[Open Log] Kinks and Freaks, Oh My!

[lightofdawn]

Hold on tight, hope you ain't scared...

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[lovernotafighter]

Yeah, even the jokes were flat between them.

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."

[cryptos]

Wash always looked tired and stressed out but tonight he looked downright haggard. The stress of the campaign and almost a full twenty-four hours on his feet would have been enough to wipe anyone's reserves.

This newest emotional hurdle threatened to squash whatever remained of his morale. Epsilon had been his AI and he'd very nearly killed himself because of the stresses the AI had put on his psyche. For the majority of the time he'd spent in that psyche ward, Wash had been incapable of differentiating between what were his memories and what had come for Epsilon.

For months, his dreams had been haunted by the face of a blonde woman who's name he could not recall and he'd screamed out the name Allison until his voice had cracked and eventually lost because he'd been screaming the name for so long.

His experience with Epsilon had scarred Wash for life when it came to AI and now he couldn't even consider the idea of accepting an onboard AI passenger in his neural network without feeling panic bubble at the back of his throat. Yet despite the horrific experience, he came to care for Epsilon as his own unique individual rather than the ghostly echo of the Director's memories.

And he mourned for that loss just like Tucker did.

"One Freckles is enough for one lifetime." Wash agreed quietly while he watched Tucker dig around under his bed only to draw out the locker containing two bottles of whiskey. His eyebrows arched upwards but for the first time in his life, Washington didn't feel the need to lecture Tucker over the obvious contraband.

Or the potential drinking problem he'd apparently picked up somewhere. He just mutely accepted the second bottle and twisted off the cap so he could take a long pull from the bottle. It burned a path down his throat but Wash kept that discomfort to himself.

[lovernotafighter]

Potential drinking problem? Hell no, this was celebration booze. This was bought specifically for the time when this stupid fucking war was done, when Felix the Cockbite was dead, and Hargrove was fucking paying for what he had done. This was saved, unopened, waiting like a good woman dressed in lingerie with her arms wide.

This was supposed to be Happy Fun Fucking Time booze to be shared between all the Sim Troops and Freelancers.

It would have to do for now, because the heaviness of the situation was making the burn a little less satisfactory.

Tucker wasn’t sure what he was expecting out of Wash, a glass or something? Washed twice because who knew what happened in Tucker’s room? But nope, he went straight for the bottle, too, and there was a silent, mutual appreciation over mourning something that was human and not, that was…something.

That was Church.

He took another drink. “You know, when we were up there, I didn’t think any of us were coming back. Like, it wasn’t fine, it fucking sucked, but I was ready. Prepared. I was going to take as many of them out as I could, and then…whatever happened would happen. But coming back without Church, it feels more real than when we were in the trophy room.” The bottle dangled in a loose fist between his knees, the different suit casting unfamiliar shadows across the floor.

“He’s been a dumbass and died so many fucking times, and I just keep thinking he’s going to come back again. It’s kinda stupid, you know. I feel like Caboose.”

[cryptos]

This might have been meant for a victory celebration but instead, it had turned into some grim sort of wake for the dead and undead. Epsilon...Church, whatever name he'd gone for, he'd left his mark on both of them.

There might have even been a time when Wash would have welcomed Epsilon's demise considering the heartbreak and trauma he'd undergone thanks to the AI. But he'd come to learn the AI all over again outside of the traumatizing confines of the Project and had come to value Church as a member of the team.

"It's Church, he's cheated death so many times, that is a totally reasonable assumption if you ask me." Wash pointed out quietly while taking another pull from the bottle. The whiskey burned just as much the second time around as it did the first time. But he knew if he kept drinking, he'd eventually the alcohol would win out and he'd grow numb and not even notice that burn anymore.

"Everything we've gone through lately, all of this uncertainty and upheaval, I think all of us are going to need time to process things." The tired looking ex-Freelancer looked over at Tucker then with a serious look on his face. "Did you tell Carolina what happened to Epsilon?" The AI had been paired with her pretty much from the moment he'd been freed from the memory unit and Wash was one of the few people who understood just what Epsilon truly meant to the woman and the connections he offered her to her past and to her deceased family.

I know you're going to kill me for fucking up nirvana, but I'm so bored at work that I had to. ♥

[lovernotafighter]

Yeah, reasonable. Nothing felt reasonable; Church sacrificing himself didn’t feel reasonable. Them still going on like nothing happened didn’t feel reasonable. But him coming back? Him not being dead after all? That was the most sane thing out of this whole stupid ordeal.

And it wasn’t going to happen. Death had lost its finality until it really was standing at their doorsteps. The end.

Tucker drank again, two deep swallows before he hung the bottle back down once more. The burn sucked, and the molten core he was developing in his stomach was a slow comfort. Carolina… “No. Not yet. Figured I’d try to find the words first.” Or, you know, try to run into Wash and test those same words out on him first. Or maybe just have Wash tell her because they were closer than she was with the rest of them; they had a history that the Sim Troops couldn’t touch. Or, fuck it, just leave her a note and run like hell.

Why was this his job? Why was he still trying to fix Church’s fucking bullshit after he was gone? Didn’t they have people who were supposed to inform folks of their fallen loved ones, with all the flags and ceremony and shit? But Carolina would scare them. She only mildly scared Tucker anymore.

And she’d want to hear it from one of them. From him. From Wash. From one of them.

Tomorrow.

“Sit down,” Tucker said, sliding over a little on the bed to make room. “The stuff written on the bathroom walls isn’t right; I only bite when I’m asked to.”

[cryptos]

"Yeah, I understand." Wash's face went all inscrutable which was never a good sign but he was thinking about Carolina and felt his heart ache for the other Freelancer. He knew better than many just how much Carolina had lost. Her mother...her father, the Project...York.

And now Epsilon.

Just how much loss could a person withstand before they either lost themselves in the grief or they just no longer allowed themselves to feel much of anything for anyone anymore? Wash knew which end of the spectrum Carolina fell on because he was much the same way. They were both so damaged by the scars of their past that Wash hadn't thought themselves capable of forming bonds and connections with anyone else, ever again.

It was what made the Sim Troopers all the more remarkable. They had resurrected his cold heart and reminded Carolina of her humanity once more.

Tucker dragged him out of his own thoughts with that unexpected offer slash order to sit down. He belatedly realized he was probably making the other man nervy by standing over him like that.

"You know just how to put the mind at ease." He snarked albeit weakly as he came to settle awkwardly on the edge of the bed. The smart thing would have been just to move the helmet...move the Meta's helmet off the lone chair but Wash found himself hesitant about touching the damned thing. There were just too many bad memories wrapped up in that helmet.

"So does that mean I can't believe anything I read on the bathroom walls about you, Tucker?" Wash joked, awkwardly trying to play off his tension with a weak attempt at humor before pulling the bottle up to his mouth again to take another drink.

[lovernotafighter]

"Careful, or I'll start my Orgasm Palace Special: Barry White and booze."

That helmet. Tucker caught himself looking at his reflection in it, remembering his own run-ins, his own bad memories. Now it had another one, another person claimed by someone wearing it. Would he put it on after this? He... didn't know. He didn't want Church's sacrifice to be for a onetime thing, even if...even if he had gotten what he wanted to out of it.

But he'd be damned if he ever let someone else in it. No one. Ever.

Fucking asshole, Church.

Was it wrong that it was the only place Tucker felt close to him now?

"If it's about my nine inch cock that I totally did not write myself, then you can believe that. If it's about burning when I pee? Nope. " He brought the bottle to his lips again, took another drag, and the burn was less this time. He was either getting used to it, or he was starting to feel it.

"Now what do we do?" That Hargrove was gone. That Chorus was safe. That Church was... Shit, were they supposed to have a memorial or something? A funeral without a body? Could they just bury the suit and leave it at that? Fuck, it was complicated.

[cryptos]

Wash looked both concerned and mildly horrified all at the same time.

“No, no need to pull out all the stops on the…no, I’m not calling it that and please for the love of God don’t use that phrase again.” Honestly, how Tucker still thought he was some kind of ladies man was beyond him. He’d seen the Sim trooper get shot down so many times by various women in both armies.

It might have been strangely endearing if it wasn’t mired down in so much gross sexism and complete lack of respect for the female persuasion in general. When Wash had found out that Tex had been assigned to Blood Gulch and managed to spend a large amount of time with the Blues, he’d been downright stunned by the knowledge she hadn’t torn Tucker’s dick or any other parts off of his body.

“No, I was more referring to the “Tucker is a terrible lay” variety written all over the bathrooms.” What….had that seriously just come out of his mouth? Apparently he’d drunk more of this hooch than he’d realized. It made his tongue looser and allowed the things he normally kept locked up tight inside of his head to be aired out loud.

“Though please, feel free to never tell me anything more about how you pee or the burning sensation. Some things just aren’t meant to be shared between teammates. That’s more Dr. Grey’s purview.”

Of course, Tucker had to go and drag the emotion in the cramped room right back down into the dumps with his next question. The skin around Wash’s eyes tightened and a grimace briefly twisted at his expression before he found himself looking down at the bottle cupped in his hands. “I dunno, Tucker. I think I’m going to try and finish as much of this bottle so that I can put off that question till tomorrow.” He admitted with rare honestly.

[lovernotafighter]

It was his charm that allowed him to have his dick still. Well, that and the fact there was always shit going on to distract Tex. Church shit. Drama. Battles. Freelancers. All the normals that allowed his jokes and poor come-ons to get lost in the myriad of other, far more important bullshit.

But he liked to think it was because she secretly wanted him. And his charm.

"That really isn't true. Motherfuckers are jealous of all the chicks I get." Wow, Wash, he wasn't expecting the humor (God, he hoped it was a joke and not real) coming out of his mouth. A little pout screwed into his mouth at the thought that it could be true, and he was already narrowing down the people who would commit such a blatant crime. Grif? That might be too much work for him. Simmons? Defacing property was a blah blah offense and blah. Sarge didn't care, Caboose didn't know what "lay" meant in that context. Well, shit.

"And it doesn't burn anymore since the pills." He chased the words with a swig of whiskey, and the weightless disconnect was starting to set in. Good.

Especially good with the question hanging between them, and the answer offered. Yeah, tonight they could forget about the army, forget about who they lost, forget about the news they needed to deliver. Tonight, they could kill some liquor and just exist in this tiny, albeit messy room that had clothes on the floor and a picture of Junior taped to the wall by the bed. They could forget the helmet in the corner, staring at that.

He raised his bottle up for a toast, fathomless brown eyes looking over at Wash. "To saying 'fuck it, let's deal with it tomorrow'."

[cryptos]

There was one perk to everyone thinking you were a humorless robot most of the time and the mingled look of confusion and scandalized disbelief on Tucker’s face was priceless. So much so that it actually garnered a quiet chuffing noise out of the ex-Freelancer which might have even been classified as a chuckle.

“You’re assuming it’s men and not the hoards of dissatisfied women writing that on the walls?” Wash pointed out dryly while taking another sip from the bottle. By now, the alcohol had either burned all the nerve endings in his throat out or he was feeling it’s effects to the extent that he didn’t even notice the sensation anymore.

“What did I just tell you? I don’t want to know anything about you or your bodily functions, Tucker!” He protested loudly but without any real bite in his words. Wash rested the bottle in between his legs so that he could rub at his face with both hands as though trying to scrub that mental image from his brain.

It was easier than looking at the other man when he admitted his own weakness when it came to hiding from the truth of Epsilon’s loss even if it was only for a few hours. Which was an urge he knew to be selfish and that he should probably be looking for Carolina now to tell her before she heard it from anyone else because that would be ten times worse for her.

“I should find Carolina, tell her what happened.” He said softly while meeting Tucker’s gaze for a moment. “I just…don’t want to tell her that. She’s lost so much already.”

[lovernotafighter]

"Because how are women writing it on the MEN'S bathroom stalls?" Duh, Wash. "Unless you're going into the women's bathroom, perv. Didn't know you had it in you."

Two could play that game. He watched Wash drink, hard, deep, and he found himself snickering as he did his own swig. His legs felt heavy, the alcohol nothing, and he was disappointed in the lack of toast. There was no bottle smacking bottle, the only response necessary when one raised a container of alcohol, but he didn't pursue it.

Not when Wash said that. Telling Carolina seemed... not dangerous, even if it should be, but sad. Church and her had been close. They had been closer than Tucker could ever understand, not exactly getting what brought them together, but he hadn't bothered to get nosy; Chuch probably had a crush on her or some shit. But either way, she was going to take it bad. As bad as they were, for sure.

Would she want to come back and drink with them? Maybe. Tucker would let her.

Wash, he noticed, had fucking pretty eyes. Shame they looked so tired all the time.

"I should go with you," he said, setting his bottle to the side, even though he was reluctant to let it go. "I was there, and, like, I knew him the longest, and I can protect you if she gets violent."

[cryptos]

"And how do you know women aren't sneaking into the men's restrooms to write about your prowess or lack there of?" Wash challenged him smoothly and with an arched brow. The scar through that brow sort of made the expression look a little lopsided and distorted thanks to the deadened nerve-endings not responding but he managed to convey that amusement all the same.

Wash lifted the bottle and took another sip from it and by now, his stomach was feeling so warm, he barely even felt the churning nausea that threatened to swallow him.

Who knew how the older man might have reacted to the knowledge that Tucker was looking at him close enough to notice his eyes were pretty. This close, Tucker could even see the starbursts of yellow-brown encircling the each pupil.

"No, I think I should do it alone. She's...not going to want an audience for this." Wash didn't bother to refute the accuracy of Tucker's statement about knowing Epsilon longer because well...technically he had considering he'd been the first person the AI interacted with. But the Alpha and Epsilon in part were all a reflection of Leonard Church and that was Carolina's secret that he would keep until his grave.

"Thanks for the drink, Tucker." He climbed to his feet and winced at the bright shaft of pain that went through him at that movement. Wash wasn't as young anymore an after a long day of battle, he was paying for it.

[lovernotafighter]

Watching Wash get up, Tucker took the chance to fall completely back down onto the cot, causing the frame to protest. He needed to take the rest of this armor off, and he would the second the Freelancer was gone, if it wasn’t too much effort. It probably was. Everything felt like it was right now.

Well, everything other than drinking.

He watched that wince, a little smile crossing his lips. “You’re getting old, Wash,” he teased. “Can’t keep up with young, hot guys like me, but feel free to keep trying.”

For once, he didn’t barge in on the need to do something, to be alone with a woman, or to just avoid a situation altogether; he was just letting it lie as it was. This wasn’t something he wanted to do to start with, and while it sucked that Wash was taking it onto himself, he had his own feelings to process, his own grief. And, maybe processing them was going to happen at the bottom of this bottle.

No. It was definitely going to happen at the bottom of this bottle.

“If you feel like coming back after, I’ll still be up.” He laid his head back on the pillow, lips pulling into a small, twisted little frown. “Nope. Not going to say it. Too easy. …and so was that one. Just, like, you can come back if you want. I can’t guarantee you your whiskey will still be here, though.”

He rolled to his side to take another drink. “Good luck, Wash. Wouldn’t want to be you right now. I don’t even want to be me.”

[cryptos]

"You're not that much older than me, Tucker. Just you wait till the first day you wake up and your knees are aching just at the thought of climbing out of bed." Wash informed him with a flat look as he set the whiskey bottle down on the desk where he'd set his helmet and pulled it back on with a sigh.

Wash could smell his whiskey tinged breath in the tight confines of the helmet and fought back a grimace.

"I appreciate your discretion. It's almost like you're maturing into an adult." He drawled and headed for the door.

Something about Tucker's parting words stood out sharply to him and he felt an instantaneous wash of concern for the Sim trooper. But he had bigger fish to fry right now so he let it pass without comment and slipped outside to go track down Carolina.

What came to pass next was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life. But she deserved to hear it from him rather than from base gossip or thanks to the tactless words of say Sarge.

It would be the better part of an hour before Wash found himself wandering back through officer's territory. All he wanted to do was go fall facedown in his bunk and just pass out.

But Tucker's words had stayed with him like a bad song stuck on repeat in his head so instead of heading directly for his quarters, he stopped by Tucker's.

He knocked very gently on the door so as not to wake the younger man if he'd already passed out but hopefully it would be enough to garner his attention if he were still awake.

[lovernotafighter]

Passed out? Nope. He had managed to take to take his armor off, but each piece was scattered across the room, begging to be tripped over. Not that it looked much different than his normal state of affairs for his quarters; he wasn't the neatest member of the Sim Troops. But, then again, at least he wasn't Grif.

Tucker hadn't honestly thought Wash would be back; the talk with Carolina would be difficult, draining for anyone, but for a fellow Freelancer, it carried a new weight. He had turned on music in the meantime, flopped down and just drank from his bottle, leaving the one Wash had untouched. He didn't finish his own, mostly because he liked having a liver, not dying tomorrow, and because he couldn't, but the dent he had put in it was sizable.

He existed in the space beyond the place of pleasant buzzing, and instead had steamrolled into drunk. His body was a weightless machine, and even on the bed with just a pair of teal and black plaid sleep pants, he felt light. Buzzing. Numb. It was a contradictory experience, but he didn't care about that, either. For the moment, the things he had seen, the things he had dealt with, the hole that now existed was lessened. It felt surmountable. It felt less real.

Tucker sang with Queen as it blared through the speakers, an almost bitterness that came with "We are the champions," that made his voice crack. He didn't hear the door; the knocks were too quiet. Now, his neighbors who had pounded on the wall to get him to turn down the music, he had heard that. Told them to fuck off and turned it up louder.

They had shut up after that. Or maybe after he had carved douchecanoe into their door with his sword.

But for as loud and victorious as Freddie Mercury sounded, Tucker didn't share in the feeling, even if they had won.

[cryptos]

Wash leaned in closer to the door and could hear the thrum of music from the room within. He wasn't as versed with twentieth-first century music like Tucker and didn't recognize the song. And in truth, it just sounded like a whole mess of racket to him.

A lot of racket at close to midnight which he was sure his neighbors really appreciated.

This time, Washington's thumps on the door weren't quiet or hesitant but instead were more akin to a loud pounding.

"Tucker! Turn down that racket, people are trying to sleep!"

[lovernotafighter]

That's because Washington had no taste. None. Seriously, Queen was a classic. Epic.

Fucking lameass.

The pounding against the door stopped his off-key singing, but the music didn't turn down; this was the good part. He did, however, swing his legs off the cot, finding the floor under his bare feet. Vertical was never as pleasant as horizontal. When he stood, the room swayed but didn't spin, like gravity was altered but not gone.

The cement was cool under him, which shucked away some of the top layer of intoxication, but he didn't really feel any more sober. He made his way to the door, fiddling with it until it opened and he was staring at Wash.

Wash with no musical appreciation.

"Fuck you. Freddie's not racket. Your mom's racket."

Maybe his finger poked Wash's chest. Maybe he smiled a little. Those fucking eyes.

"I'm a war hero. I get to decide when people sleep."

[cryptos]

Wash who stood there just radiating that all too familiar air of judgement and exasperation. He had to remind himself that Tucker was drunk and that he himself wasn't exactly sober either.

So letting tempers flare or allowing things to devolve into yet another fight was pointless.

"First off? That makes no sense whatsoever. Second off, people are tired. It's been a long-ass couple of days for everyone." The former Freelancer didn't rise to the bait when Tucker poked him with one bare hand. Somewhere along the way, the other man had pulled off all of his armor and it just served to exaggerate the differences in their height while Wash was standing there in full armor.

Wash was going to blame the weird twisty thing his stomach did when Tucker smiled like that with that look in his eyes on the alcohol.

"Just, try and keep the noise level down to mild bedlam, okay?"

[lovernotafighter]

Standing before Wash, Tucker was a small yappy dog in front of a larger one, unaware of his own lesser size and distinct lack of authority in the matter. Wash could take him. Wash could totally take him right now because Wash was ready for a war that just ended, but Tucker didn't care because he still thought he had a chance. Did it matter that he was sans armor? Did it matter that he was even drunker than the freelancer? Fuck no.

Tucker had to look up at him, and he didn't care about that either.

"Yeah, but fuck them. Not literally. Well, some literally." His hand curled in the armor as best it could, and he tried to pull Wash inside. What? The more his door was open, the more the music was filtering into the hallway and wasn't that bad? Wasn't that a bad thing, Mr. I'm-No-Fun-Because-They-Removed-My-Fun-Gland-In-Project-Freelancer?

"I still have your bottle left." Wash's now, not his own. He couldn't see it as anything else. "How did the talk with Carolina go? You're still in one piece."

[cryptos]

"Tucker," Wash practically sighed his name, the exasperation and impatience packed into just one word so damned familiar by now.

Now, Wash could have dug his heels in could have stood his ground and Tucker could have pulled on his armor until his arms fell off and the Sim trooper wouldn't have budged him so much as an inch.

But after a moment's hesitation, the former Freelancer let himself be tugged inside the room though he at least had enough common sense to shut the door behind them. "Only if you promise to turn down the music a little, okay?"

He didn't know why he was letting himself get dragged into this mess, all he wanted was to crawl into his rack and sleep for a couple of years, but he was concerned about Tucker. And Wash had always been the type of guy who let the squad come before his own personal wants or needs.

"About as well as you can expect it. Then she made it abundantly clear she wanted to be left alone and I wasn't going to force the issue."

[lovernotafighter]

A Wash was acquired, and Tucker shut the door behind him in victory. But, just to play fair, he did head back to the radio, turning it low just as Get Down Make Love started to play, the murmur of the lyrics barely discernible as Tucker dropped bonelessly back to the bed. At his least his steps had been mostly in a straight line. Mostly.

"Yeah, the problem with this is that there isn't even an ass to kick," he said. Not an ass that mattered, anyway. Not the ass he wanted.

...not like that. Just...the one he wanted to kick. The one that hurt him. Hurt all of them. That left them broken just like this.

And if Church hadn't...then...

His hand grabbed his bottle, bringing it to his lips as he took another draw off it. "If he hadn't, I know we would've died. Like, we just...were outnumbered. We weren't enough. Bastard would've gotten away with everything, and you'd be burying all of us." Even Caboose. Even...

"But I'm still so fucking pissed about it! I shouldn't be here! None of us should!"

[cryptos]

With Tucker sprawled out on the bed, Wash found his options limited once more. The Meta's helmet was still sitting there on the chair with it's reflective fish-bowl shaped visor starting back at him. Second time around and Wash was no more eager to touch it as he'd been the last time.

Instead, the ex-Freelancer went back to leaning against the desk where he'd originally been standing and pulled off his helmet and set it down so that he could pick up the bottle he'd abandoned before.

"I think that's part of it. She's also a private person and, understandably, doesn't want someone standing there gawking at her while she goes through an emotional crisis." Wash grimaced around those words and opted to chase them with a sip from the bottle before continuing.

Tucker had obviously been drinking while he'd been out and the Sim Trooper was definitely way ahead of him in the drunkenness department but he felt no need to rush and catch up just yet.

Maybe Tucker had needed the booze in order to let out what had truly been eating away at him? Wash sighed and carefully stepped over bits and pieces of Tuckers armor in the small room so that he could move to sit on the edge of the bed once more.

"You lost your best friend for the umpteenth time. Maybe for the last time, you're allowed to be angry." The blond man pointed out quietly. "I'm upset about it too but I know Epsilon would have been even more upset if all of you had died."

[lovernotafighter]

"Is that what you're doing? Gawking at me? Because, dude, you could choose a better time to gawk rather than when I'm in mourning. Like, morning runs? In the shower? When I'm commanding my squad or some shit."

Another joke. It was that, wasn't it? A joke and not a low come-on? All of the burn of the alcohol was gone, lost in a memory that he didn't care to remember, and there was only this disconnect, words that tumbled without inhibitions to fuck them up. Or stop him from fucking up. Whatever.

The bed sank as Wash sat on it; the armor didn't help. Thank fucking God it was all reinforced metal. Tucker sat up, ignoring the vertigo that came with it, the dizziness of intoxication that was pleasant until the sun rose. He was allowed to be angry. He was justified in his anger. Sweet. He wished he had it in writing.

"Yeah, I know. And then Hargrove would have had him, and you would've had to bury us, and...no, I get it, man. I get it. But it doesn't make-" hurt any less "-me any less angry."

He took another drink and scooted closer to Wash, mostly because sitting up was hard and he needed something to lean against. The wall was far; Wash was not. "You miss him, too?"

[cryptos]

"Of course I'm not gawking at you or anyone! It was a turn of phrase is all!" Wash didn't have the benefit of his helmet to help him hide the fact that his ears were beginning to turn pink with embarrassment.

And now that he was sitting on the edge of Tucker's bunk, the younger man would be able to pick out the flush of color that was crawling down the back of his neck and beneath the thick material of his undersuit.

Wash looked over at the other man as he pushed himself shakily upright and that eyebrow bisected by the scar twitched ever so slightly as he resisted the urge to raise both brows incredulously at the Sim Trooper.

"Hargrove getting his hands on Epsilon when he had the Meta's suit would have been devastating. As would all of your deaths. I know you're upset about what Epsilon did, but he make the best call he could make."

Wash knew all about being angry and didn't try and talk Tucker out of his anger. The younger man had a right to his anger; both at Epsilon, Hargrove and the entire shitty situation. The Freelancer sort of swirled the alcohol in the bottle in a contemplative manner before deciding that...yeah, he was going to drink it until he couldn't feel much of anything anymore. Maybe then, he might be able to burn the memory of the look in Carolina's eyes when he'd told her what had happened from his mind.

[lovernotafighter]

"Yeah."

Sometimes, Wash talked like a robot and it frustrated the hell out of him. Epsilon getting taken, their deaths. Devastating. But Tucker was fairly sure Wash was talking on a strategical level (which was still true) rather than a personal one.

Sure, technically their deaths would crush morale. Sure, Hargrove being able to run that suit would change everything. Sure. Sure. But--

He couldn't bury Caboose. Couldn't. Just like he couldn't bury Wash. But that was the nature of war, wasn't it? Didn't matter; those were real feelings. That was his fucking family, and he realized on this damn planet on how fucking fragile it all was. Losing Wash at the beginning--

Armor wasn't comfortable to lean against, all sharp edges that dug into his back, but leaned into he did. It felt good to be close to it, even if he didn't want to be in it. At least Wash had flushed. At least he was still a person under all the layers of death and pain. Chorus had been the first real tragedy Tucker had ever known, first real battle, wetted his tongue on how it felt to lose something, to be responsible, to taste what it was supposed to be like.

So he washed that taste down with more alcohol.

"But just because he did doesn't make this feel any less shitty." He sighed around the lip of the bottle. "You had friends who died. What'd you do to, like, I dunno, honor them?"