anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

Wash just nodded at that. Yes, he knew Tucker hated it. You only needed to look at him to see how this was wearing on him too, watching Wash lying in this bed and self-flagellating over how this was all so very clearly his fault. It hung around him in this haunted sort of way and Wash hated it, with every fiber of his being.

He didn't just need to get better for himself. He needed to do it for Tucker. It was the only way ever start letting this go, if he was ever going to.

Quietly, he reached out an arm for Tucker, and some of that frustration eased away. Come here, it's alright.

Even if it wasn't, not really, he'd make it so. Through sheer force of will if need be.

Fuck, he was doing the thing again, the thing where Wash was comforting him instead of vice versa. Maybe it was what Wash needed: a job to do, a problem he could hope to control and solve, something to focus on rather than sitting in here. These walls were oppressive and the nurses weren’t that hot. The food? Yeah, that wasn’t hot, either. Temperature or in any other fashion.

Tucker slid into the offer of his arm only after pushing everything else out of the way and setting the bag on the table. Nothing to tangle in, no worries about ripping out lines, and he was more than content to just press into him, curl, be something. Not happy, but something.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I miss you bitching at me.” Not exactly that, more the snark, more the pressure, more the pushing to make him move than anything else. Even their bickering was satisfying. He missed Wash saying he loved him, but he didn’t necessarily need to hear it from him; he saw it in everything he did, every time he looked at Tucker. But the bitching…

“Mind just pointing and making running motions with your fingers while glaring at me? It’s almost the same thing.”

He's kidding, Wash. Really.

It didn't matter. He'd asked, and Wash's expression settled into that heavy, disapproving look Tucker knew so well. Two fingers pointed at his eyes, then jabbed towards Tucker, and mimed running motions with surprising skill.

So maybe Freelancer wasn't the extent of his talents. It wasn't as if he was going to be doing impressions of anyone but Maine anytime soon.

The smile that crossed Tucker's lips was finally something that wasn't twinged with that perpetual guilt and sadness since this whole thing went down. Goddamn, that was funny, that expression that had haunted him since before Chorus and had only gotten worse over the years losing a bit of its effectiveness now that they were engaged. And the pantomiming. The pure Wash of it all.

Tucker finally laughed, a real laugh, because Wash was still Wash, able to talk or not, and while this feeling of freedom might not be able to last he at least had it now. Leaning forward, he kissed him, kissed him harder than he had before, kissed him like he wasn't going to break, one of his hands cupping the side of his cheek.

Damn, Wash, where did you learn that miming skill, though?

His free hand, unencumbered by tubes, lifted to press back against Tucker's cheek. Smoothed back into his dreads and curled there, holding him fast, as he kissed back. Good. Good. Some lightness in his eyes at last, untroubled if only for a moment.

They'd have so much to work through, but they'd get there. And along the way, there would always be moments like this. Something to remind them of what they were fighting for.

When he pulled away, there was nothing in his eyes but love. Adoration. God, he'd have taken that bullet again, a hundred times, if it meant keeping Tucker safe.

Better. This was so much better. And the look in Wash's eyes when he was facing him was the stuff that moved mountains, that made Tucker a better person, that told him that they wouldn't be broken by this. Tucker didn't pull away from the hand, just let it sit there in his dreads while he smiled softly.

Yeah. This was the person he was marrying, this person who did the best miming for training ever. Who still loved even after he got shot for no good reason whatsoever. And maybe if that's the part that pissed Tucker off the most; it could have been avoided. Should have. Wash had wandered out, and Tucker should have watched him. That was all there was to it.

Tucker leaned into the hand, letting his eyes close while he turned his face just enough to kiss the inside of Wash's arm. "When we get home, the things I'm gonna do to you... You're going to wish you were back in the hospital because at least here, you'll get a little bit of sleep."

"Mmmm."

Wash just raised an eyebrow at him, the smile shifting into something a little more skeptical. Only in play. Tucker had proven time and again how skilled he was at keeping Wash up at night, just as well as tiring him into sleep. The thought of being home, of being curled up in his arms and safe and eating normal food again? God, he was homesick all over again.

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.

There was a rasping, breathy laugh at Tucker's crassness, all meant with love and affection. He leaned upwards, catching his mouth with his briefly, before tugging lightly on his lower lip in turn. Imagine how it felt just sitting here in this bed, Tucker. You weren't he only one to have it so rough.

But things would be alright. They'd find a way.

A nose nuzzled against his jawline as Wash's fingers sank into the back of Tucker's hair, stroking slowly. They couldn't do much here, but damned if he wouldn't do as much as could be allowed.

“Tease,” he whispered after that kiss, after that lip nip. The nuzzling of his neck couldn’t be reciprocated, not with the bandages, the wounds, so Tucker just let him enjoy it as much as he wanted to. He would be a playground for Wash if that’s what he wanted, though the fingers at his hair was taking down some of the resistance on not doing stuff right here in this mechanical bed.

Wash was hurt. Wash shouldn’t be doing this. Right?

But then again, what Dr. Grey didn’t know wouldn’t get either of them with missing limbs and experimental robotic enhancements instead. Tucker’s hand slid up the patient’s chest, resting where his heart beat the loudest, and just felt the thrum of it run through his palm, secretly comforting. He was alive. It was okay. He was okay.

“You know they’re totally going to give us a No Sex time frame, right? Like six weeks or some shit.” He hummed a little, finger drawing a circle against the hospital gown. “Do you think that includes handjobs?”

Wash only cocked his head slightly, with a look that said 'what do you think?'

Though, notably, moving his neck that time hadn't incurred any pain. Either the meds were working or the muscle was starting to heal up in earnest. Either way, he shouldn't have to remain here much longer. That was all he could think about, getting out of here, going home with Tucker and hugging his son and not going on any more adventures for a good, long while.

After a moment, he reached for the white board and marker, scribbling briefly on it before holding up. How's Carolina?

No wincing when Wash moved, and Tucker noticed, smiled. Good. Awesome, because the sooner that he could do these things, the sooner he could come home and Tucker was ready. The bed was empty and cold and he sucked at sleeping alone now thanks to endless nights with his fiance. If it wasn’t for Junior, he would be living here in this room, but he could only trust Kai to watch his kid for so long before he knew he’d come home to raves of exactly three people.

Tucker watched the marker scribble, and this was the awkward part, the moments when Wash wanted to tell him something but they had to wait. It was like a loading screen, which was stupid because Wash knew what he wanted to say, it just took a moment to convey it, to get it down. Tucker didn’t know what to do, if he should make a joke or look away or watch the tip of the pen move.

He waited. Read it when it was flipped over. Smiled a little. “Better than you. She’s still exhausted and dehydrated, but she also told them to fuck off when they suggested bed rest, so….” He leaned back. “She wants to visit but they’re keeping it to family.”

Which Tucker had yelled about because who else was family than all these assholes.

“One of the nurse’s tried to stop me, but I told her we were married already. Think that’ll jinx us?”

If getting shot hadn't done that in, nothing could, and Wash crooked an eyebrow higher before shaking his head again, moving to clear the board with a rub of his hand.

There was a brief pause, his brow furrowing this time before he scribbled out one word, followed by a question mark. Locus?

The mercenary had been the one to bring him here, hadn't he? Yet there'd been no sign, no word, he'd just vanished again without a trace.

Locus. God, he still didn't know how to feel about Locus, who swept in out of nowhere, saved all their asses, and then whisked Wash away. Fucking mercenaries, or whatever Locus was now, trying to show him up. Tucker wished he could have done it, wished he could have been then one to save him, wished that he could have helped instead of getting him in this bed in the fir--

Nope. Not going down that route. It didn't take a genius to realize how much Wash hated it when he did, so it boxed it up before it could show too much. Maybe that would work.

So, Tucker shook his head and shrugged. "Don't know. Dropped you off and poof: gone. It's like you've been giving him melodrama lessons." And I have so much to say to him still, and about eighty percent of it is yelling. "I didn't tell Kimball that he was helping; I'm so not ready for that line of questioning."

Endless, angry questions. He remembered how Kimball looked when she was pissed: that sexy level of rage that seemed like she would break your balls and enjoy every second of it. He kinda missed it.

"But I swear to God, Wash, I'm going on whatever quest I need to do to get a ship."

That prompted a vaguely confused look before Wash gave a slow nod. Alright, Tucker, whatever makes you happy.

Gone, then. There was a great deal he still wanted to say to the mercenary. Maybe their paths would cross again. Who knew? It was likely better for all involved that they didn't, and he understood Tucker leaving that out of his talk with Kimball. He said as much by moving his hand to cover Tucker's, giving a supportive little squeeze.

Things happened they way they had for a reason. Fortunate that he was there when he had been. Fortunate too that they were where they were now, able to puzzle on the fact.

Tucker squeezed the hand back, nodding a little. Washington and Locus...had a thing. Tucker didn't know what, didn't want to know what; let him be blissfully ignorant of all that, please. He just knew something was between the two, some understanding or commonality that Tucker wouldn't ever get as long as he existed.

Wash was probably going to want to talk to him.

Shit, Wash was probably going to want to move him in. Not into their house, but back with the Reds and Blues, hope to save him like he had been saved. Something.

But fuck that, Tucker would worry about it later. Right now, he was too busy lifting Wash's hand and kissing the back of it.

"Simmons is keeping track of shit to see if he finds anything, but... you know, he's not exactly the best at this shit." He smiled a little. "And before you ask, yes, all the other guys are fine. Don't worry. I get daily updates from Caboose and I can kind of decipher them."

He sunk down next to him, not letting go of his hand. "Want to watch TV?"

There were volumes to parse through when it came to Wash and Locus, and what exactly had happened between the two of them. Nothing too off-putting, just...looking into a warped version of a mirror.

And if Locus had helped save him? That just proved that even he was capable of finding his way back again. Maybe he deserved that chance, maybe he didn't. Wash wasn't entirely sure he deserved the chance he'd gotten.

There was another nod as he moved the white board off to one side. There was more room now, with less tubes and wires, enough room for Tucker to squeeze in slightly uncomfortably. But he was grateful for it all the same, and willing to deal with being a little cramped if it meant Tucker was on his side.

One hand fished beside him for a moment before offering up the remote. He didn't really care what they watched. He'd mostly end up listening to Tucker's commentary, as per usual.

Oh, it felt good to be here, curled up against him. The only way Tucker could do it was to be on his side, and he tangled one leg with Wash's, careful of where he touched. At least the guy didn't have a catheter anymore; that had been awkward.

There was a wicked little laugh as he took the remote. "I've got you trained, huh?" King of the Shows. He turned it on, waiting for it to warm up. For a second, it almost felt normal: television, remote, curled around each other, and Tucker talking endlessly while Wash listened. He...just listened extra quietly today. Or, you know, forever.

Tucker started flipping through, past the Grifball semi-finals, past the news that wouldn't stop talking about the arrest of the Blues and Reds and the Chorus peacetalks, past the cooking channel that was for aliens only. He stalled on a channel that had boobs and recognized it for that show Grif and Simmons tackled him and forced him to watch with dragons and hot people and headsmashing, then looked back at Wash.

"Sexy violence probably isn't good if we're trying not to get in the mood, huh?"

And on he went. On. And on. Fast like a blur and it was a wonder that he even knew what was on when--

"Holy shit, I haven't watched this in forever." The flickering stopped and the high octave singing of the Ducktales theme hummed through the speakers. Tucker laughed a little, leaning back; he'd change it in a minute, but damn if the song wasn't catchy.

"You know, I can only sing the theme in Sangheili?" He hummed it, murmuring a blargh here and there. "Junior loved it and would sing it around the house, so I learned it for him." Yeah, for all the diplomatic bullshit that Tucker had to be educated in, the first thing he ever memorized in the alien language was a theme song to a show about anthropomorphized ducks.

"You ever watch it?"

The show itself really didn't matter. Just the sense of normalcy that came with, and the idea that soon? It wouldn't be in some too-clean hospital bed. But he let Tucker steer things along until...

Wow. Alright, he hadn't seen this in forever, either, but it had been a staple when he was a kid. There'd been a channel growing up full of 'retro' cartoons that had played back in the day, and while this hadn't necessarily been one of his favorites? It had come on directly after, and the song was the sort that got stuck in your head.

As Tucker hummed, he found himself doing it too. Raspily, after first, weak, but it got stronger as it went along. Like clearing his throat after swallowing something dry. Then realization hit.

His vocal chords were working just fine. They'd just needed to warm up.

On the Ducktales theme song.

Wash's eyes lit up, his gaze shifting towards Tucker as a wide grin split across his face. He heard that, right?

Okay, cool, Wash knew it. That was nice, a stupid little bonding thing together, ways they discovered more about one another in the weirdest of places. And while Tucker listened to the rasps of humming from Wash, he didn't think much of it. He was trying. He was--

Wait. No, wait. Tucker's eyes got wide as he turned at looked at him. Wash--Wash still sounded like shit, but...better than before? That humming was stronger. Everything was a bit stronger. The hand holding the remote pressed to the bed as he sat himself up, unable to stop staring, like he was seeing a ghost. Or, you know, a miracle.

He had never seen a more beautiful smile on Wash's face. Never. Ever. He didn't think he ever would.

And because the absurdity of it all couldn't-wouldn't stop, he sang the only word that didn't translate to Sangheili. "Ducktaaales."

Come on, Wash. Give him a woo-oo. Let this be the stupid story everyone had to hear about.

"W-woo-oo."

And he couldn't help it, he burst out laughing the moment it escaped his lips. That quickly turned into coughing, one hand going to his throat as his eyes started to water, but God, he didn't care. He didn't care how much it hurt or how much breath he lost, his voice was there.

And Tucker had been there, been the catalyst for him finding it again. All through some stupid cartoon they both knew and--

He sank back against the sheets, wheezing but grinning so broadly he thought his cheeks might be stuck that way for a while.

"Oh.My. God."

Of all the stupid phrases Tucker never thought he'd hear from Wash's lips, this hadn't even crossed his mind it was so insignificant. How could he know that they would do this, lie here and sing this and be...just this. Them. There wasn't a romantic I love you or a whisper of each other's name, nothing so rom-com movie perfect.

Nope. Ducktales theme. And honestly, something so epically dumb seemed so freaking perfect for their ridiculous life.

He couldn't help it if his eyes watered, if some of the guilt he carried was eased or the way he reached over with his other hand to cup the side of his face as he kissed his lips; he was so happy that he was barely conscious of what he was doing. Instead? Instead he just focusing on that w-woo-oo, raspy and harsh but there.

"Holy fucking shit, Wash, you can talk!" He kissed him again, quick successions, four times, before he pressed his forehead to the Freelancer's, looking in his eyes with a grin as big of as Wash's. He should call the nurse, but later. First, he needed more. "Say something else!"

"This...is ridiculous." It was still obviously difficult to speak, but there he was. Forcing the words out and that grin nowhere near to flagging. It was there. It hurt, and it'd be difficult to get back to where he was, but there was a chance. There was more than a chance. The words were there, waiting on the back of his tongue.

He'd get them back, eventually. All of them. And it had taken that stupid, catchy little theme song to find out.

One hand lifted, clasping the back of Tucker's head, and it was all he could do to try and not continue coughing as Tucker continued to kiss him, again and again.

All of it, all of it was perfect, was right, was making him stupidly cry as he felt Wash's hand on the back of his head. Ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous, but it was so damn well Blue Team--

"I'm never telling you to shut up again." Oh, he'd flip him off, sure, but he'd never hush him. He'd never not appreciate the sound of that voice giving him an order or a responsibility or a chore. He'd never not love the tones and nuances in each and every syllable, appreciate the way Wash's mouth moved and the way he said things. He kissed the coughs, then let it go for a second before starting up again. He couldn't get enough.

Wash was still going to be able to talk to him. Wash...Wash was going to be okay.

Tucker sniffled, closing his eyes so Wash couldn't see him getting emotional, couldn't see how glassy they were. Fuck, he was happy. He was so happy.

"I should call Junior and let you say something to him."

"Give me...a little time to work up t-to it."

It still felt like a tremendous effort to say anything at all, but damned if he wouldn't try. He'd push himself as hard as he had to, in order to get everything back the way it had been.

And God, seeing the tears well up in Tucker's eyes...

"Shh." His hand moved along the back of his head, down to rest against his shoulders and hold him tight. "Hey. We're...gonna be alright. It's okay..."

Red vs Blue pt 2

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