gunsforhire | Log: Seeing Double

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Log: Seeing Double

Who: Wash (OU) and Wash (Native), and Open!
What: Wash visits the Pet Centre from some kitten time and meets a familiar face.
Where: The Pet Centre
When: November 11th, afternoon
Warnings: Kittens and cuteness

He had taken York's suggestion that he visit the pet centre. He still had work to do to get certified and right now, he needed a distraction. And honestly, kittens were a good distraction. The place needed people to play with them, help socialise them, Wash could do that, and it didn't require him to interact with people much either.

He's been let in to one of the pens to play with some of them, sitting cross legged on the floor while the kittens climb and play around him and over him sometimes. One of them, a tiny little calico has curled up in his lap and gone to sleep.

It's soothing. They make him feel better, even if it's just a temporary fix.

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Wash catches that movement and his eyes narrow. He is, frustratingly, entirely unarmed. Hadn't thought that he would need it. That was probably stupid of him. Even with the cat on his lap though, he's eyeing the other man up. He looks younger, and he thinks that he might be bigger, probably from the armour. Maybe he could take him.

"Not here you won't," Wash replies, taking a gamble. "Too public. And it would traumatise the cats." Which was obviously the most important thing right now.

"I'm Agent Washington of the UNSC. I'm not working for Control. I'm just-" The kitten on his lap squirms and stirs, stretching out and kneading at his leg for a moment. "Call York. He has a better idea of what's going on than I do."

Washington. Of course. Not only do they have to look identical, they have to have the same name, too. It's like he's staring at some kind of awful, bitter soldier version of himself. Like an alternate universe, or something else that's equally as fucked-up. Judging by the look of...other Washington (and god, it's weird to even think that phrase) the military wasn't too kind to him. At least Wash made the right choice in not getting involved in that mess.

It would traumatized the cats. His other self is right. But Wash has seen his loved ones be fucked over too many times by Control that he would do anything to stop them at this point. "I don't play games with Control."

Wash scowls. He knows he should call York, but honestly, he doesn't want to follow this man's orders. But if anyone can explain this, it seems like York can, and Wash needs some pretty hefty explanation right about now.

"I will. And we'll see if your story holds true."

"I'm not Control," Wash says firmly. "York already warned me against them." And really, if it was some kind of messed up plot, involving, what? Clones? If they're that competent then he hopes they'd make someone who looks more accurate. He knows that he looks a fucking mess.

"If it helps, he said it was like the Spartan. Noble Six, I think he said she was called."

Wash sighs and relaxes slightly, running his hand through his hair. This is too much. First a kidnapping, then Lou leaves, and now this?

"Great. That's real nice." He looks up at the other man. "I probably don't need to introduce myself."

Agent Washington of the UNSC, meet the Agent Washington of Adaptive.

He's still on edge, not content to trust that he's out of the woods yet, even when the other Wash relaxes. York will back him up, right? Won't he? And yet once that thought has come, it won't stop, cascading through his mind in splintering patterns outward. York has no reason to help him, and he'd been abandoned before. Why not now?

So he watches the other man warily, and extricates himself from the kitten. "I think I can hazard a guess." It's easy to slip back into an older mindset. After all, he's only been here for a few days. He's been someone colder and harder for a hell of a lot longer. It's like pulling on his armour.

Edited 2015-11-12 01:18 (UTC)

He's not sure why his other self is so cold. Wash understands that they're both tense. Wash wants to run, to stick a knife though something, to do anything beyond just standing there, perplexed. But the other Wash's time goes beyond just shock or frustration. Something has happened to him, something awful. Wash has seen that tired, practically broken look on his own face before, but it seems to be permanently engraved in the other man's face.

He steps forward, hesitantly. "I'm. Not going to hurt you, probably. And I think you'd be able to guess all my moves, anyway. But.."

But what the hell happened, other Washington? And why are you here?

He stands up, draws himself to his full height and faces the other man. He's still braced for an attack, no matter what the other him says, and while he's not trying to be hostile, his stance is still ready for a fight.

Did he really ever look that young? He can't imagine it now. Maybe it's there in the fractured remains of some of his memories, but he's never felt the need to look there, to try to reconstruct them. It's not him anymore.

"But?"

How do you tell yourself that you look, well, wrong? That whatever happened to you wasn't supposed to be? Wash hopes it wasn't supposed to happen, at least. He left home so he wouldn't be a harsh, angry soldier. He didn't want to be a weapon, a pawn to be directed by his father.

Did other Washington never get the chance?

It's all Wash can do to remain calm when his double rises. He can't tense up again. He can't initiate a fight. That's not going to fix anything. And there's a lot that needs fixing.

Wash takes a deep breath. "You look like...fuck, Washington, you look like you've been through, like, six wars. I mean, you -- we -- know how to smile, but even around the cats, you just look. I don't know. Sad." Wrong.

He isn't sure why it grates on him now more than it had when York had said the same thing, or even Church. He knows that he looks like hell. He know that he's a mess of scar tissues and shattered memories held together by spite. But faced with this version of him, not innocent, but happy, unbroken... it feels like a failure.

"I enlisted as soon as I was old enough. We've been at war that entire time."

Wash has never been so glad that he left home when he did, that he became a mercenary instead of a soldier. But there's still that hollow feeling in his gut, a kind of survivor's guilt that he can't quite place. There's no reason for him to think that he should be more battle-worn, but how come he got off more or less scot-free, and his double didn't?

Unless there's something terrible happening that he just hasn't seen yet.

Still. Must have been a pretty terrible war. "At least you don't have to fight, not right now. Not for a while yet, if you don't want to." Wash doubts that his double knows any life other than fighting at this point, though.

There's an odd sort of resentment in it when he faces his double. For not having seen his team die, for not having had Epsilon kill itself in his head. But it's worry too. Part of him wants to take the other by the shoulders and shake him and warn him until he realises what could happen, what has happened. But he just... He can't. Not yet. Maybe it never will, even if York has lost an eye here. Different circumstances, right?

"I've been here two weeks and it's driving me crazy. I'm bad with downtime." Too much time to think and there's always the worry of what he will uncover.

Edited 2015-11-14 22:13 (UTC)

"Downtime," Wash muses. He's almost forgotten what downtime felt like. Mercenary life is never what anyone would call quiet, but ever since they got into that mess with Control, things have been especially hectic. Florida's disappearance, York's coma, and then Sigma's kidnapping...it's been crazy for sure.

"I mean, this place is always looking for volunteers, but I don't think it's gonna give you the excitement you're looking for." Besides. This is his shelter. He was here first.

"I don't like it." He didn't like the time to think. He didn't like not having something to distract himself from everything going on in his head.

"Already got plans. Going to certify as a mercenary. Should keep me occupied."

Wash nods. Honestly, his other self looks more like a mercenary than he does. He supposes the job is fitting.

"You know what you're going to specialize in?"

Specialisation. That was a thing that had come up. He shrugs though, dismissive. "I'm a soldier. I already kill people for a living and recover things that can't fall into enemy hands."

Wash frowns. No, his double got it wrong. He's got fighting wrong, he's got recovery wrong. Doesn't he remember?

"No, you're not a soldier to kill people. We -- you never wanted to kill people. That's not why you enlisted at all. You wanted to help people, remember? I know you did." That's got to be the same between their universes. "And fighting for something right, for other people, was something you knew how to do."

"I was an idiot," Wash replied harshly. "I thought I was being a hero. Fighting the Covenant. Saving humanity. We all did." Wanting to save people. That hadn't ended well. "The last person I tried to save shot me in the back and left me for dead. The Project I gave my life to because I thought it was the right thing, fucked me over." He reaches up without thinking, rubbing the back of his neck through the scarf.

"You weren't and idiot," Wash retorts. Because if his twin's past self was an idiot for believing those things, what does that make him? He isn't even fighting within the legal limits -- he's a mercenary, for chrissakes.

That's an interesting gesture, and one that Wash knows he doesn't make. "What, shot you in the back and gave you some kind of spinal injury? Man, I'm sorry, but that still doesn't have to change who you are. As a person."

He swears it still itches sometimes, like he can feel Epsilon's chip implanted and all he can do is claw at it and try to get it out. "Nothing permanent. I recovered eventually. And then I killed her when I found her." Because she would have got in the way. She couldn't be trusted.

"Maybe. If she'd been the first to stab me in the back. She just did it in a more literal way."

The injury might not be permanent, but it's obvious that the effects are. But they don't have to be, right? The fact that he killed her, that he took revenge that far, is unsettling. Wash wants to think that he'd never do something like that, but the truth is, he's not so sure.

Revenge can be a tempting thing.

"The first?" Maybe if he understands his double's circumstances better, he might be able to help his other self. Or run far, far away, depending on how bad the story is.

He's silent for a long moment, just looking at his double. He hadn't told York the full details. Maybe he should have. Made sure there was no chance for anyone to get attached.

"They abandoned me," he says finally. "My team. Everyone who I'd trusted my life to betrayed me or left me for dead."

Oh.

What do you say to that? Wash feels bad for his double, terribly so, but also a little worried. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the team that abandoned the other Wash consisted of the other York, the other Maine, and the other North. But his friends here wouldn't leave him, right? They're not fighting a war.

Except, of course, now that Control is here, they are.

"I'm sorry," he manages at last. "And there was...no way around it?"

He gives a noise of derision at the apology and turns away, back towards the cats. Maybe it's stupid turning his back on someone who's armed, or maybe it's more of an insult to the other Wash that he's not afraid to do it.

"They broke back in to rescue that stupid goddam AI. North left me in the med wing. And none of them... not one of them came back for me."

If it is an insult, then Wash doesn't take it as such. He still tries to believe in the best in people, even the older, disillusioned version of himself.

That Ai? "The Ais aren't its, though. They're people. And we've had successful rescue missions with them so far." Rescuing Sigma might have been emotionally compromising, but everyone made it out alive.

"Not 'Ai'. AI. Artificial Intelligence. But yes them too." They'd run to protect their AIs but left him locked away having his head fucked with.

So, in the other Wash's world, the Ais are...basically robots? This gets stranger and stranger.

"Well, our Ais aren't artificial, so that's gotta be comforting, right? Less likely they'll cause the same damage."

"Maybe. Don't know. With their weird eyes. That's not normal." Not where he's from anyway. And who the hell names their kids Alpha et al?

"We thought Tex was a person too for a long time."

"It's probably an effect of the atmosphere," Wash counters. "We get a lot of mutations here."

He shakes his head. Nope, the Ais are definitely people. Maine and York have more than verified that. "No way, man, York has not been, you know, doing it with a robot."

He snorts at that, gives his double a derisive look. But there's a kitten crawling out towards him and that's a better thing to focus on. He crouches down and picks it up, pretending that he's completely fine.

"Sigma." There's a note of deep distaste when he says it. "He said."

"Yeah," Wash says, defensive. "Sigma. And he's a good guy. Would do anything for his family, for York." Has done, but Wash isn't going to get into that. That's personal, and he doesn't think this Wash would be too receptive to it.

God, Wash hopes he never winds up being this much of a jerk.

"It's the 'doing anything' part that should be a worry," Wash says sharply.

He turns his head, pressing a kiss against the kitten's fur when it crawls up and onto his shoulder. That at least gets a smile from him.

"What, and you've never gone to an extreme because you wanted to help the people you love? Because you cared?"

Wash scoffs. Really, is the only thing they have in common their love for cats? And basic facial features?

"Sure. It got me shot in the spine last time I tried to help someone." He keeps scritching the kitten, looking everywhere but at his other self. "Sigma destroyed Maine," he says more quietly. "Burned him up until he wasn't Maine anymore. Then made him kill Carolina."

Wash can't take his eyes off his other self, can't back down. Won't appear any lesser, even if he feels like the other man's weaker twin.

"Sigma would never," Wash says, quietly. "And Maine wouldn't do that, and shit, have you seen how good Carolina is? She'd never let that happen."

"I know what happened," he snapped, casting a glare at his double. "I know what Sigma did. Whatever that creature was, sure as hell wasn't Maine anymore. Even she can't survive having her head ripped open and being thrown off a cliff. Hunted down North and took Theta. Tried to kill me. A few times."

That can't be, Sigma would never, not ever...

Wash can't even process that, so instead he snaps back. "Be gentler with the cat. You don't get to mess with her, too."

"The cat is fine," he says. It's nuzzled against his shoulder. Warm.

"I don't need your approval," he adds. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe I was ever like this. No wonder they left." It's angry, hurt. He knows he shouldn't say it, but for a moment it's like looking at his younger self, the rookie who'd been left behind. A warning that he shouldn't ever make that mistake again.

And there it is. His other self has tapped into the thing Wash is afraid of the most. It's only a matter of time before York and Maine and everyone else realizes he'll never be as strong or tough or capable as them. Of course they'd abandon him. Of course. Wash's hands curl into fists, and if not for the cat, he'd punch his other self in the face.

"Takes one to know one," Wash says, cooly, and turns to leave. His other self can be abandoned one more time. See if Wash cares.

Wash just shrugs. "I know what I am." A killer. A monster. "I grew up. I survived. Heh. Not like any of the others can say that."

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Log: Seeing Double

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