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Church is dead. Again. It’s sort of hard to give a crap about with all the times he’s pulled this shit before. Or it should be. It fucking should be. Why should anyone care about him when he keeps doing this shit?
Tucker doesn’t want to. So he shoves it down. Don’t think about Church. Don’t think about the Meta’s suit going cold and still and trapping him inside. Don’t think about that slight spark of pain in the back of his head. Don’t think about how half a dozen voices had called out to him with words of guidance.
Don’t think about how none of them said goodbye.
It’s easy enough while there’s still shit to do. Chorus needs to be rebuilt and the two armies aren’t exactly friends and there’s still plenty of pirates running around that need to be taken care of. Kimball offers to let him take a break, rest up a while. Tucker manages a ghost of a laugh when he shoots her down. Nah, fuck that, bring on the next battle, he’s got this.
And he does, for a while.
It’s easy to sleep when he’s so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open. Tucker’s nights are dreamless then. They aren’t easy, but he rests enough to start again the next morning. It’s enough until it isn’t. Until the scrapes and bruises start adding up. Until he can’t keep the nightmares away anymore. For all the shit he gives Wash about never learning to lighten up, Tucker’s never been good at practicing what he preaches.
The mission’s supposed to be a simple one. Alright, technically, he’s not really supposed to be on it. Minor details. Kimball had wanted him to take a week off after the previous outing had him coming back with bruised ribs and a couple unpleasant burns. But as Tucker had pointed out then, she’s not really the boss of him. He’s not a Chorus citizen and the war’s more or less over. Plus with all the people laid up with serious injuries, they still need all able hands on deck and Tucker’s got two perfectly good ones.
Still, it’s probably only Wash backing him up that gets her to agree. Freelancer power still goes along way, so when Wash stands at his shoulder and assures Kimball that he’ll make sure Tucker gets back in one piece, she doesn’t argue much more. Tucker’s kind of amazed she sticks it out as long as she does. Kimball’s gotta have way more important shit on her plate than this.
She still fixes him with a sharp look before he moves to head out of her office. “Be careful out there, Tucker. I mean it.”
“Pssh, I’m always careful,” Tucker tells her, waving a hand dismissively. “I got this.”
Kimball doesn’t look like she agrees, but she lets him go. What’s she so worried about anyway? Tucker knows he’s a little banged up, but he’s had worse. Way worse.
Plus, checking out an old, abandoned pirate base should be easy. It’s just a little recon to see if they can scavenge any extra supplies. They don’t really need much more in the way of ammo anymore, but better they take it than leave it for any remaining pirates to find. The place has been scouted out and looks pretty deserted, so it’s just Tucker and Wash heading out. Chorus kind of needs all hands on deck putting things back together, so most missions now are just two or three people max.
Tucker’s not complaining about it. Sure, he likes the adoring looks he gets from the former rebels now as much as the next guy, but… it’s weird. Maybe the fact that he’s been stuck with the same small bunch of idiots for so long has sucked away his ability to deal with crowds. Whatever. It’s easier to breathe once he and Wash leave the city behind, their jeep surging toward the outpost.
For some reason, Wash insists on driving. They’re about ten minutes out when Wash says, “You can sleep if you want. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Tucker frowns behind his helmet. “What? Nah, man, I’m good.”
“Tucker--” Oh great, Wash’s lecture voice. It’s been a while since Tucker’s heard that one. Groaning, he tips his head back.
“Seriously, Wash, I’m fine. I just wanna get out there and do something.”
“There were plenty of things for you to do back in the city,” Wash points out, unhelpfully. “Kimball always needs more people working construction. Caboose seems to like the jobs she gives him.”
Tucker scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, dude, I’m not going anywhere near a construction site with Caboose. You saw what happened when they let him drive the steamroller, right?”
Wash makes a vague, hedging noise. “Well, he did say it was an accident…”
“That doesn’t uncrush Lopez’s legs.” Still, Tucker hasn’t tried to get Caboose to stop throwing himself into any project he can. Cause… he gets it. Caboose has been off since they got Hargrove, since Church… Better he cause a little bit of destruction here and there than go back to sitting in his room, listening to Church say goodbye over and over again on a loop.
They all got them, personalized messaged. Tucker hasn’t listened to his. He can’t. He won’t.
Wash isn’t thrown off that easy. “I’m just saying, Tucker. There’s plenty of things to do that don’t involve possibly running into a bunch of pirates. You’re still hurt from the last time.”
“Hey, Grey let me out of the hospital, didn’t she? You know I’ve had way worse, dude. I can take it. And this place is supposed to be abandoned, right? Hell, even if there’s a couple assholes out there, we can handle them easy.” Tucker almost hopes there will be. He could use a good fight, something to let off a little steam. They had taken Hargrove without much of a fight once they had him cornered, and as satisfying as it was to blast Felix away, Tucker kind of wishes he had gotten to punch one of those assholes in the face a few times.
“Maybe. I still think you should be resting. If we see any pirates out here, I’m calling for backup. You shouldn’t be fighting anyone right now.”
Tucker grits his teeth. “I can take care of myself, Wash. Did you seriously agree to come out here with me just to babysit me?”
“What? No, of course not. I just--” Wash exhales roughly, his shoulders slumping a little. Good. “I’m just worried about you, Tucker. You’ve been pushing yourself much harder than usual ever since--”
Tucker knows what Wash is about to say and he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Talking won’t fix it. Nothing will. Everyone just needs to leave it the fuck alone. “I’m fine, Wash. I’ve got it handled. I just need to do shit to keep busy, that’s all.”
For a long moment, Wash says nothing. Tucker shifts in his seat, pressing himself to the car door, arms over his chest. He doesn’t wanna have this talk. He doesn’t wanna think about it. He needs to keep moving. Do something, anything.
“Alright,” Wash says, with a sigh. “But if you change your mind--”
“I won’t. Actually, y’know what, I think I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me when we get there,” Tucker says quickly, leaning back in his seat and turning fully away from Wash.
There’s another sigh from the driver’s seat, but Wash doesn’t protest. Tucker doesn’t sleep, but the rest of the trip is quiet.
The pirate base is just as silent. Wash stops the jeep a good hundred yards away, insisting that they approach on foot. Tucker just rolls his eyes, but follows along. Poking at Wash isn’t as much fun as it used to be. Most things aren’t.
“Nothing on radar,” Wash says, voice low, though it doesn’t need to be. They’re on a private channel. Just their two helmets connected and a bunch of empty static to listen in. “Keep an eye out for any movement.”
“Dude, this place is empty as fuck.” But Tucker keeps pace, a few steps behind Wash. His eyes flit this way and that, observing all of the nothing around the base. It’s at the bottom of a rocky little valley. Honestly, it’s a pretty good place for a hideout. The hills on other side rise up and almost curl over it, leaving only a single easy path in.
Wash, of course, doesn’t wanna take that path. Doesn’t trust it. That’s probably smart really. So they go over the smaller hill, pausing at the top to peer down at the base. The place looks like it was put together quick, comfort abandoned for stability and security. Tucker squints as his helmet zooms and he scans over the place. A barricade faces the easy path in, a gate in the middle of it standing shut and still.
“I’ll go in first. Wait for my signal.” Wash is up and moving before Tucker has a chance to argue.
Gritting his teeth, Tucker watches Wash’s back as he carefully scrambles his way down the hill. It’s all crumbling dirt and loose pebbles. He finches every time Wash nearly stumbles, hands tight on the hilt of his sword. Forcing down a breath, Tucker makes himself scan the base again. As stealthy as Wash is trying to be, the hill isn’t exactly cooperating, but there’s no sign that his slightly noisy descent’s attracted any attention.
Wash’s feet touch the flat earth and he ducks behind the walls of the base. His footsteps disappear. Silence falls. Tucker starts counting heartbeats. One. Five. Ten. Too many. The hell is Wash doing down there? If there was an enemy in there he would’ve heard shots or something. Fuck, what if it’s a trap? Why didn’t he go in there too? Why did he just let Wash go? If he’s hurt--
“All clear.” Wash’s voice crackles through the static and Tucker remembers how to breathe.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. Another breath and he clears his throat before saying, louder, “About time, dude. You checking out the scenery down there or something?”
Wash snorts. “Hardly. Just making sure our friends didn’t leave any surprises here.”
“And? We walking into a death trap here? Do I need to call in for backup?”
“I don’t think so. There was a trip wire around the side entrance, but it looks like it wouldn’t have done much even if I’d stepped on it. You can come down now. I don’t know if there’s much to salvage here, but we’ll take whatever we can.”
“Right, yeah. On my way.” Tucker makes his way down the hill a bit less gracefully than Wash, but it’s just a few minutes before he’s shaking the dust from his armor as he wanders around the little encampment.
Wash is right, there’s not much to the place. It just has a few walls here and there, probably mostly to act as barricades rather than anything close to shelter. Probably a temporary spot, just meant as a place to keep an eye on the nearby Fed city. Or what used to be a Fed city anyway. Tucker had been pretending to be asleep when they past it, but his eyes had still been open to see the blown out towers and ruined streets. He can’t tell if that was pirate doing or the rebels. It’s hard to know where one kind of destruction starts here and another starts.
None of that probably matters anymore. It’s all just wrecked.
Tucker glances around, spotting a few ammo cases piled up toward the back of the little enclosed space. He grimaces as he drags his fingers through the dust that’s piled up on top of them. No one’s been here in ages. This place was probably abandoned before the shit with Hargrove even went down. Damn it.
Fingers itching, Tucker kicks at a pebble, then another when the first doesn’t make a loud enough noise as it skitters off the crates. Wash notices, of course he does, and comes around one of the shorter walls. “Tucker?”
“This place is fucking deserted. None of those pirate assholes give a shit about this place.” Tucker can’t stop his voice from rising. He’s too hot under his skin. His fingers itch for his sword, but there’s nothing to drive it into. There aren’t enough pebbles left to kick. None of them would leave a big enough impact. It’s like someone left a pot of water on inside him and it’s starting to boil, steam pressing everywhere, desperate to get out.
“Yes… you know, that’s probably a good thing.” Wash doesn’t get it. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why doesn’t he? If anyone was going to understand. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” It’s more bitten out than he means it to be. Wash huffs behind him.
“You’re not.” Wash grabs at his arm and pulls Tucker around. At least he still has his helmet on. “What’s this about, Tucker?”
“Nothing!” Tucker jerks away. It’s rough, more than he wants. Everything is too much. He’s boiling inside. His balance is off, his limbs still stiff, muscles still aching. He staggers back and barely catches himself against the ammo crates, cursing under his breath.
Wash makes an irritated noise. “Alright, that’s it. I can’t watch this anymore. You need to talk to me, Tucker. Or Kimball when we get back, or Grey, or someone. You can’t keep going like this.”
“Like what?” Tucker can’t look at Wash’s helmet. Even that’s too much now. He forces himself to straighten up as he turns away.
“You’re still hurt. You’re exhausted and now you’re out here looking for a fight. I know you’re hurting after Epsilon--”
“You don’t get it!” Tucker doesn’t mean to yell, but he doesn’t stop once he hears himself. “I’m not fucking upset! I’m pissed! I don’t wanna just sit around and cry like Caboose! Church just--he fucking left us again!”
“I know you miss him--”
“I don’t!” Tucker turns away. He has to move. Can’t stop moving or everything might catch up to him. So he paces, he throws out his arms. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he can’t stop. “I don’t fucking miss him! Why the hell would I? That asshole could never get away from me fast enough! He just left me and he’s the one that told me to put on that damn suit and he didn’t--he didn’t even warn me--”
Tucker makes a noise he doesn’t recognize. It’s somewhere between a scream and a sob and his head hurts like he can feel the cracks in it that Church left behind. He rips off his helmet and hurls it at one of the base walls. The sound it makes is loud, but not loud enough. He grabs at his head. He wants to tear his hair out. To reach inside his skull and yank out his own implants.
“--if I never put on that stupid fucking suit, he’d still be here! We didn’t need it! He just wanted to be the big hero and sacrifice himself like a jackass! He never even cared--”
Wash grabs at Tucker’s hands and forces them down before wrapping his arms around him. Tucker protests, squirming, but Wash holds tight until the curses fade away and the strength leaves him in a great rush. His uneven breathing become pitiful, choked off noises as he presses his face into the cold unfeeling metal of Wash’s shoulder. He doesn’t cry, not really, but he almost wants to.
It’s a couple minutes before Wash says anything. “I can’t tell you what Epsilon… what Church was thinking. I think… from what Carolina’s said, I don’t know if he would’ve had much time left no matter what happened.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” is what Tucker tries to say. It comes out a bit more mumbled and with a couple unfortunate voice cracks. Wash is nice enough to only laugh at him a little as he runs a hand over Tucker’s hair.
“I know it doesn’t change much. But I know he cared about you. He went out on his own terms… as shitty as they might have been. And maybe that was more about what he wanted than what he thought was best for you, so I’m not going to tell you to stop being mad at him. All I’m going to stay is that… you shouldn’t blame yourself for it. And you shouldn’t keep taking it out on yourself.”
Tucker makes a vague noise. Because it’s not that easy. He’s pretty sure Wash knows that. But he slowly lets his arms wrap around Wash’s middle as he remembers how to breathe easy. “No promises, man.”
Wash lets out a breath of a laugh. “I’m not asking for a promise. I just want you to try. And… maybe listen to me when I tell you to get some rest for once.”
The awkward snort is as close to a chuckle as Tucker can get right now. “Yeah… yeah, alright. Can you like… not tell Kimball about this? Or the guys? Don’t need them knowing I’m this fucked up.”
“I won’t. Although… I think they may already have an idea. You’re not good at being subtle. But, I think some of them might not be doing much better.” Wash probably has a point there. Asshole’s right more often than not. That’s probably why Tucker listens to him so much.
They don’t talk much after that. Tucker goes to get the jeep and drives it closer. He sits in the passenger’s seat as Wash loads it up, under strict orders not to help, which… he’s kind of alright with. The hell was he thinking trying to do manual labor and shit? Maybe it’s only that now that he’s not moving all that much, the exhaustion’s finally caught up with him. A break actually sounds, well… still terrifying really, but probably exactly what he needs right now.
Wash insists on driving back. “And maybe this time you’ll actually get some sleep.”
Tucker rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. He doesn’t sleep much on the way back. Both of them keep quiet. And if Tucker’s hand happens to end up falling on top of Wash’s when it rests on the center console between them, neither of them mention it. It’s a long way back, but it doesn’t seem so bad with Wash beside him.