Tucker watched Wash remove the helmet, looked at his face on one of the rare occasions it was out in the...well, as fresh of air as they got around here. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before; they were in each other's orbits for awhile now, but it was fleeting, moments that were barely there. Wash looked...tired. But Wash always looked tired.
He also looked...sad? Or something? And Tucker wasn't sure what he was expecting out of the exchange, but this was pretty much it.
Dark eyes found the ceiling, staring up at the flickering lights. Caboose...Caboose wasn't going to get it, at least not for awhile. And Tucker couldn't let himself be sad in front of him, because he'd know, he'd fucking know. And as much as he hated to admit it, Tucker had grown...a little protective over his team-killing teammate. When had that happened?
"Yeah, don't want another fucking murder pet running around."
Or so that's what he'd admit to, because it was easier than admitting the truth.
"Shit." Crouching down on the floor, he slipped an arm under the bed, searching until he found a small locker that he tugged out. Opening it, he ignored the things that people would expect him to have (porn, lube, condoms) and went for two bottles of whiskey that were unopened. Kicking the box back under, he sat on the bed, set bottle on the floor, and opened the other.
"Want some?" He took a drink straight from the bottle, nose wrinkling a little at the burn. "Doesn't matter either way, cause I'm gonna."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-06-03 04:24 pm (UTC)Tucker watched Wash remove the helmet, looked at his face on one of the rare occasions it was out in the...well, as fresh of air as they got around here. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before; they were in each other's orbits for awhile now, but it was fleeting, moments that were barely there. Wash looked...tired. But Wash always looked tired.
He also looked...sad? Or something? And Tucker wasn't sure what he was expecting out of the exchange, but this was pretty much it.
Dark eyes found the ceiling, staring up at the flickering lights. Caboose...Caboose wasn't going to get it, at least not for awhile. And Tucker couldn't let himself be sad in front of him, because he'd know, he'd fucking know. And as much as he hated to admit it, Tucker had grown...a little protective over his team-killing teammate. When had that happened?
"Yeah, don't want another fucking murder pet running around."
Or so that's what he'd admit to, because it was easier than admitting the truth.
"Shit." Crouching down on the floor, he slipped an arm under the bed, searching until he found a small locker that he tugged out. Opening it, he ignored the things that people would expect him to have (porn, lube, condoms) and went for two bottles of whiskey that were unopened. Kicking the box back under, he sat on the bed, set bottle on the floor, and opened the other.
"Want some?" He took a drink straight from the bottle, nose wrinkling a little at the burn. "Doesn't matter either way, cause I'm gonna."