anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

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..."

There was a stupid part of Tucker that wanted to record it, record every word that Wash spoke (including the Ducktales theme) in case this was temporary and would soon all be lost again. When he wasn’t in this room with him, Tucker had listened to some old messages that Wash had left, repeating on a loop when he was alone and cleaning the armor or lying in bed; he filled the air with errands and exasperation and worried missions and the frustration when Tucker left him bowl literally three inches from the dishwasher. He hadn’t been able to call him in the hospital (what would have been the point?) and the silence had been suffocating.

And finally, finally hearing Wash say it was going to be okay, they were going to be all right…goddamn he had needed that.

“I know,” he said, bending down to rub his eyes on Wash’s shoulders, wiping them free with that scratchy hospital gown. “I’m just so fucking happy!” And grateful. Appreciative. Relieved. The shackles of that guilt began to loosen, and he hugged him as best he could.

“I know I’m probably going to bitch that you talk too much in like a month, but right now, I’m so fucking happy to hear you say anything at all.” He pushed himself back to look at him once he was pretty sure he was done crying. “Want me to get the doc? Want me to get you some water? Want to say my name, because I really miss you saying my name, Wash.”

That grin was finally starting to ease, but those wrinkles alongside his eyes were still present, his expression still glad as he lifted a hand to rub a thumb across one tear-smeared cheek. How long had Tucker been carrying that weight, that guilt that Wash might never speak again, because of him?

No. Not because of him, not his fault, not ever. But he would have believed it so and carried that weight regardless.

He didn't deserve to. He'd fight as long as he had to, in order to move that weight from him entirely.

"Water...would be nice." He licked his lips, throat bobbing under the bandages. "Tucker."

The answer, Wash, was since the moment it happened. Since those dazed steps wandered out into the line of fire and Tucker didn’t stop it. Since he let his anger get the better of him. Since all of it, because that had been his fault, losing his cool had been his fault, being a shitty leader had been his fault; no part of Wash still being able to talk would change his mind on that.

But it helped, like the salve on a burn not curing the wound but making it bearable, better, softening the scar.

Tucker leaned into the hand for a second, letting him just feel it, feel how happy he was while he was grateful for the touch. But Wash wanted water, deserved water, and Tucker would get whatever he wanted as long as he kept saying his name. Turning his face so he could kiss the middle of that palm, he squirmed free to grab the Styrofoam cup that he stuck there earlier, holding the straw out for him to drink from.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, then rattled on because that’s what Tucker did when he was excited. “Fuck, Carolina is going to be so happy, but Caboose might be bummed because he was trying to make some flashcards for you to use. They were…what you expect out of him. And shit, I think Simmons owes Grif ten bucks because they’re assholes.” And they made bets on whether their friend would be able to talk ever again because it was way easier to focus on that than deal with the emotional toil.

“You know they’re going to make you testify at Temple’s trial, right?”

Red vs Blue pt 2

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