legionworld | Movie Night VI: Direct to DVD

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Movie Night VI: Direct to DVD

Who| Wash and anyone who wants to join
What| Movie night!
Where| The same lounge it's always in
When| After Time Ripples, Mind Slayer, and Wash Dies At The End
Warnings/Notes| Yet another classic!

It's been an odd few weeks, to say the least. Wash barely waits to be out of the hospital before he heads to the lounge to set up a movie night. He's had a request for a classic, and he'd managed to get in an order for the film before everything had gone batshit insane, so it's already arrived and he's just about ready to go.

The usual snacks and drinks are set up, along with a few mugs and goblets that are a little closer to theme. There's also the usual sofas and couches, draped with blankets and with bean bag chairs strewn around around the room. The usual sign hangs outside the door, with the movie's MPAA rating and a brief summary of the movie's plot, along with the usual note: Movie night is neutral territory.

The movie tonight, of course, is The Princess Bride.

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"Taylor."

His arms fold, but the look he gives him is almost one of pity. He wants to avoid the familiar steps to an old dance he's long fallen out of love with, fair enough, but...

"This is a big deal. Whether we pretend it isn't or not."

"Making a thing of it is where I go wrong. Always." The pattern tends to prove true and there's that flare of green that steady hand scraping through his hair to settle himself. He tries too hard or follows the wrong pattern or-

Something.

It is always something he fucks up in interpreting intent or desire and trying to keep up with expectations- falling in whatever with someone that has zero is a fucking blessing.

To that, he can't really say much, can he? York knows his way around relationships in a way he never really will. He can't offer reassurance, doesn't know what the future might hold, doesn't even really know for certain what it is York does feel.

So, instead, he continues walking. It appears he's been leading the way up to the Observation Deck, thankfully relatively empty around this time of 'night'.

"...I knew you didn't want to get involved with anyone. I won't ask you to if it's still something you don't want. You know this."

"For the longest time all I wanted was somewhere D and I would be safe." That's it. Something small and simple and utterly impossible back home- and yet here they are. "My metric for...wanting shit for me, not cuz I need it but cuz I want it, is kinda skewed."

The fact that he's still surprised he's got all this space for himself nowadays is more than proof enough of that. But. He falls in step, wandering up to the observation deck. The same place they met but now? Neither of them are in armor and he's the one feeling...guarded. "...I wouldn't be so scared if I didn't want to try."

And there it is. He does. It's fucking terrifying- but he does.

Somehow, being such a small speck in that vast sea of black and pinprick lights? It helps. It's grounding in a way he can't quite articulate. Humming quietly in thought, Locus finally pauses on the walkway, turning back towards York.

"Are you afraid I'll hurt you?"

"I have a history of people I put myself out for leaving." And there's Azucar. Sombra. That whole...aspect of the beach night they haven't talked about. She bails? She'll take Locus with her because...he needs someone and she's got him wrapped around her pinky finger.

Taylor needs the Legion, needs what it means he can do more than he needs either of them the same way they'd need each other. "It's not entirely unfounded."

And even if he doesn't. Even if he doesn't go with Sombra when she beckons, he'd go home to do what he has to done. To finish the task he'd given himself, to make things right. He can't stay with the Legion, not indefinitely. Not the way York has to, simply to exist.

"...it does complicate things."

"...you've got to go back eventually." To do...whatever it is he needs to do. Make things right. Be a better man than he'd been previously. He's got no such option aside from what's offered to him here.

He walks past Locus, leaning against the railing, not entirely unlike how he stood when they met. "It's not that I don't care about you. I do."

"It's that it will end. Eventually. Regardless if it goes well or poorly."

Locus watches him move towards the edge, the hunch of his back as he leans, and there's something odd. That ache again, but this time in something like sympathy. York's seen so many relationships end. Fail. Does 'ending' constitute a failure regardless?

And maybe there's just not enough left to give after that many attempts.

"Kinda tired of watching people walk away. Or. Kick me up an elevator shaft." Details. He feels tired down to his bones in a way he hasn't had to think about since all his life, all his world up till these past few months was focused on survival. Keeping his head down, keeping Delta safe.

A whole wide galaxy of possibility in front of him now and this one thing he might want? It'll end. It's finite. Most things tend to be but relationships with expiration dates do not go well in his experience. "I can't ask you to stay."

"...and I can't ask you to put yourself in that position again."

Well. That answers that, then. Rather definitively. It's not the answer he would have liked, not the answer he hoped for, but he understands. This is the painful part that York had hoped to avoid, simply by leaping ahead to all the familiar affections that came with being in a relationship.

But it would have surfaced, sooner or later.

"...You get where I was going now, wanting to skip this part?" Just. Dive into the fun, warm, comfortable part of being with someone and avoiding all this existential dread. The flirting, the fun, the casual camaraderie- it'd been nice for the half second he'd had it before Locus locked up and wondered what the fuck was going on.

Kind of impossible to reach for that now.

Doesn't stop him from turning enough to make room at his side, from extending an arm to Locus. Wiggle his fingers in a 'come here' curl. In this quiet space where everything feels so massive and he feels so small...maybe he can steal a little of what he'd wanted earlier. Before they had to leave and put this away for good.

Ache.

Ache is the proper word for this feeling. It strains until it feels like it might burst, wraps tight around his chest until he can barely draw breath. But on the outside? Nothing. Everything's still, calm, illuminated by the cold lights overhead, twinkling indifferently down.

York beckons, and Locus follows. He slots into that space left open for him at his side and, as if out of habit, his arm slides around his back to anchor him close.

Easiest thing in the world to pull himself close. Settle against the warmth of Locus' ribs and that was the first red flag. The last warning that this could be, is, a painful problem in the making. He puts that form his mind in the moment. Focuses on the thud of Sam's heart, the bulk of his waist under his arm as he slips it around his back. the heat he puts off like a radiator.

Waking up like this every day...it wouldn't be terrible. Another point of data filed away for future reference when he's not so tired.

It is, separate from everything else, completely perfect. There's a strange peace in this singular moment, knowing that this is all they're going to allow themselves before everything goes back to the way it was before. He will mask the hurt and he will find ways to channel it all, later.

Now? He soaks it in. The incredible view, the way York fits against his side just so, and the shared warmth of that simple embrace, side-by-side.

He's lucky to have even this much, after everything. He won't waste time regretting a single moment of it.

"...can we still be- you know. Bros?" Even if the way he sets his cheek to Locus' shoulder, the curl of his fingers around the angle of his hip is distinctly un-bro-like. With this hanging under everything they do. The awareness that if not for York being too chickenshit to get his head together, if not for the inevitability of it's ending in the most anticlimactic way possible, that they might give it a shot? It's a weighty thing.

But the calm camaraderie. The reassurance that this is real, this calm haven he's found at Sam's side- it's not one that he's so willing to give up just yet.

And the corner of his mouth ticks upwards before he turns his head, chin resting atop York's head.

"Of course."

What does he know? So far as he's aware, this is simply how friendship is with York. It's always been tactile and testing of boundaries until they overlap. It's always been a certain level of closeness.

They still have this. It's not going anywhere. So they'll both manage. They'll be alright. They'll just never really find out what might have been otherwise.

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Movie Night VI: Direct to DVD

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