Chapter Text
They stay there in armor processing for a while, and North says maybe they should watch a movie tonight, use somebody’s helmet as a projector like they did that one time with Wash and South and (somehow) CT until Carolina came along and told them to stop slacking off, and then South had argued with her for a while and then, inevitably, the board got brought up and CT stormed off and South and Carolina kept at it so York had put on headphones and Wash had picked up a manual and North had turned the movie off.
It hadn’t been a very good movie anyway.
“We’ll invite Carolina this time,” says North jokingly, but it’s halfhearted. He keeps looking at York’s bad eye. York looks at it too, in the reflection of the glass, tracing the way the scar splits right through. And for the first time since it happened, it occurs to him that it’s not fair. He was just trying to help.
“She could prob’ly use a movie night,” York agrees, offering a half-smile, and North grins back and for a minute it’s like old times.
And then he sees the shattered helmet visor again, sitting face up where he’d tossed it. He looks back at the board, at Carolina in his old spot, and he doesn’t care about the numbers but she will.
“C’mon,” says North, clapping a hand on York’s shoulder and looking closely at him like he does to South when she’s being all sullen and taciturn. Maybe he sees the funny expression on York’s face – worry doesn’t belong there, really; he doesn’t quite know how to wear it.
“They’re gonna come in here and bitch at us if we hang around any longer,” North says.
“Right.” York walks slower than usual, steps heavier.
“You all right, man?” asks North as they head back toward the room. His tone is a touch of awkwardness combined with the overflow of South-related anxiety. “I mean, you’re not supposed to even be out here.”
“What, the eye?” says York, tapping at the newly scarred flesh above it experimentally. “It’s cool. I’m fine. Just tired.”
“All right,” says North doubtfully, and then the talk turns to the new Warthog model that just came out, and how good’s the turret and what kinda horsepower does it have and d’you think you could do jumps in that thing, like off of a ramp or something? York says he’s pretty sure because he drove one today and it seemed pretty flexible.
North almost stops short. “They let you drive?” he protests. “With one good eye?”
“I mean, it was kinda a last resort thing,” York replies with a shrug.
“York.”
“What? C’mon, man, at least I’m not using my armor enhancement out in the field with no back up. You’d have to be nuts to do that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” North sighs as they reach their door. “Point taken.”
York follows him into the room, and he sorta just wants to sit down and not think very much for a while, but he can tell North’s not feeling too great so he says, “What about you? You all right?”
“Yeah,” says North, turning to look through his movie collection. “Fine.” He’s got his helmet tucked under one arm; they’re not supposed to have them in their rooms but they’re not supposed to have movies either, probably. Or comic books. North’s got a stack of them next to his bed, obscuring York’s haphazard collection of field manuals.
“We could watch Captain America,” North suggests, and York shrugs, picking up one of the comic books.
“How come all your movies are so old?” he asks. Superman looks up at him from a worn and slightly yellowed page, speaking in those antiquated white word bubbles.
Believe me when I say I wish that violence wasn’t necessary.
“Classics never go out of style,” says North with a smile.
“I guess.” York sits down on his bed, tipping his head to get a better look at the comic.
But violence is the price we pay to accomplish a greater good.
“Well, you pick something, then.”
York doesn’t respond for a minute, till he feels North gazing at him critically again. “Sorry, what?”
“You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, man. Just reading.”
As heroes, we choose to protect that good with our lives.