anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

Locus is always very warm. On cold nights its a blessing to Wash, who tends to stick right in the middle heat-wise. On warmer nights it can be a bit much.

Right now it's just right, with Locus pressed up against his back and rumbling. There's a momentary thought of Maine in his memories before he pushes it away. That's not for right now.

The head near his shoulder gets a small smile and Wash can't help reaching up to comb his fingers into that dark hair, messing it up a little bit.

He is grateful. So much has changed and so many close calls, he knows to appreciate something while it's here.

"What's keeping you up?"

Just the eyes lift, enough to peer over his shoulder. The incorrect answer is 'nothing', and he'll shut that down quick if Wash even thinks about pulling it out. Not that Locus would put it past him.

All this time, and the understanding that Locus has done far too much to ever think of judging him? And Wash still feels the need to hide a great deal from him. Locus doesn't push anymore, not the way he used to, but...

They've gotten to this point. Washington trusts him sleeping at his back. Surely that means something.

Wash does trust Locus. It didn't come easily, being both Locus and, well, Wash being who he is as well. It had happened slowly, taken time - but Wash did not regret it.

He is still Wash, though, and old habits die hard -

"Nothing important, " Wash says, not nothing but deemed not worth going over.

Even in the silence, Wash can likely tell the look that's being leveled at him. And Locus is silent for a considerable period of time.

Well, if he doesn't see fit to share, Locus can't do much about that. But he can try to make him comfortable enough to ease his way into sleep. And he knows some of his habits by now, some of the things that will relax him.

Having a larger frame wound around him seems to work well. So he presses closer, until his chest is flush with Wash's back, all the while a sleepily determined look on his features.

Hey, no giving him that look, Locus. He's the one who gives Looks around here.

He's not wrong that a bigger frame helps, though, and it still makes Wash relax a little, the tense of his shoulders dropping a big when the other man pushes against him. His fingers are threaded through that dark hair and he's silent for a moment, listening to them both breathe.

It's either a bad night or a good level of trust, because after a moment Wash speaks.

"I'm just... going over all the slips in training. What would happen if it was real combat."

Locus learned long ago that Wash would keep his secrets until he felt like sharing them. When he did? It was valuable to keep quiet and listen. So he does, when Wash begins to speak. After a moment or two he gives a quiet noise of agreement.

"Not a bad plan. Perhaps more useful when we are training and something can be done about it."

Which is not now.

"I keep picturing one of them getting hurt. Shot in the head or worse."

Which is part of what's keeping him awake. Wash is always trying to think of the next step, frequently the worst step - a side effect of everything he's been through. He still struggles to think of it as something like PTSD, and not just How Life Is now.

He finally turns his head a little, his cheek nudging Locus' forehead. He doesn't say it but Sam is a recurring theme in these kinds of morbid thoughts, too. Locus is capable, and good at protecting himself. Doesn't mean that Wash doesn't think of what would happen if he doesn't watch his left more.

That's part and parcel of what they are, as far as he's concerned. Battle tinges everything they touch. It's become normal to debate the best exit strategies the moment you walk into a room, quietly assess fifteen ways to disarm a man when you first meet him. Explore every possibility, so the next moment doesn't take you off guard.

At times, that means imagining very unpleasant things.

"Anything is possible. But we have made it this far."

Those pale eyes stare at him in the relative dark of the room, now that the light from the tablet no longer throws that bright blue sheen over everything.

Between the two of them they can assess an entire room and group of people in under thirty seconds. It's actually how they first started talking beyond what was necessary - a weird form of people watching where they discussed how to disarm others, lethal or nonlethal (in Sam's case).

Also makes for some very uncomfortable conversations around other people. Wash can't seem to let go of his worst case scenarios, paranoia never letting its claws out of him, even now.

"I'd like to think that's because of caution." Mostly, it's luck; he's just refusing to acknowledge that. Wash gives a small noise and finally rolls over, facing Locus in the dark with dark brown eyes looking at him.

"It likely had some part to play. The larger part, I've come to believe, is due to your allies."

Fine. This is an actual discussion now. Locus's eyes are a bit clearer now, more open as Wash shuffles around to face him in the dark. Even with near no light, he can make out the curve of his face, the faint glimmer of his eyes.

Comfort is not his strongest suit. There's a thoughtful rumble.

"The reason you survive has a great deal to do with the people you surround yourself with. You need only fear if you stand alone. I do not foresee that day coming soon."

It's an actual discussion with snuggling in the dark. Not the weirdest bed experience or pillow talk he's ever had, and not even with Locus, either.

Wash does reach up to sling an arm over Locus' shoulder, keeping that point of contact and warmth, even if they're basically chest to chest anyways.

"Yeah, that's what works for them." Wash tilts his head back a little. "Doesn't mean I don't worry. There's a lot of people who've taken advantage of it."

The Director. Felix, and by extension Locus (though he's not throwing that in his face). Temple.

"And there always will be."

That's just fact. There's no point in imagining a future where all of this somehow ends. It doesn't, not for people like them, and he won't do Wash the disservice of lying to his face about it. Instead, he simply states it as a matter of fact, something that will surely come.

"You endure, you overcome. It is in your nature."

He's right that it won't end. As much as Wash doesn't want people to come after the reds and the blues, it seems they don't have any choice about it. To be chased by the dregs of Freelancer and their past.

Wash wonders if it's him, sometimes, but they were just as involved in the end as he was. He tries not to dwell.

"You make it sound like that's my specialty." As if that isn't. He's lived when so many haven't.

Red vs Blue pt 2

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