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The first time, it's a disappointment.
He's on leave, and he's already got two too many beers in him, his head buzzing, and his fingers tingling as he sweet-talks a pretty girl in the bar, just for the conversation. Once, when he was younger, he might have been more inclined to ask her back somewhere, but right now, it's just so delightfully normal to be talking to someone not involved in the Project.
She's petite and non-threatening and it's such a change that it takes a while for York to be used to it, even if he's enjoying the talk.
They talk about books and films, and he finds out he's missed movies that he might have enjoyed, once. Delta does note the movies in the back of their mind, providing summaries, insight into what he's been missing out on, and –
And an entire profile on the girl he's been sitting with for the last few hours, down to her astrology sign, and her marital status.
Marital status? Augh. York hesitates a moment in the conversation, and swallows another mouthful of his beer, and tries not to think about the fact that it says she's married. Christ. His luck these days isn't as good as it used to be, is it?
I do not believe luck has anything to do with lack of character, York.
He bites back the faint amusement at Delta's distaste and makes his excuses, because chastising her isn't going to do any good when he shouldn't even know what he knows, and ignores the startled look on her face that he's suddenly not interested in chatting her up, and finishes his drink up by the guys playing pool and listening to music. It's even more disappointing when she doesn't leave after that - another guy walks in not long after and he sees her sidle up to him, too, and Christ, really?
The second time, it's kind of endearing that Delta's watching this closely.
There's no more leave to worry about when they're on the run, and York's found that his luck hasn't left him yet, but it's even less than it used to be. They keep escaping with close calls and it's wearing down on him. York takes them to a bar- a shitty little dive bar that's got good music live in a corner, too loud, maybe, but it's nice.
He keeps to a corner, smiles at a few pretty girls, and halfway through the night, Tall, Leggy and Blonde settles herself down at his table. Maybe his luck's changing, he murmurs to Delta, and isn't surprised by the sudden an inevitable return of Hurricane Delta, there to rain on his parade.
He's all for a little forwardness when it comes to flirting, but there's something about the way she's watching him, the way she keeps an eye on him at all times that makes him wary- she's not interested in him in terms of personality, but she's interested in him himself. It hits him, just like that, just at the same time as Delta pushes an image into his head.
Mercenary – 32 years old, former UNSC, and likely after the potential price on your head because you seem to possess military property you are not supposed to.
There's a faint tinge of amusement in Delta's voice.
Perhaps you would care to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Or would you like to continue flirting?
I dunno, maybe I could pass you over and finish my drink? he returns without meaning a single word. York scowls into his beer as he drains it, and smiles at her, knowing better than to attempt lying. “Back in a few,” he offers, and nods at the bar. “Order me a drink?”
She doesn't seem to suspect, but her smile doesn't meet her eyes and York isn't surprised by it as he feels her watching him all the way to the bathroom. He takes a quick exit out of the kitchens, and down an alleyway, and once they're back to the safehouse, he flops face down, seeing a flicker of green out of the corner of his eye.
“That went well,” Delta starts with a tinge of amusement, and dims the lights for both of them, so York can settle in and sleep. “Perhaps I should create an algorithm that will determine whether or not someone is a proper mate, as your taste seems to be somewhat questionable in nature.”
“Don't even start, D.”
The third time, it's a relief.
They don't go to a bar, they go out to dinner- a real, official dinner where York shaves and dresses nice, and presses a hand to his mouth whenever he talks to Delta so he doesn't look crazy. He still treats Delta like he's a real person, which means talking to him out loud whenever possible.
Afterward, they go out to a bookstore and York thumbs through novels outside on the sale rack, striking up conversation with a civilian while she's trying to hand out fliers that no one's taking a second look at. It's for a shelter, an animal shelter and a nonprofit she runs.
Delta runs the background check without even asking, and it comes up insanely squeaky clean. She's just out of college, helping at a non-profit and trying to get homes for cats and dogs, and York knows-- God, he knows that they can't take an animal on the run, even if the idea of having a dog appeals more than anything else. Instead, he has Delta run the numbers – this is their first night out in months and money is as rare as it's ever been, but he digs and scrounges and well, they're damn good at budgeting. They can always get more, somehow.
It's not much, but it lights her face up when she gets it and York smiles right back, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, grinning when she shows him another picture, and tells him all about the dogs, the people that adopted them, some of the dogs they have at the shelter. He buys her a coffee with the week's leftover money, because it's achingly cold outside and her hands look freezing, and York's always been a sucker, he supposes. For cute girls, and for animals. For good people.
He and Delta crawl into bed hours too late to leave when he and Delta had planned the next morning, but it's alright. He slips out of all of his winter clothes and rolls on top of the sheets into bed with a yawn, curling his hand around the hologram with a small smile. “C'mon, ask it, D. I can feel you wondering like an itch in the back of my head all day now.”
“It was the last of this week's allowance,” Delta begins curiously.
"Pets, buddy. We both know that I can't get a dog, not like this, so it's the next best thing. They needed it. Deserved it, whatever. It's-- well. That kinda stuff is the reason I joined the military, the Project to begin with.” He doesn't know how to begin articulating it, not really, but this is what they fought for. For this kind of thing where people can go out and get coffee and dinner and be normal, without aliens and the planets being glassed, the Insurrection bombing places. They might not be able to settle, not really, but it's a relief more than anything else, that that is possible. “Besides, we can always get more.”
It doesn't make sense to Delta, but he inclines his head, and dims the lights for the both of them. “In the morning, York.”
York mumbles his agreement, burying his face into the sheets. In the morning they can worry about more money, about getting a little extra spending change.
There's an older, less used part of town and a shop he's been meaning to break into, after all. They won't mind if he lifts a few things, he's sure of that much.