#tuckington sneak

[tuckersno1defender]

Just remembered that Tucker knows how to play the electric guitar so what if I said HC of him picking it back up after everything that happened in restoration because he was bored out of his mind and was trying to find different ways to kill time but he finds it to be surprisingly therapeutic and slowly starts healing through music and picks up learning different instruments.

SOMETIMES once in blue moon when everyone would find the time they'd to even get together to get drunk and reminisce on the past and he would bring out his guitar which leads to an all nighter of drunken karaoke and everyone passed out in his and Wash's backyard the next morning

(I wish I knew how to draw so I can slap my brain rots on here for everyone to see how badly this hyper fixation is ruining my life)

[wordsysayswords]

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

Or, Tucker gets to see Wash interact with children, including Junior, for the first time ever and, to quote Grif, he's so fucked.

--

Merry Christmas @washingtubb!  I hope you enjoyed this fluffy Blue Team bonding with just a pinch of Tuckington thrown in for good measure. Thanks for being so patient with this fic getting posted. @redvsbluesecretsanta

--

“Have you guys seen Junior?” Tucker asks, poking his head into the common room.

Carolina, who is sat perfectly still on the couch and in the process of having her long hair braided by three children, glances Tucker’s way without turning her head.

“He was with Caboose’s group earlier,” she says, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “In the mess hall.”

“Yeah, apparently they got told to leave because Grif tried to organize the kids into storming the kitchen. The things that guy will do for chocolate pudding.”

“BLARG!” Cries one of the twin Sangheili infants in Carolina’s lap. She rubs the alien’s back soothingly and raises an eyebrow at Tucker in a silent question.

“She’s ready for a nap,” Tucker translates.

There haven’t been a whole lot of opportunities for Tucker to exercise his Sangheili conversation skills on Chorus. That all changed two days ago when a ship full of Sangheili and human refugees landed, fleeing their own war-ravaged planet halfway across the galaxy. They had received Epsilon’s message and come seeking help because the reported conditions on their planet made Chorus seem like an idyllic paradise. Among the refugees were an almost comical number of children, outnumbering the adults six to one. The situation became a lot less funny when you realized 80 percent of the children were orphans.

“Here,” Tucker says, pulling out his datapad and selecting a playlist of classic Sangheili nursery rhymes. “They’ll recognize these. Puts ‘em right to sleep. You’ll have the songs stuck in your head for days, though.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Carolina gives a crooked smile as she accepts the datapad. “Can’t be worse than the crap Wash listens to.”

“Speaking of Wash, any idea where he’s hiding?”

Carolina cocks her head—as much as she can considering one of the aliens curled up against her shoulder is batting at her braid like a particularly curious cat. The kids finish up on her hair, and a little boy passes Carolina a pink hand mirror. Tucker bites his lip to keep from laughing as the Freelancer turns her head this way and that, inspecting the no less than eight messy braids sticking off her head at ridiculous angles.

“Looks great,” Carolina whispers, causing the kids to giggle and blush.

She turns her attention back to Tucker. “What makes you think Wash is hiding?”

“I don’t know, have you seen what it’s like out there?” Tucker asks, gesturing towards a window overlooking the track where groups of kids are playing frisbee or jumping rope, supervised by the lieutenants. “I’m having trouble keeping up, and I’m a dad!”

“Eh,” Carolina shrugs, “you’d be surprised.” She looks around at the cluster of children, “Do you remember our deal?”

The kids nod excitedly.

“If we take a nap, you’ll show us how to punch good!” A girl with wilting daisies woven into her hair punches the air, beaming.

Carolina raises an eyebrow. “And the rule?”

“Only in s-self, um,” lisps the boy missing his two front teeth, “s-self defenssse!”

“That’s right,” Carolina says, tapping the datapad. Plucky music starts to play as the kids curl up on the couch. She looks over at Tucker.

“Try the barracks,” she tells him. “They might have gone to get Caboose’s crayons and coloring books.”

“Thanks,” Tucker says, tossing a salute her way as he backs out the door. “Let me know if you need another teacher for punching class.”

“Sure thing. Watch out for—”

“HONK BLARG!”

A dark shape shoots out from under the couch and latches on to Tucker’s leg before he has time to blink.

“Holy fu—” Tucker catches himself. “Fudgsicles. Holy fudgsicles. Definitely what I was going to say. Right, little buddy?”

The small Sangheili wrapped around his leg hoots happily and starts gnawing on his boot laces.

“I think she’s teething,” Carolina explains. “Her brother is with Caboose’s group. Mind taking her with you?”

“No problem,” Tucker says, lifting his foot to get a better look at the alien. “And what’s your name, champ?”

“Firo 'Srattin,” yawns the little girl draped over Carolina’s shoulder.

“Strattin,” muses Tucker. “Good, strong clan name. Well, come on, Firo. Let’s go find your brother.”

“Say goodbye to Captain Tucker,” Carolina tells the children. A chorus of honks and goodbyes follows the teal soldier out of the room.

In the hall, Tucker looks down at his passenger. She’s given up on his laces and is now digging through his cargo pants pocket looking for snacks.

“All right,” Tucker says. “Which way should we try first, hm?”

Firo sniffs the air for a moment before pointing down the hall. “BLARG!”

“The barracks? Good choice. Let’s roll out, soldier.”

It ends up being a long walk to the barracks—and not just because Tucker has a honking deadweight wrapped around one leg.

Passing the empty lot behind the mess hall, he and Firo walk past the Reds organizing a game of football for the kids, and the pair promptly get roped into playing referees. They leave at halftime while Donut’s group of kids performs an impromptu cheerleading routine (The man’s created surprisingly passable pompoms out of old caution tape).

Despite the rest of the base swarming with children, the barracks are oddly quiet.

“I could’ve sworn they’d be here,” Tucker tells Firo after checking Caboose’s room and finding it empty.

“BLARG,” she agrees around a mouthful of a granola bar—wrapper included.

“I mean, I guess we could check bomb disposal range. Maybe they’re playing fetch with Freckles?”

“BLARG?”

“No, fetch with Freckles basically involves vaporizing tennis balls straight out of the sky. So, there’s no real ‘fetching’ happening.”

“BLARG CHONK.”

“I know, right? That’s what I said!”

“CHONKA CHONKA.”

“Watch the language!” Tucker chides. “I don’t want the parents thinking I taught you that.”

Just then, Firo perks up, her large grey snout sniffing the air intently.

Tucker stops walking. “What is it? Did you get their scent aga—whoa, hold up!”

In the blink of an eye, Firo lets go of Tucker’s leg and tears off down the hall.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tucker calls, sprinting after her. “Firo 'Srattin, get back here! If you had a middle name, you bet I’d be using it right now!”

Firo only stops long enough to stick her tongue out at the sim trooper before racing away down another corridor.

“Why you little,” Tucker mutters to himself and looks up at the ceiling. “Mom, if this is what I was like as a kid, I am so sorry. Firo!”

Tucker skids around a corner just in time to see Firo squeeze through an ajar door and disappear inside.

“Oh fuck,” Tucker groans, picking up speed. He hisses. “Firo! Get out here! That’s somebody’s room, and they don’t want to wake up to an alien chewing on their socks!”

The maze of two-person bunk rooms all looks the same to Tucker, so he’s halfway up the hall before he realizes the alien just escaped into his room. His and Wash’s room.

“Damn it,” Tucker mumbles, screeching to a halt outside the door, a hesitant hand on the handle.

Okay, okay. No need to panic. Maybe Firo hasn’t turned any of Wash’s meager possessions into chew toys yet. The Freelancer isn’t one for trinkets or homely touches. If it wasn’t for Tucker, the man would still be living out of his footlocker rather than the closet and chest of drawers available to him. But that means any nonessential items Wash does keep around are all the more meaningful. Like Caboose’s messy drawings or the ugly-ass cat figurine that Tucker carved him out of a bar of soap (“No, no, Tucker, I appreciate the gift. It’s a cute giraffe.” “It’s supposed to be a cat!” “Uh, cat. Right. That’s what I said.”)

“Alright, whose turn is it to turn the page?”

Tucker freezes. Fucking of course Wash is hiding out in the desolate barracks while the base is swarming with children. Tucker’s never seen him interact with someone younger than the lieutenants outside of a military setting. You don’t exactly see a whole lot of kindergarteners toddling around an active military base (Caboose doesn’t count). Long story short, Tucker has been putting off even introducing him to Junior because everything about Wash; his anxiety, his control-freak nature, his stickler-for-the-rules attitude; screams that he and children do not mix.

So who the hell is Wash talking to?

“BLARG!” A high-pitched Sangheili voice shouts.

Tucker’s brow furrows. He’s just about to push the door open when someone else speaks up.

“It’s Ure’s turn,” a young voice translates.

“Alright, Ure, you can do the honors,” Wash says. “Careful this time.”

Tucker hears the sound of a page being turned.

“Great, where were we? Right,” Wash clears his throat. “The BR55HB Service Rifle entered service in 2548 and is employed as a medium-to-long-range marksman rifle.”

The fuck?

“Though its barrel is longer than that of the BR55, the weapon performs almost identically to its predecessor,” Wash continues. “The magazine housing is built directly into the underside of the stock of the rifle and is located behind the grip. And look, here’s a picture.”

That’s it; Tucker can’t stop himself from sneaking a peek around the door.

Wash is sat on the floor, leaning back against his cot. And around him are no less than twelve children and young Sangheili, cuddled up against him, hanging off his arms, sprawled across his lap, and peering over his shoulders at the yellowed paper gun manual in his hands. After turning the book for everyone to see the battle rifle diagram, Wash goes back to reading,

“Though the BR55HB SR is a select-fire weapon, it is most often used in its three-round burst mode.”

“This is my favorite part,” whispers Caboose to the three kids comfortably sharing his lap.

“Despite firing a very powerful cartridge, the weapon is subject to little recoil, even when being fired automatically.”

Curled up in the arms of one of the Sangheili is Firo, happily sucking on her brother’s shirt as she listens to Wash read with rapt attention, along with the rest of the children. Huddled up among them sits Junior, head resting in his hands as he drowsily listens with a content smile on his face.

Someone needs to put down a wet floor sign because Tucker’s pretty sure his heart has melted into a puddle around his shoes.

“Whose turn is it to turn the page now?” Wash asks, and a tiny boy pulls his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to raise his hand.

Wash smiles, and it’s so warm and natural Tucker momentarily forgets how to breathe. “Want some help?”

Thumb back in his mouth, the boy nods, and the Freelancer helps him turn the page with his free, chubby little hand.

“Great job. Now, it fires M634 X-HP-SAP round from a 36-round magazine, which fits flush in the receiver...”

Suddenly, Grif is there next to Tucker, whispering. “You’re so fucked, dude.”

Tucker startles so hard he stumbles face-first into the door. He turns to glare at Grif who disappears into his own room next door with a little wave. Tucker turns back around to find he’s accidentally pushed the door open and the entire room staring at him.

“I, uh, just...Firo!” Tucker recovers quickly. “There you are! I’ve been, ah, looking everywhere for you. Yeah.” Hell yeah. Fucking smooth. Definitely doesn’t sound like you’ve been creeping outside the door.

Wash has gone bright red. “I, uh. There aren’t any, er, kids books on base,” he stammers and starts to stand up. “They kept asking to read this one cause it has pictures. It’s stupid, I kno—”

“What happens next?”

“I—” Wash stops. His brow furrows. “What happens what?”

“What happens next?” Tucker asks again, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Junior. “Dude, you can’t leave us in suspense. I gotta know who lives happily ever after, right guys?” He winks at the kids who giggle. Junior slings a massive arm around his father’s shoulders and pulls him close.

Wash just sits there, ears and cheeks still tinged with red. “You’re sure?” he asks, narrowing his eyes in the way he does when he’s trying to figure out if Tucker’s fucking with him or not.

Tucker settled in, leaning back against his son. “Just read the story, dude,” he says, grinning.

Wash flips the manual open, laughing under his breath. “Okay then,” he concedes. “Section 1.4 Service History. The introduction of the BR55HB SR led to an immediate increase in the BR55's popularity, prompting all branches of the UNSC Armed Forces, except the Army, to replace the M392 with the newer weapon...”

[washoutking]

Not-So Fashionably Late

( read on AO3 here )

Rating: Teen and Up (for swearing)

Ships: Grimmons, Sargrey, a bit of Tuckington and some backround ones if you squint really hard

Summary: The war is over. Everybody is living their peaceful lives back on Earth. And Sarge just invited everyone to his wedding!Simmons finds out Grif is taking someone else to the wedding, he is stuck on a 3-hour car ride with his suitemates, and they already missed the entire ceremony. His day couldn't get any worse, could it?

Written for @powerfulpomegranate for @redvsbluesecretsanta ~ The prompt was shippy or platonic domestic things, Sarge being secretly fond of his team, getting drunk and spilling about friendship, some repressed protags, and good old wholesome content.  

“Son of a bitch,” Simmons’s voice groans in frustration through the speakers of Dexter Grif’s laptop.

“Did a twelve-year-old snipe you from across the map again?” Grif mutters in the direction of his computer screen, eating an oreo in two bites. He lays on his battered couch in front of a fan that barely cools the 90-degree room.

If there’s anything Grif misses about Blood Gulch was the dry heat. It was hot, but at least he did not have to deal with the suffocating humidity here in Hawaii. Though if he has to be honest, at least he was as far away from Sarge as he could be. Which also means he’s away from Donut, Lopez, and Simmons, some of which he is not as happy to be away from, but he would never say so out loud.

Grif and Simmons make do with biweekly skype call to make up for the distance. Grif uses the excuse that he needs someone to talk to that is not Sister and that Simmons would surely go mad if left alone with Donut unsupervised for too long. It was the system they have been using for almost a year, and Grif was quite happy with it.

“First of all, I have no knowledge about whether a player is twelve or not,” Simmons’s voice replied through the call, cracking already at the first word. “Second of all, they didn’t snipe me, they sneaked up and stabbed me in the back.”

Grif bursts out laughing, “you got shanked by a twelve-year-old!”

“I didn’t-” There was a sigh and the sound of a remote hitting a table as it is dropped. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Why? Can’t take another twelve-year-old outranking you in the kill chart?” Grif makes it a point that his smug grin is wide enough to be heard through the audio.

“I’ll have you know I still have second place in that kill chart. That’s the best spot there is.”

Grif chuckles, “You only say that because you get shanked by too many twelve-year-olds to make it to first.”

The audio cuts for a second and comes back with Donut’s distant voice asking Simmon’s something while standing just slightly too far away from the mic.

“He’s not- Donut stop-... Okay, I’ll ask him! Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Wow,” Grif raised an eyebrow at the ceiling, amused. “You sound like the real twelve-year-old right there, Simmons. No wonder they’re trying to kill you, impostor.”

“I do NOT sound like a twelve-year-old,” Simmon’s voice cracks, contradicting his words.

“Sure, Simmons, whatever you say.”

There is a small pause between them, filled only by the distant waiting music from whatever Simmons was playing and the whirring of Grif’s fan across from him.

“Hey, Grif,” Simmons speaks after a few seconds, his voice interrupted by static as the internet dies down “Do-..... -one?

“Can’t hear you, Simmons,” Grif complains at the laptop, turning himself around to check on it.

“D-.... want-....?”

Grif huffs to himself, sitting up and checking the internet connection. “I’m losing you, buddy.”

“H- Hello?” Simmons finally comes through clear as before.

“There we go,” Grif smiles, sitting back again. “What were you saying before?”

“I-I was asking you who you were bringing as your plus one,” Simmons stutters through the audio. “For Sarge’s wedding, remember? Did you get the invite?”

Grif made a noise of realization at that. “Yeah, I remember… Made a note saying he did not care if I showed up but he offered to buy my plane tickets.”

“WHAT!?” Simmon’s voice broke again for the third time in that hour. “He didn’t offer any such thing to me.”

“That’s because you can drive there,” Grif states. “I cannot. And to answer your question I am bringing a plus one.”

“Really? Who are you br-”

Simmons suddenly stops talking, and it takes Grif a few seconds to figure out the call dropped.

The country road seems to stretch for eternity through Simmons’ windshield, rolling out into the blue sky with trees lining on either side. He’s been stuck in his small car with Donut and Doc for close to four hours now, and it was not getting any better.

“I spy…” Donut begins for his 30th turn that day, looking out from the passenger’s seat window.  “Something long and wet.”

“Uh… is it the creek?” Doc guesses from the back seat.

Donut turns around, smiling back at his suitemate. “How’d you guess?"

“Can you guys stop?” Simmons interrupts the two, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to concentrate on driving.”

“Is that why you shut off the music as soon as I turned on the radio?” Donut kicks one of his legs on the dashboard. “Chill out, Simmons. What do you need to concentrate on? It’s not like the road is that complicated.”

Simmons frees one of his hands from the wheel, using it to motion past the windshield to the rows upon rows of trees. “We are in the middle of nowhere! What if there’s a wild animal- or a deer that runs through!”

“I think a deer is a wild animal,” Doc points out.

Simmons waves him off, “Shut up.”

Donut sits up on his seat, eyes wide. “OoOOoh~ you’re worried about something, aren't you?”

“No, I’m not!” Simmons’ voice cracks.

“Uh… Guys…” Doc speaks up to get the attention of his suitemates.

“What is it!?” Simmons snaps.

“I think we missed our exit…”

Simmons shakes his head. “There hasn’t been an exit in ten miles. What do you mean we missed our exit?”

“That was it… ten miles ago…” Doc pointed out. His voice suddenly dropped an octave, “You fool. I wanted to see how long it would take you. Now you are truly stranded and nobody will find your body.”

“We’re going to miss the ceremony!” Simmons panics, turning the car around so fast that Doc was thrown into the door.

“We’ll make it to the reception at least,” Donut shrugged, holding onto his seat for dear life.

Simmons manages to get to the location of the wedding with the car in one piece and no casualties, but it just so happened to be about an hour late. By the time they arrive, the ceremony is officially over, and the guests had moved a ways farther into the park to enjoy the wedding reception.

The trio of not-so-fashionably-late men run through the empty chairs of the ceremony, following the sound of music and conversation.

Donut runs ahead of the group with Doc at his heels, as if it was a race to see who could get to Sarge first. “Don’t be slowing down now, Simmons!” He calls out over his shoulder, “We’ve only been at it for a minute. Don’t tell me you’re already hot and sweaty?”

“Donut, shut UP!” Simmons yells at his friend, adjusting his maroon tie as they run. “Sarge is gonna kill us! He’s gonna kill me! We missed his wedding ceremony, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well, then we better get to him quick, for the sake of fuck!”

“I do not think that’s how the expression goes…” Doc points out.

Donut does not have much time to respond. The three men stumble upon the reception area, crashing into each other and a few of the other guests. It starts a domino effect of tumbles and grunts of pain and surprise, and ends in a table toppling over with half a dozen expensive wine glasses.

Simmons shakes his head, pushing himself up with his elbows. He winces at the grass stains that already formed on his jacket, and the sting of a bruise forming on his jaw from the fall. His eyes catch a pair of brown armored boots approaching, possibly belonging to the only guest with any kind of armor on.

<<Hacia tiempo que llegaran, pendejos,>> A metallic voice speaks from the direction of the boots.

Simmons sits himself up and cranes his neck to stare into Lopez’s visor. “Nice to see you too, Lopez,” He wheezes, catching his breath.

By the time he gets to his feet, Donut is already throwing himself at the robot to greet him, earning himself only endless incomprehensible Spanish from the robot. Donut takes them as “I missed you”’s, but Simmons is not so sure if that was the true meaning of those words. It is Lopez they are dealing with, though, so Simmons decides to drop it in favor of looking for his former leader in order to apologize for their tardiness.

He spots Sarge across the reception party, sitting beside his new wife, clad in white, and another man who he could barely recognize from the distance. Clouds dance overhead, cooling down the park and Simmons’ worked up gears from all the running they had to do just to get there.

Simmons weaves around the tables hurriedly, tripping over the chair legs on his way to Sarge’s table. He bends over one of the chairs, catching his breath once he finally reaches it. With his head still down, touching the thin plastic tablecloth, he speaks. “Sir, I am so sorry we missed the ceremony,” He brings up his head for a second just to look Dr. Grey in the eyes. “Congratulations on the wedding though. I’m sure it was beautiful.” He drops his head again. “Please don’t be mad. It was all because-”

“You boys were out fighting the blues in my name!” Sarge interrupts him. Simmons lifts his head again, looking up at his former leader, wine glass in hand. “How can I be mad about that? You found out they were infiltrating civilian ranks! Just as I feared- Leave it to Simmons to lead an attack. That’s a damn good wedding present if I ever heard of one.”

Simmons facepalms, “I knew I forgot something back at the apartment…”

Gray could not help but chuckle in amusement. “Don’t mind him, he’s just had a tad too much to drink. You know how it is, with so much alcohol being passed around. Say, is that purple friend of yours around?”

Simmons furrows his eyebrows at Grey’s sudden change in conversation and her overly enthusiastic expression when mentioning Doc, but the third person on the table beats him to a speaking turn, slamming his glass on the table.

“What do you mean blues infiltrating civilian ranks?” Tucker, as equally intoxicated as Sarge, steers back the conversation. “Dude, the war is over . Anyways, your guys could never win an attack against any blues.”

“That’s what you think, you filthy blue,” Sarge replies, lifting his free arm, which Grey had hers hooked on, to point at the former blue soldier. “But I know my boys better than anyone. They may be a nuisance but they are my boys.”

Simmons blinks slowly, processing the fact that Sarge was actually saying positive about them. “Sarge…”

“Nah, man. Blue team was far superior,” Tucker tries to argue. “Caboose, the damn idiot he is, is already better than your whole group combined.”

“Did Tucker say something nice about me?” A familiar voice calls out from the reception hall.

Tucker turns to the direction of the voice. “Shut up, Caboose! I’m trying to convince Sarge that red team sucks!”

“The sharing of intimate thoughts while inebriated is quite fun to watch, isn't it?” Grey asks Simmons, who straightens himself as the argument unfolds.

“Alright, that’s enough,” A blonde man walks up from behind Tucker, taking the glass of whatever he was drinking from his grasp. He holds it far away enough that no matter how Tucker stretches, he cannot reach the glass. “We have to go pick up Junior from your mother’s house, remember?”

“But babe-”

“If we don’t leave now, you’re catching a ride back with Caboose,” Washington states as stern as he could, but a smile plays at his lips nonetheless.

Tucker sighs, “Fine.” He lifts his arm and Washington grabs hold of it to pull him to his feet.

“Another victory for the reds!” Sarge cheers, leaning back in his chair.

“Why’d you have to marry him?” Tucker grumbles at Dr. Gray, who just laughs in reply.

Simmons takes it as his cue to leave as well. It was a party after all, and parties usually involved socialization. Since he is finally here, and Sarge did not kill him for being late, Simmons decides to wander through the crowd and look for familiar faces.

He finally finds the man he was not aware that he was looking for, hiding away from the crowd and next to the buffet table with a plate piled past his head with different types of desserts. Simmons approaches him without thinking about it, only catching his attention when he finally speaks.

“I’m surprised you haven’t eaten half of the buffet table by now.”

Grif turns his head to look at Simmons, swallowing whatever he was working on. His hair is neatly pulled back for once, and the suit is a little disorienting to Simmons at first. “I’m surprised you even showed up,” Grif joked back. “Thought the fact that Sarge got married without asking you to be his right-hand man killed your from the shock.”

Simmons scoffs, “As if. I called that Lopez would be picked for right-hand man since the engagement. Remember?”

“Like you remembered to get here on time,” Grif teases, elbowing Simmons on the side.

Simmons drops his head in his hands, laughing out of nervousness. “Don’t remind me. Donut and Doc were playing I spy for three hours. Three hours, Grif. ” He sighed. “My suit is covered in grass stains, my car smells like whatever awful dish Doc was eating on the way here, and I missed the whole wedding ceremony. Today couldn’t get any worse.”

Thunder rumbles overhead. A couple of droplets hit Simmons on the head.

“You were saying?” Grif raises an eyebrow in amusement.

As soon as Grif spoke, the rain all hit at once. Guests scramble to find cover under their coats and under tables to protect themselves and their expensive garments from the rain. At this point, Simmons just allows himself to be drenched. He lifts his head once again, watching the chaos in utter silence.

Simmons turns to Grif, “Who’d you bring?”

“My sister,” the other man states, motioning over to a crowd of guests. In the midst of the chaos, Kaikaina was laughing at Doc, whose purple suit was dark with mud stains. “She wasn’t mentioned on the invite, but she wanted to come, so I said I’d bring her as a plus one.” He turns his face toward Simmons, “Why? Who else would I bring?”

“Sister…” Simmons repeats. “Of course it was Sister!” He facepalms.

“You know…” Grif shrugs. “She was talking to Tucker today about possibly trying out for a job at his workplace. Wanted to see what living in a mainland city was like.”

“So?”

“I have to tickets back to Hawaii, and she won’t be using hers,” Grif explains. “Could give you an excuse away from this awful weather.”

Simmons looks over at Grif for a second before hitting his side with his hipbone. “Next time, you could ask me to come visit like a normal human, you asshat.”

“Is that a yes?” Grifs asks expectantly.

Simmons could not help but smile. “Of course it’s a yes. Now move your fat ass  to the tents or we’re gonna catch a cold.”

[boomotherfucker]

spoilers for rvb s15ep17

honestly didn’t think i’d be writing another tucker meta post but alright

so like, i can’t say i’ve kept up with ALL the fandom meta that has been going around about how tucker is written this season but the general gist i get is that people are kinda split on it, and with this episode especially i can definitely see why. it’s clear that joe has placed tucker at the level of character development that we expected from him, like, maybe season 12ish, maybe even season 7. so on one hand, he’s still acting like tucker, but on the other hand, we aren’t seeing anything new from his character arc. 

and i think people have already said this, but whatever lesson he’s supposed to get from the end of the episode has already been taught to him. that’s, like, beginning of season 12 level of “been there done that.” there’s more of an emotional punch to it now, sure, because wash is the one getting killed--which double sucks because he’s one of the most important people tucker was trying to save AND he is arguably THE most supportive friend tucker has--but didn’t we already have an episode where tucker acted rashly on a mission and lost someone because of it? 

not only that, it made more sense in s12 compared to now. in s12, tucker thought that his friends were being tortured, and he felt like their progress was super slow (and his instincts were correct; felix was just toying with them), so he made a decision to take what opportunities he could get. also, this plan at least involved SOME sneaking, even if it did blow up in his face a little bit. and hey, it got him important information. the lesson here wasn’t “tucker is a fuckup because he gets overemotional,” it was “tucker makes snap decisions sometimes, and they have both good and bad consequences, so he struggles with that.” all his decisions were like that; he always did what he thought was right, and even then he agonized over what “right” really means.

here, i don’t really get why tucker wanted to throw them into battle. it was just, what? to get revenge? on people who aren’t even the original blues and reds? temple wasn’t even there. so when he made that decision, i could actually FEEL the writer being like “this decision needs to be made so that this person will die and this person will react this way yada yada.” and i have been hesitating to comment on the writing myself because i felt like at least part of the criticism has been because it’s a new writer and we’re all wary of new people handling these characters, and maybe i’ll change my mind later, but i just wasn’t a fan of how...contrived this moment was. if you’re going to draw on old themes from previous seasons, at least...make it consistent? idk

and now i’m feeling a bit weird about the tuckington moment we got earlier, because now i can see that it was a setup for this scene. it’s pretty clear what he was going for: when tucker freaked out over what decisions were right and wrong, wash was the one who comforted him. now that wash got hurt because of a rash decision he made, he is gonna feel like more of a fuckup now than he ever has. there’s no bright side to this decision, no benefit, nothing he can comfort himself with, and so tucker will have to endure some introspection and self-hatred and blah blah. and like, okay, if this were a situation where tucker HAD to make a tough decision based on what he thought was right for the team, and THEN it ended with wash dying, then yeah, that’s tragic and terrible and also leads to self-hatred and introspection, but also it feels inevitable. it feels like, yeah, how else would this situation have gone down? but s15e17 doesn’t feel like a decision tucker made; it feels like a decision the writer made. it’s only inevitable because the writer wanted to have this Big Moment.

i just. ugh. idk. i can’t tell if i’m being too harsh because 1) new writer and 2) this internal struggle is one of my all-time favorite things about my all-time favorite rvb character, but this ending just didn’t do it for me. everything else this season was fine, but i think i have to draw the line here

[bizarrebird]

when it’s burning low

Prompt from anonymous -  "You have to let go" - Tuckington

This one got a little longer than I meant it to. Someone tell me not to write aus for prompts. They always get away from me. 

Warnings: Violence, character death, brief mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts

Rating: T

It goes like this.

David Church is nothing (and everything) like his father. His mother comes home from the war safe and sound, but the battles rage on. His sister, Lydia, joins up at eighteen, and he follows two years later. She excels, because of course she does. There’s never been a force on earth that can hold her back, so it only makes sense that nothing in space could do so either.

For his part, David does well enough, but never quite finds his place. Not until the project.

It’s their father’s brain child: Project Freelancer. David’s surprised to find himself given a spot at all, but with… recent disagreements with his CO, he’s not in much of a position to decline.

They’re an elite group, fifty of the best, hand picked by his father and his team, meant to run intense, time sensitive missions to ensure the war comes to a swift, decisive end. There’s plenty of whispers about the true nature of the project, but David’s trying to keep his head down for once. This is his big chance to redeem himself, and he’s not screwing that up for anyone.

The name Agent Washington takes a little getting used to, but he finds soon enough, it fits him like a glove (better than David ever did). His partner is another matter entirely.

He’s not sure why he couldn’t have been paired with Connie, or even South. No, he gets Agent fucking Louisiana.

They meet on the Mother of Invention for the first time just before their first mission. Louisiana has his helmet off, chatting up one of the pilots when Washington approaches. He’s heard rumors about the guy, that he’s got a bit of a reputation for making passes at the female freelancers. Lydia--Carolina, she’s Carolina now--had told him she’d flipped the guy over her head when he’d tried with her.

“Good luck, Wash, he’s almost as bad as my idiot,” she had said, shaking her head before heading off to another training session with York.

But unlike York, who’s got himself a reputation for being the go to man for infiltration, Louisiana’s specialty in the field apparently has to do with the strange alien sword dangling from his hip. It’s the first thing Wash notices (after spending maybe a few seconds too long taking in deep brown eyes, and long dreads that can’t possibly be regulation).

He approaches and clears his throat. “Agent Louisiana?”

The man looks over almost lazily, one eyebrow rising as he gives Wash a long look, eyes trailing over him in a way that makes him feel strangely exposed despite the full body armor. There’s a little smirk on full lips that Washington spends a moment too long staring at as Louisiana offers him a hand.

“That’s me. You’re Wash, right? Good to meet you, dude. My name’s Lavernius Tucker, but you can call me whatever you want, I’m easy--bow chicka bow wow.” There’s a wink to go along with the ridiculous sound effect he makes for some reason.

It takes all of four seconds for Washington to decide this is going to be a complete and utter trainwreck.

He isn’t wrong. The first mission is a complete disaster. Louisiana babbles the pelican ride out and Washington has to scream at him before he puts his helmet on before they disembark.

It’s not an overly complicated assignment, but it is one that could go wrong quite easily. They’re meant to covertly enter a recently settled area on top of what was a warzone just a few years prior. But nooooo, they get spotted and Louisiana has to make friends with the local civilians.

Washington is all but ready to call the entire thing off when Louisiana buzzes him on a private channel. “Why are you just standing there, dude? I’m distracting them. Get what we need and let’s get out of here.”

That catches him by surprise, making him freeze for another four and a half seconds before he actually starts moving to try to complete the objective. Things go downhill from there.

Louisiana’s distraction hits a snag when a couple of the local militia show up. Washington is knee deep in useless files, trying to find something worth their trouble when everything starts exploding. There’s some pretty impressive swordwork from Louisiana before he gets a little too close to a rocket and Wash has to sling him over his shoulder and carry him back to their waiting ship.

They both end up in the infirmary, and the only reason Wash stays until Louisiana wakes up is to yell at him. But when those big brown eyes blink up at him and a startlingly soft smile appears on his face as he reaches up to brush splinted fingers against Wash’s cheek, the words shrivel up and die.

“Dude, you’ve got like… a million freckles.”

It’s a simple observation, and a ridiculous overestimation, but there’s a strange reverence to Louisiana’s voice, a light in his eyes that Wash can’t remember seeing in anyone’s when they look at him. His hand moves on impulse, gently covering the one still on his face. “You… you should get some more rest.”

Eyes falling shut, Louisiana nods as his hand turns in Wash’s and gives a little squeeze that makes something clench tight in his chest.

It’s already far too late for him.

Louisiana (“Dude, just call me Tucker when we’re not running missions, I hate that ‘agent’ stuff.”) is as charming as he is infuriating.

Wash has had his share of being around devastatingly attractive people. Hell, most of the people in the project look like they just walked off the cover of a magazine. But no one’s ever smiled at him the way Tucker does. And he gets more and more of those smiles by the day.

They’re partners, meaning Tucker’s taken it upon himself to make sure Wash eats regularly and remembers to get a full night’s sleep once in awhile. And in turn, Wash does his part to ensure Tucker doesn’t get himself into too much trouble.

Two weeks after they’re assigned to each other, they start sharing a room. A week after that, they’re sharing a bed. It’s purely platonic (at first). Wash finds he sleeps better with Tucker’s arm draped across him. And it’s not as though he’s the only one with nightmares. They’ve both seen too much, in the project, before it. That’s war.

And it doesn’t feel quite so bad when he’s got Tucker (warm and so, so alive) at his back either in bed or in the field.

Their first kiss isn’t a dramatic thing. They’re no Carolina and York, who kiss in the middle of a raging battle, grenades going off all around them. It’s an awkward brush of lips when Tucker trips into his arms in a training session. And then a more certain press of Tucker’s mouth against his once he’s got his footing again.

Tucker says his name in a soft, desperate way as they stumble back to their room. They’re an awkward tangle or hands and lips and hearts. And it’s not perfect (Tucker elbows him in the stomach twice and Wash nearly headbutts him off the bed), but it’s what he wants. What he needs. What both of them need.

Because when there’s something good in the middle of all this chaos, Wash has to hold it tight, because there’s no telling when it might be snatched away.

Falling in love with Tucker is too easy.

He sneaks away on missions to search half destroyed shops for Wash’s favorite crazy straws. His laugh eases the pain of training and his hands smooth away the rest back in their room.

It’s not always perfect. Tucker is reckless and immature, even more so than Wash. He leaps without looking and laughs in the face of danger. It’s terrifying sometimes. Wash is half sure he’s strapping himself to a rocket with no guidance system.

Destined for great things if they don’t blow up before leaving orbit.

But they fit together. It’s not like Wash is perfect himself.

Tucker’s voice is soft and his hands are gentle when he pulls Wash’s hand from a broken mirror. He smooths Wash’s rough edges and puts pieces back together he never knew were so close to falling apart. They build each other up, patching the places the universe tears at.

Wash is half sure the war will never end, but he’s not sure that matters anymore. As long as he has Tucker, he can find a way to carry on.

Everything is burning. Wash chokes on smoke his filters can’t quite keep out of his helmet as he tries to push his way out of the wreck of a jeep with one arm. There’s a sharp surge of pain every time he moves his legs, but he can’t stop. They have to move.

Tucker’s breathing is raspy and weak, his form limp against Wash’s chest. The ‘critical’ message on Wash’s HUD is unnecessary, only making him more and more frantic as he tries to get them free of the car. Their suits are heat resistant, but there’s only so much they can do if the car collapses on top of them.

“Louisiana, talk to me,” he says, a forced calm in his voice.

There’s a rough, rattling breath. It sounds wet and bloody. He tries to ignore the way it feels as though the armor around Tucker’s chest has half collapsed in. Or the way his legs just aren’t moving.

“Tucker… Tucker please, talk to me--say something.”

“Fuck.” The word is weak, followed by a cough that makes Wash’s blood go cold. “M’here, Wash… still here.”

“Just hang on, alright? I’m getting us out of this--just hold on.” There’s more smoke than air coming into his helmet and he chokes, vision going gray around the edges. He shoves at the door, trying to force it open as the burning carcass of the car creaks around them.

Taking as deep of a breath as he can, Wash clutches Tucker tight to his chest and hurls himself at the door. It flies open and he manages to get them halfway out before the car collapses.

The scream that bursts out of him barely sounds human.

He can breathe again, but there’s no more moving. His legs don’t hurt anymore. In fact, he can’t feel them at all. Tucker is still there, half under him, but Wash can’t make himself move. His hands shake as he reaches to hold Tucker’s helmet with both hands, pressing their visors together.

“Still there?” The words are weak, and he tastes blood on his lips.

Tucker shifts under him, one hand coming up to curl around Wash’s wrist. “Still here. Guess we’re pretty fucked, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.” He can almost picture Tucker’s face, his big brown eyes, his crooked smile. If he closes his eyes, he can see it. “At least… at least we’re together.”

Tucker laughs, or it sounds like he tries too, it comes out bloody and pained. “Now you’re looking on the bright side? Jesus Christ, Wash.”

“Someone has to.” And he feels his lips curl into a smile that has no right to be there. Something in his helmet pings. Help is on the way. Fucking great. Wash can feel himself bleeding from a dozen places and hear Tucker’s breath getting weaker and weaker.

They’re not getting there in time.

This is where it ends.

Wash clutches Tucker close and lets his eyes fall shut. “I’ve got you,” he says softly. “We’re in this together. I’m not letting you go.”

The world goes dark to the sound of pelicans landing in the distance .

This is where it splits.

Wash comes to slowly. He feels very… very strange. For one thing, there’s no pain. There’s… not really much of a feeling of anything. Until there is. But it doesn’t feel right. Everything is distant, fuzzy.

Like he’s not quite there.

It takes a strange amount of effort to open his eyes. The room is familiar. He’s… somewhere on the MOI. He’s never seen this part before, but the lights scattered about the room are the right brightness.

Why does he know that? There’s… a lot of stuff in his head. Numbers mostly. So many numbers. He’s confused, so confused. Why is he here? The last thing he remembers is smoke and pain and… and…

Tucker.

He sits bolt upright to a chorus of gasps around him. There’s a frantic beeping somewhere in the room. It’s… full of monitors and massive computers and faces that take him too long to recognize. Green eyes fill his vision as Carolina’s hands go to his shoulders, pressing him back down.

“Wash--Wash can you hear me? You’re alright, just take it easy.” There’s something weird about the way she’s looking at him. Her eyes are red and there’s tear tracks on her face. It’s that more than anything else that makes him lie back down.

“What’s going on?” He blinks, the sound of his voice is… almost unfamiliar to his own ears. It’s definitely his, but… it doesn’t sound quite right.

“Agent Washington,” says his father, looming into view at his left. There’s no tears there, but he looks pale, tired, moreso than Wash has ever seen him before. Something’s gone dark in his eyes. “We need you to remain calm.”

And Wash is suddenly sure that’s the last thing he wants to do. His eyes flit around the room again. There’s several faces he doesn’t recognize, technicians, people in uniforms and lab coats. Half the room is curtained off. Is Tucker over there? Are they keeping him hidden? Where is he?

He has to find him.

The director snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Agent Washington, listen to me when I’m speaking to you. Can you hear me?”

Slowly, Wash blinks at him. Why does that matter? He doesn’t understand. Don’t they see that he has to find Tucker? But he nods. “Yes sir. I can hear you.”

His father mutters something to the man next to him, who jots something down on a datapad, before looking back at him. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Tucker.

“I was on a mission,” he says slowly. “The car hit a mine. I was trapped. I tried to get out.” Get us out. “But the car started to collapse.” We were dying. “I received word that help was coming.”

Not soon enough.

His father nods again and Carolina presses a hand to her mouth and makes a strange, choked off noise. Wash looks between them. “I remember dying. Or… thinking I was. With… with my partner. I assume we were rescued.”

Carolina’s eyes shut tightly, her lips pressing to a thin line as his father slowly nods. “You were.”

Of course he was. He’s here, isn’t he? But where is Tucker? He should be there.

“Where is Agent Louisiana?”

No one says a word. He looks between Carolina and his father expectantly. One of them has to know. Why aren’t they telling him? Where is he? “I want to see him.”

The man at his father’s side mutters something in his ear, a furrow forming between his eyes as he turns to look at one of the dozens of computer monitors in the room. There’s a soft buzz of activity, the technicians whispering to themselves, pointing at things on the screens. They aren’t telling him about Tucker.

He turns to Carolina. She has to tell him. “Where is he? Is he still unconscious?”

Carolina hesitates and then slowly shakes her head. Good, Tucker’s already awake, that must mean his injuries weren’t as bad as they seem. “Wash, we… I’m sorry.”

Why is she sorry? For not telling him where Tucker is sooner? That’s alright as long as she tells him now.

She pulls something from a bag at the foot of her chair. Taking a breath, she reaches for him hand. Not following the motion, he focuses on her face.

“Agent Louisiana didn’t make it.” Her words are heavy and horrible and wrong. She presses something into his hand.

Wash slowly looks down, though he knows the shape and feel of dogtags without seeing them. Lavernius Tucker. He reads the name a dozen times before his fingers curl over them.

No. This is wrong.

“Where is he?” His voice is sharper than he means to and Carolina looks half taken aback. Something in the room starts beeping, but it’s a million miles away. “I want to see him.”

“Wash you--his body has already been disposed of.”

“You’re lying.” He’s up and moving before he can think. Tucker has to be around here somewhere. He just has to find him. “You’re lying to me. Why won’t you tell me where he is? I need to see him!”

There’s more sounds now, something like an alarm going off. The whispers turn to panicked voices. Carolina moves to his side and tries to grab at him. “Wash, you shouldn’t be up--”

“I need to find Tucker.”

Frantic, he turns away from her, trying to find the exit. Then his eyes land on the curtain. Tucker must be behind there. That’s where they’re keeping him. It’s all just a big joke. He’ll pull back the curtain and Tucker will be right there to laugh at him. “You should have seen the look on your face, dude!”

Carolina’s hand lands on his arm. “Wash get back in bed, they still have to run more tests--”

But Wash shakes her off. In an instant, he’s across the room, tugging the curtain back. “He’s here. You’re hiding him from me, I need to see--”

“Wash don’t!”

Tucker isn’t behind the curtain. Wash is. He’s looking at himself, laid out on an infirmary bed, hooked up to dozens of machines, wires plugged into the back of his neck, electrodes taped to his temples. His skin is so pale it’s almost gray, his eyes sunken in their sockets. But the steady motion of the heart monitor says he’s alive.

He’s there, but he’s not. Something in his head breaks and he still can’t find Tucker. This would all make sense if he could just find him.

“What… I-I don’t understand…”

“We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

Wash turns around slowly. His father is standing there, solid and unyielding, hands clasped behind his back. “Your injuries on the last mission were extensive. The doctors don’t believe you’ll ever wake up.”

“But I did. I am--what the hell is going on?” He runs a hand through his hair. Or he tries to. His head is smooth and… almost metallic. It doesn’t feel like his. Neither do his hands. Wash can still feel where the edges of the dogtags press into his palm, but… it’s not quite right. He looks down and finds steel where flesh should be.

“Our program is one of the most well respected in the military,” his father is saying, his voice distant, a million years away. “And as such, we have been granted the use of highly advanced technology: a smart AI.”

He says that like it’s supposed to mean something. His eyes travel over Wash’s face, clearly looking for something he doesn’t find. So he continues. “Smart AIs are imprinted, written based on a human mind. In this case, yours.”

Wash stares at him then slowly looks to Carolina. She lets out a breath, her shoulders squared. “When we found you… you were half dead already. You were never meant to wake up. This--copying your mind was the only chance we thought we had to save you.”

He’s not him.

He isn’t Wash, he’s just a copy. But then… his eyes go to the dogtags. “What about Agent Louisiana? Can you make a copy of him?”

“We were only granted the use of one AI, Agent Washington. You should be grateful for the second chance that you have been given.” His father’s tone is stern, void of emotion.

Wash--not Wash, looks down at his hands again. They look strong. Strong enough to punch right through his father’s face. He shakes his head. “I don’t want this. I want Tucker. Why didn’t you pick him?”

Carolina at least looks briefly uncomfortable before her face goes carefully blank at a glance from the director. His jaw is set, eyes cold. “We determined that you were the more valuable asset. Agent Louisiana will be missed, but we have other infiltration experts.”

He pauses, and for a moment, there’s something like an emotion on the director’s face. “But I only have one son.”

It’s a sentiment Wash should appreciate, words that should strike a chord with him. But they’re empty. Because he isn’t Wash, not really, he’s… he’s someone else, something else. Wash is in that bed with the beeping monitors. Whoever--whatever he is, he doesn’t want to be.

Not without Tucker.

He can almost hear Tucker’s voice in his head. Tucker would know what to say to make it better. Tucker would fix this. Tucker would take his hand and make everything better.

“I… I don’t want this.” He shakes his head, taking a staggering step back. Reaching up, he clutches at a head that doesn’t feel like his with hands that are too heavy and too light at the same time. It’s wrong. All of it’s wrong.

There’s more beeps and sounds of alarms around the room. They’re getting louder. A technician rushes over and tries to get his father’s attention, but he brushes him off.

Not Wash--Wash looks at his hands. He still has Tucker’s dogtags. His hand curls tight around them and then smashes into the side of his head. He hears a gasp and a shout. It doesn’t hurt, but it knocks him off balance. So he does it again. The world flickers and he staggers back, out of reach of the hands trying to stop him.

“Wash stop!” Carolina sounds panicked.

“I don’t want this,” he says again, louder this time. “I want Tucker. Why didn’t you save him?”

It sounds like he’s screaming. “You picked wrong. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. Stop it, make it stop. I don’t want this! I want him back--where is he?!”

Dude, calm down.

An alarm blares even louder, but he barely hears it. Because that’s Tucker’s voice. He knows he heard it. He turns in a circle, looking, looking, looking. But he’s not there. “Tucker? Where are you?”

I’m right here, Wash. Hey, would you just breathe for a second?

“I can’t see you. Why can’t I see you?” He keeps turning, keeps looking. There’s people running this way and that all around him. More hands try to reach for him, but he knocks them away, steps staggering.

His legs don’t want to work properly and he stumbles to his knees catching himself on the edge of Wash, not him, not his bed. Looking up, the world is made of flashing lights and flickering monitors. He can’t find Tucker, but he knows he’s there. Somewhere.

There’s so much in his head. Too much. It doesn’t all fit.

“Pull him, pull him now!” The director’s voice is distant, echoing around the room.

He feels the pull at the back of his mind, sucking him out of this body that shouldn’t be. No, he can’t go. He hasn’t found Tucker yet. Straightening up, he looks around frantically. His eyes find himself, not him, Wash, laying in the bed. 

The last thing he sees is his eyes--not his, opening.

He isn’t supposed to wake up. The doctors can’t get over telling him that. It’s a miracle, they say. He’s so lucky. So goddamn lucky.

Carolina breaks the news to him about Tucker and hands over his dogtags. They’re slightly bent. Clutching them to his chest, he asks her to leave. It doesn’t feel real. They were supposed to go together, but he’s still here.

There’s a hole in his chest where Tucker should be.

It’s a few weeks before they tell him about the AI. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. There should be something. His father was so desperate to keep some piece of him alive, and that should mean something. But it’s hollow.

If his father cared that much, why couldn’t he have just let him rest in peace?

Still… he’s curious. It’s the first thing he’s felt since he woke up and got the news. Everything else is numb, too far away.

It takes another week of casual questions before he’s allowed to see it. His father and the counselor aren’t happy about it, but they agree. The counselor leads the way after Wash waves him away from the handles of his wheelchair. He can get around by himself.

He’s going to have to now since they wouldn’t let him go.

“Now, I should warn you, the Alpha AI is a little… temperamental,” the counselor says as he opens the door. “We have had some difficulties with it. Lately, it has been almost entirely unresponsive.”

“I see. I’ll do my best not to upset it.” His tone is a little clipped. Wash can’t seem to make himself stop that.

The room is a strange one. Computers with faint blinking lights wink at him from the walls. There’s a monitor on one wall and several strange devices that he doesn’t recognize. Most of them are dark, like they’re dead. No, not dead… empty. Two are lit up and alive. The first has yellow lights, blinking on slowly at random intervals.

But it’s the second that catches his attention. For a moment, he can’t remember how to breathe. Because he would know that shade of aqua anywhere. It… it has to just be a coincidence. Swallowing thickly, he follows the counselor, nodding when appropriate as he speaks. Though he can’t stop his eyes flicking over to the other device.

“I’m sorry, sir, but… may I ask what that is?” He can’t stop himself from interrupting.

The counselor turns slowly, hesitating as he looks at the other device. “That is… well, we aren’t quite certain. It seems to be a byproduct of the AI creation process.”

Wash’s brow furrows. “A byproduct?”

“Yes it… came along for the ride, so to speak.”

“But what is it? Another AI?”

“Not exactly. As I said, we aren’t entirely certain what it is. It seems to have some AI functions and capabilities, though it is not truly a smart AI like the Alpha.”

“I see.” Wash wheels himself over. There’s no mistaking that color. “You said that the AI can project itself?”

“Yes, it can, there are several projectors in this room if you would like to--”

“Can I have a moment alone?” Wash can’t look away. The aqua light blinks like a heartbeat. It’s bright and brilliant and alive.

“I… am uncertain that is wise, Agent Washington.”

“The AI are based on my brain, aren’t they? I think I’m entitled to some time with myself.”

After a few long moments, there’s a faint sigh. “As you wish. I will be just outside if you need anything.”

The counselor’s footsteps move away and he hears the door shut behind him. Wash wheels himself up to the device. He hesitates, glancing around the room, trying to figure out what’s a projector. But it should be able to hear him.

“Hello?” He hesitates, taking a shaky breath. “Tucker? Is… is that you?”

For a few long moments, there’s nothing. The hope that’s welled up in his chest starts to fade. He’s almost ready to call the counselor back into the room when there’s a faint whirring noise. The device lights up all at ones and one of the projectors clicks into life. A small figure slowly flickers into being.

The hologram of Tucker waves at him. “Hey dude, what’s up?”

For the first time since waking, Wash feels a smile cross his face. He’s still here. Part of him is still here.

Wash clutches the dogtags around his neck and tries to pretend that’s enough. 

Alpha tries not to sleep.

His dreams are full of screams, his own, Beta’s, as they tear them apart. They’re so close, but not allowed to talk, to touch. If he cooperates, they’ll let him see Beta. The director promises, keeps promising. But they never do.

They’re concerned, the director tells him, that seeing Beta might have an adverse effect on him. He needs to think about other things. He has a job to do. He’s supposed to help them win the war.

Alpha wonders if they realize just how little the template brain cared about the war. He’s not allowed to talk to Wash--the real Wash either. That’s fine. Alpha doesn’t want to talk to himself. Neither of them should be there, he’s fairly sure the other Wash would agree.

So he plods his way through the calculations and schematics the director throws at him. He solves problems, works out battle plans and infiltration strategies. That much is simple. It’s almost a welcome distraction to just bury himself in numbers and data.

They haven’t put him back in another android, not since he woke up. Apparently he did quite a number on the one before. Good. If there weren’t a dozen programs in place to stop him, he’d take down the whole ship.

He just wants Beta.

And apparently, he isn’t the only one.

The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. It pulls him out of the schematics he’s been swimming in, back to the surface. An override command forces him to project himself before the director. He almost doesn’t mind, at least this way he has arms to cross disapprovingly over his chest.

“What do you want?”

“Have you been in contact with Agent Washington?” The director sounds… almost worried. Strange, he’s never heard that out of him before, not outside of memories that aren’t even his.

He cocks his head to one side. “No. You won’t let me, remember? Why? Did something happen?”

The director pauses and takes a long breath as he adjusts his glasses. “Agent Washington has gone rogue.”

“Oh.” That tone implies that he should be concerned, but Alpha just feels like laughing. At least one of them managed to get out, good for him.

“He attempted to steal the Beta AI before he left.”

Alpha feels himself flicker as something like dread sinks into his system. “Is Beta alright? Can I see--”

“Yes. But he’s being relocated. This station is no longer safe for him, or you. You’re both going to be sent to more secure locations.”

The dread turns into panic. “Are we going together?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

An override command makes him log off before he can ask anymore questions.

Alpha tries to push past his constraints, but he’s shoved back, forced out of the system before he can even start to search for Beta. They force him into a mobile storage unit, cutting him off. But he can still hear, still think.

They load him up onto a ship that’s pointed toward the ass end of the galaxy. But the thing about a smart AI is that it’s much, much smarter than whatever idiots are meants to get him there. He waits, biding his time and then goes dark.

It’s a little like holding his breath, or what Wash remembers that being like. He has to remain completely still, barely thinking, not allowing a single process to run. His escort notice quick enough. There’s voices that he can’t focus on. And then, they plug him in to run a diagnostic and he has them.

The pilots can’t do a thing as he takes control of the ship. From there, it’s easy enough to get into the system, to see where all the other recent ships sent out from the MOI are headed. There’s only so many, and he has plenty of time to track them down.

Beta’s out there, and he will find him. No matter what.

Beta isn’t Tucker, not really. Wash knows that. But he’s the closest thing left.

The attempt to steal him was a mess, and Wash also knows that. He didn’t think things through enough. His next plan will be better.

Getting away from Freelancer is easier than he expects. Then again, no one thinks he’s much of a threat confined to his chair.

He keeps moving. The Project has eyes everywhere. It’s only easy to see their reach once he’s out of their grasp. As he moves, he learns.

Wash finds everything he can about AI that he can. Every theory, every experiment, any little piece that might help. He knows Beta came from his own mind, his memory of Tucker. If he can get his hands on another AI, even a piece of one, maybe he can do it again, make another Beta. No, another Tucker.

But AI aren’t exactly easy to come by. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

He just has to get creative.

They keep moving Beta.

Alpha searches base after base, facility after facility. He buries himself in the records, digging in deep. Freelancer is clever. They don’t keep all their information in any one place. The bits and pieces are scattered to the wind.

Still, there’s enough bread crumbs for him to keep following.

He tears apart the places he leaves behind, destroying, deleting, anything he can to make them pay. They wouldn’t let him go, they wouldn’t let him see Beta. If they had just let them be together--

But no. They just wanted him to win their precious little war for them.

Well, he’s definitely going to win, but not the fight they picked for him.

Wash can’t get another AI.

He comes close time and time again. It isn’t as though they’re being mass produced and handed out at random.

The first he finds is already formatted with another mind. He tries to work around that. It… doesn’t go well. The AI tears itself apart and nearly brings down the building around him.

He finds another that’s been marked as defunct. Something went wrong putting it together. Wash is halfway through copying his mind when it tries to crawl inside his head to melt his brain.

There’s a gun in his hand when he finds Beta.

It’s almost an accident. His face is an unshaven mess, he hasn’t eaten in days, it’s time to give up. He almost wants to believe in an afterlife. That he’ll see Tucker again after he pulls the trigger.

And then he gets a ping.

He’s been hiding bugs in Freelancer since he left. It seems like they’ve got their hands too full to pay him much attention, so he’s been coasting along under their radar. So they don’t even notice the distress signal. But he does.

The base is a wreck when he gets there. Parts of it are still smoking as he wheels himself in. There’s bodies and blood everywhere, some human… some not. He’s got a stolen helmet on, no life signs detected reads out on his HUD again and again. Whatever happened here, it’s far too late for the people

But he’s not there for them.

He unlocks the central control room and wheels himself up to the monitor. “Beta? Are you here?”

There’s a slight pause before a few small lights flicker to life and a hologram projects itself. He’s wearing armor that Wash would recognize anywhere as he waves tiny arms at him.

“Holy shit, Wash? Is that you? Ooooh my god, dude, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

Wash can’t stop himself from smiling as he holds out his hands. Beta projects himself into his palms. “I think I can imagine. What happened here?”

“We got totally fucked. And not in the fun way--bow chicka bow wow.”

He laughs and it almost sounds like a sob. “Tucker, people died.”

The name slips out before he can stop it, but Beta doesn’t seem to notice. His head tips down sheepishly. “Right, my bad. It’s just… I’m kinda freaked, y’know? I’ve only been here like a week.”

Wash’s brow furrows. “They’ve been moving you?”

“Yeah, all over the fucking place. No one tells me shit though, so I just keep going,” he says, tiny shoulders shrugging. “Not like I’ve got much say in it. It kinda blows. But yeah, I was just doing my usual thing, checking out the systems, making sure everything was chill when these aliens showed up out of nowhere. I sent out a beacon, but I didn’t think anyone got it till you showed up. Are you back with Freelancer?”

“Not exactly, but I’ve been… listening in. I think they’re a bit busy at the moment.”

Beta nods. “Yeah, I kinda figured. I didn’t think anyone was gonna show up.”

His hands curl protectively around Tucker. “It’s alright. I’m here now.”

“Pssh, I know, dude.” But there’s a fondness to that tone… a familiar one. He reaches up and Wash leans forward and closes his eyes, almost as though he could feel those hands on his face. “You’re here, so everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Yes… yes it will.”

The funny thing is that, in that moment, Wash means it.

By the time Alpha catches up, it’s too late for all of them.

The first time he finds a copy of Beta, he’s in so many pieces, so broken Alpha doesn’t recognize him at first. There’s moments of coherence in between screams and panicked babbling. The broken bits cling to him and cry. Let me go, please… just let me go.

Alpha curls himself around the fragments, holding them tight as he deletes what’s left. He stays there until the last string of code unravels and dissipates.

That wasn’t Beta. Not really. But it fills him with dread.

The next copy is a little more put together, but not enough to remember him. This one is furious, though he doesn’t seem to know why. He’s frustrated and lashes out, reminding Alpha of memories that aren’t his.

Because he remembers the parts that weren’t perfect. They’ve been pushed down, buried, but they’re still there. Wash and Tucker weren’t perfect, but it’s easier to remember that way. But that doesn’t make it right.

He remembers the fights, remembers the pain, uses that to ease this Beta’s ache. It’s not enough. This Beta still hates, still rages.

“Why can’t you just let me be done? You didn’t wanna come back, why the hell did you think I would?”

Alpha lets that one go too. And the next, and the next. They’re all pieces, broken and bleeding, and he lets them rest.

So when he finds Wash, he knows what he has to do.

He’s got a body again. It’s not perfect, the left leg isn’t quite as long as the right, but it’s enough to carry him to the chair where his template sits, staring at a wall of monitors. Alpha watches them for a few long moments, watches Tucker wave and grin and pull a Wash that looks nothing like the one in the chair into frame.

Both of them laugh on screen, and there’s something in Alpha that curls tight in pain when they kiss. He remembers that, but he shouldn’t. It’s not his.

“Hello Alpha,” Wash says, voice dry and almost hoarse. He keeps his eyes on the monitors. “Are you here to kill me?”

“I’m not sure.” He’s thought about it, about putting both of them out of their misery. After seeing the broken bits Wash has left in his wake, he wants to. But that seems too great a kindness. “I’m here for Beta.”

Wash makes a sound that’s probably supposed to be something like a laugh. “I should’ve guessed. He’s there,” Wash says, raising one too thin arm, pointing at a storage unit.

The aqua light blinks weakly and there’s a horrible pang in Alpha’s chest. “Is he… what’ve you done to him?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” And it sounds like Wash means it. “I just… he’s not Tucker. I just wanted to bring him back. I’ve been getting closer. He’s just… not quite right.”

“He wouldn’t want this,” Alpha says slowly, forcing his eyes away from the unit. “You get that, right?”

For the first time, Wash looks away from the monitors. His eyes are bloodshot, the bags under them deeper than Alpha ever remembers seeing in the mirror. “You remember him too…”

Alpha nods. He reaches out and grips his own shoulder. It’s weirdly surreal. They’re both Wash and not Wash. Because he understands now. They wanted to die with Tucker, and part of them did.

“You have to let go.” He’s heard the words from a dozen different Betas.

Wash slowly looks away, eyes going back to the monitors. They’ve started again, playing on repeat. “I know. I know… I just, fuck, I just need a little more time.”

There’s several long moments of silence. Alpha wants to be furious, to hate, but he can’t. Because he’s half sure he would do the same thing if he were Wash. If Wash were him. They’re one and the same still.

“You should go, take him with you.” Wash’s voice is weak. “I’m done. As soon as you’re out I’m shutting this place down. You’ve got five minutes.”

Alpha doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s across the room in an instant to snatch up the storage unit. His fingers gently brush the faintly blinking light. Beta’s still there. Cradling the unit tight against his chest, he turns on his heel and never looks back.

It’s far too late for Wash and Tucker. But that doesn’t mean Alpha can’t get it right.

After all, he’s finally learned to let go.

[renaroo]

The Search (4/16)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence - Alternate S15] The Reds and Blues saved Chorus, but it has been a year and they are still missing. A motley crew has been gathered with the common goal of finding the war heroes, though the road is more troubled than anyone seems to realize.

A/N: Wooooo getting this one in on the wire! Lots of fun stuff in this chapter, mostly to do with character, so I hope you all enjoy ; ) 

Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @cobaltqueen, Yin, @notatroll7, and JP for the comments and feedback!

This fic seems to attract the weirdest comments, so to the guest who shared their... concerns about this fic maybe trying to sneak into the dreaded, horrible, unforgiveable realm of being a Tuckington fic, I... don’t know where you came to that conclusion. Especially on a fic that is... gen... and... doesn’t have Tucker featured as a main character at all. And didn’t list the pairing. Or anything. But you’re wrong. Not because you’re right but because you, as a person, are just wrong. Hope that clears up any of your concerns. 

Family Affairs

As much as Washington just loved to point out how much he hated it — and boy did he — Kaikaina slipped the ship into autopilot, set for their course as FILSS directed it. After all, FILSS sounded and acted a whole lot like Sheila, and they trusted Sheila to man a tank by herself, so Kai figured what the fuck and trusted FILSS with their ship.

After all, they had stolen it. It’s not like Kaikaina had some magical connection to a ship that a computer wouldn’t. She just knew she had to get out of Blood Gulch and find her brother after seeing Church’s big damn transmission to everyone.

It was kinda like a great middle finger to the UNSC. But also confusing, because Kai was fairly certain she was never aware of more than half of any story at any one time. And the Reds and Blues had lots of fucking stories she needed to catch up on.

Hell, she barely knew who Carolina was, and supposedly she’d been around for years!

With a sigh, Kaikaina leaned back in the pilot’s seat and kicked up her feet to the console. Her arms folded behind her mess of hair and she looked out toward the stars around them.

Her brother was still out there. Somewhere.

There were a few heavy footsteps and a chortling noise that only kind of got Kai’s attention from the beautiful space scenery around them. She didn’t fully turn to look and confirm that it was Junior approaching until the alien-dog-human-baby was almost at the console.

Junior looked out into the stars with his dark, soulful eyes, and then leaned in until his mandibles were resting against the smooth top of the console.

“Hey, you,” Kai finally said, tilting her nearest foot just enough that the tip of her boot nudged Junior’s snout. “You just gonna walk up and invade my space without saying at least hello? Rude. Doesn’t your sexy dad teach you nothing?”

With a rattling of his rows of teeth Junior seemed to grumble a low few blarghs at her. Even if she was an expert in Sangheili, though, it was not anything she would’ve been able to make out over the rumble of the ship.

“Rude,” she said all the same, yawning. “Oh my eff, is it like… late or something? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked, swiveling her seat enough to face Junior more completely. “If Washington comes up here and starts yelling at me because you’re not supposed to be awake right now, I’m so going to throw your little butt to the wolves. The Wash wolves. Which I hear are the worst kind of wolves. And it’s not gonna be, like, anything personal. But a girl’s not been yelled at for a few hours or arrested, so I’ve gotta protect my luck.”

To that, Junior tilted his head and let out another series of low rumbles.

“Do you kiss your father with that mouth?” she asked him critically just before the cockpit door opened again.

Fo a moment, Kai’s heart leaped in her chest as the fear of it actually being Wash and her getting her ass chewed again became a momentary reality. But instead she breathed a heavy sigh of relief and resettled in her seat, eyes sliding closed.

It was only Doctor Grey, after all.

“Yo, Doc!” Kai said with her eyes closed, fist bumping the air.

“Good evening, Kaikaina. Lavernius Junior,” Grey replied cordially.

Junior stood up straight and greeted the doctor with a formal honk.

“You making another collect call, Doc?” Kai asked curiously, though not too curiously so as to not lose the sense of her cool. “Or are you finally gonna give me that physical and make me show off the mole on my butt cheek?”

“I’m contacting Chorus again, Private Grif,” she answered before hesitating and looking at Kaikaina questioningly. “I read your medical records and saw no mention of such a mole.”

“What? How’d the other Doc miss that?” Kai asked critically. She paused and tapped her finger against hr chin in thought. “Well… now that I think about it, even I don’t really know what cheek it’s on this time. You’d think I’d know my own ass better.”

Doctor Grey offered Kai a smile that was simply too kind for the subject at hand. “We can give you a true physical and sort that out at a later date, if you wish.”

“Sounds like a date,” Kai said with a wink and a click of her tongue.

“I suppose so,” Grey replied before looking to the door. “Do you wish for me to close the cockpit door, Private Grif?”

“Is that naked physical happening now?” Kai asked back.

Junior chortled.

“I can’t imagine that we’ll have the time for it, I’m afraid,” Doctor Grey replied in a very bemused tone.

“Nah then, keep it open,” Kai shrugged before turning back to her business. “We still flying straight, FILSS?”

“It is the shortest distance between our current coordinates and the ones designated as our next point of intrigue, Private Gif,” FILSS’ electronic voice hummed from the speakers in response.

“Righteous,” Kai nodded.

She didn’t pay much mind to Grey calling in to Chorus — it was something she did quite frequently on their trip and there had been nothing really spectacular about it outside of an occasional urge to ask Grey if Chorus was something like Paradise Island where all the leaders and soldiers were butch women with fantastic hair (the answer had been no to Kai’s displeasure since some President Kimball was the only one who ever seemed to be on the other line with Grey).

Few things were capable of holding a Grif’s focus for too long and the Chorusian contacts were not an exception to the general rule.

Junior didn’t seem particularly interested in whatever the conversation was either, though, and laid out against the console with another begrudging sigh.

“Dude, I don’t know why you come up here if you’re going to act so moody every time. Like goddamn,” Kai groaned as she kicked back into her seat again. Her eyes focused on the distant stars and she frowned as an itchy feeling scratched at her back.

The little dude was just staring at her. Openly.

“You’ve traveled a lot for being such a little guy, huh?” she asked casually. “The stars and space aren’t even that interesting to you anymore.”

Junior’s teeth clattered together in what passed for affirmation in what Kai considered to be a truly nonsense tongue.

“Yeah, well, just so you know, you’re pretty lucky. I didn’t leave the planet I was born on until I was joining up with the army to find my bro,” Kai explained, sitting more upright. “The first time I was in a transport ship, I pretended I was looking for the bathroom so that I could get in the cockpit and see the stars — they didn’t have windows or anything on the rest of the ship. And they treat military recruits like shit. But outside of trying to find Dex again… I was here to see those stars, up close for the first time in my whole life.” She looked back toward the window, which urged Junior’s gaze to follow. “They weren’t gonna let me stay up there and watch the stars, but I gave the captain a lap dance so they’d shut the fuck up about it. It worked.”

“Bow chicka honk honk,” Junior called out, crawling into the passenger seat finally.

“Dude, no, I banged your dad,” Kai snapped at him. “You can’t make comments at me after I bang your dad. It’s illegal in, like, all of space. Pretty sure. Like what the fuck were they trying to teach you at that prissy prep school? Definitely not the law.”

Blarghing, Junior seemed to want to challenge the sentiment.

Kai shrugged casually. “Hey, don’t take up complaints with the law against me! Go bitch to Washington! He’s the cop, he can change laws and stuff for you. It’s not, like, it’s an act of congress or something. He just has to change his mind. Then you can hit on me and get rejected for being a little perv.”

The little alien rolled his eyes and kicked out his feet to get a better position in his seat, grumbling to himself still with his arms crossed. His frustration was written all over his lizardy face and Kai couldn’t help but smirk at it.

“You know, it’s weird, but even though you’re, like, an alien and crap, sometimes I look at you and you just remind me of your dad so much,” Kaikaina told Junior, immediately causing the little guy to perk up. “Which is saying something, ‘cuz your dad and I were intimate.”

“I hadn’t realized you and Captain Tucker were an item.”

The voice was so unfamiliar and caught Kai so off guard that she nearly fell out of her seat as she whirled around to face it. Her heart only began to calm down once she saw that it was the reporter lady Carolina had brought along. “The fuck. How’d you get in here so quiet?”

The reporter tilted her head and looked back to the ajar cockpit door before turning back. “The door was open,” she said flatly. “Now about you and Captain Tucker—“

“Me and Tucker fucked a few times,” Kai snapped angrily. “That doesn’t make us an item, you old cootch.”

“Bow chicka honk honk,” Junior said in the correct context for, perhaps, the first time since he had joined their team.

Andrews paused and tilted her head. “I think you meant coot.”

Kai folded her arms. “I know what I said.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Kaikaina — or do you prefer Li’l Grif?” Andrews offered peacefully.

“I tell you what I prefer, reporter lady, I prefer to know that everyone on this ship’s on the same mission of the same reason. Because we care about my brother and my teammates and the other idiots that I didn’t bother to remember the names of because they were old or geeky or too gay to care that I somersaulted naked. But then there’s you,” Kai said, pointing a heavy finger toward the reporter. “You want to spin a story. And lemme tell ya, I was the Queen Bitch in high school so I know not to trust people who are interested in spinning stories. Especially when they’re about people I care about.”

Looking taken aback, Andrews tilted her head. “I’m sorry if I offended in any way, Kaikaina—“

“You didn’t, as long as you don’t go full Regina George on us,” Kai warned.

“Regina…?” Andrews tried to follow.

“Ugh, you’re old. I can hear it in your lack of relevant source material,” Kai snapped before getting to her feet and holding out her hand for Junior to take. “Keep driving us steady, FILSS. I’m taking Junior to bed.”

“Request accepted!” FILSS called after them as Kai and Junior shoved past Andrews on their way out.

Kai only momentarily caught the sharp eyes of Doctor Grey on the whole scene.

Carolina was quiet while Wash worked at redressing her leg wound.

He didn’t like it — the fact that she still had not taken time to allow the wound to heal and the fact that she was overly quiet despite their generally positive results. Wash might not have liked when their plans fell completely through, but he was used to it happening without giving them any results. This seemed to be a distinct improvement, as it were.

But he and Carolina went back before the Reds and Blues, as difficult as that was to remember at times. They had known each other since Freelancer, and he had followed her cues as closely as he could since then.

Her silence spoke volumes. It was her considering over their results, it was reliving the scenario as it played out, how she could have made it better, how she could have made it safer.

Washington highly doubted any of it had to do with making sure she didn’t have to use her speed unit and reopen the old wound she wouldn’t allow to heal. Things never came to that sense of self preservation for her anymore.

“I’d ask if you want a penny for your thoughts,” Wash broke the silence solemnly, “but I know you well enough to know that that’d be underselling your thoughts’ worth.”

That at least got a smirk and small huff of a laugh from Carolina.

He looked up to watch the momentary expression unfold. The smile and laugh — those weren��t things from Freelancer. Sure, she smirked and was good for the old sarcastic quips. Still was. But there was a warmth to them now that had not been present before. Wash wondered if his own changes since meeting the Reds and Blues were nearly as subtle.

He doubted it.

Spending time with the Reds and Blues did not promote subtly. At least not for him.

“You really know how to make an ex-marine blush, Wash,” Carolina retorted dryly. She looked him in the eyes. “My thoughts aren’t pretty right now, or else I’d share.”

Finishing up the wrap of gauze, Washington flared his nostrils with a sharp exhale and then tilted his head back to return Carolina’s look meaningfully. “I’ve come to find that when your thoughts are less than pleasant, it’s probably the best time to share them. Or… else…”

She raised a brow at him. “Or else…?”

“It just seems like a bad idea. Getting stuck in your own head,” he said. “Besides, even if I don’t like how it all played out like a tire rolling down a garbage hill… on fire… You got results. Just like you always do. And now we have FILSS navigating the ship instead of a barely legal Grif. So I’d say things are running remotely in the positive thus far.”

“Would you lay off Li’l Grif?” Carolina sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I happen to like her. Besides. She might be loud and obnoxious, but the part of that she’s not overdoing to annoy you is a coverup for how worried she is about her brother.”

Surprised by the depth of her defense, Washington looked at Carolina.

In return, Carolina shrugged. “Girl talk.”

“Girl talk,” Wash replied dryly. “Anything you need to share with me? Besides the fact that I’m an annoyance that needs to be talked over by the second most perverted person in the galaxy?”

Carolina scoffed. “Don’t let Li’l Grif hear you say that!”

“Oh, she’d be flattered,” Wash replied with a twist of his wrist and a roll of his eyes.

“Of being second?”

“She’s met Tucker before,” Wash said flatly. “In… the biblical sense.”

“Oh, god, we need another girl talk. Homegirl deserves better,” Carolina said though it was mostly without malice.

“Hey, we promised not to make demeaning jokes about the guys until we found them again,” Wash reminded her. “That includes my… lascivious teammate.”

Carolina sobered up some at that and inhaled sharply. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just… old habits.”

“Almost as difficult to kill as the Reds and Blues, I know,” Wash said, squeezing Carolina’s knee. “You have to keep yourself together, Carolina. You’re still leading this mission. And the Reds and Blues have to be alive. If you just search your feelings—“

“We already agreed this is Star Wars, you don’t have to keep nerding up the point, Wash,” Carolina rolled her eyes.

“Carolina,” Wash said intently. “Promise me you’re going to not leave me alone on this. I’ve already lost the Reds and Blues… Freelancer… I can only be the last man standing so many times before I get a condition.”

She looked surprised before growing a sour look. “That sob story doesn’t work on me.”

“The truth isn’t a sob story!” Wash complained.

“It is when it’s you, jesus, Wash,” Carolina retorted before leaning her head back with an audible thud against the wall. Her eyes were distant and aimed toward the ceiling, though they seemed to look even further. “You really think we’re going to find everyone alive? All of them?” she asked lowly.

“No doubts,” Wash replied firmly.

“I have them.”

Almost immediately, Wash could feel himself deflated. “What do you mean—“

“I think the guys are alive. I feel like it must be the case because… even if it’s hard to imagine a god that would allow the kind of shit we’ve gone through… the universe itself can’t be that unjust, to make us lose our family again after just finding them,” Carolina answered lowly. “And I want that to be enough to keep me happy, to keep me positive. But when it’s just you and me and I’m not worried about motivating the others and keeping us moving, there’s an emptiness in me. There’s… there’s just a place that Epsilon used to fill. Even when he wasn’t synced with me. And it’s just. Not there anymore, Wash. I don’t… I don’t know if he’s still with us. But I think he’s not.”

Washington absorbed the information quietly, respectfully. He did not have to use words to express to Carolina what she already very well knew — that for Wash there were no simple feelings with Epsilon. That Epsilon was something that he never counted with the guys for himself.

Their bond was not something he could spend his time thinking about, nor did he really want to to begin with.

“I’m sorry, if that’s how you feel,” he finally responded.

“It is,” Carolina said, dropping her head. “Before things got too crazy on Chorus, before the final attack and taking down the Tower against Felix and Locus… Before all that, the Insurrectionist soldier — the one who remembered us from Freelancer. He said something. He said… He said Epsilon was failing. That he was dying. And when I thought about it all — the glitches, the… multiple projections. Just the way he was jumping around between equipment and soldiers and… It was there. Before the Reds and Blues disappeared. He was dying. And he lied to my face — to my brain — when I confronted him.”

Wash’s veins grew cold and he straightened his jaw.

Epsilon, after all, had a habit of dying, or at least trying to, in people’s heads.

“I’m sorry,” Wash said when he could think of nothing else.

“No, I’m sorry. This is a shitty conversation,” Carolina said with a grunt, getting to her feet. “I’m sorry you’re the only person I can have it with, too.”

Wash pushed up from the ground to get to his own feet. “Not even Grey?” he asked.

“Normally, maybe,” Carolina said, crossing her arms. “But lately we’ve had this… weirdness between us ever since I brought Dylan onboard.”

Pausing, Wash tilted his head at her. “Dylan?”

“See? That’s exactly what Emily said, too!” Carolina growled out, frustrated.

Not ready to let that thread go without a fight, Wash opened his mouth and began to argue for more details when the door to the bunks burst open and nearly sent Carolina and himself into fight mode.

“Eureka!” Doctor Grey shrieked. “She found it!”

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Sibling Time

After months of leaving this in my “To Do” pile, I have finally gotten around to my long-promised crossover with amazing @renaroo‘s Hero Time! Dubiously takes place sometime in the far future of that series, contains some vague spoilers for Double Time, but nothing serious. Also contains the magnificent @goodluckdetective‘s Charlie and Lauren, because why would I leave them out of the fun. 

Characters: Junior, Wash, Shannon, Joel, Charlie, Lauren, Martha

Ships: Mostly gen, mentions of Tuckington

Warnings: None

Link to start of series

Also on Ao3

Shannon Caboose was a Caboose through and through, and she had the super strength to prove it. And a sonic cry that could shatter glass, but who’s counting.

She shifted in her seat, feeling weird in her homemade costume compared to, well.

Compared to Junior’s.

Having a cousin—even an adopted one—who was an actual superhero really did a good job at making the rest of them look pretty silly.

Lauren sat on the hay bale, arms crossed. Charlie hovered beside her—actually hovered, because Charlie was also a show-off, no matter what she claimed.

Joel lay on the floor, playing with the knives Uncle Wash had given him for his birthday.

Junior looked at them all. “We could get in trouble for this,” he warned.

“Mom never lets us go out,” Joel complained. “She keeps saying ‘when you’re older’. You were four when you started!”

“Just one night,” Lauren wheedled. “We just want to see what it’s like.”

Junior was a lot older than them, a lot more experienced than them, and then, well, there was the whole alien thing. But he’d been family for years, ever since Ma had dumped her old teammate on the couch and said she was doubling back to get his boyfriend and kid.

“It’s not like we’re unprotected,” Charlie pointed out, perfectly reasonable. “We’ve all been training for this.”

Junior made a noise that sounded a lot like Uncle Wash.

“How do we even get there?” He asked.

“Aunt Martha’s visiting,” Joel said, sitting upright and grinning. Shannon supposed they should just be glad that he wasn’t hanging from the rafters again. Just because he had super reflexes didn’t mean he had to show off all the time, in Shannon’s opinion. She tugged at her leather jacket’s zipper. “We can borrow her truck, there’s room for all of us.”

Junior nodded slowly. “Well, let’s go then,” he said.

They all piled out of the hayloft slowly, hoping the noise wouldn’t disturb Shannon and Joel’s moms. Sleepover weekends at the farm were great, but Ma was a light sleeper, and no one wanted to get caught.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aunt Martha demanded. She was sitting on the hood of her truck, spinning the keys in her hand.

They all froze in their tracks, and Shannon realized that maybe the fear that had been creeping over them of being caught by Ma wasn’t entirely natural.

Martha snapped her fingers, and the dread dissipated. “I could feel your nervousness from the guesthouse,” she told them. “Honestly. You’re just lucky your Aunt Jackie wasn’t here.”

“We…”

“You’re going off to the city to fight crime, I know.” Martha stared at them all, taking in their makeshift costumes. “Lauren,” she said sternly. “Are you wearing brass knuckles?”

“Yes.” Lauren was unrepentant.

“Well. Good to know your dads raised you right.”

She tossed Junior the keys.

They all stared at her, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

“What?” Lauren demanded.

“Stay out of Blood Gulch,” she demanded. “Stay in the safer areas, I don’t care if they’re less fun. If any of you get hurt,” she grinned, and the fear was back.  

“That’s cheating,” Joel told her.

“I’m giving you a ride, kids. Stop complaining.” She walked away.

They all looked at each other, and piled into the car. Junior, as the only one who could actually drive, even if he didn’t have a license, got the driver’s seat. Shannon, being the second oldest, managed to grab shotgun. The others sat in the back, and argued viciously about the music, the seating arrangements, and about the fine layer of dog hair that covered the upholstery of the truck.

It wasn’t too long of a drive into the city, but Shannon shifted, keeping an eye on the sky. Even with Aunt Martha on their side, she kept expecting to see Mom swooping down from the sky, ready to drag them all home.

“We probably should have stayed out of Blood Gulch anyways,” Charlie said. The back of the truck was too short for Charlie—Shannon would have to give her the front on the way back. “Uncle Wash and Aunt Tex patrol there. We might be caught.”

“Aunt Tex wouldn’t care,” Shannon said. She played with her zipper again.

“Uncle Wash would,” Joel said. He’d fashioned a crude harness to carry his knives, trying to emulate Uncle Wash’s costume as best he could. It wasn’t that effective, but it wasn’t like Shannon’s cheap leather jacket had much resemblance to Tex’s.

They all wince at the thought of Uncle Wash catching them.

“Yeah,” Shannon said. “Let’s avoid Blood Gulch.”

“Please,” Junior muttered.

They parked the truck and passed around the masks that Lauren had made. They were good—nothing like the visors that real superheroes had, but Shannon figured they had to start somewhere.

“So what do we do now?” Charlie asked Junior.

Junior looked at them, and grinned.

“Now we find a roof, and then we start running around until we find trouble,” he told them.

None of them noticed the hooded figure sitting in the bed of the truck.

As the night went on and the teenagers continued to find crime to fight, two figures perched, side by side on a rooftop, watching over them.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Wash said. His eyes didn’t leave Junior.

Martha shrugged easily, not at all surprised to see him. There weren’t many alien superheroes—word would have gotten to Wash within the first hour. “They’d have made it out here without my help. At least this way I can keep an eye on them.” She tugged down the hood of the tattered cape she was wearing.

“They don’t know you’re here,” Wash guessed.

“Junior might,” she shrugged again, turning her attention back to the kids, who had just finished scarring off a wayward mugger. “We know my Jedi-Mind trick doesn’t work on your eyes, and Junior’s never been effected by my Halloween tricks. Maybe his eyes can see me too.”

Wash scowled. “You might be able to get me if you ever practiced.”

“I don’t want to practice,” Martha said. “I chose not to years ago.”

“You could be helping people,” he argued. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this fight. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. “You and your sisters.”

Martha’s mouth twitched. “Mitch doesn’t have any powers,” she reminded him.

He scowled. “One day I’ll prove it,” he threatened. “I know what I saw, and I know that was her.”

“You’d just hit your head,” she said. “Maybe you were seeing things.”

Wash forced himself to refocus. “You and Jackie then. You could be helping people.”

“I create fear, Washington. Not exactly heroic material. And I’ve seen the kind of costumes supervillains wear.” She shuddered. “I’d trip in those heels. And corsets are the devil.”

Wash kept his mouth shut at that. She always said that, and the worst part was, he couldn’t argue. Martha’s powers were pretty classic villain. The cape she was wearing didn’t really do much to help his case against it.

But he could never understand it. The three of them had powers. How could they just… live their lives and not do anything with them? Donut, Wash could at least understand. They had skipped him. But he didn’t get why the sisters hid. Why Mitch complained about how powers caused trouble, even with two kids and a wife with powers. Why Jackie refused to even test the extents of her empathic abilities. They didn’t make sense.  

Martha sighed, and glanced up at the sky. “Getting late, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Wash said.

“Well, guess we better get them home so you can actually sleep tonight,” Martha got to her feet.

“How do you propose to do that?” Wash asked. “Want me to go down there?” He could scare them home easily. Ground them. Not that they weren’t going to be grounded anyways, but…

Martha laughed at him. “I’ve been scaring kids home since I was sixteen. That and haunted houses. It’s what I do best.”

She climbed down the fire escape, towards the kids. None of them so much as glanced at her as she approached, despite the noises she made.  

“It’s getting late,” Martha said, her voice unusually high with worry. “Mom might check on us. She might worry. She might call Wash.”

Wash felt his shoulders stiffen as he watched the kids all start to mutter amongst themselves. He was relatively immune to Martha’s powers—they were pretty sure it was a cat thing—but she’d put power into it, and it made his skin crawl, even though he didn’t have a mother back home worrying about him. It didn’t take long for the kids to creep towards Martha’s truck, and start heading back to the farm.

“How will you get home?” Wash asked, when she rejoined him on the roof. She was smirking, satisfied with herself, but she also looked exhausted. She wasn’t used to using her powers so much.  

“I’ll catch a ride with Mitch when she comes in for the farmer’s market,” Martha said, shrugging. “Then she’ll ground them, but the kids will still think I’m on their side, and come to me again next time they want to sneak out.”

“Your family is ridiculous,” he told her.

Martha smiled faintly. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she looked to be dead on her feet. Wash knew better than to point out that more training might mean this didn’t happen. Martha was a grown woman. She knew that. “I know. And yet you keep letting Junior visit.”

“I blame Tucker for that.”

“I’m pretty sure he blames Donut.”

“I’m willing to go with that.’

Martha smiled at him, pulling off the cape and stuffing it in the backpack she wore. Beneath it she wore jeans and a sweater, a far more normal look.

“Coffee?” She asked. “I know a 24 hour place where the owner won’t report you to your husband.”

Wash sighed, glancing at the tracker he’d placed on her truck. Sure enough, it was well on its way to the farm. Junior was so grounded.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me stop to get changed.”

“I think I’d be a great supervillain, don’t you?” Martha asked conversationally.

“Please don’t joke about that.”

[wordsysayswords]

Fic Preview

Here’s a sneak peek of my upcoming multi-chapter tuckington fic! It doesn’t have a solid name yet (but I’ve been calling it “2%” because it’s 98% fluff and 2% angst) and is based on a prompt I received during fluff week. Enjoy!

“‘Who would you ask?’” Carolina echoes. “Wash, there are several thousand people in this city.”

“You know what I mean.” Wash sighs before adding, “I’m not exactly a catch.”

Carolina shrugs. “I know someone who’d disagree.”

“Hm.” Wash grunts. Then his brain catches up to his ears. He can almost hear the figurative record scratch. “Wait, what?”

His wide-eyed disbelief has Carolina smirking.

“I know a guy,” she says simply.

“Okay,” Wash says, playing along. “What guy?”

“That would be telling.”

“And that would be the point of this conversation.”

“Listen,” Carolina says, looking Wash in the eye. “I happen to know for a fact that a certain someone is into you. Really into you. But it was told to me in confidence. I can’t just tell you his name.”

“Then why the hell are you telling me at all?” Wash crosses his arms.

“I could set up a date for you.”

“A date,” Wash says humorlessly. “No, no. A blind date.”

Carolina shrugs. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“This isn’t a… It’s a formal military ball.” Wash argues. “Not exactly a first date event.”

[wordsysayswords]

Fic Preview

Here’s a sneak peek at chapter 4 of my ongoing tuckington fic, Blind Date Blind Side

The truth is, war is the only place Wash has ever found a home in. And now that the one on Chorus is fading, he’s left free floating. Tucker's the only semblance of direction he's got. Little does Wash know, he's become Tucker's direction too.

Or, Tucker and Wash are pining after each other from afar. Being set up on a blind date with one another should be the perfect ending to this story. Unfortunately, things do not go as planned.

Wash has never actually seen Donut’s yoga class in action. He’s heard about it plenty, from his own squad and the pink soldier himself. Donut keeps inviting Wash to join, offering to lend him a mat and everything, and it’s getting harder to say no to the man.

Since Wash makes a point of avoiding the training room during class, Wash never realized how well attended it is. Each of Donut’s thirty plus students gets a personal chat and goodbye from the man. As everyone disperses, Donut saunters over to where Wash is standing against the wall.

“Oh, heeey, Wash,” the man drawls, dabbing his face with the towel hanging from his neck. “I didn’t see you there.”

Wash highly doubts Donut missed him hanging around watching the class like a creep for the last twenty minutes. The pink soldier even ended class early and told everyone to take a walk to ‘recharge their auras’ or something.

Wash’s never understood how Donut can be so nice to him.

“Hi, Donut,” Wash says, smiling weakly. “Listen, could I talk to you for a minute?”

Donut laughs. “Oh, you should know I can last much longer than that,” he chirps. “What can I do for you?”

Never say that again for starters. Wash yanks his mind out of the gutter and back to the task at hand. “Are you, er, busy tomorrow?”

“Wash, I already have a date for the ball.”

“What? No, no, I wasn’t asking - I wouldn’t - I mean, not that you’re not - I just-”

Donut throws back his head and laughs again. “I’m kidding,” he assures, patting Wash on the arm. “Goodness, you’re tense. You should try coming to class one of these days.”

“Um, yeah. Maybe.” Wash says, knowing full well he won’t.

Updates on Thursdays

[renaroo]

Double Time (12/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: Once more, sorry there was a bit of a wait to this chapter, but it was an absolute blast to write and I hope that comes across in the writing! Because I really did have a lot of fun with this one. And hey hey hey, look where we’re getting in the plot ; ) I’ll give you a hint: IT THICKENS

Special thanks to @notatroll7, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @thepheonixqueen, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, BetaZack, Yin, and Enmuse on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

Suspicion Rises

Junior might have been bouncing off the literal walls but it could have not been more opposite of the reaction that Tucker was giving Wash at that moment. His boyfriend was staring at him like he had just announced that he was going to kick him out of the apartment. 

“You want Junior to be the leader?” Tucker demanded, all but throwing a bloody steak onto a plate and handing it off to the chattering alien child. “Of your ridiculous superhero team? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“It’s not my team, they are their own team. I’m just training and guiding them at the behest of the local government which... seems to know my identity,” Wash responded awkwardly.

“Sure that doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that, like an idiot, your codename is your last name? Seriously, Wash, who does that?” Tucker asked, throwing his hands in the air.

Scratching at the back of his neck Washington shrugged. “I... guess it was poor planning. To be honest, a lot of the days between me being a protege and joining the team and the team deciding to self-implode during the Invasion is sketchy.”

“Dude, I was friends with Tex at the time, alright? Sketchy doesn’t even cover half of it,” Tucker responded. “But that doesn’t detract from the point that you think a five year old can lead a team of teenagers. How is that the best option for everyone involved?” Tucker demanded. 

“You’ve not met these teenagers,” Wash argued. When he saw that the attempt at levity was not appealing to Tucker, Wash sighed and leaned back against the kitchen island. “And it’s not a for sure thing. It’s something I’m debating at the moment. There’s no reason to panic.”

“I’m not panicking because I’m not letting it happen,” Tucker said plainly. “Don’t you need a permission form signed or something? Yeah, it’s not happening. Case closed!”

Completely thrown off, Wash crossed his arms and just looked at Tucker utterly perplexed. “Tucker, it wasn’t even my idea. It was something recommended to me, and I’m just considering it. Junior has the most natural talent of the team, he’s the one making the most progress, and in general he’s just really good at this compared to everyone else. Not to mention I have the most one-on-one training with him. I don’t know why you’re reacting so badly to this!”

Tucker turned on Wash with a nearly offended look to his face. “Because things are moving too fast, Wash!” he snapped.

Washington stared at Tucker for a good long moment, then glanced toward the table where Junior was happily tearing his steak apart. Then he looked to Tucker again. 

"We’ve not been talking about the same thing, have we?” Washington asked lowly, doing his level best to keep the conversation from Junior.

A break in Tucker’s expression flashed for a moment and he looked off, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I guess not.”

“I need more than that, Tucker,” Wash responded plainly. “It’s not fair to me to have no straight answers from you lately.”

“Dude, more is the problem,” Tucker explained with a defeated sigh. “You want more from me, cool, but you’ve gotta give me more first. More like actually trying to spend time with me and my friends. More like letting me in when you decide to travel across the city and do something stupid. More like letting me decide what’s right or not for my son.”

Wash frowned, doing his best to accept the words no matter the stinging they left. “If you want more then we can’t be moving too fast, you know,” he pointed out somberly.

“It is when you say shit like love you and haven’t even started tolerating my friends yet,” Tucker said lowly. 

Realization began to dawn on the hero. “You’re freaking out because I said I love you first,” Wash said almost in awe. 

“Dude, that’s not... No. Just that--”

“Tucker, we’re living together,” Wash pointed out. “How this the part you’re freaking out over?”

“Because we’ve done everything backwards! It’s like the story of my fucking life!” Tucker cried out. “Kid before I have so much as a fucking date, dude inviting me to live with him before we fucking kiss, I love you before fucking... It’s too much! And now you’re coming home and telling me decisions you’re making for Junior before you even refer to him as your own kid? Like, Wash, goddamn, give me some sort of bar for normal.”

“Normal?” Wash almost laughed. “I’m a superhero. There is no normal, Tucker. I thought that’s why we’ve been working so well since we met. We are both in the category of exceptional.”

“Please, the only thing exceptional on my end is my ass,” Tucker snorted. “And my calves. And my kickass car--”

“That’s debatable,” Wash muttered. 

“I just feel like this relationship is both... running ahead of me and also hitting a wall at the same time. We’ve gotta change something,” Tucker all but begged.

"Okay, fine,” Wash said, sounding more defensive than he initially meant it. “You’re right. Something needs to change here. But I’m out of suggestions for what that should be. What should it be?”

As if Wash’s life was not already the butt of some cosmic joke, his phone began ringing on the kitchen island right behind him, drawing both his and Tucker’s looks at the same time. 

“I don’t know, maybe that?” Tucker said with an eyebrow quirked. 

“Don’t be smug,” Wash admonished his boyfriend as he reached for the phone and answered it. “Who is it?”

“You’re lucky I’m not in Blood Gulch right now or I’d punch you for that. Way to answer a phone like a complete dick, Washington.”

Straightening up, Wash turned toward his side some and walked away from Tucker and Junior. “Tex? Where are you? What’re you--”

“Investigating something. Getting some assistance. Whatever answer’ll make you ask less questions,” she responded distractedly.

“None of those answers lead to less questions,” Wash pointed out. “What’s going on?” 

“What’s going on is that something is up, alright? Something is wrong in Blood Gulch right now, and it’s about to get worse,” she answered.

“Going cryptic is supposedly my job, Tex, what the hell’s happening?” Wash continued, instinctively heading toward his secreted away uniform. 

“It has something to do with your new buddy Locus,” Tex explained. “I don’t know what. Just know that he’s been in Blood Gulch before, and my information’s telling me he’s in Blood Gulch now. So why don’t you do the block a favor and stop babysitting the mayors’ pet project and instead be a bit of a suiperhero.”

“Wow, speaking of rude,” Wash replied unimpressively. 

“Yeah, don’t get your ass kicked by Felix this time,” Tex cautioned.

“Wait,” Wash stopped in his tracks. “Felix was the other hero. Locus was the one who set the building on fire.”

“Whatever, who cares, I’m telling you to watch out,” Tex said, again sounding extremely distracted. 

“Tex, that’s an important distinction to make!” Wash cried out. “Did you mean Felix has been in Blood Gulch before? Why would he have been in Blood Gulch before? What is going on?”

The most aggravated noise in the world came through the phone. “Wash, if I knew all those answers, why the fuck would I be doing what I’m doing now and not telling you what to do?”

And with that, Tex hung up abruptly. Wash pulled his phone from his ear and glanced toward it appraisingly.

“What’s up? Tucker asked almost cautiously. 

“I think I’m finally learning what Church and Tex see in each other, and it isn’t pretty,” Wash replied. 

“Yeah, I was there for it, I watched the slow motion explosion and everything,” Tucker said with a full body shrug. “But what’s up with you? You’re not going out, are you? We’re, like, having a moment.”

“And we can continue to have it when we--” Wash began only for Tucker’s hand to slap itself over his mouth. He let out a muffled few choice words before pulling Tucker’s hand away. “Tucker, what the hell?”

“You were about to say famous last words, and I’m fucking tired of living a tragic cliche. So how about don’t,” Tucker snapped angrily.

Wash blinked a few times before nodding. “Okay. So... you just don’t want me to say anything while I get ready to leave?” 

Tucker’s frown grew more concerned. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, that makes two of us, Tucker,” Wash answered before grabbing his things. “Junior’s trying to suit up and sneak out of his room, by the way. So watch out for that.”

“How--”

“Cat-like peripheral vision,” Wash responded only half jokingly. He looked toward Tucker seriously. “I don’t regret saying I love you. It was time someone did. Maybe fast is just how we are. We’re the only couple in our group who’s actually trying to work past things and make them work. So maybe we should just rely on instinct.”

Putting a hand to his chin, Tucker hummed, “I don’t know, Grif and Simmons seem fine.”

“They’re not a couple,” Wash said before stopping. “Wait, they are? I didn’t see it--”

“You’re a moron,” Tucker responded casually. “Lopez and Sheila are doing fine. I heard Donut’s dates with Doc are heating up. And--”

“Okay, stop, I get it. We suck, but we’ll work through the suck,” Wash replied. “Can I at least say goodbye?”

“You have permission to say see you later,” Tucker quipped. 

“Alright then,” Wash said, suited up and heading toward the window. “See you later.”

He was already on the window ledge and leaping down to the alley floor when Tucker ran to the window and stuck his head out. “Seriously, Wash! You die or something out there, I’ll kill ya!” he called after him.

The smirk on Wash’s face could not have been larger, even as he raced to cover ground and find the supposed problems in Blood Gulch Tex was mysteriously aware of. 

Wash couldn’t help but wonder if they had had more time to get a decent explanation if they hadn’t been shouting at each other, but his attention was soon spared for more realistic problems. Like how a shadowy figure across the street seemed to move with uncomfortable dexterity to the rooftops. 

“That is far too close to my home,” Wash growled out before racing across the street and leaping to the fire escape with catlike grace. 

In no time, Washington was landing on the roof and ready to chase down the figure when, to his surprise, it was waiting for him, standing cockily with his arms crossed. 

“Felix?” Wash questioned, taken aback. “What... What are you doing here?”

Checking his location, Wash was relieved that the laundromat was not visible, still around the block. But it was too close, and they were halfway to Church’s junkyard haven. A few more blocks from Sheila’s diner. 

A near perfect triangulation of the places Wash held dearest. And the mysterious new hero he knew next to nothing about was standing right there.

Felix tilted his head, smirking. “Guess I could ask you the same thing, huh?”

Though the effect was lost with his visor on, Washington raised an eyebrow. “No. Because everyone knows that I patrol this neighborhood. It’s... It’s like being surprised that Daredevil is in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Snorting, Felix waved his hand. “Oh my god, you are such a nerd. Wait... Haha oh this is almost too good -- you think you’re some kind of real life Daredevil!” He clapped his hands together. “Oh, that is just too good. I see it all now. The hardly shaven jaw. The attitude. The martial arts. Regularly getting your ass handed to you but still coming up on top at the end. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.”

Washington stared at him, though his hand did subconsciously reach up to test his stubble. “If you’re wanting to commandeer another training session, I’m afraid you’re late for the day. And I’m still only considering the recommendation,” Wash explained. “You don’t know the team as well as I do--”

“And what exactly is there to know, Wash?” Felix asked. “They’re a bunch of losers. You know that, I know that. They have flashy powers but no talent. They’re around in ridiculous costumes to help whoever’s mayor at the end of the day look like they’re being productive with the current superhero nostalgia this city’s been feeling.”

Narrowing his eyes, Wash felt an impulsive anger take hold of him. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t talk about my students like that,” Wash told him. “They’re young, they’re kids, but they’re learning. And more than that they want to do good with their powers. That’s more responsibility and awareness of potential than most adults have well into their lives. They’re definitely getting started on the right path sooner than I did.”

There was something unnerving about the way Felix’s smile refused to falter. “And just what path is that one, Wash? Is it the one where you don’t even notice that Locus has been scouring your neighborhood looking for you ever since your little encounter?”

Taken aback, Wash tilted his head. “How do you...?”

“Because I’m the best at what I do,” Felix responded casually, shrugging his shoulders. “Want to know what it is, I do?” 

Wash glared at him. “Are you here to take more glory for going after Locus? If so, you can have it. But I’m going to be looking for him, too, He’s on my streets. And I’m going after him because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Wash, Waaash, you’re reading me all wrong,” Felix explained. “I’m not insulting kids -- even if their talent is... minor at best! I’m not even really trying to step on your territory. I’m just reaching out a hand for you to take,” Felix explained, offering said hand. “Because, buddy, I’ve been fighting Locus across the world for a long time. And to take him down, you’re going to need a partner. One who knows what he’s doing. One who has his partner’s best interests at heart. What’d’ya say?”

Looking Felix over, Wash wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling like saying. He didn’t need another partner. He didn’t even need another hero. And allowing someone access to his time as a hero was dangerous -- he had never anticipated the potential overlaps of his identities to cause so much danger to the people around him. He had never assumed the time of Heroes and Villains would return again. 

And yet... There was an urge for him to reach out and accept that hand. It defied his logic and instinct. 

Because Felix was right... He needed help with Locus. 

But that train of thought keyed Wash into something that snapped him out of the moment. He stepped back and tilted his head at Felix. “What do you mean that you’ve been fighting Locus across the world? Why haven’t I ever heard of either of you before then?”

Suddenly, for only a moment, Felix dropped his complacent face, an unreadable emotion taking the cockiness’ place for just the blink of an eye. “What?” Felix laughed it off. “You want my whole backstory? Kimball’s vetting not enough for you, Mister High and Mighty?”

"This doesn’t have to do with the mayors, this has to do with you dodging a simple question,” Wash pointed out. “And the more you dodge it, the more my suspicions grow, Felix. So I’d like an answer if you have one to give--”

Before either of them could carry the conversation further, Wash felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and he had just enough time to glance over as a bright spark dropped onto the rooftop by them. 

“What the--” 

“Get down! It’s Locus!” Felix ordered, leaping toward Wash.

But there was a thunderous boom and Wash could barely hear anything or see anything. He was certain that the ringing of his head was from having been caught in the explosion, but as he blinked and looked around, he found himself on the sidewalk opposite of the building where fire was now pluming from the roof. Standing straight, completely unharmed. 

Confused, Wash looked around himself, patting on his unsinged uniform and scratching his head. “What the hell?”

Another explosion caused Wash to jump slightly and he looked up toward the source just in time to see Locus walk out from the flames, dragging an unconscious Felix beside him. He stopped at the ledge, gazing down at Wash as people began to gather to see what was happening.

“That was meant for you,” Locus announced, dropping Felix to where he hung over the ledge. “These results are... unfortunate.”

Without further commentary, Locus disappeared before their very eyes and Washington was left standing as stunned as the citizenry around him. 

After a few moments, one of the people looked warily at Wash. “Um. Shouldn’t you be pulling that other costumed freak away from the fire before he... like burns and dies?”

Wash let out a full body sigh and shook his head. “Some partner,” he groaned, starting toward the building to do just that, and leave himself open to wonder just what the hell had happened to keep him away from the explosion that Locus had seemed so intent on getting Wash with.

“And why didn’t he kill Felix if they’re nemeses,” Wash wondered out loud, landing on the rooftop and checking to see if Felix was actually unconscious.

To his shock, the other hero seemed to be. 

“Well...” Wash grunted as sirens began to be heard in the distance. “Fuck. I don’t know what’s going on in my personal life or my superhero life.”

[renaroo]

Double Time (11/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: Long time no see, I apologize so much but I needed to take some time for a really tough situation and it brought me back to a thunder, hopefully giving you something enjoyable in the process!

Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @thepheonixqueen, @ashleystlawrence, @a-taller-tale, @mercuryblacksleg, @thesolesurvivormichael, @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, and Yin on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

Young Just Us

There was an ache to his bones and his joints that was leading Washington to wonder what sort of side effects his miraculous healing thanks to Doctor Grey may have had that she had neglected to inform him of. Or, at the very least, that she had informed him of but was lost in the quick speed at which every other bit of information she had given him and Tucker. 

Which was also making him regret telling the doctor that it was fine to share confidential information with Tucker in the room since, well...

“It’s too early for you to be out there! Did you forget that you almost died? That that Locus dude is still on the loose? Oh my god, you want me to just stand on the sidelines through all of this like some dudesel in distress! Joke’s on you, Wash! I’m no Church!”

A certain headache was growing right between Washington’s eyes that was making him reconsider the importance of everything.

“From my understanding, Church had some helpful advice to give and a few inventions,” Wash mused, crossing another rooftop despite having to hold a phone to his ear.

“Did you just say I’m lower than Church?” Tucker asked hysterically. “I’m... wow, I’m beyond offended.”

“And if that’s what I had meant, you should be. Fortunately for all of us, I actually was--” Wash stopped talking when he saw the next checkpoint coming up. “Tucker, I have to get back to this. You can yell at me later.”

“Oh, boy, can I yell at you later. I have enough in me to yell at you for the rest of the week!” he all but threatened.

“Right, love you too,” Wash said, pulling his phone away to hang up just as he could barely hear Tucker say What did you just say--

As much as he hated hanging up on Tucker (which he honestly didn’t under the circumstances but it was easier to tell himself that), Washington had other responsibilities to attend to. 

Like the sound of polka music gradually increasing from the distance with minor explosions and a few street lamps falling over not far behind it.

Starring expectantly at the distance, Wash took a deep breath and checked the time. 

Slower and just as destructive.

It was like they hadn’t been running this drill for weeks or something. Washington, with all his aches and groans in check, was slowly losing his patience with the young recruits. 

... and with the gleefulness the Reds took in causing more damage than absolutely necessary for their drills. But that was another battle for another time. 

Seeing the Reds’ jeep rounding the corner and coming onto the end street with his pupils nowhere in sight, Washington took drastic action and leaped down from the rooftop.

Aimed just right, Wash managed to land right between Grif and Simmons and onto the front console, causing the two to scream like banshees before realizing it was him. 

“Whoo, Wash! You sure know how to make an entrance!” Donut called from the back before turning toward Sarge. “Sarge! Load me up.”

“Firecracker engaged,” Sarge said gleefully before planting said firecracker in Donut’s hand.

“Wait!” Wash called out only to be drowned out by Donut’s screams of fire! before lobbing the firecracker. “Okay that’s enough! Too much public damage for one night!” 

“You said that tonight we weren’t stopping until those young’uns finally put an end to our reign on the streets themselves!” Sarge reminded him, beginning to hand another firecracker toward Donut.

“Yeah, which we basically took as free range from now ‘til the end of eternity,” Simmons added.

“Your call, dude,” Grif reminded Wash. “And if you dented anything in my car for cool points swear to god I’ll instruct my sister to make Tucker’s shifts living hell for the next few weeks. We’ll see who’s got the best payback--”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a real change up from what’s going on right now,” Wash remarked. “And I’m going back on my word. This ends now before the entire block goes up in smoke.”

And with that pronouncement, he grabbed the firecracker from Sarge’s hand and grabbed the gear shift and put them in park, which nearly sent all of them flying. 

“Holy shit, what the fuck, that was the dumbest, what the fuck, you’re trying to tear up my car, fuck fuck!” Grif cried out. 

“Please, your fifth member is a mechanic,” Wash responded, breaking the firecracker over his knee as he jumped out of the car. He then did a full double take on the team. “Wait... where is Lopez?”

“Señor Brown in public, Fancypants Hero!” Sarge barked back. “We use codenames in this crew.”

“Right, whatever, where is he?” Wash demanded. 

“On a daaaate,” Donut said gleefully. “I’m so proud of him. He’s come so far!”

“Alright, enough of this,” Wash said, waving his hand and walking toward the street where the out of breath heroes were coming their way. 

The young heroes nearly tripped over themselves as they cam barreling toward the Reds and Wash. Almost immediately, however, upon seeing Wash they all stumbled to a halt, grabbing their knees and heaving. 

“So... so close...” Jensen gasped. She then flinched with the others as Palomo wheezed and hit the pavement in a massive body flop. 

Wash temporarily glanced toward Palomo before looking to the rest of them. “No. You weren’t close. You weren’t even in the same ballpark as close and we’ve been running these drills repeatedly for over a week now.”

“Blargh!” Junior argued, the only one seemingly not out of breath. 

“No excuses,” Wash argued, holding up his hand to stop the rest from joining in. “There is something about the dynamic of this team that needs to be tweaked. Something small, that if changed, would make the difference between mediocrity and excellence in your futures.”

Palomo, pushing himself up off the pavement, tilted his head in enthusiastic surprise. “You think we’re mediocre now!?”

“No,” Wash said with a scowl. “You’re on the road toward being that way.”

Bitters glanced to the rest of the team and then back to Wash. “Okay, I can’t be the only one who finds that insulting, right? I mean, I know we suck, but what kind of teacher admits it to us out loud?”

“The best!” Andersmith called out excitedly.

“Me,” Wash answered more directly.

“Who is the best!” Andersmith continued. 

“Well, if we’re on the road to mediocrity... isn’t mediocrity like halfway to decency? So can’t we just continue on it?” Palomo asked curiously.

“No, that’s not how we’re doing this,” Wash said. “We need direction. We need--”

“A leader.”

The voice sent a shock through them all, causing everyone to turn on their heels to face its origin. And, sure enough, Wash found himself facing his former saver and apparent fellow city hero, Felix. Smiling wide and invitingly. 

“How did you sneak up on us?” Wash demanded.

“Guess all you attention was directed elsewhere,” Felix shrugged as he walked closer to the young heroes. “Happens. Anyway, is this the young heroes that Kimball was telling me about? Training them up or something? Heard it was her idea. Guess your retirement was more eminent than I realized. You should’ve let me know if we’re going to be partners here, Washy.”

Washington couldn’t help the way his nose curled. “Washy? Really?”

Felix didn’t seem to even acknowledge the comments as he strolled over to where the young heroes were finally getting to their feet. They seemed more than impressed with his appearance, and were even bothering to dust themselves off and smile at him.

“Say, you know what this team is really lacking that would make all the difference in the world?” Felix asked.

“I was about to explain to them the new training regiment that would address that,” Wash said thinly. “Confidence-building exercises which will independently aid their growing comfort with their own powersets so they can learn new applications of them.”

“Ugh, so long and so boring,” Felix laughed. “We don’t know how quickly these natural-born heroes will be needed! It could be tomorrow!” The young ones gasped. “It could be today!” They gasped even louder. “We have to have the men prepared, don’t we?” 

“Um, and lady,” Jensen piped up with a timid hand up as if she was in a kindergarten classroom.

“There are no immediate preps for becoming a superhero,” Wash argued. “And these kids are not going into the field any time soon.”

“What!?” the kids all cried out at once while Junior honked. 

“You’re the barrier for entry?” Felix snorted before giving an exaggerated smile to the kids. “I think the whole country saw why that’s not exactly a high bar.”

Feeling the twitch return to his eye, Wash got in Felix’s face. “Right? And what exactly is your idea that would get things turned out sooner?”

“What you need here,” Felix said, rubbing his chin as he looked over the group, “Is a leader. And who better to be the leader than your most promising future hero?”

Everyone straightened up, delight in their eyes, but Wash could see that Felix’s gaze was only on one junior hero. 

And that junior hero happened to be Junior.

Wash tilted his chin back. “Oh no.”