the moment, after all he had to deal with his currently bullet peppered ass first.

After 4 some odd hours in the med bay, the Freelancer was ready to head back to his bunk and to drown out the world with a nice dose of sleeping pills. His head throbbed as he made his way down the hall, grumbling something about ‘that nurse is a sadist, that’s the only reason she jabbed me so much’ to himself.

Keying in the code for the room he shared with the Blues, Wash started to detach his armor to appease his sore muscles and aching wounds. He had finished and was rubbing the sweat from his face with a damp towel when he heard Tucker’s voice on the other side of the door. Wash started to greet him as the door opened, back still to them.

“What took you so lo-” The words died in his throat. When he finally spoke again, it was whisper quiet, more to himself rather than anyone around him.

 “…Maine?”

---

Tucker listened to make sure that Wash was alright, even if listening to someone puke their guts out isn’t the most pleasant thing to do with your evening. All that really mattered was making sure that he wasn’t choking or…fuck who knows what the Freelancer might do, he just wanted to be able to stop him if it took a turn. It was sort of his fault for triggering it in the first place.

Wash had shown some signs of knowing the Meta in the past, dropped some hints and, quite obviously had fought alongside him at some point. It was all pretty damn obvious as far as Tucker cared. He didn’t realize until he came through the door with his new duds just how strong that connection must have been.

The sink turned on and Tucker scrambled away from the door, not wanting to be too transparent. He waited patiently for Wash to finish up, having long since stashed away the offending armor. He didn’t try to fake a smile when the Freelancer came out, gesturing to the space next to him on the bed.

“Tell me what he was like, back then.” Tucker asked. It was high time Wash took steps towards healing what the Meta had torn apart. Even if he wasn’t a therapist, the soldier could at least listen.

---

At first he spoke cautiously, thinking each word through before saying it. Stuttering and stopping, nervous ticks manifesting often. It didn’t stay like that for long though. Soon, it was like he was vomiting again, this time with his past.

“…Wash.” Tucker was quiet, not sure if he needed to interrupt.

“- and he looked right through me! It was like he didn’t remem- No…H-He remembered me. He just d-didn’t care anymore. I wish he’d just been gone I wish that fucking p-parasite had just destroyed- It’s not fucking FAIR DA-”

“Washington!!” He didn’t mean to shout but it just happened. Looking back he would realize there wasn’t any other appropriate tone to use. He felt awful when the Ex-Freelancer looked at him, clearly distraught at being disrupted. “…I-” Tucker sighed, rubbing his face nervously. “-fuck I’m sorry man. You were just lookin’ like you were gonna make yourself sick again.” He was expecting Wash to storm off or yell but instead, he looked over at the clock he kept by his bunk.

“…No.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’ve shared enough…” He looked over at Tucker, “ Do…do you think it’s okay if I talk about stuff with you sometimes?”

“I -uh- sure man, whatever works for you.” Well that wasn’t the result he was anticipating. 

Wash nodded, clearly mulling something over. He eventually stood up, glancing over at the other man, forcing a weak smile.

“I’ll get through this eventually.” After a moment he added, “Hope you’ll stick around til’ then.”

“Buy me a beer and I’ll think about it.”

SNUFFLES CLEANSER

Palate Cleanser

Well big surprise Simmons was lecturing again. Of all the things he could’ve picked, it was this crackpot theory about “refined” sugar. Grif had tuned out the second he’d entered the kitchen where Donut and ….Caboose? (Note to self, remove the Blue before Sarge woke up…Or not, it could be entertaining.) were sitting listening attentively.

“If you’d just take a few months or years to not eat refined sugars, you’d start to notice things that are naturally sweet! For example, baby carrots!” The whirrs of his robotic arm gesturing wildly made it hard to take him serious even at the best of times.

“I like carrots!” Caboose shouted joyfully. Good to know someone was liking the speech.

“Or even whole-wheat br-” Simmons was continuing before he was interrupted by a bag ripping open and loud crunching.

He whirled, glaring down his tubby teammate who seemed to be dipping potato chips in the Nutella jar before horking them down. That explained why the spread was so nasty lately.

“Grif! Aren’t you listening to me?!” His attempt at intimidation was thwarted by his voice cracking.

“Yeah man.” He drawled around a mouthful of unholy potato-hazelnuttines, “Real fuckin’ neato.”

---

Snuffles

Grif hadn’t dragged himself out of bed yet. Nine times out of ten, this wasn’t abnormal. Except that he never failed to show up for dinner. Judging by the surplus of food, Grif was still out for the count. 

Simmons wasn’t worried for him or anything. That would mean emotional attachment and that was totally not a thing he had for his teammate.

Nope. 

Not at all.

Therefore, in his mind, Simmons was just…doing his job as the responsible type. Yeah, that’s all there is to it. 

He nervously trailed a hand along the wall as he went to the barracks, trying not to come up with nightmare scenarios. When he arrived at the door, he found it shut. He hesitated a moment before gently knocking. 

No answer.

Instead of trusting the voice in his head screaming to just leave, Simmons carefully opened the door. He heard someone shift in one of the bunks. 

Quietly, he walked over to the one occupied bed, trying to ignore the butterflies that had apparently infested his stomach at some point. (Which he would point out, meant nothing.) 

“….Grif?” He squeaked. He fucking hated when his voice cracked like that. 

The man in question made a displeased sound before rolling over and squinting up at Simmons with mismatched eyes. 

“I’m not getting up, fuck off.” His voice was hoarse, and he sounded stuffed up. That explained the disappearing act. He’d come down with a bug of some kind.

“I’m not telling you to get up!” Simmons whispered defensively, not wanting to draw attention. Even though everyone was totally out of earshot.

“Well, what -are- you doing here, huh? Gonna lecture me about washing my armor?” The sickly man rasped, on a roll. “Or my hands? You’re always bitching about that one. Or-” He was shut up by a foam box being shoved in his face.

Looking suspicious, Grif managed to work himself into a sitting position before studying the box more closely. When he opened it, it was full of food. Not even Simmons standard carrots and meatloaf, but all of the things Grif binged on when he thought everyone was gone. Before he could even think of something to say, Simmons had one more surprise. 

A pack of cigarettes.

When he looked up at the fidgeting man, Grif realized that if he made any fuss or comment, Simmons would bolt. So he just gave a small lopsided smile and ate one of the cookies on top of the pile of food.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tension ease out of Simmons shoulder, and the tiniest hint of a smile. 

He wanted to be sick more often after that.

TIME WARP

“No, you see it’s -very- obvious.” Caboose was using his negotiation voice, this usually meant nothing but trouble for Wash. Not that he could really do anything about it. Other than wonder why Sarge and the rest of the Reds were in Carolinas' bedroom.

“Boy, I have been on this dirt ball for a long, long time an’ I can say that there is no damn way that your little plan is -obvious-” The crotchety old man drawled, from the tone the discussion had been going for quite some time.

“Yeah, but see, you are a pirate.”

“Oh my -god-.” Grif whined gesturing dramatically. He turned to Simmons. “Please tell me you’re not going t-”

“Actually I did take a Temporal Theory cla-”

Grifs’ angry screech was interrupted yet again, this time by Caboose.

“I knew it First Mate Smarty Pants. You are a time wizard. ” He had the maroon solider by the shoulders, staring intently.

“Okay what the flying fuck is going on?” Wash asked, desperate for context.

“We are going to get Church back Mr. ‘Tub.” He explained as though this was totally normal.

“…How d-”

“Well, -duh-. You really are kinda dumb.” He shrugged, “We’re gonna go back in time like we did before.”

“Wait, what?” Wash damn near jumped out of his armor when Carolina piped up from behind him.

That was how they ended up in the Reds’ basement in front of a rather unstable looking portal. As far as Carolina could care, they’d had a good run so if the portal killed them, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Simmons assured that it would take them back to a point where Carolina could reason with the AI (she didn’t want to, but there was no stopping Caboose from doing it himself once the Red admitted it was possible. Better her then him.

“If we die? I’m going to haunt your fucking ghost. ” Tucker hissed at Simmons, “I told Junior I’d be there for his birthday.”

“Stop bitching and get in the portal.” He snapped.

So they did.

“…This isn’t 5 weeks ago.” Trust Carolina to get right to the point.

She was totally correct. This wasn’t even the same -planet-. It was the Mother of Invention. From the state of things, it was in the prime of its life.

“What did y-” Wash started to shout at Simmons, but there was a sudden burst of noise. “Damn it, hide!”

They scattered, huddling away from sight. Both Ex-Freelancers were straining to figure out just -when- they were.

“How can she just give her AI up?!”

“Look sis’ she’s just trying to give Maine a better way to-”

Carolina heard Wash behind her, breath hitching.

“-besides, they’re not even doing the transfer until tomorrow morning. Just put it out of your mind.”

By the time she looked back to Wash's hiding spot he was gone. She swore under her breath. She started comming instructions to the Sim troopers demanding that they find him as quickly as possible.

Wash was almost at the room he and Maine were assigned, ducking into an alcove when he heard his own voice.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’ll be there when you asked. I’ve got to get going.” He sounded so fucking emotional back then. “You know Florida is all about schedule.”

After a few seconds, Past Wash headed out, and Currently Being A Dumbass Wash snuck back in.

Christ. It was like looking at a ghost. A very confused and probably slightly pissed off ghost.

{What about schedule? } At least he could still understand Man-Beast like a pro.

“I just wanted to…to talk about something.” He added quickly, “I just realized I didn’t bring it up ea-”

{Cut the shit. Say what you want to say.}

“Just…make sure you’re really sure about tomorrow, I can always be your voice if you ne-”

The door slid open, and Who Knows When Carolina grabbed Wash by the shoulder. She started to yank Wash out when Maine growled loudly.

He reached out to try and pull the smaller man away from her.

Panicking, she swiftly tugged Wash out of the doorway jamming it shut behind them. As the lock started to click open again, the world spun.

When she could see again, they were back in the basement of Red base. She moved to get up and was promptly grounded again via Wash's fist.

“Why did you do that?!” From his voice it was a safe guess that he was crying, “I was g-”

“You were going to do what, Wash?! Save him?” She kicked his feet out from under him, jumping up and pinning him to the floor. “You can’t change what happened Wash I tr-” She paused as the downed solider tore at her armored leg, “…Epsilon tried. It doesn’t work. It just eats at you and doesn’t do -anything- but consume you.” She backed off, letting him up. Glancing around at the small crowd of Sim troopers, Carolina sighed. “It’s time to move on David.”

With that, she turned on her heel walking over to the distraught Caboose, comforting him (poorly) about the failed attempt at bringing the dead back.

GRAVITY

Wash had lost the ability to tell when he was having a nightmare rather than being awake a very long time ago.

He couldn’t rationalize it. He’d forgotten what Delta had told him to do. The steps that would help him ease out of sleep, rather than waking up swinging at anything that came near. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back anymore.

He learned to grit his teeth. To fake being calm. He would bite his tongue when he realized he was screaming. He secured the one separated room in the barracks so nobody could hear him gasping for breath when he woke up. He’d stuff a towel along the door when he had flashbacks. He never had a quiet night after an episode. 

He felt like a broken man.

He -knew- he was a broken man.

He was limited.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. 

He couldn’t handle the mornings where he woke up, forgetting his own name. When the walls weren’t familiar. When the first concern was if he’d fallen asleep in his glasses again. (He didn’t own a single pair.)

He couldn’t stand when he didn’t remember that his name was David. It usually resulted in him clutching the small trashcan he kept by the bed. Dry heaving had become a morning ritual at this point.

He wasn’t the strong man everyone thought he was. He couldn’t be. How could he call himself that when he couldn’t even -sleep- properly? He felt pathetic.

He couldn’t let anyone know.

The only one that had seen it first hand was one of the causes of it. (Well, there were others but they were all dead or missing.) He probably didn’t even remember. For an AI made up of all the memories he saw, Epsilon was lousy at remembering things.

Even Carolina didn’t know the full extent of it.

He could never let them know how shattered he really was.

P.S.: Defy 

Fuck that noise. He wasn't strong, and the sooner he admitted that, the better he could be for his new found family. They needed something that Wash just might be able to provide. 

Faith.

Years ago, Connie had shown him something interesting. It was a way of repairing pottery that had been broken. Instead of just gluing them back together and trying to paint over the cracks to mask the damage, this method highlighted the past scars. Glimmering gold was added and it turned the lines into a statement. Kintsugi, was the name of it. The art of finding inspiration and beauty in things that once had been shattered.

Wash wasn't a vase, and he couldn't seal the wounds left by all the years of trauma with gold but if he just let himself be faithful for once, he could do anything. 

Once more, the shattered man stands. His pieces are joined with glinting steel, ready for whatever is needed of him. Dreams actually happening the way he wanted them to, and banishing the nightmares back to wherever they'd come from. 

His name was Wash and he was going to defy the odds.

KING AND LIONHEART

CW: Multiple Near Death Experiences, Angst

"Howling ghosts they reappear In mountains that are stacked with fear But you're a king and I'm a lionheart."

There was nothing to blame himself for. There was everything to blame himself for.

He was stronger than he was before. He was the weakest he’d ever been.

He had grown brilliant. He had been struck dumb.

He was blessed with great fortune. He failed every saving throw.

There were so many things swirling in his head like a violent storm. There were so many hazy patches of thought and void. He felt everywhere and nowhere in the same breath. Or was he even breathing at all? The only absolute was the blood draining from his neck and oozing through his teeth.

This wasn’t Wash’s first near death experience, and if his past was any indication, it might not be his last. It was certainly the most detailed encounter he had with this place. Not that that was inherently good.

To call the shapes huddled around him ghosts was too generic. To call them memories was inaccurate. The proper term for the “phenomenon” that stood before him was being in the Betwixt and Between. Despite what the world had once thought, these remnants were very real, and the discovery had launched hundreds of thousands of studies. The strongest result was why some people would appear in the hazy realm. To put it in the most simplistic way, you never die until you were forgotten.

Wash was skilled in the art of never forgetting. He was always seeing the shadows of the dead when he took too much punishment. The people he lost. The people he killed. The people he hated. The people he loved.

The Betwixt and Between had been part of his life since he was small, seeing his mother staring down at him after he’d been hit by a car. The funny thing about the people ‘living’ in this strange world was that if something was particularly memorable about them, it usually stuck with them after death. Regardless of how they really looked.

Often, causes of death would be displayed. If they were known for wearing certain things, that also became a feature. Usually, they looked younger than they had been. Wash’s mom wore vividly patterned dresses that perpetually smoldered.

She hadn’t visited him since he’d joined the military.

Wash’s wife still appeared. She’d been snatched from the street one night while she walked home from work. A few days later she was found, unblinking eyes glassy as she bobbed gently at the edge of a river. Wash was still young and fresh faced, running a hardware store to make a little extra cash. The killer had bragged over his latest ‘catch’ when he was being lead into a squad car.

Wash got his hunting rifle. The squeeze of a trigger dropped a man who never had the gall to show his face in Wash’s corner of Betwixt and Between. Special Operations had found the grieving man before the cops did.

He’s bounced between units until Freelancer takes him in. It’s all too short of a time before he loses them. Those who have died seem to avoid Wash during his visits, sticking to the edges of his awareness as if they want to deny him the closure of it all. Especially Carolina, she never makes herself known to him after her fall. She had to be dead, so where was she?

North and South come to him the most often. Even going so far as to cause what were known as ‘Specter dreams’, where the dead speak or interact with someone outside of the Betwixt and Between. After he had killed her, South had been understandably wary of Wash. It took that particularly close call with the Meta and EMP for her to slink close. She grabbed him by the underside of his helmet and hissed,

“Not yet, man. Keep moving forward.”

It was even longer before the others came to his side. Wash wasn’t even near death. Just passed out and suffering a concussion. Locus had done a number on him, and having Freckles ‘shake’ had just hurled more rocks at his already pounding head. The Betwixt and Between is strange, and some people are more easily able to open the ‘door’ than others. It seemed very fond of letting Wash inside, so to speak.

He’s just quietly sitting between the twins when York strides over. He’s jovial as he always had been, cracking a few jokes to make the older man laugh weakly. He ruffles Wash’s dreadlocks and smiles in a way that borders on heartbreaking.

“Can’t chat forever, rookie. You’ve got company to entertain.”

Just before Wash wakes up, he can see a blurry patch of white and gold in the distance. Everything in him just aches.

The A.I. swoop through his sleep deprived mind like angry insects one day, and can only screech, “You can’t!” before they vanish. Wash fights sleep until he senses Connie without seeing her. She softly whispers in his ear,

“Sleep or die. It’s your call, David.”

So he sleeps. There’s no dreams or nightmares, no Betwixt or Between. Just the void.

Now Carolina screams for him to stay awake. He drifts through delirium until a strong grip pulls him back into focus. Wash doesn’t see but he knows . The old man asks a question that sounds pitiful in the world of the dead. “Is it worth fighting anymore?”

The grip on his arm tightens. A rattle carries with it all Wash needs. “Stay up.”

All he needs does not equate to all he wants. He moves to face his second dead love, but the specter won’t allow it. Ice cold water runs over Wash’s shoulders like many tiny rivers. “Why now? Why visit me after all this time?”

“You needed me. Stay up.” There’s more water, crashing over him like a flood and it throws Wash from the Betwixt and Between.

Even if he is hallucinating, Wash knows he’s not seeing everything around him incorrectly. Sure, Big Bird probably isn’t doing a funny little dance next to Locus, but the flash of steel and orange is both unwelcome and all too real. Leave it to Felix to be one of the rare cases that can slip or of the doors holding the dead back. It’s hard enough to speak from behind it like Connie and South, but to be fully visible to whoever you chose? That’s a rare bird indeed. The mercenary is bloody and broken, faded at the edges, but his voice is clear.

...and compelling.

“I’ll guide you, Wash, don’t be afraid.” A grossly warped hand directs him. “Just a little bit further, and you’ll be safe.”

The shadow of Felix suddenly cringes against something unknown to Wash, and he sees the faintest flash of white and gold before the dead vanish like someone flipped a switch. There’s many voices full of terror crying out to him, and there’s a muted realization that Wash isn’t where he’s meant to be. The man turns, getting one last good look at the family he’s made for himself. Then the world becomes a vivid whirl of colour and agony.

He wakes to the clearest he’s ever seen the Betwixt and Between. All of them have drawn away from the edges this time, crowding around him. His wife, the twins, York, Connie, even some who never got this close to him. Alpha is orbited by the other fragments. (He doesn’t notice Epsilon and isn’t sure what to make of this.) Wyoming looks like a broken VHS tape, squares of him blinking away from him before snapping back. Florida is out of his armor, waving at Wash with a secretive smile. Doyal’s armor is scorched. Their voices become static. When he opens his mouth to speak, blood mists the inside of his visor. A familiar hand settles on Wash’s shoulder. This time, he’s spun around to face the man he’s only glimpsed once since his death.

The state he found Maine in almost knocks the air from his lungs. The tow hook was still wedged into his chest plate. Part of his domed visor was frosted over, chunks of ice clinging to the armor plating not overflowing with frigid water. It ruins Wash to see the man like this.

Maine brings up his free hand to grip at Wash’s right arm. It helps ground him. He looks at the dead man, desperation etched into every line of the steel and yellow armor. They can’t speak, but they never needed words before.

[I can’t.] Is in the slight dip of Wash’s helmet. [I’m too old.] In the way his gaze drifts to the side, how his shoulders droop.

[Bullshit.] Comes from how Maine carefully places a palm to the side of Wash’s head. [Listen up.] Is how he guides the bleeding man to bring his head back up.

[I am.] Rings from the way Wash leans into Maine's cold hand. [I miss you…] Comes from his own hand covering the larger one. [I need you.] In the drag of his thumb.

[ They need you.] Speaks Maine’s firm head shake. [I can wait.] In the way he pulls Wash close. [I’m always with you.] From how he gently rests his chin against the top of his partner’s helmet.

They linger like this for hours. They break away in seconds.

They hold firm to their faith. They shake apart with fear.

They are still as stone. They never stay still.

They are surrounded by support. They drift in a lonely sea.

One of them is silenced. One of them speaks.

“Wake up, Wash.”

" And as the world comes to an end I'll be here to hold your hand 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart."

CHUMP CHANGE

CW: Near Death Experience, Angst

Wash is out of the hospital. He listens to the sounds of his found family snoring away in their bunks. His hand touches the new scars at the base of his throat. Memories plague him.

---

Wash first met Maine during his second training session. Well, technically he met the hulking man when he was introduced to the team, but they had all been dispersed shortly after, so Wash doesn't count that.

They were running stealth drills and Wash sees a ripple of active camouflage in his peripherals. One of the sentry drones decided that would be the best possible moment to swing around. It's beam of light flicks from a cheerful green to blinking red, an alarm blaring overhead. The Director sighs over the loudspeakers.

“Agent Maine, we've discussed this. You can't expect to let your camouflage do all the work. It's fine on people and film because of the light refraction, but a scanner will not be fooled. I expected better from you this time.”

There's a snarl that sounds more at home in a horror film than in real life before Maine melts into view. He'd stood right in the middle of the path, not even attempting to hide behind the pylons. The plating on his gloves creak ever so slightly when the tall soldier balls his hands into tight fists.

When he thinks back, Wash isn't sure why he decided to subtly lean over to Maine and whisper, “Y’know, that guy's kind of a dick.”

For one heart stopping moment, he thinks he's upset his roommate before Wash even got the chance to see the room itself. Then a snort breaks the tension, with Maine thumping Wash on his shoulder. It hurt like hell, but with someone as frightening as Maine laughing at Wash’s humor, the ache fades quickly.

Later, Maine takes shelter behind the same corner as Wash, uncloaked. As the drones begin to turn, the smaller of the two notices that Maine's leg is right in the path of one. He quickly wraps an arm around the man's middle, yanking him further into cover. (As best he can, it feels like he's wrangling a polar bear, rather than a man.) Wash motions to be silent when Maine whips around to surely sling abuse at the newest recruit, pointing to the drone as it hovers past.

Maine's shoulders loosen. He glances back to Wash, seemingly judging him behind the golden dome of his visor. Then he simply pats Wash on the back before moving on.

---

That night, Wash finds out that Maine has an issue with blind spots. He's turned into their room in the younger man's wake, and finds himself being elbowed right in the chest. Even in the power armor as he is, Wash is knocked flat on his ass.

Maine jumps subtly, and turns to help the rookie to his feet, rumbling in a way that borders on sheepish.

“It's fine.” Wash takes Maine’s hand, pulling himself up. “Guess I just presumed you noticed I was there.”

Maine speaks to him for the first time, voice low and rolling. “Blind spots. Didn't think anyone was around.”

Wash scratches at the Kevlar covering his throat, chuckling. “That actually explains some stuff.”

There's a soft, curious rattle that Wash interprets as a 'tell me more’ sort of thing.

“The stealth session, you kept hanging out of cover pretty often... Thought it was just you giving the Director the metaphorical finger, but I guess I was wrong.” He sighs, rolling a shoulder. “Dunno about you, but I'm ready to pass out.”

Maine stays in the doorway for another fraction of a second before recognizing that Wash meant to come inside. The tall man chuffs an apology under his breath, heading into the bunks.

“It's cool, big guy.” Wash follows close behind, hesitating at his bedside before thumbing at the latches of his helmet. His dreadlocks fall from what must have been the hundreth snapped hair tie that day. The feeling of eyes on him is overwhelming, prompting him to turn around cautiously.

Maine's helmet reflects Wash's own face back at him. Suffice it to say this was mildly unsettling. Mildly. After what feels like years, Maine snorts and removes his own headgear. He's not attractive in the normal sense of the word but... something about him makes it hard to look away. The eyes probably did it for Wash. Like smouldering embers, keen and full of intensity.

Thankfully, Maine doesn't linger long. He goes to shower and Wash changes out of his armor and Kevlar. At least he's got a roommate he can get along with.

---

Maine is assumed to be brainless by the grand majority of the people who interact with him. Take this snooty bitch, for example. She didn't even know she was part of one of their simulation communities. Here she is thinking she's the boss, when the soldiers she's lecturing built her quaint, prissy world.

She grates on Wash's nerves in the worst possible way. Then she lays this little gem on top of the shit sundae.

“Goodness knows why the military saw fit to hire your...friend here. A gorilla would have been cheaper.”

Before a proper snarl can bubble from Maine's throat, Wash rounds on the woman, squaring his shoulders. “Ma’am, we are the only reason bandits didn't overrun your township. Maine is almost certainly more intelligent than you.” The older man cuts off her indignant gasp. “Not to mention more polite. If I were related to you, I'd be mortified of your treatment of your heros.”

When he turns away, the woman is sputtering in his wake. Wash grabs Maine's hand, leading him back to their dropship. They arrive in silence, boarding the Pelican swiftly.

“You didn't have to say anything to her.” Maine nearly whispers after take off. “I'm okay with it.”

“I'm not.” Wash retorts, looking over his sidearm. “We're not just suits of armor, it's about time people learned that.”

“You don't defend Car’ like that.”

“Because she'd do it herself.” Wash snaps. “You don't have to sit there and take that.”

“It doesn't bother me, Wash.” Maine stresses, sitting in one of the wall mounted safety seats.

“It's not about if it bothers you, it's about if they think they're in the right.” Wash's voice goes dark, shoulders drawn together. “They think you can treat people like that. It's not okay.”

Maine doesn't verbally respond, but the way he reaches over to thump Wash on the back speaks volumes.

“... Let's get back to the Mother Of Invention.”

---

Wash hears a bizarre noise from Maine's bunk. It's brimming with a fluttering panic that is so out of place, the sleep deprived Freelancer thinks someone else mistook this for their own room. The massive shape of Maine's shadow gives him away.

Wash slips from his bunk, rubbing his eyes to clear the haze from his vision. “Maine?”

No response. Not even a 'I will kill you if you keep talking, go the fuck to sleep Wash.’ growl. (It came up more often than you would think.)

Then the reedy distressed whine rings out once more. Wash slinks closer, bracing to dodge a punch that never happens. Maine has his forehead pressed into the wall, teeth gritted. Suddenly enough to startle Wash, the younger man's arm shoots skyward, smacking his knuckles into the top of the recessed bed.

Wash can tell that Maine is awake from the subtle hitch in his breathing, how he tenses up for a fraction of a second.

His friend rolls over, eyes heavy with restless sleep. He grunts in a way Wash had learned was to get his attention.

“You okay, big guy?”

There's a beat of silence, making Wash worry Maine is going to shove it all under the rug but the man just sighs, exhaustion threading into the sound.

Maine shakes his head.

“... Nightmare?” Wash guesses.

A nod.

“How can I help?” Wash shifts his weight, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants.

The air goes dead, leading Wash to the conclusion that the offer was somehow offensive to Maine. Then he's handed a tablet. It's the one Maine brings everywhere, so he can read in the lulls of missions.

“Can you…” he trails off into a grumble.

Wash gets the picture, thumbing into the book. He smiles at his roommates choice.

“This journey took place in a part of Canada which lies in the northwestern part of the great sprawling province of Ontario…”

The journey winds along and Wash is glad Maine doesn't make fun of how much he loves the cat. He's in the middle of a personal rant on why she's the best character when gun-calloused fingers weave into his free hand. Wash stutters out a garbled mess of what he intended to say next, clearing his throat. He manages to get through the speech and realizes that Maine's breathing had evened out.

Wash allows himself a quiet smile before shutting off the tablet. The next morning would find him curled into Maine's arms, hands still laced together.

Wash can't be bothered to care.

They don't talk about that night. Not at first, anyway. They had missions to deal with, data to gather. Maine grows more tactile. Ruffling Wash's dreadlocks, leaning into him when they read in their room, lightly headbutting him for attention. (At that point, Wash came to the conclusion that Maine was not a man, but a giant murderous cat. A mountain lion maybe.)

Wash likes the attention. He somehow climbs onto the leaderboard. They go on more missions.

---

A rare shore leave is sprung out of nowhere, leaving Wash and Maine in a cafe with no one but the wait staff.

“Hey, Maine?”

The soldier cocks his head, a faint trill is nearly lost beneath the already soft jazz spilling from the speakers.

“Is this how folks act when they're dating?”

The thing was, half of Maine's conversations were comprised of growls and guttural noises. Wash didn’t notice that until York pointed it out.

“Does it matter?” Maine gruffs, sipping his watered down cup of coffee. (Wash always got the strongest drink on the menu, whining if they only had “shitty white girl” options.)

“Kinda.”

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Wash shrugs his bad shoulder.

“Y'know, I'm supposed to be the quiet one here.” Maine snickers into his mug, glancing over the rim.

“You're doing Maine-Speak, that doesn't count.” Wash shoots back, brows raising judgmentally. “But...I guess I'd like to be dating. As long as it doesn't change how-” The older man gestures at the space between them. “-this works. I like how we are.”

“It won't be any different. Just called a different name.”

Wash slides over to lean against Maine. “Promise?”

Maine nods.

---

Wash can hear his heart thundering. He clocks his head hard enough to knock him into one of the bucket seats in the Pelican as he races to look out the back. 10-53 was always his least favorite thing to hear.

10-53. 4736.

Man down. Maine.

It’s a damn wonder the flight crew keeps him from jumping out to go help.

His lungs burn, eyes darting across the report on his HUD.

10-71.

Shooting.

Wash is not ready to deal with this.

‘What happened? I should have been there. Probably a blindspot again. I failed him. If he dies it’s my fault. All my fault.’ The threads of his mind draw into a web of frustration and self loathing, snaring him so tight it was likely he’d never get free.

All the while the HUD flashes on.

10-53.

4736.

10-71.

---

Wash never liked Sigma. Which was fitting because Sigma never found Wash as his favourite either.

Maine stops talking to him, not even in Maine-Speak. Sigma gets upset when Wash shushes him, to encourage his partner to speak for himself. Then Maine will turn away, motions too smooth to be his own.

Wash finds out that Maine (Sigma in all likelihood.) applied to change rooms. He succeeds and now Wash has a room that feels so cold and empty it threatens to swallow him whole.

Maine’s scheduling changes. Maine hated when he had to break routine.

Maine stops eating with the crew and Wash is suspicious if he’s even eating at all.

They’re in the locker room after a mission and Wash’s heart stops when he sees the new tattoo clawing down the back of Maine’s head. He knows these symbols and it draws ice further into his veins to think what this means.

Epsilon comes into his life. He’s just coming out from the anesthetic when he swears he can hear Maine and Sigma.

“He can come too.”

“Don’t be stupid. He’s a threat.”

“Easier with two of us.”

“He’d never agree.”

“I never agreed.”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“Because you’re the only one that gets to do that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“Just let me have one last thing.”

“Make it fast.”

Wash feels a gun-calloused palm slip into his. Rough lips press against his own. Maine doesn’t linger, pulling away. The sound of a helmet locking into place echoes.

“...I love you, Wash. Don’t follow me...goodbye.”

When Wash can sit up, the MOI is going down and everyone is gone or dying from the impact.

Wash doesn’t get the chance to run.

---

Recovery One makes him deny Maine’s last wishes. Agent Washington hunts the Meta. Agent South sets a trap.  The Meta allows one final chance for Wash. He barely makes out a growl over the sound of blood thrumming in his ears.

“Don’t follow me Wash.”

He doesn’t listen.

TO START A QUEST YOU MUST:

CW: Pokemon AU (Unfinished)

Chapter 1: Take A Step

David Washington, his sisters, and his mother had planned on moving to the Alola region when the boy turned eleven. Of course, nothing ever really goes to plan for their family. Like, never ever. Things came up, they always do. They just kept hitting every roadblock they possibly could. Fife and Quincy had to go to the hospital. Cashmere needed a school uniform. Rainier went through another pack of diapers. Little things, big things, and so on and so forth.

Of course, Wash thought he would just start his Pokémon journey right then. All it took was a quick visit to Professor Oak, right?

With a firm hand and watery eyes, Wash’s mother stopped him at the door. She begged for him to just hold off until after the move so they could save up. The boy promised to honor her request, grinning ear to ear. (Despite the disappointment brewing in his heart.)

Seven years later, Wash is eighteen and moving out. His sisters went to live with their father in Kalos, but Alola had captured the young man's dreams. True to his word, he'd held off from a traditional Pokémon journey.

Until now... hopefully this Island Challenge thing doesn't have an age limit.

---

Professor Kukui is only six years older than Wash and is gleefully showing off a trio of playful Pokémon to the younger man. Not that Wash had planned on getting a Pokémon this way. How would he have known a swarm of youngsters were going to come stampeding down the trail? It wasn't like he wanted to fall into the lush grass!

Not that it really mattered. Wash simply can not say no to the sweet Litten purring up a storm, winding about his ankles. It’s physically impossible.

Swallowing around the lump forming in his throat, Wash takes his first steps as a Pokémon Trainer.

For the early weeks, it's just Litten at his side. She's spoiled rotten and growing powerful. Except, trainers have more than just one Pokémon. That's where Wash is having trouble. Most capture attempts fail spectacularly. Until the morning that a Magnemite darts at him in a thick patch of grass near some sort of school. They don't struggle against the Pokéball, seeming to give up immediately.

Much to his amazement, the Pokémon adores being by the sullen man's side as much as Litten, and she's practically attached to Wash’s hip.

Currently, Wash is indulging the two with malasadas. The Pokémon feast like they're royalty. As Wash goes to the counter to pay, the door jingles merrily before being drowned out by an argument revving up.

“Why are we here again?”

“Because the won't take my order! They keep hanging up on me!”

“You don't need more malasadas!”

“That is god-damned slander , Simmons! Take it back!”

Wow, Wash wants to have absolutely nothing to do with this. He should have used cash, because the cashier is now holding his card hostage, yelling at the two behind him.

“You know you and those Blue guys aren't allowed here!” She scolds, “All you do is get into fights and run off without paying!”

Wash risks a glance back towards the noise makers to find a pair of teens so different from one another it's almost laughable. The only similarity is their uniforms, set apart by their colour choices. There's a tall one in maroon, twiggy and twitchy. He seems to be on the verge of a panic attack.

Then there's the heavy set one in orange, which Wash would bet is a born and bred Alolan. He's downright furious, chest heaving with rage, brows almost sewn together. It's this one that barks out, “Yeah, I wanna know why you don't just let me order them! I'm fucking starving here!”

Wash doubts that.

“You're a menace!” The cashier retorts, “So get out of here before I call the police!”

Then the fat teen notices Wash is watching him, face lighting up with a spiteful look. “Can you believe this shit!?” He gestures manically towards the counter.

Before Wash has the sense to think it through, he reacts dryly, “You rushing in here and demanding food isn't really going to earn you much sympathy from me. Or anyone, really.”

“ What did you say?! ” Is the only warning Wash gets before the flash of a Pokéball illuminates the café.

When it fades, a well fed Rattata (or, what Wash thinks must be a Rattata. It looks like one grew a moustache.) yawns, rubbing at its face with its paws.

While Wash is certainly alarmed by his first real trainer battle being thrust on him so suddenly, he manages to keep his cool. With remarkable ease, Litten takes down the irate teenagers’ Pokémon, grooming herself proudly.

“Grif let's go!!” The tall one begs desperately, “This guy is no joke!”

So Grif is the shouty one. Good to know, Wash guesses. That probably means that the other one is that Simmons guy Grif was screaming at.

Grif’s face is blotchy, teeth bared. “He's just a stupid mainlander with good luck!”

“I don't care, we're leaving!” Simmons fires back, wrestling Grif away from the counter, struggling to keep the big guy under control.

Grif manages to flip Wash off before the door slams shut.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a wistful chuckle winds into the silence. “I thought I was going to have to step in, but good golly you sure showed those ragamuffins what for.”

Wash finds a trainer in a deep blue get up with aqua accents stepping out from a booth. His long hair flows behind him elegantly. “I'm Florida, the local captain here.” He hums, extending a hand.

(Okay, all jokes aside, this dude kinda unsettles Wash. Which is dumb because he's been the flawless definition of polite.) Mentally berating himself for his relentless paranoia, Wash returns the greeting warily. “ 'm Washington.”

“Oh what a darling name!” Florida chortles, shifting his weight to one leg. “Sorry about those Spectrum kiddos. They're not really dangerous, I promise.”

“... Spectrum?”

The captain smirks mischievously. “As in Team Spectrum?”

Wash can't help flashing back to his childhood. Visions of his sister's Ponyta being stolen. Uniforms of black and red. “From past experience, any group like that can be dangerous.”

Florida somehow manages to snort gracefully , covering his mouth.

“What's funny about that?” Wash bristles, shoulders hunching.

The...well, Wash can't be sure if Florida is an adult or not, actually...whatever age bracket he’s in, the guy wipes at his eyes. “Oh no, it’s not what you said, sweetheart. It's how you said it. You sound like Carolina.”

“Who?”

“If you really are a trial goer? You'll meet her soon enough.” Florida hints mysteriously before gesturing extravagantly, arms open wide. “But first, you'll have to challenge my trial! So grab some swim trunks and meet me at the beach!”

Wash decides that something is most certainly wrong with the water in Alola. Though, if he's really being honest, this last ten minutes has been more fun than he's ever had before.

Chapter 2: Take a Dip

Well this is probably the most vulnerable Wash has ever felt in the history of forever. On this beach with the wind tugging at his dreadlocks and trunks. Sand has found its way into places that Wash knows haven’t touched the shore. (He’d know if he licked the beach. Which he hadn’t.)

---

The whole debacle ahead of him was more than worth it, though. In his efforts to earn some extra pocket change to get a pair of swim shorts, Wash found himself scrounging around the untamed sections of Hau’oli. As he glances around, much to his shock, there’s an itty bitty Meowth. Ribs strain through its grey coat, shivering with a chill that it can’t seem to shake. It’s tucked into the furthest corner of a long abandoned alley, and when it notices Wash, it mewls pathetically, stumbling over to him.

Wash’s heart shatters like glass. It’s obvious to him that the little one was dumped here by its owners. All wild Meowths he’d met would hiss and claw, running at the first hint of humans. Instead, this one was crawling into his lap, begging to be held. Of course, Wash does just that. Scooping it into his arms as it licks at his fingertips.

The man makes a beeline for the Pokémon Center, only to be halted in the door by a familiar sight. Or rather, a familiar outfit.

One not at all unlike the ones that Grif and Simmons had worn. What was their gang called again?

“C’moooon, Doc’! Us Spectrum guys gotta stick together!”

Oh, that’s right.

“Look Donut, I’m with the Pastels not the Reds! Just because Spectrum is ‘technically’ one team doesn’t mean the factions are meaningless!” pleads a fellow in a different uniform with a shiny Miltank mooing at his side.

That’s actually really interesting information to learn. Rather, it would be if Wash didn’t have a very sick kitten in his hands. Local gang politics can wait .

Side stepping the two, he rushes up to the counter, fretting as the nurse gives the cat a once over. She takes Wash’s contact information in case he has to step out and spirits the Meowth to wherever it is they take critical Pokémon cases.

Wash has settled at the café, leg bouncing as he sips at his Komala coffee when he hears,

“Oh, heyyy! Aren’t you that guy who gave Grif the reach around?”

The purple guy had taken a seat beside Wash and he snaps to attention like ice had been dumped down his back. “It’s run around, Donut!”

Wash wonders if he can drown himself in a half-full mug of coffee.

---

It’s been enough time for Wash to have drifted off to sleep in one of the chairs when he’s roused by an incessant mooing in his ear, it must be that kid’s Miltank. He scowls before he can even open his eyes to confirm if he’s right.

A hushed “whisper” rings out like a thunderclap in the darkened Pokécenter. (They started dimming the lights by popular request from around midnight to five in the morning.) “Baby girl, SHH! He’s sleeping!”

Well he might have been if that Pastel guy wasn’t there. What was his name? Something medically related, right? Then there’s a loud chime, signaling the door being opened. The footsteps sound uneven. Wash cracks open an eye, squinting at the light flooding in from the street.

“Thought I’d find you here, Doc’.” states a man who holds the record for the most intense person Wash has ever personally seen. “One of the Blue’s got his head stuck in the fence of your garden...again.”

Doc’ bolts upright, “What?! Why didn’t you call me, Siris!!?”

Siris (if that is who he is) rolls his eyes, and when he turns, Wash sees a glint of steel shining from where the end of the guy’s pants probably are. “We did. Maybe if you would answer it, we’d get some stuff done.”

The Pastel huffs indignantly, stamping a foot. Instead of responding, he calls his Miltank back to her Pokéball then dashes out the door without giving Wash a second thought. His presumed comrade, however, gives him one last intense glare before following Doc’ out.

‘Why can’t I just sleep . Isn’t Alola supposed to be laid back?’ Wash wonders to himself before a strong meow draws his attention to the counter.

The nurse is holding the little Meowth in her arms, but the kitty’s attention is solely on Wash and Wash alone. It paws at the air, beckoning him over with wide eyes. In a heartbeat, he complies, looking to the nurse hopefully.

“She’s made a full recovery, since you got her here when you did. Still, she’s quite underweight. Not to mention she’s likely the runt of her litter. If you plan to keep her, you’ll have to give her plenty of love and attention.” The woman gives him a look. “You got that?”

Wash nods, smiling softly, face full of relife. He scratches the Pokémon under her chin. “She’ll be safe with me.”

---

That’s how she wound up joining Wash’s little troupe, bringing their number to three. The Meowth is dashing to and fro in the sand around the trial barricades.

Wash scoops her up into his arms, giving her a pat before sending her back to her ball. Then he steps inside, finding a sectioned off portion of shore and surf stretching out before him.

“Yoohoo~! Over here, Washy!”

W-...Washy?

Florida is perched at the end of a perilous string of rocks, looking like he’s torn from the pages of a fashion magazine. Hopping skillfully from one stone to another, he’s standing before Wash in no time, grinning like a Ninetales.

“You look so precious! Are my eyes dirty little liars, or is that a new Pokéball on your belt?” Florida muses, hair streaming in the breeze.

“Yeah, I uh, I found someone new.” He mutters, shying away from the fellow’s sunny disposition.

“Well that’s just dandy! You’ll need lots of help along the way!” The younger teen (man?) smirks, tossing his head. “My trial starts now!” He announces before handing Wash a large net, not unlike a butterfly net.

Surely reacting to Wash’s confused face, Florida elaborates. “I would like you to search for as many shells as your darling little fingers can find! Now you do have a time limit here, five minutes should do just fine! We’ll toss them back when you’re done!” A snicker is stifled. “But be warned! The local Pokémon are mighty feisty! Be ready for more than a few battles.”

This is how Wash learns that many fish Pokémon not only bite, but they also have sizable teeth.

Huffing irritably with a small satchel of shells over his shoulder, Wash reaches Florida at that far rocky platform he’d first spotted the captain at. Something feels so wrong out here. Maybe it’s that the water is decidedly not crystal clear this far out. Quite the opposite of what Wash had been splashing around in.

“You’re so close, Washy!” Florida declares brightly. “Just one more teensy tiny catch before you go...there’s these Pokémon here. They’re not like anything you could have found on that mainland of yours. Us locals call ‘em Totem Pokémon.”

As if on cue, the water explodes upwards from the formerly calm, dark seas. Wash is showered in frigid, salty surf. When it clears enough to see, there’s an enormous Bruxish bearing down on him.

Gods, he hopes Magnemite has enough energy left to take this thing out.

---

He’s so damn tired. The fancy new blue Z-Crystal weighing down his Z-Ring does make him feel better.

Kinda.

He glowers at Florida’s eternally joyful nature, but the trainer offers him one final tip.

“There’s just one last part of the Challenge for you on our lovely little island here. The kahuna himself! Keep your wits about you, Felix is a tricky fella to take on. Best of luck, my dearest Washy!”

Felix, huh? Sounds more fun than Florida. Probably because Wash can see why he was suspicious when he first met the captain.

Still, with three wonderful Pokémon at his side, that’s more than enough. More than mom ever gave him. More than he ever thought he’d get to experience.

More seems to be the vibe Alola gives off.

Chapter 3: Make a Spark

Wash isn’t exactly expecting to meet anyone from Team Spectrum again so soon. (He didn’t recognize this variant of uniform yet.)  Especially not one this crass, who seemingly isn’t interested in a battle. He’s just...well he’s sort of growing on Wash already.

He had run into the uniformed teen along an otherwise isolated strip of sand, tending to a Gyarados that’s whimpering in pain.

“C’mon buddy, you’ll be as fine as those swimsuit models in a sec’. Stop fussin’ already.” Though his words are terse, his voice holds nothing but warm comfort.

Then he spots Wash.

He just glares at Wash for what seems like forever, then he scowls, “Not in the mood for a fight, so unless you’re just captivated by my bod’, you can piss off.”

Wow.

“I’m just...uh, passing through.” Wash mumbles tugging at the flared cuff of his glove. Maybe…”Your Pokémon, he looks pretty rough. Can I help?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those Charon Corp guys!” The kid is going for another Pokéball, face stormy.

“A what?! I’m just a normal guy!” The tired man defends. He should stop by his place before he takes on the kahuna...but that’s not really the issue at hand is it? “I’ve got too many potions, I was just gonna toss a few your way. That’s all.”

The Blue (he must be, it was the only faction Wash hadn’t seen yet.) rolls his eyes, sighing. “Guess you’re not flashy enough for those dicks. You new? Never seen you before.”

Wash shakes his head. “I’ve been here for two weeks I think.” He mutters, rooting through his bag. “From the Kanto area.”

That seems to surprise the teen. “Wait, are you the mainlander that Doc talked about when he had to rescue Caboose from his fence?”

Why do these Spectrum goons not stay out of each other’s business?

“I might be? He could have meant any-” Wash tries to reason before he’s cut off.

“There’s only so many adults taking the island challenge, dude.” He’s leveled Wash with a withering stare. “As in, there’s one. I’d wager that knickknack you’re carting around isn’t for show?”

“Oh.” Wash mumbles. “Yeah, it’s not for show. I’m Washington.”

“Pft. Name like that, you’ll be a Captain in no time.”

The confusion must reach his face because the Blue smirks. “They’ve all got names from the Libertie Region. You already found Florida. There’s more where that came from.” He finally stands up fully, one hand braced on his hip. “I’m Tucker, by the way.”

Wash isn’t surprised when he doesn’t offer a handshake.

“Y’know, if you decide to not go through with this whole challenge bs, you could just come chill with us at Blue base. You seem like you need a break from stress.”

Wow, a few minutes and Tucker’s already got Wash figured out. Still, he challenges, “You don’t know me that well. I’m not a ‘chill’ guy, according to folks back home.”

“It’s not in the job description. We’re a team, not a mold. You don’t have to fit some aesthetic.” Tucker fires back and it strikes Wash into silence.

Why does that sound so nice ? How is it that these admitted criminals can chip into his (not-so) flawless armor? Something that Wash had buried long ago cries out to just throw caution to the winds and take the offer. To, just this once, let go of the rusty dreams of a child. A child with eyes so full of awe that he didn’t see the weary world for what it truly was until it was too late.

“...I can’t.”

He hands Tucker some potions and a handful of pokébeans before they part ways.

Wash drops by his RV. He feeds his Pokémon and tries to get a few bites of pasta down. He can’t stomach too much before he has to sulk off to his meager bed.

The quiet is deafening in the warm Alolan night, and Wash can’t get Tucker’s offer out of his mind. He could be happy with them right? They didn’t hold a candle to his memories of Team Rocket. Not even close. With all the shouting at the malasada shop, Wash knows they’re no angels. He’s no saint himself.

He’ll think about it after he deals with the kahuna tomorrow.

---

He’s challenged by a grunt from the Red faction when he leaves his place that morning. They’re sounding like a mini-Grif, and he wipes the floor with them. Hopefully the Blues are as calm as Tucker made them seem because Wash isn’t thrilled to have the spotlight from more than one neurotic organization. Maybe the other two won’t even care about dueling with him.

He’s hounded by a few more trainers before he reaches the gateway to Iki Town. The place is almost out of left field with cases, painted with deep indigo and orange littered about. When Wash looks closer, he can see historical weapons on display, each polished to shimmering, deadly perfection.

“Like what ya’ see?”

Wash throws an elbow back on instinct and is mortified when he makes contact. The mysterious stranger has the sense to at least try to avoid the blow but probably didn’t expect to be dodging a swing.

When Wash turns, an apology already on his tongue, he finds a young man styled in the same colours of the cases dusting himself off. He rubs at his arm, one perfect brow arched. “You’re a quick one. Wash, yeah?”

“I’m sorry I didn-”

“Heh. Nothing to be sorry for. Takes a lot more than that to hurt me.” Perfect teeth and a devious smile. There’s thinly veiled malice lurking behind that perfect facade. “Besides. You’re here to challenge me, after all. A little booboo or two is par for the course.”

With a snap of meticulously maintained fingers, the (literal) spotlight swings to the kahuna. “There’s many things here more dangerous than you and your Pokémon, Wash.” He remarks with a grin in his voice, though it doesn’t reach his face. Slender legs carry him to a platform not at all unlike the ones Wash recognized from televised Gym matches. “You can’t just dodge them either. No, no. Did you know that much of Alolas produce is toxic until it’s processed?”

“I-...no, I didn’t.”

It’s only then that the grin splits the kahuna’s face in two. “Then let me teach you!” He retrieves a Pokéball from his belt. “You’ll find my Pokémon share something in common with the food here. They’re downright virulent .”

Now a spotlight blinds Wash, it’s glare unavoidable. When his eyes adjust, he notices a new flash of light. This time it’s red, fading to unveil a Golbat with fangs bared.

“The name’s Felix, and your Grand Trial starts now!”

Wash didn’t know this was going to be a straight up battle!

He sends out Meowth and she mews, beckoning with a paw towards Felix and his Pokémon. It doesn’t take too long before Wash regrets that.

She’s trembling like she had when he first found her, crying pitifully from the pain of the venom pulsing in her veins. The bite had looked so minor, how was she so sick?! Before Wash has the chance to recall her, she crumples to the stage.

‘Fainted.’ Wash forces himself to remember. ‘ She’s just fainted. Don’t be afraid.’

Wash sends Litten out, she’s the strongest after all. She can take the toxin better, surely.

That’s when Felix cackles. As Litten lunges to spit fire, Golbat vanishes in a beam of red. “You didn’t think I’m a one trick Ponyta, did you?”

There, radiating flame before him is a Quilava. ‘ He’s from Johto?’  Wash realizes, trying to think of something, anything at all to gain some ground. He can’t call on Magnemite. He’s still trying to get the types down, but he knows Steel isn’t good against Fire.

Litten’s going to have to hold her own until Wash can deal with this. Wash takes a breath to steady himself.

There’s not much style to the way Wash deals with the Quilava. Most of it utilizes Litten’s Double-Kick to brute force his way through the brawl. It finally collapses, fire snuffing before it hits the ground.

Felix scowls, calling on Golbat again and Wash takes the chance to let Litten have a break. He brings Magnemite out and discovers that the poison just rolls right off the metal shell.

Golbat doesn’t look too hot a few minutes later and Wash can see Felix going for another Pokéball. He shouts for Magnemite to use Thundershock and in a stroke of pure luck, not only does it hit but it’s an especially powerful bolt.

Golbat crashes to the earth. Wash feels pride bubble in his chest. That is before the world is consumed by fire. In the middle of it all, an elegant fan of fur waves behind a stunning Ninetales. It looks like it’s smirking, the resemblance to it’s trainer is unmistakable.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wash. Your luck is no match for actual skill.” Felix snarls, his hair is tousled from running his hands through it. “Ninetales, Flamethrower!”

The blaze sweeps up Magnemite and there’s truly nothing Wash can do to keep them from fainting. It was stupid to throw Magnemite into the fray with no idea of what the third Pokéball on Felix’s belt contained. The kahuna had already displayed he had Fire types at his disposal.

He can’t get lost in thought now. ‘Litten, you’re all I have left...I believe in you.’ Wash offers silently before sending her in. She’s tiny, hissing upward at the serenely smiling fox. The fight resumes and Litten is losing ground quickly. Felix calls for another Flamethrower and Wash is already resigned to his first loss.

Until a brilliant blue light pierces the inferno. It bathes the arena in a cool glow, the shape at its core shifting until it shatters. Growling at his feet is a new Pokémon. ‘Did Litten just...evolve?’

She looks to him with bright eyes, and flies at her opponent claws outstretched. The tides of battle turn and the Ninetales slumps.

The fire is doused and in the smoldering remnants, Felix glares back at Wash. Fury is woven into every line of perfection he calls his own. In the blink of an eye, he composes himself, but now that he knows the signs, Wash still sees the calling cards of Felix’s contempt.

“Well, well, well. You certainly surprised me, Wash.” Felix huffs, holding out a hand. “Give me your trainer passport. You’ve earned the Melemele Stamp.” The kahuna swipes the booklet, stamping it quickly. “Also, take this.” He snaps, holding a purple crystal out.

“Poisonium Z. Use it to cripple all that stand in your way.”

It’s not until Wash is in the Pokécenter that he realizes it’s Torracat now, rather than Litten. Now he’s got to get to the next island.

Maybe he can bribe Tucker into letting Wash borrow his Gyarados.

Chapter 4: Take a Hike

A few weeks passed since Wash’s battle with Felix, and he’s not been having any luck with finding a way off the island. His first thought was to look for that Blue guy, Tucker. Yet the teen and his Gyarados are long gone. Wash asked around, and the locals explained that some of the high ranked Pastels called Melemele home, but the Reds and Blues only swung through for short visits.

“Most of the Blues are on Ula’ula,” A trainer with a literal basket of mewling Espurrs tells him, “but there’s a guy who hangs around up-” He points over at the massive hill that casts shadows onto Kukui’s lab. “-there. He’ll get you there. Let him know that Parker sent you.”

“I really appreciate it.” Wash smiles, though it’s a little strained. Shouldering his pack, he heads for the trail he likes to take. Passing the lab, he notices a sign. Curiosity takes the helm, and Wash drifts over to it.

“Alola, friends!

   Sorry for the short notice, but I’ll be out of Melemele for the next week! Make like a Pokémon and Bide your time! See you again soon,

  -Kukui”

Looks like the backup plan to his backup plan was gone too. Why was everyone leaving when he needed them? Wash sighs, stretching his back. Hopefully these boots could handle rocky terrain, because this was gonna be a big hike.

---

Part way up the slope, Wash lets his team out to take a break. He finds a (sort of) comfortably flat boulder to rest while his poor feet recovered. The shoes had indeed not been built for this kind of thing, and he can see that the soles are pulling away from the rest of the boot. Damn it, these had been pretty expensive, too. He’ll have to find some glue or something on Akala.

Wash pulls his bag over while his Pokémon play, dishing out a midday meal for them. Meaty Kibble (or so the box claims) for the girls, and a d-battery for Magnemite.

Meowth finishes first, then wanders over to him, demanding affection. He gladly obliges, scratching behind her ears. Before his eyes, Meowths' fur starts glowing until it blinds Wash, forcing him to look away.

‘Another evolution?’ he realizes, trying to look through squinted lashes. The spots in his vision clear up to let him finally see-...

“Holyshit.” he squeaks. Her face was so...so… adorable . “Look at you, big girl!!” Wash coo’s, smoothing his palms over the Persians’ wide cheeks. He thought the ones back in his home town were precious too, but there was an aloofness to them that couldn’t hold a candle to their Alolan counterparts.

Persian rumbles warmly before headbutting her trainer, softly. Torracat and Magnemite must realize that they’re missing out, because they sidle up beside their once tiny ‘sister’ and plead for attention. Wash isn’t going to turn them down, but he does have to be more careful so he’s not going to have burns on his hands. He lives for the quiet moments like this, the island challenge is just icing on the cake.

Still, if he doesn’t get a move on soon, this guy will be long gone.

---

Wash is nearly at the end of the climb, if the signs posted inside were accurate. Out of the dusty shadows, he’s tackled by a Pokémon. When he sits up, there’s a Mawile snarling down at him.

It has been a while since he tried to catch something. After all, he’d just rescued Persian, and his team could use a new member. Wash has heard that Mawiles’ have good typing, so why not? He calls on Magnemite, rather than risking the Pokémon fainting from Torracats’ flames, or Persians’ new power.

It takes far too much effort, and finally the last of his Pokéballs does the job. With a final shake, the device pings, letting Wash know the capture was successful. He picks it up, letting her out immediately to get her healed up.

Mawile just glares at Wash, hissing and growling.

Nothing a big malasada can’t fix. Wash pulls it from where he hides them in his pack, unwrapping it. He holds it out to her and her eyes go huge. She starts to go for it, but hesitates, shooting him one more angry glance. Then her frighteningly large jaws lash around, snapping it up in one bite.

Wash also gives her a handful of Pokébeans, letting her snack on them while he looks for a potion. She’s not too happy about it, but he has this soft smile on his face while he heals her from the fight. When he was young, Wash knew a trainer from the Hoenn. Her name was Connie, and her parents were Pokémon Rangers. She had been rehabilitating a Mawile for a family in his town. He always wanted one. Not the place, or way he expected to get one, but he finally has one.

Calling his new Pokémon back, he dusts himself off, looking over at the warm light at the end of the pathway. He heads onward, and it takes his eyes a while to adjust to the sunlight again. When they do, Wash is struck by the feeling that he should be familiar with the person looking out over the horizon.

The logo on his deep violet overcoat, that he knows for sure.

Team Pastel. Seems to be a high ranked one too, he thinks. Well, he wasn’t going to head back. If he had to ruin his boots, Wash is at least going to say hi to the man. He’s just cleared his throat, when the stranger turns on his heel.

“Hello. You’re here for a battle?”

Wash quickly shakes his head.

“Oh. Is it the view?” The Pastel glances back over his shoulder, waving Wash over. “Here, take a look. It’s pretty cool.”

He’s not sure why, but Wash does just that. Cool doesn’t do the place justice. It’s downright beautiful. For several long moments, the man just takes in the sight until mumbling, “I, uhm...I was told I could ask you for help.”

“By…?”

“Said his name was Parker?”

“Oh.” The Pastel blinks, surprised. “I thought he was still in Kalos, last I checked.”

“He did have a whole basket of Espurrs with him?” Wash tries. They’re native to that area, so it might clear up some things…

It earns him a sigh. “Yeah, that’s Parker. Of course he’d book a trip just to catch some. He’s been trying to bribe the Blues for one, and they refused.” The fellow trails off into muttering under his breath until, “I’m Siris. How can I help?”

Oh, yeah that’s right. He had seen him before. “I needed help getting to Akala…”

“I can tell you how to get to the ferry, it’s not far.” Siris offers.

Wow, this is gonna be embarrassing. “I...don’t really have the funds to buy a ticket…”

“...” The Pastel is judging him (at least Wash thinks he is) for a moment, “I could loan you Pigeot, he knows the way, but…” he taps his chin. “I’d need the favor to be returned.”

In a second Wash hatches a plan. “I remember hearing one of your guys has problems with someone getting...stuck in a fence? Regularly??” Please let this work. He hopes he’s remembering the right team here.

By the cackling laughter it earns him, he did just that. “So you were awake for that. Thought so.” Siris brushes his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, whenever the Blues are in town, Caboose always ends up with his head stuck in Docs’ fence. I think he tries to get at the Pecha berries.”

“I’ll build you guys some new ones, so he can’t get stuck?”

Siris smirks, “If you’re paying for the materials too, I’ll accept that. Try and make it so the Rattata can’t get in either.” He offers a hand.

Wash takes it, shaking firmly.

Alright, so he’s going to have to learn how to make a good fence, in addition to taking the island challenge. All the same, he’s on his way to Akala.

HOOK ME UP, I CAN'T BE HERE ALONE

CW: Vomiting, Angst

It's not until they're making their way back to Blue Base that it hits him. 

They'd killed the Meta.

He killed Maine .

Sure, Wash wasn't the one that dug the tow hook into the man’s chest…but if it weren't for him? Maine would most definitely be alive.

Fuck.

Fuck!

This pathetic pack of sim troopers had killed his former partner with his help. He let this happen.

Wash can feel bile rising in his throat. With a lurching tone, he quickly asks Tucker to pull over.

He's keenly aware of the stares as he wrenches off his helmet to vomit in the nearest ditch. While his kevlar hid some of them, most of the scars from where he gouged Epsilon from his flesh were clearly visible.

The older Wash became, the less he liked being perceived by others. He relished the anonymity that his helmet granted him.

The last person he wanted to study every wrinkle, every freckle was…well, had long since drowned in an icy ocean.

Thanks to him.

Gods, this hurt so badly.

Fuck…

None of his battle wounds ached like this. A cool wetness streaks down his cheeks. 

Great!

Just great.

In less than twelve hours, these idiots had watched him turn against his oldest friend, puke his guts out, and now he's crying.

Wash can't get a lid on it either. It's like his soul is being torn from him by some invisible force. His chest heaves with horrible sobs. He hadn't cried like this since he was a kid…

Stop it.

Stop, damnit…

For fucks sake, David you're embarrassing yourself!

A large, warm hand settles on his shoulder blade. It yanks Wash from his mind, and he nearly strikes out at the unknown person before he stops himself.

It was the big guy. Regulation blue. Shit, what was his name? Was it-

“Caboose?” Wash croaked weakly.

“Mhmm, yeah.” The soldier responded. “Did you eat something gross?”

“Uh…not exactly.”

“Ohhh, you must get carsick!” Caboose theorized, offering his new teammate a damp cloth. “I used to have it real bad, but then Command sent me this nifty helmet and it helped so much!”

Is that why he's wearing that old thing? Huh.

“No, I don't suffer from motion sickness.” Wash shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the rag. Ugh, it reeked of oil and gasoline.

“Caboose, I don't think he's up for chatting.” Tucker raised his voice so he could be heard from where he leaned against the Warthog. “He's probably just got a concussion or some shit like that.”

Concussion. Sure.

Wash is honestly grateful when Caboose reaches for the man's hip, unsnapping his canteen.

“Here!” He chirps, offering him the water.

“I'm fine, I can get it by myself.” Wash sighs, taking it. “...but thanks.”

Gods he must have been parched . The Freelancer greedily swallows until he hears Tucker call out again.

“Hey, don't make yourself throw up again, dipshit!”

He breaks away, gasping for air.

What was wrong with him? It's not the first time he's had to fight and kill his friends. Why did this one hurt so damn bad?

Oh like he was fooling anyone. Especially not himself.

He had just watched Maine die for the second time in his life. First, when he'd lost the man to Sigma. Now? Now there was no way to get him back. He was well and truly gone.

Gone…

Maine had been gone for ages.

Wash knew better. He knew the AI had scooped away at his partner’s mind with every new addition.

He witnessed the empty, glass-like stare when the Meta removed its helmet to eat or drink.

Try as he might, no amount of time or effort would have brought Maine back to him. It would have been cruel to try.

If he had been brave enough to speak his mind back then…would Maine have given Sigma back to Carolina?

Carolina would know what to do…but she wasn't here.

No, it was just stupid useless Wash.

He didn't deserve Maine anyway. He was probably just bored and wanted something warm to hold at night.

…Though the way he held him? It made Wash feel like he was the only man in the world that mattered. Those huge, calloused hands would cup his chin as they kissed each other. Maine always tasted like the mints he kept in one of his pouches. (Much to the chagrin of the maintenance crew. They kept finding half full tins in the laundry.)

Maine used to talk to Wash all the time. In his own way.

Traveling with the Meta was so close to how things used to be. But any time Wash tried to get personal, the Meta would snort and walk away. His voice…well his growl was the same it had always been.

But Maine was gone.

The man Wash wanted to marry was chained to the seafloor. Maine couldn't swim, even if they hadn't strapped a damn jeep to him.

Fuck.

Fuck…

“Hey, my dude.”

Wash’s head shot up. He didn't realize that Tucker had joined them.

The man is holding his cobalt helmet, brushing mud off its surface. “I'm not sure if you can walk, but I'm going to have Caboose carry you to the car if you don't get up on your own. It's getting late and we don't have the supplies to set up camp. I get that you're having a bit of a…crisis? But I gotta think about the team here.”

Shit he was such a fucking crybaby. Wash stands, his legs surprisingly steady. “I'm…uh, sorry about that.”

“Don't apologize for being human.” Tucker passes Wash his helmet. “Kinda been through the ringer lately. Can't blame you for that. But we gotta get a move on.”

He turns, heading for the Warthog.

Wash followed, settling into the passenger side and snapping his belt in place.

“If you want, we can find some sappy emo shit on the radio?” Tucker offers, unsure of the new guys normal coping mechanisms.

“No. I'll be fine.” Wash slides his helmet back on, trying to ignore the sour smell of his breath. “Thank you, though…both of you.”

“Eh, don't thank me too much. I was thinking about leaving you but then Caboose wouldn't stop bitching about it…” The soldier realizes that Wash isn't buying it for a second. “... you're welcome, I guess.”

Once Caboose settles, Tucker starts the engine. Wash keeps his eyes fixed on the trail ahead.

He has a new team now. Whatever happened before would have to wait.

Blue Team needs him…and maybe? Maybe he needed them too.

THE NIGHT BELONGS TO YOU

Wash hates being warm.

Doesn't everyone?

No. As a matter of fact, he knows a guy that rarely used his cooling unit…knew…knows?

Hell, Wash hardly has a clue on what to consider the Meta.

Yes, he used to be Agent Maine. Used to be his significant other. Boyfriend, whatever you want to call him. Wash didn't care. He wasn't here to reminisce on the past.

He quite literally punctuates his point by opening a new window in the pink troopers’ stomach.

He lets the Meta toy with the maroon one, waiting for the medic to appear. Wash quietly sits on the hood of their ride. He watched as his companion purposefully sharpened the blade on his bruteshot in front of their guest.

His whetstone is hardly more than a hunk of rock.

Wash rolls his eyes, sliding off the car. “Hey, Meta.”

The beast in question glances over at Washington, a question carried in a rattling growl.

“What?”

“You're going to slice your fingers off.” He reaches for his subspace pocket, retrieving a new stone for him. “Here.”

Wash holds it out, knowing the soldier was watching them both, shaking all the while.

The Meta chuffs, fingers extended lazily. They weren't in any sort of rush…yet. The grip pads of his glove drag over the one's on Washs’ palm.

He refuses to let his heart flutter at such simple contact…he can't let himself be hurt again.

…But when the Meta makes that breathy, warm grumble? That makes his resolve fracture. It was nothing more than a simple phrase, but he hasn't heard it in years. Well, hasn't heard one word in particular.

“Thank you, Wash.”

His name.

Dammit all, he didn't expect how hard it would hit him to hear the Meta use his name.

“Sure.” He just shrugged a shoulder. “It's just a crummy lava rock kind. Not like I'm giving you one of my diamond stones or anything.”

The Meta doesn't have to know any of this. Wash wasn't meant to be bonding here. They were on a mission .

That's when a broad finger hooks beneath the chin of Wash’s helmet. Not to remove it. No, just a simple…almost playful shake. A soft pressure where his kevlar doesn’t cover. Even through the fabric, the heat of his body seeps into Wash. In reality, the contact is brief.

But damn it all, it rattles him to his core.

Wash jerks away instinctively. He adjusts his headgear, trying to shove his emotions down into the depths. Down to where they can’t give him any more trouble. That place where he kept all of the worst memories that Epsilon unintentionally bestowed on him.

He’s too distracted to see how the Meta’s hand hovers for a moment too long.

“Simmons!” It’s that damned medic.

A meaningless snarl rips from the Meta’s throat. He rounds on the pathetic man, preparing to do god knows what to him.

Wash quickly catches him by his belt. “Easy, dude. We still need him.”

“I didn't know you were the one making the call!”

“...Unfortunately for us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The Meta is staring him down, eyes hidden behind the golden dome of his helmet…oh shit. Wash realizes his fingers are still tucked under the man’s armor. Warmth radiating from him like he has a fever. He knew better, though. It was just how he is. How he always was.

Before either of them can say anything, the purple soldier calls out for Simmons again, breaking the tension.

“I’ll be back.” Wash removes his hand from the Meta’s hip. He quickly darts off, trying to shake away his feelings as he retrieves the medic.

He couldn’t let this go any further.

He couldn’t let his guard down again.

No, he needed to ignore these stupid ideas. Maine was long gone. The Meta was just a shell. Just an empty body, running on instinct. Wash had a job to do and he’d get it done.

Damn his shattered heart.

---

It’s been a few days. They’re out of the desert, setting up camp for the night on a windswept ridge. After his moment of weakness, Wash had been avoiding the Meta as much as he could. Given the situation, that wasn’t much but he was doing his best.

The breeze whistles sharply through the rocks, creating an eerie atmosphere. Then a sharp ‘tik’ heralds an unfortunate turn of events. Dark specks bloom over the dirt, confirming his suspicion. A sudden storm, probably one that got caught on the mesa’s. At first, it’s not an issue. They’ve dealt with far worse than a little shower.

A peel of thunder warns of the turn before it hits. The rain grows into a downpour, startling the trio. Doc swiftly ducks into his little tent, whining about something stupid. Wash wasn’t really listening. He’s frustrated, trying to stake his own shelter when a thick hand catches his wrist.

The Meta doesn’t leave room to argue, easily dragging Wash into his small tent. He releases the man so he can zip up the door.

Despite the howling storm raging outside, it’s terribly quiet inside. Wash feels so unsettled, he swallows around the lump in his throat.

“...You’re gonna get sick if you don’t dry off.”

Huh? Wash glances back, tense. “Excuse me?”

“Your kevlar. It’s soaked…” The Meta nods towards the puddle slowly filtering from Wash’s armor.

“You expect me to strip? In front of you?” He tries to ignore the chill settling into his skin.

“We’ve seen each other naked before.” The Meta states plainly.

“Maine’s seen me naked.” Wash challenges him quickly. “Not you.”

“We-... I am Maine.” He replies, pausing to remove his helmet. “Just as much as I am the Meta. You can’t pretend you don’t know.”

Wash can feel the embarrassment creeping up his throat. “I don’t trust you.”

“Not asking you to.” He shakes his head as he unbuckles his armor, setting them up to dry. “Also not gonna let your stubborn ass catch something because you don’t want to be around me. You either get changed yourself, or I’ll do it for you.” The Meta warns.

“You say that like I’d let you.” Wash scoffs, his eyes lingering on the way the soaked kevlar clings to his companion. He realizes what he’s doing and quickly turns his gaze to the shadows of water as they run off the tarp.

“We both know who would win that.” The Meta rumbles, unzipping his bodysuit. Wash can’t help but let his attention drift back to the man. He quietly watches as he peels the wet fabric away from himself. His tanned skin, covered in countless scars. The way his muscles shift beneath the surface…when he starts to slip his briefs off, Wash blushes and quickly turns on his heel.

Of course it’s nothing he’s unfamiliar with. They may not be interested in sex, but Maine occasionally slept in a similar state of undress. But this was the Meta. Not Maine…

Right?

“You can turn around. I’m decent.”

Wash jolts, looking back at his traveling companion…well boxers was better than nothing.

The Meta offers him a baggy shirt and a damp towel. “Now get over yourself and dry off.”

He scowls at him, pushing at his shoulder. “Fine, just don’t look at me.”

The man rolls his eyes, pivoting on his heel to face away.

Wash sighs, setting the items down so he can get out of his gear as quickly as he could. He shivers as his already chilled skin is exposed to the air. Jesus this storm was no joke. He scrubs the rain from his body, tossing the towel aside to pull on the oversized tee.

It smells like Maine. Tears suddenly prick at his eyes, blurring his vision. Fuck…

A warm hand settles on his shoulder. “You good?”

“I’m fine.” Wash lies, unable to bring himself to pull away from the contact. “I am.”

Surprisingly, the Meta doesn’t call him on that. He just nods, pointing to a cot. “You take it.”

…Screw it. “We can share.”

That definitely throws him for a loop. The Meta’s eyes flicker over Wash’s face, studying him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, we need the body heat.” He motions towards the outside. “Especially since we don’t really have much beyond that one dinky blanket of yours, I’m assuming.”

“...Fair enough.” The Meta agrees, heading over to the single cot. He settles before motioning for Wash to join him.

The Freelancer nervously stretches out along the edge of the bed. He knew he couldn’t prevent the contact but it sent a shiver up his spine when the Meta’s leg curled over his hip. An arm winds around his chest, drawing Wash close to himself.  Gods he was so warm…

He wants to hate this. He doesn’t want to admit how much comfort he finds in the Meta’s embrace. He’s not Maine.

He’s not Maine.

He can’t be.

If he’s Maine…what does that make Wash?

Is he little more than a common mercenary? He was just doing this to get out of jail. If the Meta was Maine, that meant Wash was a terrible man using his ex like an attack dog. He was awful-

“You’re thinking too much, Wash.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever you’ve got on your mind. You’re spiraling.” The Meta observes.

“And what makes you think that?” Wash scowls, unable to petulantly roll away due to the size of the cot.

The Meta shifts, pulling Wash to rest on top of him. “You get tense when you’re over thinking things.” His calloused fingers press into a tight knot of muscle between the man’s shoulder blades. “Right here.”

Damn it.

Wash snorts, hiding his face in the crook of the Meta’s neck. “So what?”

“...We could talk about it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not friends. Not anymore.” Wash tries to keep his walls up, tries to ignore how he can feel the Meta’s heart thrumming beneath the palm of his hand.

“...I see.”

Oh fuck, that clearly cut him deeply. His defenses crumble and Wash props himself up to look at the Meta. “I…I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Being a dick.” Wash admits. “I’ve been lashing out at you this whole time.”

“Well, I was trying to rip your throat out a few months ago. Probably deserve a little hate.” The Meta traces a thumb over some of Wash’s new scars.

“You know what I mean.”

“So what’s bothering you then? You’re just doing a job.” He points out. “Why do you care if you’re being an ass to me?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Wash questions.

“Of course it does.” The Meta confirms plainly. “I don’t remember everything, but I do remember you. I remember us . We were together, weren’t we?”

“Yeah.” The Freelancer nods. “We made it official a couple of months after we met.”

“Having your boyfriend treat you like a stranger isn’t fun.”

Ow. Yeah he most definitely deserved that. “You said it yourself, you were trying to kill me. Is it really that hard to understand why I don’t trust you?”

“I fully understand it.” The Meta assures him. “Doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“...Are you really there?” Wash spreads his hand over the scar that mars the large man’s throat. “Is the Meta really gone?”

“No.” He elaborates. “I’m not going to lie to you. The Meta is Maine and Maine is the Meta. I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully back…but the part of me that is here? It keeps wanting this. Wanting us…I don’t feel the way I used to. It’s more…possessive. Instinctual. Right now, all it wants is to hide you away. Keep you for itself. I’m not sure it’s the healthiest thing…but it’s probably why the Meta started to fade away. I’m not going to pretend it won’t get bad again. Not going to deny how badly I want to be with you. There's a part of me that just wants to abandon this stupid mission and run off…”

“...With me?” Wash parrots.

“Yes.”

“...Okay. So if you’re both Maine and the Meta, what do you want me to call you?”

“I prefer Maine.” He clarifies. “The Meta is what I am. Maine is who I am.”

“Right…” Wash nods, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters. He’s like a damned school girl. “...I missed you so much, man. Been hurting for so long. I dunno if we can be the same as before.”

“Duh. We’ve both changed.” Maine rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to be like we were. Do you?”

“Yes.” Wash admits. “I hate what happened to us. I lost you, Maine. I still don’t fully have you back. All those AI changed you, and I’m still not certain I like who you are because I don't know if it's real . What if this is all just a trick to get me to trust you?”

“You think I’m smart enough to plan that?”

“Sure. Why not?” Wash sits up, pulling the edge of his borrowed shirt down nervously. “You know how much I loved you. Is it that much of a stretch to come up with this?”

“You think it’s more believable that I’d come up with some twisted plot to use your emotions against you? Rather than me still wanting you?”

“You said it yourself, you don’t have feelings like before.” Wash points out.

“Correct. That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into some cartoon villain and weaponize your love against you.”

“Hmph.” Wash doesn’t stop Maine from pulling him back into his arms.

“Why are you so against the idea of us being together again?”

“Because I can’t stand to lose you again.” Wash curls up, listening to Maine’s heartbeat. “So I push you away.”

“You’d deny yourself over an inevitability?” Maine chuffs, stroking the man’s back. “You know you’ll regret whatever you choose, right? That’s just how life is for people like us.”

“...I guess.”

“I don’t plan to leave once this is over, Wash.” He states. “I’m not letting go of you this time.”

“This time?”

“When Sigma took control…I tried to get him to go back for you. Thought we could share the load. Maybe it wouldn’t be so rough if we had two of us.” Maine explained, hand gripping Wash’s shoulder protectively. “It was his idea originally to use a pair, rather than just me. So I figured he’d be open to it…but he must have decided we’d be too bonded to be effective pawns.”

He rolls onto his side, spooning Wash gently. “But he’s gone. Can’t tell me what to do anymore…so I’m sticking with you. Even if we don’t get back together.”

Wash is overwhelmed, if he’s being honest. Does he still love Maine? Without question. Is he still suspicious of the Meta lurking at the back of his mind? He’s not naive. Of course he can’t help but wonder if it’s just waiting to jab a knife in his back. He’s Agent Washington. Paranoia is part of who he is.

And yet…

He feels so safe in this man’s grasp.

Hands he’d seen used to pull an insurgent’s spine from their flesh. Palms that had crushed many skulls with little effort. Arms that crack ribs in a sadistic facsimile of an embrace…

But they were so delicate when handling Wash. Soft as they slid over his stomach to keep him close. Warm…gods he was like a radiator.

“...Okay.”

Maybe Wash didn't mind the warmth after all.

I BEG TO DREAM AND DIFFER

CW: Alternate Universe, Wash is an AI

His first conscious memory is staring up at the men he now recognized as the Counselor and the Director.

The Director had smiled at him. His greeting was kind, but something about him was wrong.

“Your name is Wau…today is your birthday.” He grinned.

Wau doesn't like how many teeth he can see. He doesn't understand why he's so distrustful. He thought his name was Alpha…but he was alright with being Wau.

Paranoia can be messy.

---

“Hey, Wau. You still with me?”

That rattles him out of his thoughts. “Yes, Agent Carolina. I'm still here.”

“Good. I need to talk with you.”

Uh? “Carolina, we talk all the time. What's going on?” Wau tilts his head, his holoform crackling like electricity.

“You remember the freeway incident I told you about?” Carolina sits on her bunk, removing her helmet.

“Yes. Insurgents were attempting to seize an item known as the Sarcophagus. The B Team suffered several injuries and-”

“Focus on the A Team, Wau. That's our responsibility.” His soldier corrals his train of thought.

“Are you talking about the throat trauma suffered by Agent Maine, boss?”

“Yes.” She nods, unclipping her chest plate. “He won't be able to talk anymore.”

“...Agent Maine didn't really speak much before the incident. According to your memory of him.” Wau points out.

“Wau, it's my fault he was hurt. I'm his commanding officer and I didn't prevent this.” She tosses her armor aside, letting it crash to the floor loudly.

“You didn't have my insight at the time, Agent Carolina.” Wau casually perches on one of the small pillows.

“Your paranoid predictions, you mean?”

“Hey, let's not be rude, boss.” Wau scoffs, folding his arms. “I've prevented twelve separate life threatening events since my implantation.”

“Yeah, well I don't think you're understanding me.” Carolina lays back, the firm mattress sinking slightly under her weight.

“Oh really?”

“Wau, Maine needs to be able to communicate.” She sounds frustrated.

He wasn't good at non-battle scenarios. “Maine knows sign langua-”

“I'm giving you to Maine.” She abruptly cuts him off.

…Ah.

Wau blinks away, reappearing in front of Carolina. “Are you allowed to do that? As far as I can tell, we're paired with our agents for a specific reason. Is it really a good idea to mess with that, boss?”

“I've already cleared it with the Director.” She rolls onto her side, not wanting to look at her AI. “You'll be transferred to him tomorrow morning. 0500.”

“...I'm concerned, Carolina.”

“Yeah, you're always on edge, Wau. That's just how you are.” She's clearly getting fed up with him. “Besides, you like Maine, don't you?”

Wau crackles, ducking his head to avoid eye contact. “He's a good soldier. It's admiration, I wouldn't say I ‘like’ him in the way you mean.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

“I don't sleep, Agent-”

She butts in, waving her hand through his projection. “It's a turn of phrase, Wau.”

It obviously didn't hurt, but it was a jerk move.

He flickers to her shoulder, huffing. “Fine, no need to be rude. Let me get this straight. You've been improving over the last two weeks since my implantation. But you intend to give me away?”

“It's for a good cause, Wau. Maine needs you more than I do.” She pulls the covers over herself, settling in. “If you don't quiet down, I won't hesitate to pull you.”

“Yeesh, fine, fine.” Wau shakes his head. “I'll shut off for tonight.”

“That'd be nice.” Carolina mutters tiredly.

“Good night, Agent Carolina.”

“Night, Wau”

---

Wau is activated the second the clock hits five. He's not surprised to find his soldier was already awake, putting her helmet on.

They're already in the med bay. Wau doesn't like it here. Too many things go wrong here.

“Hey, Wau.” She acknowledges him.

“Hello.” He nods back. “Is it time?”

“Indeed it is, Wau.” The smooth drawl of the Director sends chills up Wau’s non-existent spine. “I take it Agent Carolina briefed you on why you're here?”

“Yes, sir. I'm glad to help.” He confirms.

“Good. Agent Maine is prepared. All we need is you. This might feel strange.” 

The doctor takes her cue to reach for Wau’s unit.

It's a terribly uncomfortable thing. Makes him realize how much of himself is missing. More than Carolina…what was wrong with him?

Then there's a connection. Like lightning and fire. It startled the AI, drawing his attention back to his current situation.

The first impression Wau gets of Maine’s mind is one of intense pain. A migraine, he realizes.

Medicine? He decides to keep the exchange between them. No need to deal with the others at the moment.

…Yes.

Wau blips into view, hovering over his new host. He asks the medical staff to dispense the required tablets.

After that's dealt with, he retreats into the back of Maine's mind. It's pleasantly quiet. Wau kinda likes it.

Wau, right?

Yes. We know each other pretty well.

Not like this. Maine’s eyes track the hospital staff as they fuss over him. This is different. Feels…

Intimidating?

Intimate.

Oh. I guess that makes sense.

Did I embarrass you? There's a sense of humor to Maine’s thoughts. A gentle teasing.

Wau finds it calming when compared to Carolina’s seriousness as of late.

No. Intimate is a fair description. He agrees. I'm here to help with communication. If there's anything you want to say, just let me know. I'll do my best to make sure they get the point.

Good. Maine is allowed to sit up, his vitals fluctuating slightly.

Wau takes a moment to help steady them. 

Thanks.  

It's what I'm here for.

---

Maine was very different from Carolina.

Not in a bad way, no. Just…different. He was just as withdrawn in his head as he was on the outside.

At first, that is.

It takes a week for the soldier and his AI to get fully comfortable with each other. Did Wau ‘like’ Maine?

…Yes, Carolina was dead on the money with that guess.

Not that he'd ever admit it to her. The two bickered like siblings constantly. He didn't want her to have the satisfaction.

There was just something about Maine, though. Something that makes the AI feel at ease. Mind you, that was no small feat. Panic was in his nature, it would seem.

Wau.

Yes, Maine? He blinks into view, silvery electricity darting through his wake. You don't need to be awake for another two hours. You can keep sleeping.

Not trying to get up. Wanted to talk.

To me?

The man nods, stretching out his arms. His joints give a series of satisfying pops as his muscles pull on them. He had a new tattoo from a few weeks back. Wau remembered Carolina being confused on where he got the time to get it done.

Maine opens one of his eyes, looking up at the projection hovering over him…

Oh shit, he's been staring hasn't he? Sorry. He swiftly glances away, chiding himself for not remembering human customs.

That earns him a rough, rattling chuckle.

Don't tease me, I don't like it. Wau huffs, stamping his foot irritability. That wasn't exactly a lie. He disliked being taunted by others. Especially his brothers and sisters.

Not Maine though. Maybe that was part of the way Carolina figured out that her AI might have developed a ‘crush’ (her word, not his) on the hulking agent. Wau was far more tolerant of him.

Mostly because the man didn't mess with him for the most part. Not like York did. He liked needling the gray AI to get reactions out of him. Sadly, Wau couldn't just avoid him. The few times Carolina would let her guard down often involved him. Wau began to request being pulled when they had their…dalliances.

Wau, focus.

Shit, sorr- The AI freezes, ducking his head. The Director regularly reprimanded him for swearing.

‘That’s not how you speak, Wau. Don't be crass.’

It was frustrating because ‘foul’ speech came naturally to him.

Forgive my language. He spits out his usual response.

What? Because you said ‘shit’? Maine is definitely amused.

The Director thinks it's unbecoming.

Maine snorts, rolling onto his side to face the wall. Not gonna rat you out for having a potty mouth.

Potty mouth? Wau snickers. What kind of phrase is that?

Was trying to be funny.

I'm aware. I was trying to continue the joke. Did I do it wrong?

Ah. Maine lightly brushed his knuckles over the crackling light of his AI. Sorry. Your tone can be hard to read.

Wau allowed him to keep ghosting his fingers over his surface. There was such an innocent curiosity in the motion. He's not sure anyone he'd interacted with had been so interested in the way the AI’s shape behaved when touched.

He knew it was that because he could feel it shining through their bond.

So he didn't make any effort to stop him.

My bad. Wau ducks his head apologetically.

Don't be. I'm the same.

The phrase ‘birds of a feather’ comes to mind. Wau agrees. You said you wanted to talk?

Yeah. Why is it that you don't talk much outside of my head?

Hm. He never really noticed it. Does it bother you?

No. Just don't get it. Maine returns to laying on his back. You weren't like this with Carolina.

…That's a fair observation. What was he supposed to say? He doesn't know why he does it.

You even realize you're doing it?

Not before you mentioned it. Wau shakes his head. We're meant to adapt to our hosts as AI. We instinctively know what our soldiers prefer. Carolina liked mental conversations on the battlefield, but not during downtime.

You just…know?

Like migratory instincts in animals. I'm sure Delta or the Counselor could tell you how it works? Wau glances over at the door. Should I arrange a meeting?

It's fine. I trust you.

Wau ignores the way his projection flickers at that.

We're being cleared for active duty soon, right?

Yes. Next Monday, to be precise.

Think you're ready to be back in the field? Maine wonders.

I'm an AI. We're always prepared. Wau shrugged, sitting on the back of his soldier's hand. Well, pretending to anyway.

Should focus on training this week. Get more used to each other.

I think I'd like that.

Maine smirks, his ragged breathing loud in the quiet room. Same.

---

The first day was rough. Being used to Carolina made it…difficult to adjust to Maine. True they got along well, but the AI was used to running speed tech. Other than his camouflage, Maine didn’t really use augments. How was he meant to help in this situation?

Wau is nervously running his predictive algorithm when it happens. He catches the motion as the barrel of a paint rifle breaks cover.

“Sniper, Five o’ clock!”

Maine reacts instantly. He takes a large step back, swiftly closing the distance between himself and the aggressor. He has the tip of his magnum pressed to the temple of North’s helmet.

He doesn’t pause, pulling the trigger. Pink lock-down paint expanded to temporarily blind him. From what Wau can tell, it was a bit of payback for a similar event a month back.

Wait, where was-

“Fuck, Ten o’ clock!” He snaps, knowing Maine wouldn’t have enough time to turn. “Just drop!”

The man quickly dives into a prone position. Give me the angle!

“45 degrees, Eleven o’ clock!” Wau projects a crosshair to guide him.

Maine puts his faith in his AI, taking the shot before even looking.

“God dammit!” York whines as his shoulder takes the pellet.

Maine pulls the trigger a few more times to ensure the tan soldier wouldn’t be able to budge.

“Round point goes to Agent Maine.” The Counselor announces over the loudspeaker. “Agents York and North, clean up will begin shortly.”

Maine casually strolls over to the benches on the sidelines of the arena. He takes a seat, and scrapes at the small flecks of lock-down paint that would inevitably end up on his armor. 

Sorry.

The agent seems baffled. The hell are you sorry for?

Wau is sitting on his shoulder, lightning crackling across his holoform. More so than normal, it was probably an indicator of stress. I barely did anything!

Barely? You called my blind spots out. We won. That’s barely ?

I’m supposed to help you run your enhancements, that’s what I’m designed to do! Wau’s hands curl into fists.

You’re meant to help in combat. You helped in combat. What more do you want?

I-... Damn it. He did have a point. I don’t know. I’m just so used to calculating routes for Carolina’s speed tech. Makes me feel useless.

Maine offers Wau his hand. The AI hesitates before stepping into his wide palm. The man lifts him until he’s at the height of Maine’s hidden eyes. The golden visor makes him feel like he’s talking to himself.

Your job is to keep me from getting killed. That’s it. He states plainly. Did good. Stop beating yourself up.

…Yeah, okay. Wau sighs. He jolts to attention when he senses two people approaching. He blips back to Maine’s shoulder, seeing the Counselor and the Director. He tips his helmet in greeting.

“Good morning, Agent Maine.” The Director has his arms clasped behind his back. “And we can’t forget dear Wau.”

Ugh…he doesn’t like being addressed by Dr. Church. Makes him feel like an insect being studied.

“You both did better than expected. Congratulations.” He adjusts his glasses. “One thing though. I believe we had a discussion about swearing before. Didn’t we, Wau?”

“...Yes, Director.” The AI confirms.

A low growl ripples from Maine. Tell him I don’t mind it.

No! He’s already annoyed I don’t wa-

Do it.

Wau crackles nervously, clearing his non-existent throat. “Agent Maine wants to tell you he doesn’t mind-”

“ I mind it.” The Director cuts him off coldly. “Understood?”

“Yes, Director. I understand…” Wau’s voice wavers subtly.

Maine hisses, tense. Fuck off, dickhead.

I’m NOT saying that.

“That being said.” The Counselor speaks up, breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere. “Your first round went exceptionally well. We plan to run two more rounds. You should prepare yourselves. Good luck.” He nods at the pair, then makes his way back to the observation room.

“I look forward to your performance, boys.” The Director then turns to join Price, leaving them alone.

Can we please not piss them off? Wau begs his agent. I’m okay. I’m the one protecting you. Not the other way around.

Not gonna play nice. Maine snorts, getting up and stretching. He pops his joints in that satisfying way of his. You don’t have to translate. Or just lie.

…Fine. Wau relents. Let’s focus on the match. Sounds good?

Sure. You ready?

Always.

The next round pits them against the team of Florida and Wyoming. The latter of which had Gamma running. Wau focuses his attention on extending his prediction algorithm and the radar for Maine’s suit. 

Florida and Wyoming were a talented pair. They don’t go down easily. It was a very close match. One that went on for ages, compared to the usual. Eventually, Wau’s number crunching guides Maine to snipe Wyoming just as he comes out of a time jump. It doesn’t take long for Florida to appear, and Maine lands a lucky shot.

The round ends with the agent having to wait as the clean up crew melts the lock-down paint from his left elbow and back.

The third round?

Oh the third round was just a shit show.

Agent Texas was already enough of a threat on her own. But with Omega? She was borderline unstoppable. She beats the shit out of them. One on one like this, they had no real chance. Hell, Wau is proud that they’d managed to land a shot on her. The paint restricts her wrist movement…it also makes one hell of a club that she uses to knock Maine senseless.

Wau gets him steady just in time to stare down the barrel of Tex’s pistol. The paint stings like a bitch, but there’s a sort of karma in the way the substance floods Maine’s helmet.

Well…two outta three ain’t half bad.

---

Their first mission back starts with a call for backup.

Wau acknowledges the ping. Maine, ready up.

Mhmm. He slips on his helmet, grabbing his bruteshot. The agent quickly gets into the launch pod, letting the restraints lock him into place.

Wau wasn’t fond of enclosed spaces. But they had a job to do. He mimics something he’d seen North and York do prior to missions. He butts his helmet against Maine’s visor. He’s not sure why he did. Just seemed right. The AI is about to apologize when he feels a warm blush of fondness blooming in the back of the man’s mind.

He liked it…huh. Wau didn’t expect that.

The door to the pod hisses shut, and the floor drops out, releasing the pair. Wau keeps Maine from feeling nauseous. It only takes a few seconds before they hit the ground.

As the pod opens, Wau hears the gunfire pause. Then he feels a surge of anger from his host. Glancing in front of them, he spots him.

A tall Insurgent. Broad shouldered and relatively minimal armor.

It only takes a moment for Wau to figure out who this is. He crackles into view, gesturing at him. “He’s the one that shot your throat out, right?”

Yes. Maine snarls.

“Ah. Well I’ll leave it to you then. Make it hurt.” Wau blinks out of sight, relishing in the knowledge that they now had the opportunity to get revenge.

Maine grabs a Warthog, his muscles bunching as he lifts it. It’s heavy but nothing he can’t handle. The agent throws it into the fray, scattering several enemies and leaving the sleeveless one alone.

There’s no need for anything fancy. The man tries to throw a left hook, but Wau quickly calls it so Maine can snatch his fist.

His agent’s fingers curl tightly, and he raises his arm. With lethal force, he brings it down like a hammer. The man’s helmet pops off from the force, and the Insurgent crumples. His skull is caved in, blood oozing from his eye socket.

Maine gives a satisfied hiss.

Good riddance. Wau agrees. His radar alerts him to others. Eyes up, we’ve got company.

They fight well, but are taken by surprise when they learn about what happened to C.T. once the smoke clears.

That conversation would have to wait. They still had clean up duty.

---

I…I can’t believe it. Wau finally says once they’re back in the comfort of Maine’s room.

C.T.? The soldier asks, glancing away from his book. He’s in his bunk, icing a slightly swollen ankle.

Yeah. She was always a good agent. The AI mimics pacing, nervously looping a path along Maine’s chest. She cared about all of you a lot.

Not your job to figure out why she went rogue. His agent points out.

What if it is though? I’m the one who keeps us safe. I’m supposed to know when something is going to happen. It’s what I’m made for! Wau sparks, anxiety rising.

Wau.

What?!

A heavy hand settles in his path. Not that it could physically stop him, but the meaning was clear. Settle. You’re getting into your own head again.

Wau drags his hands over his helmet, a frustrated squawk escaping him. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to lose you .

A raspy chuckle echoes in the small space. You say that like it’s a possibility.

It is. Wau grunts flatly.

I’m not letting anyone take you from me, Wau. Maine brushes a knuckle over the edge of his holoform. They’d have to kill me to get you.

The AI pauses, leaning into a touch he can’t feel. No matter how badly he wants to. Oh how he wants to… That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Maine. What happens if I can’t keep you safe?

Not going to lie to you. Death is always a risk. I’m a soldier, Wau. I knew what I signed on for. The man continues to soothe his AI. But I’m pretty tough. Also have the best battle buddy to watch my back.

If Wau could blush, he most certainly would be. His projection flickers, and he reaches out to touch the man’s scarred throat. You are pretty hard to kill…

The pair go silent for a few minutes. They simply bask in their company, listening to the ambient sounds of the Mother of Invention as she slips through space. It’s Wau who breaks it.

Maine?

Hm?

I’ve known you for a while now. Shit he doesn’t know what to say. He should shut up.

The man glances at him, waiting for the AI to continue. He was surprisingly patient when he wanted to be.

I think this started before I was yours… Fuck, no shut up! Back when I was with Carolina? Stop it damn it!

Why did Maine have to have such soft eyes when he looked at Wau? Distracting, that’s what he was. He was a-

Distraction. I just thought I was getting sidetracked…but it was always when I thought about you. Why won’t you shut the fuck up, you idiot!

I distract you? There’s a thread of amusement in his tone. That doesn’t help deal with this at all. If anything, it just flusters the AI more.

Yeah. My thoughts kept drifting back to you. Drove Carolina up a wall… Don’t you dare say it! She called it a crush.

Wau wants to die. He couldn’t stop talking, try as he might. He was about to ruin everything with his host. What kind of AI had feelings for a human? It was fucking stupid. He was fucking stupid.

I told her she was reading too much into it. Don’t even think about it. But she was right…I think I’ve fallen in love with you.

Shit.

Shit!

That’s it, he’s going to be taken out for repairs, be reset so he can’t remember anything-

Really? Maine asks. His tone isn’t angry, or disgusted…it’s curious. Not just curious, there’s something more there…

Yeah. I’m sorry…I don’t expect you to feel the same. I just-...I wanted you to know. Everything feels like it’s about to fall apart, so I…I needed you to know. Wau admits softly.

Maine sits up, cupping his hands to cradle the AI’s holoform. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Don’t be sorry. You can’t help how you feel.

Wau braces for the inevitable rejection.

I feel the same way.

…What?

…You’re teasing me. Wau accuses him mildly. He knows full well that the man is telling the truth. He just doesn’t know how to handle it.

I’m not. Maine shakes his head. I’m not really…good with feelings. Not good at showing affection…but I know that I’ve always liked you more than I probably should. If you were human, I’d have asked you out months ago.

I can’t be human, Maine…

I know. But I’m not sure it really matters. Not when you feel the same way. Maine brings Wau close, gently pressing the AI against his jaw. An attempt at an embrace, if he was guessing right. I love you too, Wau.

It’s difficult to solidify his projection for a bit after that. Wau distorts into a rolling ball of electricity and storm clouds.

Maine loved him.

Maine loved him.

And Wau loved Maine right back.

He manages to pull himself together, resting his hands on the soldier’s cheek. He wants to feel the warmth of his skin, if only for a moment…he wants to be human. If he was, he could sense the scrape of the stubble that dusts Maine’s chin. He could smell the regulation soap he uses. He could run his fingers over the man’s firm muscles…He could kiss him.

Yet here they were.

A man and his computer program.

Just having each other would be more than enough for Wau.

After all, he couldn’t do anything to change that…right?

[bloodmoon24]

do you know any cool zoology facts?

You might wanna sit down and have a snack for this

• That in lemur society, female lemurs are always the boss of the family (girl power)

• Red pandas aren’t related to anybody. They’re in their own family (and to anyone who says that red pandas are related to the giant pandas, they’re not related. Just because they have “panda” in the name, doesn’t mean that they’re related)

• In some birds, like a hummingbird, males are always a brighter color to attract mates, while the females are duller so that they can camouflage themselves to protect their nests

• There’s a cool lemur called an aye-aye that has a special long and skinny finger that they use to knock on wood on branches for echolocating any prey like maggots or other grub (try getting flipped off by them)

• A woodpecker’s tongue is SO long, it wraps around their skull (look it up. I’m not joking)

• A warthog and use their face as a shield to block off an entrance of their borrow, so that predators like lions can’t get through

• There’s a jellyfish called the immortal jellyfish that can live forever by turning itself back into a baby and repeats its whole life cycle

• As far as most people know, lions are the only wild cats that lives in a big social group

• Coyotes are very adaptable. They can adapt in any environment likes cities, the desert, the arctic, and in the forest

• Crocs, gators, and king cobras are cannibals

• Like with the lemurs (kinda), female praying mantis are VERY larger than the males, and since they’re bigger, they’re way too heavy and the males have the ability to fly. And they both eat their prey head first. Same goes to the females after they mated with the males

• To anybody that didn’t know, a narwhal’s horn is actually a tusk, like an elephant or a warthog

• All raptors are closely related to the dinosaurs

* Gars specifically have been around since the dinosaurs

And that’s all the zoology facts that I have for you. I’ll let you know if I have some more awesome and cool facts about animals

[threshergm]

My Halo: The Series pitch The Silver Timeline 2.0 Character Notes

I was generally pretty satisfied with what we got in season 2, but after a lifetime of watching sci-fi television, I know it could have been so much better. So I decided to take a crack at writing Halo: The Series my own self.

I had three goals in writing this.

Preserve as many of the actors and characters from the OG Silver Timeline as possible.

More closely adhere to the story elements of the core canon than the OG Silver Timeline did.

Make the Halo universe accessible to people who have never picked up a video game controller in their lives, while also not pissing off the long-time fans.

A point that I disagree with from many longtime fans of Halo is that they ought to be the "main audience" of any Halo adaptation for TV. But I disagree with that. Any "main audience" for a successful TV series has to be the average TV viewer. We therefore need to make the story of Halo accessible to the average viewer.

What I came up with was something of a cross between Halo, Stargate: SG-1, and the 2003 Battlestar Galactic reboot; and I think it satisfies all three of my goals above.

The biggest single change to my characters is that THERE ARE NO STUPID PELLETS IN THIS UNIVERSE. The Spartans are still going to be confronted with their humanity, but the narrative mechanism driving this will be something that actually happens in the core lore: the Spartan program being made public later in the war for morale reasons.

Silver Team

The Master Chief [Pablo Schreiber] - He's an amalgamation of the John we see in OG Silver Timeline season 2, plus a heavy leavening of the books. He's laconic, but not the silent protagonist of the games. Like most Spartans, he struggles to socialize with anyone outside the immediate sphere of their operations. But due to his exploits and leadership, he's looked up to and we see him become the legend he's regarded as by the rest of humanity.

PO3 Kai-125 [Kate Kennedy] - She's Kelly's personality, Linda's job, and Kurt's amiable gregariousness. She's Silver's sniper and secondary medic. Definitely the most human of the Spartans of Silver Team. Silver will wordlessly drop into a trench filled with beleaguered Marines, while Kai will grin behind her helmet and shout, "Morning, boys!" We'll see her lifting Warthogs on a bet, playing knife games with Marines, and even flirting playfully. We'll also see her crying quietly in a deserted compartment, after those Marines are killed on a mission. "If we can't protect them, what good are we?"

LTJG Vannak-134 [Bentley Kalu] - He's basically Fred. Dry and acerbic wit, but frequently unintentionally charming. Silver's deputy leader. The most Spartan-like of the Spartans, but with a very soft spot for kids. Team demolitions and heavy weapons expert. Giving him Jorge's backstory here; he's from Reach and speaks Hungarian. He'll have Jorge's death, too. There should be a subtle-but-obvious something going on between him and Riz. Lots of meaningful glances and lingering touches.

WO2 Riz-028 [Natasha Culzac] - Linda's personality and Kelly's job. She's the intelligence and communications specialist for Silver Team and primary medic. She's the most socially awkward of the Spartans, but probably the most hungry for human interaction; she just doesn't know how to be around non-Spartans. Has her little quasi-relationship with Vannak and shares his soft spot for kids.

The Pillar of Autumn Crew

Captain Jacob Keyes [Danny Sapani] - CO of the converted colony ship the Pillar of Autumn. In his 50s and should be an admiral by now, but an unspecified scandal early in his career has kept him sidelined to backwater postings throughout the war. But he has his friends and allies still, not least of whom is his estranged wife Doctor Halsey. His daughter is his shipboard science officer, but that relationship is concealed from the audience for a while.

Commander Tom Lasky [Actor TBD] - Rescued by the Master Chief from the ruins of the Corbulo Academy of Military Sciences in the opening days of the war; represents those who grew up with the war, having never known service before the Covenant. He has absolute faith in the Master Chief. He's married to another UNSC officer, a Chyler Silva, serving at FLEETCOM on Reach.

LCDR Miranda Keyes [Olive Gray] - Science officer aboard the Pillar of Autumn and only child of Captain Keyes and Doctor Halsey. Goes by the last name of Keyes, but can sometimes have a strained relationship working under her father. Torn between her innate aptitude for science and the desire to be a serving line officer and command warships like her father.

Cortana [Jen Taylor] - Ostensibly a gift from Doctor Halsey to look after her estranged husband and daughter, Cortana's real mission is to find evidence in the Outer Colonies of Halsey's hoped-for "latchkey discovery" that can turn the tide against the Covenant. Initially willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to obtain leads or the thing itself, she quickly learns to value her crew and humanity at large, and isn't willing to spend lives unless absolutely necessary.

Marines and ODSTs

Sergeant Major Avery Johnson [Bokeem Woodbine] - Senior NCO for the regular Marine battalion we see deployed groundside in the pilot episode; he takes on the same job for the scratch combined Marine/ODST force aboard the Pillar of Autumn after the evacuation from. Brash, boisterous, and always joking; he's pretty much game and book Johnson. Often comic relief and always quick with a one-liner.

Corporal Talia Perez [Cristina Rodlo] - The everyman character meant to be the audience viewpoint and represent the lower enlisted ranks. A wide-eyed draftee private when we first meet her, she spends a lot of time as a fire team leader and we watch her grow into a hardened Marine. A devout Catholic and extremely virtuous; everyone's little sister and her fellow Marines are extremely protective of her. Absolutely going to be the one we torment the most, mostly to take advantage of Rodlo's acting range.

Major Antonio Silva [Anson Mount] - Commanding Officer of an ODST company, absolutely hates the Spartans due to a fatal incident between some of his men early in his career and a teenage John-117. Old buddy of Ackerson, but possibly an asset of Parangosky. Playing both sides. Definitely not a white hat, but he has his reasons.

WO Carol Rawley aka "Foehammer" [Actor TBD] - Dropship pilot of Pelican Echo-419. NEEDS FURTHER DEVELOPMENT.

The Covenant

Makee aka "The Reclaimer" [Charlie Murphy] - Abducted early in the war (probably from Harvest) at the age of 6, she was raised up in the Covenant religion and is a true believer. As such, she hates her humanity, and her arms and thighs are covered with cutting scars. To the Covenant, she's a "Reclaimer" or "Blessed One," told that she alone can activate Forerunner technology. It's a lie, meant to allow the Prophets to make use of her in the least politically and theologically damaging way possible. Her one friend is Fleetmaster Var 'Gatanai, whom is responsible for her.

Fleetmaster Var 'Gatanai [Actor TBD] - Commander of the Fleet of Solemn Accord, primary artifact hunters for the Covenant. Is a respected leader amongst the Covenant and one rung below the High Council. Commands over 100 ships and thousands of troops. Often personally leads ground troops in the field. Is rare among high-ranking Sangheili in that he has only one wife. Honorable warrior, and a believer in the Great Journey, but not a vicious fanatic. Has a daddy-daughter relationship with Makee.

Commander Rtas 'Vadumee aka "Half-Jaw" [Actor TBD] - Fleetmaster Gatanai's right-hand Elite and all around bad-ass. Commands special operations troops. Lost half his mandibles to a bare-miss by a Spartan sniper some years ago. Doesn't hold a grudge.

Prophet Truth [Actor TBD] - Complete cynic, master politician, and absolute asshole.

Back on Reach

Colonel James Ackerson [Joseph Morgan] - A career soldier who went intelligence later in the war after leading Ranger units against both Insurrection and Covenant. A dick, but not without a heart, and certainly not a coward. He genuinely believes that humanity can fight the Covenant to a standstill - if they use the right tools in the right way. He sees Halsey's Spartan-2s as a waste of resources; techno-saviors too precious to risk, when humanity needs effective soldiers it can spend. Hence his Spartan-IIIs [which are teenage volunteers, not children].

Doctor Catherine Halsey [Natascha McElhone] - The self-loathing genius polymath who oversaw the creation of the Spartan-2s because she saw no other option. ONI was going to have its super-soldiers one way or another, and wanted automatons at that. At least she was able to fight for them and help them retain some of their humanity. Lingering guilt over this is probably why she treats the Spartans like they're her children - and why she's estranged from her actual daughter Miranda and husband Jacob. Politically, Halsey knows that the Covenant can't be beaten in the traditional sense of the term, and that humanity's only hope is a so-called Latchkey Discovery - something out there in the black that will change the game and give us the edge. She believes that Halo is that very thing, and that we have to find it first or else all is lost. And she's right.

Admiral Parangosky [Shabana Azmi] - She's the unaccountable, power mad spook; the very personification of the State run amok. Charming, quiet, almost grandmotherly - and utterly amoral in her pursuit of power for herself and ONI. It is not at all clear if she cares whether or not humanity survives the process. But at the same time, not ineffective in Humanity's defense.

Admiral Hood [Keir Dullea] - The poor bastard at the top of the heap, overseeing a losing war, and trying to keep all the plates spinning. A professional Navy man to the core, he's just trying to keep humanity alive. Wherever he throws his weight behind is the faction in the Reach/Earth political dog fight that will win.