gunsforhire | Log: All The Small Things

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Log: All The Small Things

Who: Wash (OU) and you!
What: Wash has completed his first job as a mercenary and is out to celebrate it
Where: Out and about in town, picking up some better equipment, and then to the Eagle and Asp for a drink
When: Afternoon to night 29/11
Warnings: None so far

It hadn't been the most glamorous of jobs, but any notion of glamour had been beaten out of him practically the day he'd enlisted. The important thing was that his first job as a registered mercenary had gone well and that was the first step to being able to take care of himself without having to rely on other people. Sure, it would take a few more jobs before he felt comfortable, but it was a start.

That was cause enough for celebration, right?

His first step is to head out to a supplier to stock up on equipment. Nothing fancy for now, but enough to get him started. A good gun or two, and a solid combat knife.

There's other things that he needs, an almost overwhelming amount, he realises now that he has the money to start thinking about it. Clothes that aren't fatigues or armour, and there's so many different kinds that it takes him far longer than it should to pick out what he needs.

And once that's done, he heads to the Eagle and Asp for a drink. It feels appropriate somehow.

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There's chatter from the doorway. Wash glances over with idle curiosity to see the people who've arrived. His expression sours immediately when he sees York and the other Wash, his body language tensing. He finishes his drink quickly, and straightens up, turning to leave. Manages to hear his double's words.

"Don't worry. I'm leaving."

That's a good start. And by good, he means terrible. Seriously? You think a guy would be able to get on with himself. Thought granted, if York met the him from Other Wash's world, he'd punch him for leaving that Wash. Hopefully after that, they'd be cool. Still.

'Nope.' He grabs Wash's wrist and drags him over to the bar next to Other Wash who he pushes back down with his free hand. 'Both of you, sit.'

Wash gives his double a steely glare, then gives York a slightly less mean but still angry look. He can't believe it. Wash knows better than go try to take York in hand-to-hand, especially here, but god, does he want to. Actually, Wash will settle for punching just about anything. Including his double.

"You're kidding," Wash deadpans. "What is this, Oprah?"

He bristles a little when York pushes him down, every line of his body taut and uncomfortable. When his double glares at him, Wash looks back, a flat, dead-eyed look. It's not malice, just coldness.

"We've all get better things to do."

'And you accuse me of liking things from the twentieth and twenty first century,' York mutters, shaking his head and ordering a bottle of Jack. 'Since we all decided to come to the bar of our own free will, I'm gonna say we don't.'

"I never said I liked it," Wash retorts. "I was making a point. Talk shows are ridiculous, anyway."

Wash makes a point of not looking at his double. Their last argument wasn't something he wants to repeat, but Wash doesn't exactly want to acknowledge his other self, either. It's a textbook example of ignoring one's problems, but right now, Wash doesn't care.

Fine. It isn't as though he wants to talk to his other self anyway. Not when he can see everything he's lost in him, and everything that could have been.

"Bars big enough for all of us without having to sit together."

'You're the one who wat-shes it regularly,' he points out, taking a sip of his drink. He's probably going to need this.

'True, but I want to sit with my two friends, and frankly, you two have had one meeting and it wasn't a good one, despite the cats. So try again.'

"I do not," Wash responds, flushed. There is no way he's gonna own up to that when his tougher self is in the room.

Yeah, and Wash is certain his double scared those cats. Stupid angry other self. He gives his twin a steely glance and a quick, sharp nod before turning back to York. "There."

"Give me strength," Wash mutters, rolling his eyes when the other Wash glares at him again. He leans his chin on his hand and stares steadfastly down at the bar, fiddling with his scarf with his free hand. This was not how he'd anticipated his evening going.

'Oh wow, what an effort,' he says with so much sarcasm, it could fill one of the pint glasses behind the counter. 'Seriously Wash, both of you, try.'

He is doing this for York. He is doing this for his best friend, not for the jackass across from him. Wash has to tell himself that over and over, so he doesn't punch his other self in the face.

He never knew his face was so punchable.

"Yeah. So. The weather's been. Pretty good."

"This is pointless," Wash says bluntly, ignoring his double and the sarcasm lacing his words. "I'm a monster, he's a- a child. This is never going to work."

He stands up quickly, pulling out a credit chip to pay for his own drinks.

Jesus Christ, it's like trying to get blood out of a couple of rocks. At least Wash is somewhat trying.

'Out of the four statements you just made, none of them were right,' he says. 'Sit back down, we're not done here.'

"Fuck you," Wash says, bluntly. Just because he's not a jaded asshole doesn't mean he's a child. Wash doesn't feel like one, anyway.

He sighs, and turns back to York. "What do you even hope to accomplish? That we'll be frolicking in the fields of friendship by the end of the night?" Cause that's not going to happen.

He's pretty certain he's right about them. Looking at his other self is painful. And knowing that he could end up like him eventually, with the wrong nudges. He doesn't sit down again, but folds his arms across his chest stubbornly, glaring at both of them. He's only here because he's indebted to York.

And yeah, York, what the hell are you hoping for? He's a lost cause. His double is already York's best friend. What's the point?

'That would require fields to frolic in and a very sudden and dramatic t-shange of heart from you both,' he retorts. 'This is going to take time, I get that. But you need to learn that he's not all bad and maybe get to understand the situation better so you can avoid ending up the same way. And you' he turns to the Other Wash 'hate yourself enough without adding the hate of another version of you. Things being like this isn't going to help anything, so why not try and make things better?'

Wash doesn't care about frolicking or making friends with his double, but he really, really doesn't want to be anything like the other Wash. He doesn't want killing and bitterness and a soldier-esque lifestyle to corrupt him, to make him into something he's not. Wash wants to be a good person, and it pisses him off that his double can't see that that's an important thing to be.

"Fine," he agrees at last, deflating a bit. "But I'm not sure if something like this gets better."

"Just what I want," Wash says bitterly, "to be a cautionary tale. I did what I had to stay alive."

He meets York's gaze stubbornly, jaw set. Because it's true. That's the worst thing. He does hate himself. He can't fix things at home. Finally he sits back down, still stubborn and sullen and angry.

Okay, so that was bad phrasing on his part. 'Sorry,' he says, running his hand through his hair. 'I know you did, I'm sorry. Just... this isn't going to help anyone, both of you being like this.' And he wants to help. He really does.

No, other self, you're not a cautionary tale. You're a fucking role model. The word choice doesn't bother Wash at all. It's the least-bullshitty thing that's been said all evening.

The thing is, the other Wash doesn't have to keep being a cautionary tale. The fact that he's so dead-set on it is pretty irritating. Wash sighs.

"And how can I help? I'm useless, remember?" Wash delivers the last sentence to his other self rather than to York. He's throwing his twin's hurtful words right back at him.

"Yes," Wash says bluntly and he turns to look his double square in the face. "You're a giant goddam neon sign over every way I failed and everything I fucking lost." He gives a soft laugh that's just a shade short of hysterical and definitely of arguable sanity. "And I don't know what's worse. Seeing you have everything I lost, or waiting around and wondering when you're gonna get fucked over too and I'll have to see myself break from the outside."

He hates it. He hates a lot of things, a low-burning fire that has kept him going. He'd had to become like this. It was the only way to survive. And going back isn't an option. But fuck, it hurts to see his past flung back at him.

'Whoa! Okay, time out!' This suddenly went way too far. Holy shit. 'Let's take a second to breathe, alright?' He runs one hand through his hair and resists the temptation to tug on it with frustration.

'Look, we're going to do everything we can to help you' he looks at Other Wash 'and make sure you' he looks back to Wash 'don't have to go through anything like that.' Sighing, he turns to Other Wash again. 'I can only imagine how difficult this is for you, but we want to help. Or I do, anyway.'

Wash's reaction isn't nearly as level-headed as York's. "What the hell do you want me to say? I'm sorry I'm not you?" Because Wash isn't sorry that he isn't his double, not one bit. Wash wants to believe he can still be a decent person, even if he is a mercenary.

The sight of his other self just reminds Wash how damn naive that idea is. How stupid he is.

He jerks around to face York and then turns back to face the bar, looking away from them both. This is awful. He wishes he'd left straight away. He can't do this. It's a terrible idea and he doesn't even deserve any kind of second chance. He digs his thumb into a groove in the wood of the bar, drags his nail along the length of it.

"I can't stop being who I am," he says flatly. "I can't be fixed. I'm sorry I'm a fucking awful person."

Log: All The Small Things

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