North’s going about his normal morning routine when he’s alerted to Wash’s presence. He’s already had his morning run, gym session and shower. He now sits fully armored, readying for a hand-to-hand combat session with CT, while enjoying his breakfast. The blond’s got about a half an hour before things start, so he’s taking his time. A black coffee, one sugar, a bowl of fruit, oatmeal and a muffin for the treat. Sitting next to him is a tray with milk, coffee, a banana and some dry cereal. It’s the tray that gets shoved across the table when the other freelancer takes his usual seat.
It’s early, the blond notes, too early for York to even be seen conscious, and a little too early for Wash. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, though when he looks up from his data pad he lets out a sigh. The other was wearing a helmet. Clearing his throat, North hopes that it’ll prompt the other to remember the rules that came with sitting with North, but he’s not too certain he expects it.
“I’m sorry Wash,” the taller of the two drawls while looking up with an annoyed glare. “I can’t hear what you’re saying.” It’s childish, but damn effective as far as he’s been concerned with it. “You know the rules at my table, no helmets, or no conversation.” North knows it’s an arbitrary rule, but he wants to see his teammates for their humanity, not just behind their visor. It helped to keep things compartmentalized. They did horrible things underneath all this armor, and some times looking at Wash’s relatively pristine armor he’s forced to relive just how far he’s come since joining the project. Faces kept the thoughts at bay, kept the people underneath the armor alive; the coldness of a visor did not; it incubated them “But yes, I could help you if you’d like. Once you lose the helmet, we can talk details.”
“Oh, uh--” North’s line of inquiry manages to catch Wash off guard, but a glance at the time reminds him that yeah, he is up a little earlier than usual. A half nod, and his eyes drop down to the tray that’s been shoved over for him. As usual, the older Freelancer has gotten him his typical breakfast, which comes as no shock whatsoever, but does manage to tug a hint of a smile out of him. “No, not really.”
He doesn’t take much note of the noise North makes, his gaze only dragged back when the other man speaks again and he finds himself fixed with that glare. It dawns on him what the problem is just as the other goes on to remind him of his rule, which has Wash sitting straighter very suddenly, a faint flush colouring his cheeks. Right. You’d think he’d remember that by now, with how many times North has scolded him for it, but this morning at least, he’d been too focused on spitting his question out to keep it in mind before taking his seat.
“Sorry,” he apologizes in a soft mumble, hands quickly coming up to his helmet where his thumbs catch the clasps and, with a click, releases them. The helmet comes off, and Wash sets it down next to his tray, a hand then coming back up to ruffle through his hair.
“Forgot.” ( Again. ) “But thanks, I’d appreciate it. I know we probably don’t need another person who’s proficient at sniping, but... I figured it couldn’t hurt, you know?” Seeing as he tended to be the replacement if someone with a particular skill set wasn’t available for a mission. Offering North an apologetic and still somewhat sheepish smile, Wash starts pouring milk into his cereal and gives a small shrug. “Just in case.”
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