"...what?" He- what? York untangles his figners and checks his trackers again and- holy shit there's company. Massive company and he goes still rather than whirling to face the enemy because it...it isn't? The enemy.
His Hud pings the shape and density as friendly and there aren't many people that large with shields that shape with voices that crawl down and hook in and scream familiarity. Scream teammates and fond exasperation and years of shittalking and shit giving and it's been fucking forever- Before Delta can say one thing or another he turns slow and there it is. The familiar outline of North standing still and real and solid and-
It's always voices. Echos. Never faces. Never armor. His voice is a thin, rough scrape when he manages to find it and-
"I always knew you were my guardian angel." Because if he laughs it's real. If he gives that tilt of his helmet, the 'jesus fuck York' shift of his shoulders and drawling wry fondness it's him.
no subject
His Hud pings the shape and density as friendly and there aren't many people that large with shields that shape with voices that crawl down and hook in and scream familiarity. Scream teammates and fond exasperation and years of shittalking and shit giving and it's been fucking forever- Before Delta can say one thing or another he turns slow and there it is. The familiar outline of North standing still and real and solid and-
It's always voices. Echos. Never faces. Never armor. His voice is a thin, rough scrape when he manages to find it and-
"I always knew you were my guardian angel." Because if he laughs it's real. If he gives that tilt of his helmet, the 'jesus fuck York' shift of his shoulders and drawling wry fondness it's him.