Ever since they were given free rein to move around the Cetagandan base, Wash has been eager to try and search around to find -- something, anything, to learn more, to piece together more information than what they had and what they were given. It's something to focus on, something to ground him while Wash goes over all the information he knows in his mind, wormholes and the possibility of alternate realities, travel across time as much as space. He hasn't really spoken to York about all of it yet, not because he doesn't trust him but because he doubts himself, because there's still that awful voice in that back of his thoughts telling him that maybe he's still in that prison cell muttering himself as the days go by, that maybe he's never left that hospital bed, because York is still dealing with the disorientation and pain from losing Delta, and because, well.
A lot has happened since then. So much has happened. There's so much he did, so much on his own hands, so many things he did wrong.
He'll need to talk to him eventually, but in the meanwhile both of them working together again is something surprisingly familiar and welcome, and it's funny how easily Wash finds himself falling back into old rhythms, just a year or two out for York ( perhaps, if he'd gotten it right in his head ), more than half a decade for him. Wash has changed a lot since then, and York has to notice, but he doesn't say too much about it, and Wash is -- grateful, for that.
Tonight they've snuck out from the exotics' living quarters again. They've started to learn their way around the base, and by day at least the soldiers are more or less happy to answer their more trivial questions, and Wash has already started to learn and map out some of the guard patrols. They'd been hoping to try and learn more about Cetagandan technology, this time round, with the vague lofty goal of maybe one day understanding it enough for York to safely tap into it somehow, but they're not getting anything done tonight. There are more patrols around than usual, and Wash is cursing under his breath, pressed against a wall, one raised hand to signal York behind him to wait as a guard patrol moves through in front of them.
They pass by without noticing them. Wash exhales, shaking his head slightly, making a mental note of their path, lowers his hand, turning back to briefly meet York's eye. He gestures him forward, turning the other way, not quite the way they'd meant to go, but with all these guards around doubling back towards the slightly less guarded mess building might be a good idea. They're about there, ducking into cover, when suddenly there's a loud blaring sound, shouting, bright lights. ]
-- An alarm. [ Not the most helpful observation. Wash curses under his breath, looks back at York. It wasn't them, it couldn't have been them -- there's something else happening, and out here is probably a bad place to be. ]
no subject
Ever since they were given free rein to move around the Cetagandan base, Wash has been eager to try and search around to find -- something, anything, to learn more, to piece together more information than what they had and what they were given. It's something to focus on, something to ground him while Wash goes over all the information he knows in his mind, wormholes and the possibility of alternate realities, travel across time as much as space. He hasn't really spoken to York about all of it yet, not because he doesn't trust him but because he doubts himself, because there's still that awful voice in that back of his thoughts telling him that maybe he's still in that prison cell muttering himself as the days go by, that maybe he's never left that hospital bed, because York is still dealing with the disorientation and pain from losing Delta, and because, well.
A lot has happened since then. So much has happened. There's so much he did, so much on his own hands, so many things he did wrong.
He'll need to talk to him eventually, but in the meanwhile both of them working together again is something surprisingly familiar and welcome, and it's funny how easily Wash finds himself falling back into old rhythms, just a year or two out for York ( perhaps, if he'd gotten it right in his head ), more than half a decade for him. Wash has changed a lot since then, and York has to notice, but he doesn't say too much about it, and Wash is -- grateful, for that.
Tonight they've snuck out from the exotics' living quarters again. They've started to learn their way around the base, and by day at least the soldiers are more or less happy to answer their more trivial questions, and Wash has already started to learn and map out some of the guard patrols. They'd been hoping to try and learn more about Cetagandan technology, this time round, with the vague lofty goal of maybe one day understanding it enough for York to safely tap into it somehow, but they're not getting anything done tonight. There are more patrols around than usual, and Wash is cursing under his breath, pressed against a wall, one raised hand to signal York behind him to wait as a guard patrol moves through in front of them.
They pass by without noticing them. Wash exhales, shaking his head slightly, making a mental note of their path, lowers his hand, turning back to briefly meet York's eye. He gestures him forward, turning the other way, not quite the way they'd meant to go, but with all these guards around doubling back towards the slightly less guarded mess building might be a good idea. They're about there, ducking into cover, when suddenly there's a loud blaring sound, shouting, bright lights. ]
-- An alarm. [ Not the most helpful observation. Wash curses under his breath, looks back at York. It wasn't them, it couldn't have been them -- there's something else happening, and out here is probably a bad place to be. ]