gunsforhire | Log: takeout appreciation night

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Log: takeout appreciation night

Who: Agent Washington and Oquirrh
What: A date and some reveals
Where: Washington's old apartment, now a safehouse
When: Saturday evening, 5/30
Warnings: Secrets have been kept. Potential language or temper tantrums

Out of all the things Wash has cleaned lately, cleaning the old apartment in preparation for Takeout Appreciation Night has been Wash's favorite. It was the biggest job by far, but once the roaches were swept away, dust eliminated, and furniture arranged, the apartment looked almost cozy, if slightly bare. He was never in it long enough to do full-scale interior decorating.

After the cleaning was done, Wash went to get the takeout. This time, it was quasi-Chinese: several paper cartons of noodles, stir fried vegetables, and teriyaki chicken. It wasn't the most creative of takeouts, but it was safe, and he knew the food was good. After all, who doesn't like takeout Chinese?

Now, he's waiting. The couch is set (after all, takeout should always be eaten on a couch), movies are selected if necessary, and he's all showered and dressed and ready to start. And oh, is he ready to start.

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"Don't worry about it," he says. He hopes that's what she's worried about, and not something more serious. She seems to be relaxing now, though, so that's good.

"Do you want some help carrying the takeout up? It's a couple flights of stairs and the elevator doesn't really work."

"Sure," she says. Not because she needs help, but her hands are full and she can't take his hand in hers if she's carrying the food. She offers the plastic takeout bag to him, keeping the knitting at her side. "Thanks for offering. Elevators can be a menace, can't they?"

He takes the bag in one hand, and Oquirrh's hand in the other, lacing his fingers around hers. "The worst," he agrees, nudging the door open with his side. "We're not quite sure if the thing ever worked here, though. It's possible that it might've been placed as a really elaborate practical joke to the tenants."

Oh, he's good. Or he wanted the same thing that she did, which is just as important. She lets him lead her inside. "Have you lived here long?" she asks. "That could be one way to know, maybe? It sounds like a game one of those corporate landlords might play."

"Nope, I was only here a few months before I moved to--" he nearly says 'the base,' but then decides against it. He doesn't want to give away his permanent residence if they're not supposed to talk about work. "Where I'm staying now," he finishes.

She catches the pause and feels a twinge of guilt. "It sounds like you liked this place enough to keep it, elevator notwithstanding," she says. "And I'm glad we can have somewhere to ourselves, you know?"

They'll talk about the base later.

He smiles. "Exactly. I knew I kept it for a reason." Because he totally planned on bringing chicks back here after he left it. Yup. It's a real chick pad, or whatever these places are called.

He takes the stairs two at a time, excited.

"It's so thoughtful of you." His excitement is contagious. She matches his pace, grateful that she has been practicing running stairs. Not that he's too fast. She's just grateful to be able to keep up.

"And having a place to yourself is probably really nice if you ever want to get away from your team."

"Yeah, it is, although I really don't like leaving them for too long." Otherwise, next thing you know, there's a dick vacuumed in the carpet. Wash slides the handles of the bag over his wrist so he can reach into his pocket, grab the key, and unlock the door. "It's, uh, not much but it is private."

"You must have a good team," she says. "And they're lucky to have you." She only wishes she could be part of it.

"Hey, I used to spend four days per week in a reclaimed storage lodge in the mountains. This will be great for just us."

Lucky's one word for it, Wash thinks, as the image of York slumped across the wall, gasping for air flashes across his mind. C'mon, Wash. Forget about this. Try to separate date night from work

"Yeah, it might even be a little bigger," he jokes as he sets her takeout down next to his.

"It certainly feels more cozy." She brushes shoulders with him. "So, are you hungry?"

She really, really needs to talk, but food comes first. She wants to keep him smiling while she can.

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road." He shifts a little bit, slightly uncomfortable. How does he breach this without making Oquirrh upset?

"So, uh, I really, really hate having to do this, but I'm gonna,,,have to go at eight." He shrugs sheepishly. "Just got a call from a teammate and I swear I wouldn't do this if it wasn't an emergency but they need me there and I can't exactly say no but I really don't wanna leave you and..." he trails off.

"Is York okay? Florida said he was still having trouble breathing."

It has to come up eventually, and he just gave her the perfect opening. If she doesn't take it now, she isn't sure she'll find the courage to do so again.

"Yeah, he--" Wash frowns. "You talk to Florida?"

"Yeah," she says. "It's. Well. It's complicated." She looks mournfully at their food. "Can we sit down and talk for a minute?"

This isn't good. This isn't good at all. "Of course," he says, taking her hand again and pulling her towards the couch. There are plates and forks sitting at the table in front of them, but Wash doesn't feel hungry anymore. He's too worried. Worried about York, about Oquirrh, and about what she's going to say to him.

Oquirrh sits beside him and takes a deep breath to steady herself. "You've probably figured this out already," she says, "but--the teammate I've told you about is the person who raided your base last night."

Who nearly killed Washington's best friend. She can't meet his eyes. "I didn't know until Louisiana brought him back to base, Wash. I swear. And I never told you who I worked for because this wasn't supposed to happen."

Her voice catches. No, this is no time to cry. She's not trying to evoke sympathy. And yet, when she whispers "I hate working for Control," the tears come anyway.

Wash wants to meet her eyes, to look directly at her and tell her that everything's going to be okay. That they'll get through this. God, does he want to. Oquirrh has been the best part of his entire life. Someone easy to talk to, to laugh with, who actually enjoys being with him and doesn't think he's just some kid. He loves her, from the way her eyes watch the world to the way her fingers move when she knits and they way they feel in his hand, to the sound of her voice.

But he remembers York's bruises, and the shipping crate with blood on the inside. Control has hurt his friends, and even he couldn't stop it. And that feeling makes him sick. She can't be one of them. She's not like one of them. She's a good person, not a cold, droning killer for some bureaucracy out in Armonia.

He doesn't know what to say, so he just squeezes her hand tightly, forcefully, and tries to process the information.

She's so nervous when he doesn't say anything, when he squeezes her hand harder than ever before, that the words come out in a rush.

"I want to get out," she tells him. "They're doing this because they can't control Louisiana. It's not fair. For her, for Florida, for you--"

She finally summons the courage to look at his hands, at least. "So I did my job. I patched Jersey up. And I--I called Florida, Wash. As of this morning, I work for him, too.

"It doesn't fix what happened. And it doesn't make it right. If you're mad at me, I'll--I'll go. I won't hurt you anymore.

"Or I'll stay. I'll answer every question you have, honestly and completely. Because I'm sick of Control trying to tell us how to live, and because I--"

She can't say she loves him. Not after all of that. It would be manipulative and cruel, and he doesn't deserve it.

He doesn't want her to go. He knows that much, at least. He doesn't know what to do, what to stay, but he doesn't want her to leave him, and he doesn't want to leave her. He just hopes he doesn't have to.

She works for Florida now? At least the man can take care of himself. There's the cynic inside him that says, how do you know you can trust her, Wash? She might be getting Intel from Florida directly to the grubby hands of Control. How do you know that all of this, this dating, wasn't just a way to get more information? After all, it always felt too good to be true.

But she sounds honest. Wash knows how hard it is to lie, and unless she's been rehearsing the whole thing, she's probably telling the truth...

Eventually, he manages to whisper, "I just really, really want to be able to trust you."

"I would do anything to prove it to you," she admits. "Tell you anything I know, go anywhere to get anything. I--"

She bites back a scream of frustration. "This wasn't supposed to happen! I cared about you because you were kind to me. I didn't know who you were. I didn't want to believe it when L told me. Maybe I was stupid to think that this could work out anyway."

She's sobbing. This is humiliating, and it would serve her right if he threw her out.

Well, she's definitely not faking. But he hates seeing her like this. He hates what they've done to her. She's just as much a victim of control as his friends are, if not even more so. Wash knows what Recovery would do. Recovery would march right out there and stick a knife in Control's metaphorical gut. But he's not Recovery, not now. He's Washington, and what matters most to him is his friends. His girlfriend.

So he leans into her, and pulls her into a hug. He's not the greatest with words right now, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to try.

"We're just..going to have to work a little harder. And be really, really careful. So no one gets hurt." Not his teammates, and especially not her.

Oquirrh sinks into his arms and sobs against his shoulder. His embrace is the last thing she dared to hope for. And though her tears soak his shirt, she doesn't try to pull away.

"Yeah," she says. "Except Control. I gave Florida the information of all their contacts in this city. Not sure they're going to be safe." Not that she can bring herself to care. Not about some Control grunt who might be spying on them.

"He's getting me a new helmet. And he wants me to meet your team. If you're okay with it." She won't force herself into his world. He doesn't deserve that. But she wants to join it so badly that she aches.

Okay with it? In any other situation, he'd be ecstatic. Right now, he's just an odd mix of happy and relieved and still a little confused. But if Florida's helping her out, then she's definitely serious about leaving Control. You don't seek out Florida's help lightly.

"I think you'd fit right in," he says, not letting go. He doesn't care if his shoulder gets wet, that doesn't matter. What matters is that they can pull through this. They have to. There's no other choice.

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