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Smooth Jazz

shaherazade-21c:

This is for mumblybee, but also for me because I have a growing obsession with Red vs Blue. Due in some part to mumblybee and completelysane’s not so negligible influence. But anyway, if you’ve ever seen the bloopers for Season 9, you’ll have some idea of where this is coming from. If not, I hope you’re amused anyway.

     York knew that he could break in. Standard key-pad with a seven digit password – if you knew the Chief of Security you would know that he had a daughter named Melissa who was born on April 1st of 2552 and have the password down pat. He could do it with his eye closed. Hell, he could do it in his sleep. Compared to a Fortune 500 weapons development company or an insurrectionist military base, hospitals were a cake walk.

     The plan was simple: wait until the shift change so only one guard was on duty, initiate a distraction so that guard leaves the external command center (it’s amazing what people will do for tapioca pudding in here), enter the code, jam the keypad and voilá. Mission accomplished. The new guy, Eric, was on duty tonight. He was one of those nervous types so he should be running past any minute now to make sure everything got fixed before he got in trouble. He’d be fine, it wouldn’t be his fault or anything, so he could relax but it sort of suited York’s purposes anyway.

     “Holy motherfucking Christ! Why! Why me!” And there he goes, right on schedule. Setting the magazine he’d been leafing through back on the table, he smiled at the nurse and headed in the direction of the exit. Nobody would think anything of it because he usually ambled that way at at one point or another most nights – depending on how late it was they would just nod at him or say off-handly that he should get some rest before going about their business. Typing in the password, he quickly slipped through the sliding doors and pulled out a plastic spork from the cafeteria. When the doors slid closed again he started prying off the plastic guard to get to the mechanism under the keypad and fiddle with a few of the wires.

     “Agent York, you are damaging the doors capability to function at optimum level.”

     “Yeah, I know F.I.L.I.S, sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you.”

     “I do not see you on the mission roster Agent York, what are the particulars of your operation?”

     “Well, actually F.I.L.I.S, I was hoping you could help me with that.” Walking over to the communication console, he crawled under the desk and set about the task of removing one of the panels.

     “How is it that I may assist you?”

     “I’d like to piggyback on your communication system.”

     “To what purpose?”

     “Nothing really … I guess.” York sat, waiting with the coils under the console exposed, for F.I.L.I.S’s response. He didn’t have to wait long.

     “I believe that with your training you are familiar with the appropriate procedure?”

     “Yeah F.I.L.I.S, I got it. Thanks.”

     “You’re welcome York.”

A binder clip connecting a few stripped wires had him all set to go. Show time.

     “Welcome to York 106.7 … smooth jazz. Hey all you agents out there this is New York coming to you live from good ol’ Mother of Invention. Bringing you the tunes you wanna hear. This first song is dedicated to Agent Washington ‘Sometimes Rules are Meant to be Broken’ by Elevator #4” Typing in the appropriate mumbo jumbo to redirect the elevator music over the air waves, York sat back to enjoy.

           *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *        

     Carolina thought best when she was doing. On a mission problems would crop up in an instant and they had to be solved just as fast or she and her team would lose; She had to solve them. She was always responding, reacting to her surroundings. So, when a particularly thorny problem cropped up she would run, or lift weights or work with the punching bags. Because then she would be doing. She was on her fifth lap when she heard York’s voice over the intercom. She immediately shut the treadmill down. “York 106.7”? “Bringing you tunes”? That idiot was supposed to be resting, what in the hell was he doing and why was he playing elevator music? Marching over to the comm she keyed in the code for Hospital security and saw York sitting behind the desk.

     “Oh, seems we have a caller on the request line … Hello there, where you from?”

     “York. What are you doing?”

     “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. You don’t mind speaking up a bit do you? You’re on the air.”

     “The Mother of Invention is not a radio station York.”

     “Now that hurts. It’s not much, but to us at York 106.7 it’s home. You got a favorite song caller? Maybe I can change your mind?” She didn’t smile, not because he would see if she did and that would be all the encouragement he would need, but because it wasn’t reassuring to see him sitting there laughing and joking like usual. It wasn’t. He should be in bed.

      “York. Get some rest.”

      “But …”

      “Excuse me . . Agent York … Sir . . I’m going to have to ask you to return to your room …” A uniformed officer said over York’s shoulder, shifting from foot to foot. York sighed.

     “Well folks, you’ve been listening to York 106.7, Smooth Jazz. This is New York signing off.”

     “Goodnight York.”

     “Night Carolina … See you tomorrow?” He looked so hopeful and she had to do what was best for her team; York was her second after all. So she nods and ends the call so the screen goes blank.

           *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *      

     York turns to look at Eric sheepishly. “Sorry about that man.”

      “Ummmmh, it’s okay? I guess?”

      “You taking me back?”

      “Yeah … if you don’t mind …”

       “No problem man.” They walked in an almost companionable silence down the hospital hallway and just before he entered his room, York turned back to look at the guard.

       “Hey, do you know what’s on the menu tomorrow?”

       “Ummm, not really … that pudding stuff? Maybe?”

York grinned “Perfect.”

oh my god i cannot this is beyond perfect /PAPERBAGS


RvB: A Dichotomy of Character (Sandtrap AU)

reeberry:

“Don’t do that,” she said irritably one evening next to the campfire, breaking the stifling silence. (Tucker had insisted on building it for Junior, so his “kid” doesn’t get cold. Everyone else was too tired to argue.) Wash didn’t budge.

“What am I doing?” he said in that new, unfamiliar, defensive voice. The words echoed in her mind as how trusting and open and concerned they were before - what is he doing that’s upsetting? How can he stop it? He just wants to get along with people - and it made hearing them now even worse.

“Don’t try to be him.”

“Who?”

“The old you.”

“I’m not.”

I know. “You’re thinking about it.”

She could practically see the foreign smirk that colored his next words. “And how do you figure that?”

“Because I know you, Wash,” she said instinctively. It was still habit, those words, that sentence, the nickname.

He laughed. “You knew me, CT. You never stuck around to see what I turned into. You don’t know me.”

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Prompt from that fucking shisno spacezombiesWash/Doc. Trapped in the woods with Actual Cannibal Sigma Labeouf.

Doc’s still yammering in his ear— something about how these woods are haunted, and no it’s not just a story, he heard it from a very reliable source (Vic, of course) and they wouldn’t be the first people to get lost in the woods, and he’s pretty sure he heard something behind them, about thirty feet back and gaining on them, and would Wash just hurry up so they could get out of here, and it’s only when Wash pulls out his knife and threatens to disembowel him first that he manages to get a word in edgewise.

"For the last — fucking — time, I was kidding about the Meta eating people!”

(He never said anything about Sigma, but really, Doc was asking for it.)