anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

Washington has been cleared from the hospital. Something he would not have thought possible if his ship had been any slower, or he had been stopped on his way to the hospital on Chorus to deliver him. There had been good odds that the man was going to bleed out on the inside of his ship, something that would have given him satisfaction before.

Now? No. There would be no satisfaction in Washington dying. Something else had taken root and taken its place, something he chose not to examine too close. Something that still prompted him to move with all speed and purpose to save his life. Something that then saw him returning to Washington's bedside, despite the dangers.

If anyone on Chorus caught him here, he would be captured. Tried. Executed. Perhaps not even in that order. Wounds here were still too fresh for many to be particular, he knew that. And yet he risked it, hovering invisible at the edge of the cot while the monitors beeped softly, watching as he slowly recovered. Then? When he'd come around enough to be aware of the presence that was sometimes there when no one else seemed to be?

They talked.

That's how it started. That was why he was here, hidden on the Pelican, waiting for Tucker to return with the former Freelancer in hand. That had been the beginning of it all, the slow shift that turned everything he knew on its head.

It couldn't have been any simple thing for Tucker or Washington, come to think of it.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. There had been a lot of bad feelings, a lot of baggage, a lot of glaring and sulking and frustration because of Epsilon, because of Chorus, because of Felix. But Locus had saved Wash’s life when Tucker almost destroyed it, had every chance in the universe to kill him, to kill them both, to let them rot in those cells, but he didn’t.

He had saved them. Saved…all of them.

Letting Wash go with him was one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

Things were easier now in degrees; he could look at Wash without a guilt that choked him, even if it lingered on the edges, easier to hide in jokes. He could talk to Locus without wanting to scream at him, could trust him with one of the most important people in his life. Sleep still sucked, but that was cool; it sucked for all of them, he was fairly certain.

Although, Wash’s painkillers seemed to help the Freelancer, he thought.

Tucker pushed the wheelchair up the Pelican ramp, a mandatory mode of transportation that had been demanded by Dr. Grey under Penalty of the Unspeakable (Tucker sure as fuck didn’t want to ask what that entailed). Grunting a little because trying to get it uphill wasn’t as easy as one would think, he waited until the ramp started to retract, the doors closing.

“Fuck, I’m so ready to be home,” he muttered, sitting down on the ground in civilian clothes, one hand locking the wheels on the chair. “Oh, and I think they’re throwing you a surprise party or something. I told them it was a shitty idea to yell surprise at a guy who just got shot, so then they told me to tell you first. Yeah, I know it’s not a surprise anymore but Donut and Caboose had this thing planned and whatever.. You’ve been sufficiently warned.”

His tone softened a little. “How are you feeling?”

It hasn't been easy for Washington.

While he too knew Locus was responsible for many deaths, for stoking the flames of a war that almost consumed the planet… Wash had already spent time on Chorus trying to convince him it was wrong. As much as he had tried to deny it at the time too, Locus had a point when he said they were similar.

More immediate, being shot wasn't fun. Choking on your own blood when you had no idea what was going on, even worse - memories of Maine tumbling through his head at the time, a moment of terrifying clarity in the middle of hallucinations.

Locus had made it in time, though. Wash had been able to make a recovery, with just a shiny new scar for it.

He hadn't left. When Wash realized it, they had talked. And while Wash was not happy with some things - not nearly as angry as Tucker had been.

Locus cared. In his own new way, he did, and he was trying - Wash understood attempting to do good, even if it wasn't redemption you were hoping for in the end. Just to make up for some of what you caused or did.

Wash wanted to help.

So this: Locus stowed away on the Pelican, Tucker pushing him up the ramp and locking his wheelchair. The pain killers still in his system make him a little slow but he’s still cognizant and clear eyed, for the most part.

“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to act surprised,” He notes with a wry tone, but there’s fondness in it. His gaze shifts, to where he thinks Locus is - a little sixth sense his time in the hospital has developed.

He turns a hand up, an indication of desire for contact - counter point to how his other hand moves to thread through Tucker’s.

“How are you two doing?”

"Well enough. Better, once we leave this planet behind." He can stay hidden as long as he wants, but until they made their way from the planet proper? He'd still feel that sense of unease, moving amidst people who would likely gladly see him dead.

Not that Washington and Tucker had been so different, for a time. Now...now things are different. Markedly so.

There was an invisible brush of fingers over the back of Washington's hand. A recent development, a reminder that he was there and that the former Freelancer wasn't hallucinating the voice speaking to him.

Was he surprised that Locus wanted off? Of course not, especially when Tucker was sure the citizens of Chorus wanted the same thing, even if they didn't know it at this exact moment.

"I still like it here, and the girls really like me here, too." Maybe he didn't enjoy it as much as the moon, but there was something to be said for being a hero, getting recognition, getting favors and still having all the new recruits idolize him while the chicks wanted to get with him. And seeing the lieutenants wasn't half bad. Except for Palomo, of course.

"But it's not home." Home. The moon. Alone and together, surrounded by the mixed up family they had made. For a while, Chorus had been home, but home was people, not places, and the moon had all his people. Or, most of them. Junior...but that'd be some day.

Right now, they had a not-surprise surprise party to get to.

"Don't worry about me, okay?" His hand squeezed his back, the motions of affection getting easier in front of Locus over time. Weird because that shouldn't happen but here they were. "The better you get, the better I'll be."

The contact to his hand reassures him. Locus is really here, not something he's imagining - even if Tucker is responding to him, the assurance helps. His fingers twitch, like he wants to reach out - but he doesn't, not yet.

"You're famous again," is what he tells Tucker instead, in response to the comment about girls. It doesn't really bother him that they fawn over Tucker, but feeling how he feels - he's not inclined to be the warmest about it, either.

He does want to go home. The moon sounds nice, right about now, and Wash gives a little quiet hum. The painkillers make him tired, but he's determined to stay awake long enough to land on the moon.

"I didn't need a wheelchair," is what he chooses to say next. He's perfectly capable of walking, even drugged like this. Grey insisted and Wash had fought her on it - it was Tucker who finally said he'd push it so Wash would use it. He turns his hand, his fingers pressing up against Locus'. "He saw me walk around."

When he wasn't supposed to be.

Once the ship's bay door was shut, Locus let himself materialize again, those fingers still visibly touching Washington's hand. "I did. Rather unwise of you, though I can't say I was surprised," he replied dryly, before glancing up at Tucker.

Someone who by this point must have thoroughly understood how frustrating it was to watch Washington when he was meant to be resting and recovering, and only too eager to prove how much he thought he didn't need to.

Fortunately, he was used to looking after willful individuals by now.

“Can you blame me? I have the look for posters, commercials, and magazine covers.” Besides, one of them should be the face of everything, as no one else (other than Sarge) wanted to be. So, yeah, let him be the unofficial official spokesperson; give him something to fucking do that made him – for one second at least – let go of all this other bullshit he caused.

But hey, Tucker was going to drop the topic of ladies because he knew that tone, a tone he would normally needle just a little bit on better days. Instead, it was a heck of a lot easier to roll his eyes because of course Wash would say he didn’t need a wheelchair and of course he would be up when he shouldn’t have been. How the nursing staff hadn’t caught him and body slammed him back to bed, Tucker didn’t know. Damn Freelancers.

Tucker made a face at Locus, something flat, borderline lecturing. “Dude, I hope you put his ass back to bed when he did that?” But he knew he didn’t. He knew he wouldn’t, just like he knew he was motherhenning more than he should have over Wash; he just couldn’t stop it.

His gaze flickered back to the injured party in question. “Dude, if think for a second you’re going back to your old workout routine the second we get home, you’re going to be more disappointed than two virgins after prom night. You know you’re resting for awhile, right?”

“Your complaints were noted,” Wash tells Locus, a hint of a smile on his face when he looks at Locus because while, yes, he should have been resting, he’d found ways to keep moving. He’d been trapped in that armor before, unable to move; asking him to lay still felt like torture. Maybe that was why Locus hadn't physically stopped him.

To Tucker, there's another squeeze of his hand.

“I can rest and still do light exercise, Tucker.” he tells him, somehow sounding reasonable despite arguing against rest and taking it easy. He wants to tell them he was shot and starved, not broke his legs, but putting it in such terms might not go over too well.

Edited 2017-08-24 19:20 (UTC)

"I'm certain some reasonable middle ground can be arranged."

His gaze shifted between the two of them before he shook his head, turning to head back towards the cockpit. Someone had to keep an eye on where this bird was going, and Locus had had his time with Washington in the hospital. Tucker deserved his.

Of course, the quiet let him contemplate a great deal more than he otherwise might have liked to entertain, but such was the nature of silence. Your thoughts echoed. And his thoughts concerning this arrangement of theirs still held rough edges that caught and snagged occasionally.

None of them had expected things to end up quite like this.

Already, the exasperated noises of a frustrated Tucker started to bounce off the cold metal walls of the Pelican. Wash was stubborn, Wash would never not be stubborn, and it seemed like even a bullet to the effin’ throat wouldn’t even change that. If Tucker’s hand wasn’t currently being held, he might have thrown it up and started pacing so he could lecture.

Instead, he would just have to lecture here.

“Do you wear earplugs when people tell you shit?” he snapped. “You heard Dr. Grey; no exercise! Nothing! And while I get that you were born without a relaxation gene in your freakin’ DNA, that doesn’t mean you can’t learn how to now. Do I need to get Grif to give you lessons, too?”

This was a losing war when they were one on one, and compromise wasn’t going to work. Not on this.

“Locus!” he yelled across the ship, because fuck if the merc thought he could be at the front of ship and escape all this. “You have to back me up here!”

Tucker snapping at him will, later, be a point of consideration for how hard he had taken this. At the moment, Wash goes from fuzzy feeling to annoyed and fuzzy.

“And I’m not going to be running around in full armor, but I can still be active,” He tells Tucker, his voice rising slightly, his other hand gripping the wheelchair on.

“I got shot in the throat , I didn't break my legs, I can at least walk,” he adds on, forgoing his earlier restraint.

He leaves for five minutes. Rather than return, as he can hear them just fine from where he is, Locus turns his head to call back to them.

"You can walk. But exerting yourself through exercise and physical regimen is to be restricted until your body has had time to recover. The sooner you insist on straining yourself, the longer it will take before exercising stops being detrimental."

Be swayed by logic. Please. He hasn't the fortitude for this sort of nonsense.

There we go. Tucker pointed towards the cockpit because someone was talking sense for once, and apparently it was Locus. "See? See? Even he agrees! You want to get up and moving around and all that shit? You need to rest."

Because Wash wouldn't, Tucker was really sure. Still active probably meant only ten reps of squats instead of twenty, meant twenty laps instead of thirty. Especially if he was really believing that stupid at least I didn't break my legs bullshit. Broken legs wouldn't have killed him like this almost had. Broken legs wouldn't have almost robbed him of all vocal luxuries. Broken legs had a much higher survival rate than this.

"Look, I'm not saying you can't walk, because even if you can get better parking for this wheelchair, it sucks." His voice softened a little, eyes worried, and fuck, Wash, don't make him give you this sad look; it's embarrassing. "I just don't want you do your usual routine, okay? Or any routine. Just lay off the exercise for awhile."

He's prepared to make another sharp comment, anger making it easy to focus on everything going on but then - that look. That sad look and the wind goes straight out of Wash's sails, leaving him just as tired as he was when Tucker rolled him onto the pelican.

He gives a sigh anyways, his fingers squeezing Tucker's again.

"Okay." He finally says, and while it doesn't sound happy, "I mean it, okay? I won't do any exercise. As long as you let me walk when I'm feeling like it."

He didn't mean to worry Tucker, or Locus, it was just - he was used to being the one who was okay, taking care of the others. Even before, during 'retirement', he and Carolina had kept an eye on the skies and anyone who might try to enter their home.

"I believe patrols could still be permitted."

One amendment to the agreement, as Locus returned. He knew how he would behave if he were in Washington's shoes, and how much he would loathe sitting still after doing nothing but for days on end. Patrol would likely be a mere formality, with no imminent danger, but still allow Washington freedom to walk around as he liked, without the physical stress Tucker undoubtedly feared.

He glances once towards Tucker. This is what compromise looks like.

Okay, okay, compromise Tucker could do, especially with the way they were both looking at him, waiting for him to agree. He squeezed Wash's hand back, and it wasn't a bad situation, something they could work out together where no one was left feeling like a burden or a baby.

Besides, he got it; he hated lying in bed after he was stabbed, stuck while the other guys were out fighting. Sure, the break had been good for the first two days, but it just gave him time to think, just let him remember Felix's smug fucking face, forced him to listen to all of Palomo's crying without a place to run.

Tucker nodded. "Yeah, fine, patrols." As if he was the one in charge of this suddenly. Maybe he was. He should be, really. "But one of us should go with you." And think about it: some privacy away from the others wouldn't be so bad where they couldn't be disturbed.

Wait, was sex considered exercise? Fuck...it probably was.

"I don't care if you walk, but if shit doesn't feel right, even a little, you've got to tell us. No being a big bad Freelancer and hiding crap, okay? We know you're a badass; you don't need to prove it to us."

"I will tell you if I'm not feeling good," Wash agrees without heisitating. Believe him, he hates rest and recovery - but he's seen what happened to Carolina when she didn't take it easy. He just... can't be confined to just the bed when he's able to move around under his own power. Laying down meant the nightmares could come, whether they were recent or not so recent.

But he meant it when he said light exercise - or just walking, as he's been talked down to now. "I can walk around and patrol with one of you."

Wash laughs after a second. "Like a bodyguard."

Locus gives a quiet nod. Good. That's fine by him. Tucker seems amenable as well, and that's what all of this is. Finding a space they're all comfortable with.

Which leaves...one more conversation to have. Things have shifted, changed over the course of the last few weeks. They will need to do so again, now that Washington is on his way home. And whatever that means, he will abide by it.

"If you wish to take that time to be with Tucker, that would be understandable. I will need to find a place to stay, as it is."

Finally, one victory won, and against Wash no less. He had needed this, somehow had gotten it, and this was perfect. There was nothing left to do now than head on back home and –

“What?”

Tucker raised an eyebrow, looking at Wash, then back at Locus, and back at Wash. There was a part of him that wondered if he should let them hash it out while he sat this one out, but then he remembered who he was talking about and he knew they wouldn’t get anywhere. Locus deserved to be involved, especially after how long he had been with Wash, even invisible. Fucker had saved his life and had done way more positive things than Tucker had.

Don’t go down the rabbit hole.

“If you mean, ‘find a place for when Caboose gets inevitably annoying and you need a five minute break’, sure.” He frowned a little. “I thought it was pretty much implied that you were staying with us. You can’t expect me to handle him all on my own; he’ll be doing laps around the kitchen in no time.”

Wash seems surprised as well, that Locus assumes they'll need the space. He understands it, though, as soon as he thinks about it.

"I actually thought you'd be able to stay with us," he says, not phrasing it as a given - again, he gets it. "Tucker's right, though - if you want a place with your own space, that's not a problem."

And then, he turns to Tucker, poking him between two pieces of armor. "Around the kitchen isn't a lap for anyone but Grif."

They said it so easily. Like it would be the natural thing, to let him into their home. Going very still and very quiet until both had spoken their piece of the matter, he let his gaze shift to Tucker. His answer was perhaps the more surprising, given that...

Well, things had occurred between him and Washington, he'd expect him to have developed some sense of rapport. But Tucker?

"...you're certain?" Funny. Locus wasn't a shy sort of person, but there was something almost trepidatious about the way he asked. As though he were expecting him to take it back at any moment.

There was a little yelp as he was poked, a scowl over his lips. "Anything in the kitchen is like amusement park for Grif. And you'll just do like a hundred laps around it. Stop ruining the joke."

He let his eyes settle to Locus, heard that cautious step in his voice. Okay, he expected it, was fucking glad for that, really; maybe he'd know how important it was that he didn't start shit. The ground still shook with aftershocks in this mess, and it wouldn't go away, not yet, not for awhile. But all earthquakes stopped at some point. The earth always stilled.

Maybe this would, too.

"You know I can't handle Hurt Wash on my own." There was a roll of his shoulders as he rested his hand against the Freelancer's shoulder; he wanted to comb his fingers through his hair, but fuck, touching him anywhere above the shoulders? Yeah, that terrified him. "He's a stubborn little shit and he's not going to listen to me. But, maybe he'll actually pay attention to someone stronger than him."

"I listen to you," Wash says, then, under his breath, "When it's not ridiculous."

Then he clears his throat, looking at both of them bedore he settles on looking at Locus, knowing that staring him straight on could be good or bad depending.

"And I want you with me - us." It had nothing to do with winning any arguments or strength. He just wanted Locus nearby - a fact he reassures by reaching up and patting an arm.

It's an acceptance he wasn't quite expecting. Being an adjunct while Washington recovered, before he had his life back as he knew it? He could wrap his head around that. But having a place in that life was not on the table, not as he'd understood it.

It seemed once again, he'd assumed incorrectly.

Tucker touching Wash touching him, a chain that was forging itself here in front of their eyes, a connection that in months prior he might have shied away from. Instead, there's a thread of longing there, a weariness to his eyes as they lift. This is for Washington, in truth, but Locus has been alone for a long, long time.

He doesn't like it as much as one might assume, given his introverted nature.

"I would hate to disappoint," he finally manages, the dry, crackling edges of a joke, even if his expression remains dead solemn.

Red vs Blue pt 2

Luckington - The Thing About It Is

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tfw locus is the reasonable one

god help us all

what kind of world do we live in now

up is down black is white

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