(Originally written July 21st 2014).

Maine's first encounter with York had been...awkward, to say the least.

It had happened when Maine had opened his door only to find York stooped in front of it, wide-eyed and hands positioned in front of his face in a gripping manner, the lock pick he had been holding having been ripped from his hands when the door swung open.

It had been quiet, no sound being made except Maine's loud almost growl-like breathing.

The lock pick that had been dangling from the door handle fell to the tiled floor with a clatter.

Wash, who had strategically been backing away further down the hall while Maine and York had been staring at each other, called out as he started slipping behind a corner. "Well," he said, drawing out each syllable longer than they needed to be, mouth twisting into an almost guilty expression, "looks like that isn't my apartment, York old buddy. Thanks for coming out anyway, bye!" The last part was said so fast that the words rushed together into an almost incomprehensible slurry, Wash's feet echoing off the walls as he all but ran down the hall.

Maine, who had been watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow, face unreadable, looked down at the man still crouched in front of him, waiting for him to do something.

The man, York, had been scowling in the direction his friend and run off to, before looking up at Maine, still on his knees like he had been shocked into the position.

He suddenly smiled at Maine, a look that seemed to try and radiate charm and innocence, before introducing himself, "Yes, hello, as my friend so helpfully supplied, I'm York and I'm new here, just got put in charge of maintenance for the complex."

When Maine didn't immediately offer up his name, York began to look a bit uneasy. "Er, uh, need a hand with anything while I'm down here?"

Maine felt both of his eyes widen, as close to an incredulous expression he was willing to give.

It seemed as though York realized his error just as soon as the words left his mouth if the way he sprung to his feet were any indication, his position and the phrasing of his question seeming to have just registered to him. He raised his hands, almost as if he needed a barrier between himself and the embarrassment he had added to an already awkward situation.

"Whoa there, big guy. Don't go getting excited or anything, that's not what I meant at all."

York must have realized how harshly he had said that, quickly tacking on, "Not that you're not a good looking guy or anything."

Maine raised an eyebrow.

York's tanned face flushed, "Not that I'm hitting on you. I mean, I have a girlfriend. Uh."

Maine continued to watch him dig his own grave, almost amused at the smaller man's floundering. He decided to take pity on him, sticking out a heavily muscled arm to shake the other man's hand.

He ignored the other man's slight flinch.

"Maine," he grunted out, watching as York's face flickered from embarrassed, to confused, before settling on polite, hand outstretched to take hold of Maine's larger one.

Maine gave the man credit when he didn't wince when they shook.

When they let go, Maine tilted his head towards where the other man had fled to, "Wash."

York nodded, beginning to apologize, "Yeah, he's an old friend. Sorry about him. The dumbass lost his key and asked me to come pick the lock since I don't have the master set yet-"

York stopped mid-sentence, mouth hung open on empty air.

Maine imagined the cogs whirling in York's head, a smirk desperately wanting to curl its way onto his face.

"That asshole," York whispered harshly, only barely able to restrain himself from storming off to go beat the crap out of his younger friend. Instead, he turned to face Maine. "Let me get this straight. You live here, right?"

Maine nodded.

"You know Wash?"

Another nod.

"He knows you live here?"

Maine was starting to feel like a bobble head.

"You're friends?"

Maine shrugs, rolling his eyes with a sigh.

"And, he was hoping that having me break into your apartment, when he probably knew you were home, would scare the shit out of me as some kind of joke because you're kind of scarily huge?"

Maine shrugged again, shirt straining around his shoulders, he couldn't argue with that. He knew his stature, cold demeanor, multitude of scars, and very visible tattoos often gave people pause, made them avoid eye contact and try to discretely edge themselves away from him. Maine didn't let it bother him though, he knew those people didn't matter, but it still stung when he was treated like a pariah.

He knew Wash didn't mean anything with his joke, but that didn't mean Maine had to be happy about it.

York was still talking, he seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

"So, Maine. What should we do about this?" He said it very calmly, like he was talking about nothing more interesting than the shade of brown the hallway's wallpaper was, instead of getting revenge on their mutual friend.

Maine smiled, a grin some people had described as have an unsettling amount of teeth to it. Yeah, Maine could learn to like this guy.

So it was decided that Maine would wait until Wash had passed around the corner that led to the stairwell, wait until Wash's back was facing him, before grabbing him, lifting him off the ground, and pulling him backwards into his chest. Wash had flailed, tried to elbow Maine in the ribs but found that he couldn't as his arms were pinned to his sides.

"Uh, Maine?" Wash said, voice unsure. "That you, buddy?"

Maine didn't answer, simply waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Hey, Wash." York said, strolling in from around the corner. He waved a lazy hand at the pair, like nothing was out of the ordinary, giving an entirely innocent expression at Wash's dumbfounded one.

Maine couldn't see Wash's face, but he imagined he had that the look where he was watching as all the pieces slotted together.

"You didn't run when you saw Maine, did you?"

York responded with a 'nope,' popping the "p" at the end while he busied himself with searching through the plastic shopping bag on his wrist.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

Maine wanted to laugh at the glint in York's single brown eye.

The day ended with Wash duct taped to a rolling office chair in the parking lot with 'ASS' written across his forehead.

Carolina had leaned out her window when she heard the commotion going on downstairs, seeing her boyfriend, York, shoving Wash across a chalk line that someone had drawn on the pavement. She snorted at her younger brother's high pitch screaming when the chair was pushed towards Maine, the taller man using his foot to practically rocket him towards York.

Luckily for York and Wash (and the fairly nice look car Wash would have crashed into if York couldn't stop him), North had just pulled into the parking lot (South climbing onto the roof of the car to laugh at Wash), so he was able to help York catch the still spinning Wash before he toppled over or caused any collateral damage.

Carolina couldn't hear what was being said, but she could clearly hear Wash yelling at her to 'help me already!' when her laughing got loud enough for the group gathering in the parking lot to hear. She just yelled back down at him, "Whatever you did, you probably deserved it!" before telling Maine to un-tape him before it got dark or he threw up, which ever came first.

Maine nodded up at her, while South started making bets on how long it would take before Wash blew chunks.

After watching York slap down a twenty saying he'd take South up on that action, Maine got the feeling that York would fit in around here just fine.