anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

“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.

“…nice save, Wash.”

A little annoyed, but not jealous. Tucker didn’t get jealous often, a lowkey feeling he reserved more for his friends not acknowledging him more than any romantic setting he had. He wanted attention, but it was more catlike than anything: pet me, stroke me, shower me with affection but go on when you want. He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t left out, or abandoned, forgotten.

Really, all that mattered to him was that Wash was happy. Not that he would ever admit it.

And Locus’ joke was bad, hard to even tell with that deadpan default of it, but goddamn if Tucker didn’t feel the Come-Get-Some sparks just shooting up from here. “Just shut up and make out already, but at least let me get the camera first. I bet I could make good money for Freelancer/Merc porn.”

That’s how you do a joke, Locus. Or make money. Either or.

Wash still hasn't clued in to Tucker's concern. He himself would say he's not here to replace Tucker with Locus in any way, shape or form. The joke, though, gets him looking up at Locus with a little quirk of an eyebrow. Wash turns and gives Tucker such a look - before he smiles a little bit.

"Tucker," he says sweetly, "If I'm not allowed to do anything strenuous, what makes you think that there's going to be anything like that going on?"

Think about that, Lavernius.

Locus just shook his head, eyes rolling shut. No. It was unlikely Washington would be fit for anything like that, at least for some time. Something that would see Tucker wound up in the weeks to follow, he was certain.

Perhaps he ought to go check on the navigation again.

"A subject we can discuss from somewhere more comfortable. The journey will be a few hours long, at least."

"Oh, don't act like you've never just laid around and let someone do all the work for you, Wash." You're going to come at him like that? Really? Because Tucker has an answer for everything if it comes to sex, and you're not about to sway or dissuade him. He's better than that.

Locus caught his attention again, and Tucker couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Is this a 'change into something comfortable' sort of reference, or 'shut up til we're home'? Because unless there's a bed hiding somewhere, I think this is as comfortable as it gets until we're home.

"And if there is a bed in here, fuck, kinky, man. Kinky."

"Not that it matters, but generally I don't," Wash tells Tucker with his own roll of his eyes. "Also - no, there is not a bed."

But Wash finally stretches in his chair a little, settling back against it fully. "I might take a nap, though."

Red vs Blue pt 2

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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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