Chapter Text
“You ’ve got a date?”
Carolina dumps her load of punching bags into the pile she and Wash are steadily building in a corner of the training room. Blowing a strand of red hair out of her face, she fixed him with a look.
“Gee, thanks, Wash. Your surprise isn’t insulting at all.”
Wash drops his bag, throwing up his hands in surrender.
“Wha- No, no, no!” He sputters, “That’s not what I meant!”
An evil smirk ghosts across Carolina’s face. “Oh? What did you mean?”
She takes a step closer, grinning. Wash backs away so fast he almost trips over a stray punching bag.
“Look,” he says, straightening. “That came out wrong. It’s just that you’re...ah.”
Carolina raises an eyebrow. “I’d be real careful of the next words that come out of your mouth, Washington.”
“Oh, no, keep going,” Epsilon goads, materializing over Carolina’s shoulder. “I wanna see you try and dig yourself out of this one.”
Wash shakes his head and drags a hand over his face. “Nope. I’m done. Let’s skip ahead to the part where you zap me with your electric staff and call it a day.”
Wash walks away to finish collecting the punching bags strewn across the floor. But Epsilon crows after him. “Oooooh, no. You’ve made your grave. Now die in it.”
Wash rolls his eyes but says nothing, and stoops to heft a bag over his shoulder.
Today’s training had been worth the exhaustive setup and clean up. The cadets’ hand to hand skills were improving. And the secret plan to have the News and Feds take out their aggression on punching bags rather than each other was a success.
Grabbing another bag by the chain, Wash hears Carolina murmur to Epsilon and the sound of the AI logging off.
Wash focuses on hauling his two bags across the room to the mountain building in the corner. Only moments later Carolina catches up to him with three bags of her own. Show off.
“What about you?” She asks.
Wash tosses his load onto the pile and Carolina does the same. “What about me what?”
“Has anyone asked you?”
Wash wipes his brow. “Hey, we’re not done talking about you. Who are you going with?”
“Vanessa,” Carolina answers, a touch smug. She tugs her arms over her head in a casual stretch, but the side eye she casts him is serious. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“What are we, thirteen?” Wash deflects. “This isn’t a middle school dance.”
“Still avoiding it.”
“Fine, no,” he huffs. “No one’s asked me.”
“Have you asked anyone?”
“No,” Wash admits. “Who would I ask anyway?”
His brain helpfully throws up a memory of dinner the night before, of Tucker laughing at some joke Wash made but now can’t recall. All Wash can remember is being stupidly proud of himself for making the teal soldier smile. The Freelancer’s stomach does a flip. He ducks his head, already feeling his face growing hot, and squashes down the thought.
“ ‘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.”
He tries to tack on a laugh and feign a smile but doesn’t quite make it.
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?”
He doesn’t know what his face is doing but it has Carolina biting back a smile.
“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, facing him head-on. “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.”
“I suppose you could call it that.”
“This isn’t a… It’s a formal military ball,” Wash says. “Not exactly a first date event.”
“At least if it goes poorly,” Carolina offers, “there’s plenty of alcohol.”
“Har har.”
Wash stuffs his hands in his pockets and glares at the floor.
Carolina ducks her head, trying to meet his eye. “But I’m serious. I’ll set up the whole thing. You’ll just have to show up. Easy.”
Easy for you to say. He uses his foot to nudge a punching bag back into the pile.
Wash isn’t the type of person who gets to spend time on silly things like blind dates or pining after a certain teal teammate. He’s got a team - and an entire army - to keep alive.
But deep down, in a place long forgotten, there’s a whisper.
‘I know for a fact that a certain someone is into you. Really into you.’
Someone is into me. Likes me.
Me.
It’s there. And that counts for something. Even if it is drowned out in the end.
Wash shakes his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. Really. I’m just…way too busy to right now…to think about stuff like that. Sorry.”
Carolina nods, though Wash knows she can smell his bullshit from a mile away.
“Don’t apologize. That’s fine. Just… let me know if you change your mind, okay?”
Unlikely, Wash grumps, but he nods all the same.
Later, after Wash has left to teach yet another class, Carolina sits on a bench in the vacant training room.
Epsilon fizzes into existence beside her.
“So,” he says, “not to promote the illusion I give even half a shit about this plan of yours, but… you ask him?”
“He said no.”
“That’s not a huge surprise, C. He’s always been...”
Epsilon trails off. Carolina feels the familiar hum at the back of her skull as the AI becomes absorbed in memories. After a moment, Epsilon catches himself.
“I mean,” Epsilon says, far too quickly and casually. “He’s always been weird.”
“Well,” Carolina says, taking a swing of water from her canteen. “It’s just too bad.
“I think he and Tucker would be good for each other.”
Wash isn’t lying when he says he’s busy. He is, overwhelmingly so.
But, most of that is by design.
He trains squad after squad of cadets daily. And that’s on top of training with the Reds and Blues. Plus, there are strategy meetings with Kimball, and plans for clearing out the last few space pirate strongholds now that Locus and Felix are gone.
And when all that is over, Wash searches out other chores to keep him busy. He helps Donut track inventory in the armory. He lends a hand to Sarge, welding together the Red Leader’s newest robotic creation. He joins Caboose on whatever nonsensical adventure the man’s planned around the base for the day. Things such as tossing tennis balls for Freckles to ‘fetch’ (shoot out of the sky. They’re getting low on tennis balls). He’ll take any and all distractions if it keeps him from thinking about the looming void that is the future.
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.
Civilian life is a far-off fantasy that belongs to other people. Better people. And Wash is a soldier who has known nothing but conflict for the last decade of his life. When he thinks about himself - a patchwork of trauma and paranoia - in an ordinary world, the pieces won’t fit.
The only semblance of direction he’s got is the Reds and Blues, and it’s been like that since they pulled him from the snow on Sidewinder. He’ll follow them into hell and has done so in the past.
But Wash isn’t entirely sure he’s equipped to follow them into peace times.