Chapter Text
York sits down at an empty table in the small diner, pretending not to notice when the table shifts as he places his helmet on it. A waitress walks over to his table and sets a glass of water down in front of him.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“What’s the cheapest thing you’ve got on the menu?” he asks, not having looked at it yet.
“As far as entrées go, the chicken sandwich is cheapest, but many of the appetizers are cheaper,” she answers.
“How much for the sandwich?”
“Its $8.50.”
“I’ll have to do an appetizer then, otherwise I won’t be able to tip you enough.”
“Oh…um, well there’s a chicken wing appetizer for $6.00. It comes with ten wings. Or ther—”
“The chicken wings sound great, thanks,” he cuts her off and hands her the menu he still hasn’t touched until that moment. She smiles and walks away.
“What will you do after today? You’ll still need to eat,” Delta says in York’s mind.
I know that, D. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it though, he responds, pondering his options. I’m sick of all the petty theft I’ve had to do, but there hasn’t been an opportunity for any freelance work in months. Besides, its just a matter of time before someone figures out who I am. But what else could I do?
“You could always find some other kind of employment, something safer than your current ‘employment’”
Sure, but what kind of job could I even get? I’m not qualified for anything…except lock picking, and in case you haven’t noticed, that’s not really in demand anymore.
“I do not think I would put lock picking in your top five skills. There are plenty of other possibilities for you.”
Thanks, D. You really know how to cheer a guy up.
“I am merely trying to assist.”
York sighs. His reply to Delta is silenced before it begins by a tap on his shoulder. York turns to meet the gaze of an elderly man sitting at the table behind him.
“I know it’s not really my place,” the old man says, “but I couldn’t help but overhear what you said to the waitress. It sounds like you’re going through a rough patch right now.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” York replies, laughing weakly.
“Well I’ve got a spare room, you’re welcome to stay with us for a while until you get back on your feet.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t do that. After this meal I won’t have any money to p—“
“That doesn’t concern me. But I suppose if it would make you feel better you could lend me a hand with some stuff that I’m getting too old for, and we’ll call it even.”
“This is a great opportunity. Why are you hesitating?” Delta asks when York doesn’t say anything.
I don’t know if I can trust him.
“You don’t need to. You just need to work for him.”
“What kinds of things you need help with?” York asks finally.
“Well that depends somewhat on your skills. However a big portion of it will be heavy lifting, mending fences, and things of that nature.” Seeing York’s raised eyebrow he adds, “my wife and I run a farm. We used to be able to handle things ourselves, but now…”
“Sure I’ll do it,” York says.
“Great. I’ll talk to you after you finish eating,” the man says, nodding toward the waitress walking over with a steaming plate of wings. York simply smiles and turns to dig in.
***
York walks out of the diner after paying for his meal and spots the man leaning against an old but well-kept red pickup truck.
“I never got your name,” the man says as York walks up.
“Name’s York,” he says, extending his hand.
“Joe,” the man replies, shaking York’s hand with a puzzled look.
“Oh, right. It’s a codename, but I’ve been using it so long it might as well be my name.”
“Ah, I see. So, you got a car?”
“No…do I need one?”
“Nah, just wondered if you wanted to follow me back to the farm, but in that case hop in,” he says turning to open the driver side door. After they’re both seat belted in he asks, “You have any things somewhere that you wanna pick up?”
“This is all I have,” York answers, indicating the small backpack at his feet.
“Oh. Uh, sorry,” he says as he puts the truck in drive and exits the lot.
“Don’t be. You are helping me after all.”
“I’m gladder about that now than ever. It’s such a shame that life can get so bad for some people.”
“Well it wasn’t always like this for me.”
“I would recommend divulging as little information about your past as possible.”
Don’t worry, D. I won’t say anything compromising.
“That reminds me, can I ask you something?” the man asks and York nods, looking a little concerned. “I just wonder why you keep that armor, yet you have no money. Couldn’t you sell it for a good sum?”
“Yeah, I imagine I could get a pretty penny for this armor, but it just seems unnatural without it. Though, it’s nowhere near as awesome as my old armor.”
“York—“
Chill, D.
“I can only imagine the things you’ve seen, but it makes sense. Though I don’t know if the animals will react kindly to the armor.”
“I can take it off around them. It’ll be nice for a change, it’s just been hard with all the constant traveling.”
“Well, only if you’re comfortable. But look, here we are.”
The old man pulls into a surprisingly smooth gravel driveway, parking next to the backdoor of the teal two story house. The house isn’t large by any means, but it looks the opposite of cramped. In the window closest to them York sees a large black dog looking at them, not barking, but simply seeming excited to see them. On the left side of the driveway is a large green pasture with several horses grazing in it. The brown of the fences is clearly faded, but otherwise they appear maintained. Farther back on the property is a classic style red barn with white trim and a black sloping roof. I thought they stopped building them like that hundreds of years ago, York thinks. To the right of the barn is a chicken coop, and behind that there are more fields that eventually turn into a woods.
The two men get out of the truck as York takes it all in. I think I’m going to like it here.
“It is quite a relief from our usual surroundings.”
“Let’s go inside so I can show you your room, and you can meet my wife. And Maya.”
“Is that your daughter?”
“Oh no, it’s our black lab. We never had any kids.”
“Ah…sorry.”
The Joe simply shrugs and leads York inside. Before he can take two steps inside Maya is in front of York, leaning on his legs, looking up at him with her tail wagging furiously. He leans down to pet her, which she seems to enjoy despite his gloved hand.
“Sorry about that. You can ignore her, she constantly wants attention.”
“Oh she’s no problem. It’s been way too long since I’ve been around dogs.”
While continuing to pet her he takes his helmet off and looks around. The backdoor leads directly into the kitchen with clean black tiled floors, light grey stone counters, some type of red wood cabinets, and relatively new looking appliances.
"Nothing fancy, I know."
"I think it’s great. Though, right now anything with a roof seems fantastic to me."
Through the archway on his left York can see the dining room containing a small wooden table with a chair at each side. The set appears to be old, but the only indication is the style, because otherwise it looks brand new. In contrast the floor tiles are littered with scratches, which York assumes are Maya's doing.
"Is that you, Joe?" an unfamiliar feminine voice calls out from somewhere upstairs.
"Yes dear, and I've brought home a guest. Why don't you come meet him?"
The woman doesn't answer, but they hear the light creaking of footsteps a few seconds later.
"Oh my," she says as she sees York wearing his suit of armor, minus the helmet.
"I apologize, ma'am. I haven't had a chance to take the armor off yet."
"That's quite alright dear, you just caught me off guard. It’s just that Joe doesn't usually hang around military types...not that there's anything wrong with people in the military," she says, her cheeks turning red as she looks away from him.
York simply laughs. "I'm York by the way," he tells her once she's recovered.
"Margret. It’s nice to meet you," she replies, extending a hand which York shakes.
"York's been having some...financial problems since returning from the war," Joe tells her. "I met him while at lunch with the guys, and well, I sort of hired him."
"So you finally caved," she says before turning to York, "you must have really impressed him. I've been trying to convince him to find some help for nearly two years."
"It just felt right," Joe shrugs.
"He offer you our spare room?" Margaret asks. York nods, "good."
"I was just about to show him around the place."
"Carry on, then. I need to check on the chickens anyway," she says, going around York and out the back door.
"I like her."
Joe leads them into the living room where York first sees a relatively large flat screen television hanging on the far wall, next to the front door. On the right side of the door is a mat cluttered with various shoes, mostly boots, along with a coatrack with only two light jackets hanging from it. On the wall to the right is a staircase to the second floor, and on the opposite side of the room is a door leading to a bathroom.
“This one’s only got the essentials. The one upstairs has the shower and everything,” Joe tells him and then leads him up the stairs. At the very top is the second bathroom, and down the hall to the right is the master bedroom. Joe opens the door for York to peer inside and see the clean room with only a large bed, a bedside table on each side, a desk complete which chair and computer, and a closet along the right wall. Finally Joe takes York to the last room in the small hallway. It has a dark wood floor that contrasts the light blue walls and is completely empty except a bed and a couple of boxes.
“I’ll get those boxes out of here right away. And I’ll have Margaret get sheets on your bed after supper,” Joe says as he picks up a box.
“I can move them, if you tell me where to put them,” York offers.
“I’ve got this one, but if you want to take the other you’re more than welcome. I’m just going to throw them in the attic anyway,” Joe says and walks out across the hall, placing the box on the ground to pull down the ladder from the ceiling. In another minute both boxes were put away and the attic closed back up. “Feel free to relax, and make yourself at home. You don’t start work ‘til the morning. Just be ready to eat in about an hour,” he adds looking at his watch.
“Sounds good, boss. When do I get a tour of the rest of the place?” York asks.
“No need to call me boss.”
“Force of habit from my old job, sorry.”
“Ah,” he says nodding. “Well, I can show you around after dinner if that’s alright with you.”
“That’d be great.”
“And if you’re feeling comfortable, feel free to take your armor off.”
York nods and Joe walks away. You’ve been awfully quiet, York thinks to Delta. York drops his bag to the floor and closes the door for some privacy.
“I’ve merely been observing and have not noticed anything worth bringing to your attention.”
So what do you think? Is it safe enough to take off my armor?
“My calculations show that the odds of getting attacked without your armor here is about 20%.”
Good enough for me. Besides, I’ll still be able to talk to you the whole time.
“I will be able to warn you if I sense trouble in time, yes. However, I cannot do anything to protect you if something goes wrong.”
I’ll be fine, York thinks as he starts undoing his armor. He gently piles each piece by the far wall until he’s down to his under armor. It already feels wrong.
“It will take time to adjust.”
I know, I know. York rummages through his bag for the only regular outfit he has to his name, as though having it ready to put on right away will make him safer. Delta does not comment on how illogical this notion is. York quickly peels off his under armor, dropping it to the floor and hurriedly pulls on his pants, then his shirt. Then he walks over and sits on the edge of his sheet-less bed, facing the wall.
“What is it like?”
Weird, D. I don’t know how long I can do this.
Delta doesn’t respond as York lays down, putting his hands under his head and closing his eyes.