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Picking up the Pieces (With BlueAmbient)

ZetaInfection

ZetaInfection

Star
Joined
Jan 3, 2011
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It had been roughly a year since the war's end. A war that had shaken society to the very core by the time it had concluded. Given time, the world had healed to an extent. The people were still wary and afraid of the new possibilities and uncertainties that lay ahead. History books would have yet another war to talk about, but it was a far different war than any that had been waged in the past. A silent war that went unseen for years, waged by those who opposed a rather secretive organization. It took years for things to spill over into public affairs, the rebels having not enough numbers to actually contest their opponent openly for the longest time. When things did finally spill over into full scale conflict however, a new fear spread over the citizens when they realized things weren't what they thought they were.

Ability Users, people with supernatural power. They were not well known until the peak of conflict and represented a new problem that society had to contend with in the aftermath. Sure there had been rumors of strange things happening, but as far as people knew before hand, supernatural power was simply something you saw in comic books. It wasn't reality until they saw it with their own eyes. In a world geared only to normal individuals how was it to adapt to something so drastically different? Many cried for them to be executed, a panic reaction. Society wasn't equipped to handle this new variable. There were those who abused this with their power, but they were small time criminals.

New laws had to be put into place to account for this. It was a heavy work in progress, but most authoritative powers had to enlist those of unique talent to handle these issues. The police had a new unit comprised of those with supernatural power meant specifically to handle crime that dealt with supernatural power. There had been political struggle to see these unique people as normal individuals as well. There were publicly accessible records of who was and who wasn't an Ability User, something the general populace pushed for out of fear. With so many of them however, this was only utilized by employers to choose their employees carefully. That, and the crazy paranoid types. Like all lists, this list wasn't entirely accurate. Those who could hide their ability well often avoided getting on the list, though what the public didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

A year wasn't a long time to heal, and certainly wasn't long enough to fix all of society's new problems, but it was time enough to mitigate the worst of it. Discrimination was something that anyone with half a brain could see coming from a mile away but it was to be expected. The city of Trent was no better than most other places, but being much bigger meant that those with power could easily mingle as a silent minority.

With the wars end came a time of peace. People who had been swept up in it were rebuilding their lives and reintegrating into society. There were many who easily managed to fit in, and others found it harder. There was one such person who hadn't made that transition yet. He was a young man in his early twenties and a looker to boot. Well, that would be the case if his scowl wasn't pushing people away from him and keeping them at a distance. He had slightly disheveled hair of a light gray hue that didn't seem to want to stay perfectly flat. His eyes were a vibrant deep green and he had not a drop of facial hair to speak of. Maverick was his name, a self-proclaimed one for lack of a real name. He hadn't been given a name. He was one of Delta Union's many unwilling experiments, the only difference was that he lost his memory during a failed experiment. That lab was all he knew, at least until he was ordered to take the head of a high ranking rebel. His skill with a gun was quite good, but it wasn't good enough to get the job done properly as he hadn't even reached the leader though he had been spared and given an offer to live a life free of Delta Union's restrictive chains.

With that offer of freedom he was granted the opportunity to start a new life. One where he made all the decisions for himself. Unfortunately he had grown a thirst for payback that he couldn't quite quench. What had caused that desire he couldn't say for sure. He had grown so hell bent on it that it consumed his life. He had spent every waking moment striving for it, his dreams haunted by that familiar face he hated so much. In the end he achieved his revenge. The price he had to pay for it however, was quite steep. He had barely lived through his rejection and now that he finally achieved his goal he had nothing to fall back on. He was lost, unsure of what he wanted to do.

The price had been steep enough that he just wandered off without a word. He hadn't contacted anyone so it was like he vanished without a trace, the possibilities of his fate unknown. He had no steam left nor a desire to fight for a just cause. There was nothing left. He spent so much time chasing his vengeance that he hadn't thought about what would come next. Given the nature of his power and just how badly he had rejected it wasn't unreasonable to think he was going to die. He was at peace with it though. He had acknowledged that he had been on borrowed time from the beginning. The only reason he was alive now was because his power manifested late. Given the unpredictable nature of these powers however, this was more of an assumption and certainly not fact. As long as he didn't use them he wouldn't be at further risk.

The past year had been spent aimlessly with no real goal in mind. He expected to just die in a gutter somewhere where he belonged. Even now he was lost and feeling rather miserable. What was even the point of living like this? Tonight he was drowning those thoughts out, instead sitting at a bar with a glass of whiskey in hand. He had sat in the corner at the end of the counter out of habit. He didn't want people to look at him or acknowledge him.

The atmosphere was rather jovial since now was the time most got off from work. Many came with their co workers to wind down after a long day of work. This establishment was a smaller in one of the smaller areas in the outskirts of the city. Places like this didn't get as packed as places more central and the people weren't as loud. The music was softer and there were no booming bass speakers shaking the ground. It was by all means the perfect place to wind down, especially for those who couldn't handle the rowdier places.

Tonight he was dressed in casual attire, just a black t-shirt and blue jeans. He never liked being formal and he could care less about style. All of that was meaningless. The happy faces and the laughter, it was irritating to listen to. He planned to drink until he wasn't as worked up or cautious. It was draining to constantly be aware of everything around him but he couldn't help it. The war was over yet he was still just as wary of everyone and everything around him. He was on his second drink when he felt himself relaxing a little, wondering just what he was going to do tomorrow.

The voices around him were becoming a blur of nonsense. Just background sounds that held no meaning. Places like this got louder than he'd prefer. Maverick was staring at the liquid in his glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the world to him right now. When he moved the glass the liquid would splash up against the sides of the glass, soon to return to the flat peaceful state it head been before. It easily molded around the ice cubes in such a way that it was natural. Maverick couldn't help but wish that he could return to such a state, to be as fluid and adaptable as a liquid. He didn't believe in things like karma or happy coincidence, though tonight he might be pleasantly surprised.
 
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One year ago, Mason had watched his combat partner get the revenge he had wanted for years. A sudden explosion had separated them seconds later. Mason was left to fight his way out and make for the extraction point, with no time or chance to search for Maverick's body. Without proof of a body, Maverick was marked Missing In Action. Mason believed him dead; he never tried to return, so what other option was there? Desertion? Maybe, but it didn't matter. The younger man was gone.

Hard to believe it was already a year ago. Mason returned to Trent, his hometown. His wife had moved on, requested a divorce. The young son he'd left behind, now a teenager, resented him for leaving to fight in the war. They didn't talk much beyond Mason sending support cheques once a month. They were a good size, Mason got a pretty good retired soldier cheque once a month. He'd turned to things he'd done before the war - mechanical repair - but after one too many broken tools, he had to leave. Stress made his muscles tense, and with his strength, things were easily broken. Eventually, he had settled into security work; hired bodyguard, temporary bouncer at a club, whatever he could get. It was good work, and helped him hide his strength and amplified senses.

Mason thought often of Maverick, wondering what the younger man would have been like now, without the war driving him. Would he calm down? Lose that ferocious intensity that always seemed to shadow his expression? Mason kicks a stone on the sidewalk, on his way to his usual quiet bar. There's no name on the outside of the building, but a neon sign of a foaming beer pint displays the nature of the place. People had taken to calling it Lacey's, after the woman that restored it post-war. The original name was forgotten.

Mason has to duck going through the door. At 6'4, most things are short for him. Straightening, he runs a hand through his pale blond hair, pushing the thick strands away from his bright blue eyes. Mason leaves his brown leather jacket on a coat rack by the door; he never keeps anything in the pockets anyway. Beneath, he wears an olive green tank shirt and black button shirt open in the front, black jeans, and black army-grade calf height leather boots. He'd payed a lot of money to keep these boots when he came home.

Mason takes a moment to look around, habit to scout the room he's in. Most people avoid getting too close to him due to his height. The lean muscle probably puts people off too; the muscle definition is clear, but many would think he should be bulkier for the strength he possesses. Mason plays it off as being due to calisthenics exercise rather than weight lifting. People move as he heads for the bar, intending to sit alone at one end. However, a shock of unusual grey hair catches his eye.

Mason stops in his tracks, staring for a long moment. Then, with a frown, he approaches the would-be stranger staring into his drink. Mason sits on a stool one over from the man, leaving a stool between them to not make him uncomfortable. It takes him a moment to figure out what to say to get his attention. Mason's confused, and feeling like he's looking at a ghost. Finally, he settles on just saying the name he hasn't said out loud in a year. Mason's voice is kept low and gentle, though it rumbles with the deep baritone he's always had. "Maverick?"
 
At times like this it was easy for the younger male to lose himself in thought, though he noted the presence that had joined him nearby without bothering to look. All he needed to know was that someone was there. It wasn't until he heard his own name that his head jerked to the side abruptly to see who the hell was talking to him. It wasn't like he had friends so he couldn't help but wonder who it was who knew him by name.

Sitting nearby was a face he hadn't thought he would see ever again. It was Mason. There was a reason he hadn't gone looking for Mason even if he had wanted to. What would Mason have thought of him just running off and leaving him behind? That was after the fact that he had no reason to continue fighting in that stupid war, nor did he had the ability to.

Maverick looked truly stunned to see the other sitting there nearby. "M-Mason..." he acknowledged quietly. There was no doubt about it. The man looked just as fit as he always did, something that Maverick had inwardly appreciated back then, even if he didn't make it known. His attention turned back to the glass in his hand just as quickly because he didn't want to see the look on the other's face. "Fancy seeing you here." he added. What the hell do you even say so someone you ditched on the battlefield?
 
If it weren't for the way Maverick's voice cracked saying his name, Mason would have thought the younger man didn't care at all that they'd run into each other here. But Mason heard it like shattering glass. Or rather, the shattering of the illusion that Mason had of Maverick being dead. While some small part of Mason wished that were the case, that this was a hallucination and Maverick really was dead, a bigger part of him fills with relief that his combat partner is alive and well. "Fancy - what? Maverick, you disappeared. I had to report you MIA."

Mason keeps his voice low, but the tension in it is clear. He sets his left forearm on the bar top, hand near Maverick but not touching him. If this is a dream, Mason doesn't want to break it by trying to touch Maverick. "What happened? Where did you go?" Mason has so many questions, and though he doesn't want to scare Maverick off, he also wants answers. "We were a paired unit for years and after that explosion, you just-" Mason stops as the barkeep comes up to take his drink order. Normally, he would get whiskey and coke. But after this revelation, he gets whiskey straight.

Mason waits until his drink is delivered and the barkeep moves on. He's aware he's rambling a bit, but feels he needs to get out everything he has to say before Maverick can disappear again. "You vanished, Maverick. I couldn't get backup and had to fight my way out alone. We couldn't go back to look for you. I tried to go back, after everything was over, but they wouldn't let me." Mason leaves it at 'they', knowing Maverick would understand he meant the leaders of the rebellion. It seems like he has more to say, but Mason bites his tongue. His left hand is shaking on the bartop.
 
Maverick's eyes closed as he was bombarded with questions with no real idea of where to start answering them. Thankfully the barkeeper offered a momentary reprieve from the questioning, but it was only temporary. Once the bar tender was gone again he was once more weathering the various questions Mason threw his way.

"I'm sorry..." Maverick replied, the very word sounding foreign to his own ears. Since when did Maverick ever apologize for anything? "He was there." By he, Maverick was referring to Sagittarius. How could he possibly ignore the chance to get his revenge? It was a stupid decision, but one he didn't regret. "I killed him with my own two hands. It wasn't easy, and I wasn't in very good shape by the end of it so...I left." Maverick's voice was quiet as he spoke.

"I didn't know what else to do. That was the only thing I ever wanted. More than anything." When he realized he was rambling he closed his mouth and finished off his glass. "There's not much else to say. I wasn't in any condition to keep fighting so I didn't." That, and he no longer had the desire to fight. The moment Sagittarius died was when he lost all drive to do anything. He had chased one singular goal and didn't bother looking for anything else to fall back on. "I also...didn't think you'd want to see my face after ditching you like that for something stupid." He kept the details vague but this was more or less the story.
 
Mason takes a deep breath as he listens to Maverick. He doesn't judge him for what he did, killing Sagittarius. Everyone knew how cruel that man was. And Mason had learned a vague idea of what he'd done to Maverick. In the end, he's both heartbroken and disappointed that Maverick hadn't returned after winning that battle. His hand on the bartop folds into a fist, a failed attempt to hide the shaking. Mason had been lucky; he hadn't really gotten much PTSD from the war. Sure, his hands shook when he got stressed, and he had occasional nightmares; what soldier didn't? But other had it much worse. He can only imagine how bad it was for Maverick. The younger man had still been a teenager when they'd first been paired. That's what had originally started Mason's protectiveness over him.

"Maverick, I would have helped you. Had I known you were alive, I would have tried harder to find you." Mason bites the inside of his cheek, wanting to move closer to Maverick. Instead, he just puts one foot on the footrest of the barstool between them. His drink sits ignored in front of him, he's too focused on the younger man. "Did you even try to come back?" Mason isn't sure he wants the answer, but he needs to know.
 
It was true that Mason had always been there for him, even at times where he didn't want Mason butting in. Mason was probably the only person he actually had some attachment to. In all honestly Maverick thought he was going to die after all of that, but he was still alive somehow. He always managed to survive the stupidest shit. As for the answer, Maverick shook his head. He wasn't going to lie. "I didn't. I was in bad shape, and I was also on the run for a while. There were...some people who weren't too happy about what I did to Sagittarius."

There was of course another reason he didn't bother trying to come back, though he would keep it to himself for the time being. "I'm not very keen on admitting this, but...I'm a fucking mess. I don't even know what I want to do with my life." He could bitch about his problems but that wouldn't change them.

Finally Maverick turned to face Mason once more, and it was clear that the usual fire was absent from his eyes. They seemed empty. "How have you been holding out? I'm sure you've had better luck than me in that regard." Just looking at the other made him realize how much he had missed seeing him. Maverick signaled to the bar keeper that he wanted a refill as he awaited an answer.
 
Mason presses his lips into a thin line. There's that feeling of heartbreak and disappointment again. Heartbreak, in knowing what Maverick had to go through alone. Disappointment, at the apparent fact Maverick hadn't trusted him enough to come back. Mason could parrot the words forever, but they would never change the past. As for Maverick's admission, well, it's not hard to see he's not doing all that great.

Mason keeps his expression neutral when maverick finally looks up. That first glance when Mason had sat down hadn't been enough to get a good look at him. Now, Mason takes a handful of seconds to study Maverick's face. All the cold intensity he'd become accustomed to is gone, replaced by empty desolation. Maverick just looks.. Lost.

Mason respects Maverick's attempt to change the subject, for now. "I'm.. Decent. Took on more combat to help with the final destruction of the Star Signs, but nothing major. When it was all over, I was promised a soldier's retirement package, monthly cheques, peace. I came here to Trent because I grew up here. Life before the war moved on without me, as it tends to." Mason pauses, taking a deep breath and spreading his left hand palm flat on the bar top. It's still shaking, though not as badly. "Maverick, let me help you. I've got a decent place in a quiet neighborhood, you could stay with me." Maverick pauses again, then quickly adds, "At least, for a while. Until you figure out what you want to do." Mason would rather keep Maverick nearby and not let him go, but he doesn't want to scare the younger man away. Not when he just found him again. Coincidence or not.
 
Maverick listened quietly to the other. Must have been rough getting paired with others to continue fighting. Maverick and Mason worked so well because they could easily adjust to each other and the situation. They were perfectly coordinated. He couldn't say the same for others though. Maverick hadn't exactly joined with the idea of bonuses for his service. He was a convenient addition because he already had training, and the drive to do what what necessary. Maybe if he'd stayed he would also have similar benefits, but...Maverick would have been useless to them at that point.

The drink arrived and Maverick shooed the bartender away as he took a sip. Mason wanted to help him? Even after all this? Actually...that wasn't all that surprising. Maverick took a long moment to think about the offer and reluctantly nodded. He was running out of money once again and he really didn't feel like picking up another mercenary gig. "I can't really argue given my current circumstance, so...I accept." He could figure out some way to repay the other, even if its doing petty housework. Maverick worked at his next drink without much thought. This turned out better than he had imagined. Maybe he really was overthinking things and worrying over nothing.
 
Mason struggles to hide the look of relief that rises to his face. Maverick accepted, that meant he wouldn't just disappear again. Right..? Mason hoped that was true. Instantly, more questions come to mind. Seemingly little things, but Mason wants to know the answers, to start helping Maverick right away. But first..

Mason contains his excitement towards his sudden new, self-imposed purpose by finally picking up the whiskey glass in front of him. This will be the first time in a long time that he hasn't stayed here for an hour before leaving with some stranger to drown his memories. No, tonight, his memories are fresh, and right in front of him. "So, do have somewhere you're staying right now? We could go get your things. Do you have a car? I've got extra garage space."

Mason is rambling again. It's a nervous habit he picked up post-war, a need to fill the silence in order to appear normal. In reality, he prefers companionable silence, but everyone he interacts with gets nervous and starts talking. So that's what Maverick started doing. "Anything you need before we go to my home? Anything specific you want to get? Preferred foods? We can stop by a store."
 
When Mason started asking questions Maverick lightly kicked a bag that was right next to his feet. "Staying? Besides hotels or the damned streets?" Maverick questioned almost sarcastically. "I don't have a home. I can't afford that sort of luxury, and I haven't exactly stayed in the same place for very long." The bag near his feet was everything important that he owned at the moment. It was nothing new for Maverick, having never had a home at all. "A car, yeah. It's a beater but it works...for now." It even doubled as a place to stay at night when necessary.

Initially Maverick hadn't intended on leaving so soon but he also hadn't intended on running into anyone familiar either. "I'm not picky so unless you are in dire need of groceries, I'll eat whatever the hell you put on the table." Maverick finished his drink and fished out the necessary money to pay for them. "I had plans to get pretty fucked up tonight, but since we're going somewhere I have to be sober enough to drive." Maverick picked up his bag from the floor and waited until Mason was ready to leave. He could have kept the bag in his car but he didn't want to risk someone stealing any of it. It contained his most important possessions.
 
Mason looks down when maverick moves his foot. That's all? And not staying anywhere.. Mason hides the pinched expression of worry, There's a feeling of guilt as well, born from having not tried harder to find Maverick, alive or not. But hearing Maverick ready to accept whatever Mason gives him eases that feeling. He's just glad the younger man is so willingly to let Mason help him.

Mason stands when Maverick does, dropping enough money to pay for his own drink, plus a decent tip. He'd briefly thought of paying for Maverick's, but didn't want him thinking it was a charity gesture. "If you still want to drink later, I have alcohol at my home. I know how much it can help to.. Drown memories." Mason sounds like he's speaking from experience. He'd spent his fair share of nights drunk, drinking to forget the ache in his chest everything he thinks of Maverick. Maybe now, with him here, that ache won't be so bad.

Mason leads the way to the bar's door, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat hook. He pulls it on but leaves it open as they head out the door. Mason stops and looks around, then tilts his head to look down at Maverick. He gets that same sense of being too big, too tall, standing next to people, that he always seems to get these days. Mason is half expecting Maverick to put distance between them.

Mason pulls keys from his pocket, clicking the fob button. A steel grey pickup right out front, not brand new but in well-kept condition, rumbles to life. Command start is such a nice thing. "That's me. I'll try to keep you in my rearview, so follow me in your car."
 
He should have guessed that he wasn't the only one with problems but either way he simply nodded. With his bag over his shoulder he followed along, glancing one last time at all the cheerful happy occupants of the bar. Such simple lives. "Hmm? Yeah, sure." he stated as he pointed at a red car that was quite a bit older. He had been planning to get something newer but that required funds he didn't have at the moment so he settled for this.

Opening the door, Maverick lightly threw his back in the passengers seat and got in, glancing back at the mess of blankets in the back seat that was folded over to make more room. He couldn't count the nights he had spent in the back sleeping. It seemed like now he would have a solid roof over his head for a while. However long Mason was willing to keep him around.

He started up the car and waited for Marcus to go and followed him at a respectable distance for the duration of the ride, all the while wondering why he had waited so damned long to find the other. The world sure worked in weird ways, somehow reuniting them regardless but Maverick wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
 
Mason waits until Maverick is in his car before going to his own, as though making sure he's safe. Once in his pickup, Mason pulls away from the curb. He does as he said, keeping Maverick in his rear view and making sure the younger man makes it through all the traffic lights with him.

Mason is a wreck of nerves the whole drive. His place isn't exactly clean, that had been a plan for tomorrow. But at least he keeps the spare bed made up, so Maverick at least has a ready place to sleep. Mason doesn't actually need to stop at a store, had only offered that to Maverick in case the man had needed something. Maverick had said he wasn't picky, so hopefully that also meant not allergic to any foods.

Mason turns down a quiet suburban street. Most of the houses here look like they belong to couples and small families, toys left abandoned before dark across lawns, or pairs of porch chairs. All of them look well kept. Mason pulls into a double wide driveway, clicking a button on the remote attached to the sun visor. He rolls his window down while the garage door opens, waving for Maverick to wait.

Once Mason pulls into the garage, he shuts off his truck and jumps out, going around to the other side to move a pair of wheeled toolboxes, a shop vacuum, and a mechanic's body cart. Once those are out of the way, he waves at Maverick to pull into the garage next to his truck.
 
The ride was relatively chill on Maverick's end. He looked around and took note of the different shops and venues along the way. If he was going to be staying for a prolonged period of time it would be best to familiarize himself with the layout. Once they reached the neighborhood he looked at all the nice houses along the roadside. For a brief moment he wondered if he had lived in a place like that when he was a kid. It was a thought that came and went just as quickly because it didn't matter.

Once they were at their destination Maverick patiently waited for room to be made before pulling into the garage and shutting off the car. He grabbed his bag as well as a bag of clothes that was in the back seat, mostly dirty. This car was pretty much his home, but he had always been pretty minimalist. Once he got out he locked the car and waited for Mason to show him inside. "I'll have to do some laundry. I planned to go to the laundromat tomorrow to deal with it but might as well do it here instead so I'll have something to wear tomorrow."
 
Mason watches Maverick pull in and get out, then grab his stuff. It makes his heart ache when he sees so little. Mason's not a collector of items by any means, but he's got a decent amount of things. When Maverick mentions needing to do laundry, Mason nods, gesturing for the younger man to follow him. "Yeah, of course. You can run it tonight, the laundry room is right here." Mason opens the door connecting the garage to the house, and steps into a laundry and boot room. There's a closet for boots and jackets on one side, the laundry machines on the other. A hanging rack is tucked beside dryer for things that need to hang dry. Shelving above the machines holds detergent and fabric softener.

Mason takes a moment to unlace his boots, tucking them into the closet, followed by hanging up his jacket. "I know a lot of households leave their boots on, but I hired a cleaning lady a couple months ago, and she's kind of a spitfire when it comes to certain things. Shoes off at the door is one. Don't worry, she only comes once a week." Mason continues on through the house, giving Maverick a tour. From the laundry room, he leads the way into an wide open concept living room and dining room. It's a large space, but well-organized; fabric sofa and loveseat set before a large wall mounted TV, a wall of bookshelves only half full of books, with war medals and memorabilia displayed here and there. The dining room is set with a round oak table, and six chairs, but it looks like it's never been used.

Next, Mason takes Maverick to the kitchen, through an archway and across a hall leading to the front door and upstairs. The kitchen is modern, but nobody would call it state of the art. There's an island counter with a pair of barstools, one of which is slightly pulled away from the counter. There's dirty dishes in the sink, and on the stovetop. A dish towel sits crumpled on the counter beside the sink. "I was a little busy this morning, and I was expecting to find- I mean, to run into you.." Mason trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. With a shake of his head, he heads out of the kitchen.

"Come on, I'll show you upstairs. I always keep the spare bedroom ready, so at least there's that." Mason heads down the hall and up the stairs. Upstairs is somewhat smaller, four doors lining the hall; two on the left, one on the right, and one at the end. Mason pauses to point out the bathroom, which is surprisingly spotless. Mason has an ensuite bathroom attached to the master bedroom. Across from the bathroom is an office, walls lined with mostly empty bookshelves, a loveseat against the wall beside the door, and a centrally placed desk and chair with a computer. A large bay window looks out at a small backyard.

Finally, Mason opens the second door on the left, revealing the spare room. It's very plain, done in pale oak furnishings and smoke grey sheets on the bed, matching curtains on the window looking out at the front street. There's also a mirror on the wall above the dresser. A small closet in the corner has empty clothes hangers. "It's not a big space, but it's better than sleeping in your car, right?" Mason had caught a glimpse of the pile of blankets in the backseat of Maverick's car.
 
The first thing was to get the laundry running as that would probably take an hour just for washing so as soon as Mason brought him there he set to work hauling out his dirty clothes and stuffing them into the washing machine. At the mention of shoes, he removed his own boots and set them aside. Once the laundry was going he followed Mason around the house.

It wasn't a mansion of course but it was far better that he was expecting, though...he really didn't know what he had expected to begin with. The dishes in the sink and on the stove really didn't bother him considering he had been living in a damned car. "You worried I'll think you're some kind of slob?" Maverick questioned with a raised brow. "I'm not a neat freak so don't worry about it. As long as we deal with it before it starts to smell it really doesn't much matter to me." he added as they made their way upstairs.

He couldn't feel bad staying here when Mason had all this extra space left unoccupied. It was a sizable place for just one person. No, he didn't know for sure that Mason was staying here alone. When they reached the spare room Maverick looked around. There was plenty of space for his nonexistent belongings. He set his bag near the bedside for now and turned to look at the other a bit awkwardly at the mention of his sleeping in the car. "It's a generous step up from that, yes." he agreed. A real bed would be far more comfortable than that crusty old car.

"Thanks...for offering to let me stay here." he stated after a long pause. He really wasn't good at this sort of thing but Mason was going well out of his way for him so the least he could do was offer his gratitude. "Anyway, maybe we should get those dishes done and out of the way?" It was a good distraction and something to do. "Also, you got anything to eat? I haven't eaten since breakfast." That was a bad habit of his, forgoing some meals because he is either too busy or couldn't be bothered.
 
Mason grins sheepishly when Maverick chides him about worrying over the dishes. "Yeah, well, it's not lie we ever lived together outside of army bases. I don't really know much about you, now that I think about it. But we have lots of time for that." Mason makes it sound like he intends for Maverick to stay for a long time. He does, but he'd never force the younger man to stay. Mason is leaned in the doorway while Maverick looks around.

When Maverick asks about washing dishes and food, Maverick backs up into the hall, too quickly. The back of his head hits the top of the doorframe with a loud thunk. Mason's minimal reaction, just flinching and lifting a hand to rub his head, indicates this isn't the first time. "Ah, yeah, let's do that. I can see what I have, but do you have any requests? Anything you might want that isn't fast food or army rations?" Mason says it to be funny, but immediately kicks himself for being insensitive. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Mason's nervousness at being around Maverick again after a year apart, a year of thinking the younger man dead, has him jumpy and nervous. A big part of his nervousness is still due to the fearful thought that this would all be a dream, and he'd wake in the morning surrounded by alcohol bottles again. It's the reason Mason had pointedly avoided showing Maverick his bedroom, the door at the end of the upstairs hall.
 
It was true. Maverick never really talked about himself or his interests. He never saw a point to it, only revealing what was necessary for the job. Revealing too much was a liability, but that was no longer a problem. He didn't have to worry about enemies and the like now that the war was over. "I can say the same for you. We work well together, but...that's all, really."

Maverick wasn't at all bothered by the joke, instead thinking on what he could possibly request that wouldn't be too difficult. That, and something that one would more than likely have ingredients for. He didn't want to request an impossible meal. "I told you wasn't picky, but if I have to choose..." he started as he came out of the bedroom. "Pasta?" It was a question because he wasn't sure if Mason had the ingredients for it.

They headed down and Maverick took no time at all in starting in on the dishes. The least he could do was some menial chores in turn for the room he was occupying. "If pasta isn't possible then whatever you can think of. As long as it's edible I'll be fine." Maverick was actually meticulous with the cleaning and made damned sure the dishes were spotless when he was done with them, and at that point he tool a seat on the stool at the island so Mason would have room to move about the kitchen unimpeded.
 
Mason leads the way down to the kitchen again, nodding as he listens to Maverick behind him. When pasta is requested, Maverick makes a turn in the kitchen, heading for the pantry. He sees Maverick make for the dishes, and almost tells him he doesn't need to. Instead, he bites his cheek. Mason wants to give Maverick a sense of normalcy. Now that he thinks about it, the younger man probably never had a normal childhood. Maverick had been paired with Mason as a teenager, and what little info Mason had been given indicated Maverick had come from Sagittarius' lab.

"I can do pasta. I take it you have no known allergies?" Mason pulls a tin out of the pantry; this was how he'd always had pasta stored growing up. He also grabs a jar of pre-seasoned alfredo sauce. Not the world's most homecooked meal, but pretty good. Mason has gotten as far as boiling the water by the time Maverick is finished with the dishes. He watches the younger man sit down, and leans against the counter after adding the pasta to cook, and a sprinkle of salt to the water. "So, what have you been doing for the past year? Just.. wandering? Did you try to settle anywhere?" Now that Maverick is here, Mason just wants to get to know him. Really get to know him, not just know his combat habits.
 
“No allergies as far as I know.” Maverick responded thoughtfully. “I’ll be sure to let you know if your cooking kills me though.” The last part was an attempt a humor, but the delivery was lacking given the neutral tone he used. Maverick was looking around the room absently until Mason came over to make another inquiry.

“For the most part. I’ve taken on mercenary work on occasion when I’m strapped for cash but…everywhere I go I just feel…out of place.” Maverick replied with a sigh. Compared to everyone else he was no more than a damned lab-grown monster. He hated that feeling, watching all the happy faces as he drives by. They all had something that he didn’t, and he wasn’t sure what exactly. “Kinda hard to settle when I can’t find any sense of belonging.”
 
Mason gives a supportive little smile at Maverick's attempt at humor. The joke was good, even if the delivery failed. Then there's that ache in his chest again, hearing Maverick speak of always feeling out of place. Mason would make it his mission to make Maverick feel welcomed here. He wants the younger man to know he can have a home here, with Mason. And he'd face any trials that would come with welcoming Maverick into his home.

"Well, you're welcome here, and safe." Mason tacks on that last bit on purpose. He starts to reach across the counter to touch Maverick's arm, to comfort him, but stops short. There's still that fear that this isn't real. Mason clears his throat and pulls his hand back, opting to rub the back of his neck instead. "Uh, so, mercenary work? Not really surprised, to be honest. I tried to go back to being a mechanic, did that before the war. But I couldn't keep from-" Mason cuts off. He'd never actually told Maverick he had abilities, and Maverick had never asked so it was never discussed. Mason isn't sure this is the right time. "Ah, I just couldn't find a peaceful rhythm, I guess. I started on with a security company that hires out, so that's kept me busy. Gives me something to do between sleeping and drinking."

Mason flushes lightly when he realizes he admitted to his bad drinking habit. He turns away, going back to the stove to stir the pasta. His reasons for drinking are not something he wants to discuss with Maverick. Especially since they center around his deep seated guilt of not trying harder to go back for the younger man. Mason stirs the pasta, but his grip on the wooden spoon is too tight, and it snaps in his fingers, too easily. Mason sighs, tossing it onto the counter. His hands are shaking as he pulls out another wooden spoon.
 
Maverick's eyes followed Mason's hand even as it retreated. He couldn't deny the safety part of things. Being here was far safer than sleeping in his car on the side of the road where anyone could fuck with him, though if anyone did make the mistake of fucking with him, it would be the last thing they ever did. "Yeah. Killing people is simple and I'm good at it. A little too good I'd say." His life before the labs was a mystery, and everything he learned there and with the rebels? Definitely nothing fit for ordinary life.

It was clear that Mason has cut himself off, though Maverick couldn't discern why. Something embarrassing perhaps? It didn't bother him enough for further inquiry so he simply let it go. "Security, huh? You seem built for that sort of work." he commented idly before nodding at the mention of drinking. Why did Mason seem bothered to admit to drinking? Maverick saw no real problem with it since he had his own drinking problem. "And you think I don't have a problem? I told you my plan was to get hammered tonight, and not just because it would be fun or some bullshit." he replied dismissively.

The sound of wood snapping caused him to jump slightly from how sudden and unexpected it was. Did Mason just...break a wooden spoon in his bare hand? "Easy with the utensils. Wouldn't want splinters in the pasta." It was then that he noticed the shaking. "Are you...okay? You're a bit shaky, you need some help?"
 
Mason lets out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. He stirs the pasta with the new spoon, then picks up the broken one. "Yeah, I'm okay. I get.. Stress tremors. Bit of leftover from.. Everything. But I'm one of the lucky ones. Nightmares, tremors, a drinking problems. That's all I've got. Loud noises don't bother me, sudden movements don't set me on edge. Well, not most of the time. Guess you could say I didn't qualify for PTSD."

There's tension in Mason's shoulders, and he looks down at his hands, curling them into fists. He takes several deep breaths to calm himself, and the shaking slowly subsides. "Sorry, I didn't mean to dump that on you. It's not fair to you." Mason shakes his head again, then turns back around to shut off the stove. After draining the water, he adds the alfredo sauce, stirring it around in the pot. Mason pauses to toss the broken wooden spoon in the trash, then pulls out two plates and two forks. "Anyway, dinner's ready. Want anything to drink? If you still want to get hammered, I can indulge you. At least here, it's safer than at the bar."
 
"Lucky indeed. Loud noises...hmm..." Maverick seemed a bit thoughtful on that one. There were some loud noises that now freaked him out, such as the crackle of lightning or electricity. At least that was off the top of his head and he knew exactly why he was bothered by these sounds in particular. "I'm not bothered at all by your problems. We all have our issues."

As dinner was served he could smell the alfredo and it smelled amazing even if it was something out of a jar. "I'll have a few drinks, nothing too crazy." he replied as the plate of pasta was place in front of him. "I wouldn't want you having to babysit me after all." he added before taking a bite of the pasta. Finally, some real food. It sure beat the hell out of the canned garbage he had been eating in his car when he didn't have the money to eat out. "I think I could get used to eating real food everyday." Maverick stated between bites.
 
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