Okay, how nice would be home be, though? How nice in their own comfortable bed, their clean sheets, the photo of Junior on the walls and his X-rated footlocker under the bed because shit never changes. It would be a little different with the armor missing, but shit if he hadn't locked all that crap in the basement for the time being; he had a feeling it wasn't going to go well if Wash saw it.

But Tucker had sat there in the dark, scrubbing the blood off by hand. He...had done that at least.

And they could have pancakes at three a.m., and Wash could have his coffee in his "World's Okayest Dad" mug and it'd be like normal. Would be normal. Their new normal.

"What? You don't think I can?" He pressed his lips to the corner of Wash's mouth, then nipped at his bottom lip. "I don't think you get it, Wash: I haven't even masturbated since shit went down, so it's been weeks. Weeks. I've got a surplus and nowhere to spend it."

It just...wasn't as fun when one's fiancé was in the hospital. Or when he was prisoner in an underwater lair.