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It was like a stomach ache he'd never felt before. Like that time he ate twenty extra spice tacos from that super sketchy Taco Bell in his home town when he was sixteen. It was horrific. And so were the shits afterwards. But this was worse. Because he couldn't throw it up or shit it out, and he had tried both.
Tucker had noticed the pain about a few days after that stupid fucking quest that ended with Honk Honk or Crunchbite or whatever his fucking name was, dead and him with a laser sword/key that only worked for him. Not that he was mad about the sick ass blade, would definitely help in picking up chicks, not like there were any besides Tex in this fucking canyon. Either way, he thought nothing of it and tried to forget the quest-
-the stench clogged up his nose, even with the armour on, and his pain was muffled behind the large hand as the alien-
and get on with his life. Until this fucking stomach ache. Tucker had noticed in the shower a weird bump under his skin, like he was bloated or some shit, and couldn't think of why he would be. Rations never did much in bloating him and that's all he ate these days. Command were shit at giving them anything good to eat besides condiments to make the MREs taste less like unwashed ass. Because he's eaten clean ass in the past, and to say something tastes like ass has obviously not eaten it before-
Anyways.
The bump. It didn't go away. And a horrible ache began to build over the next few days after spotting it until he was here, in his shitty bunk, in a shitty base, in a shitty canyon, wanting this pain to end. Tucker was sure he was in and out of consciousness, body flaring hot and sweating feverishly, because he would whine into his pillow, biting down on the fabric and screw his eyes closed, to wake up in a different position, no less uncomfortable and with increasing agony. The bump had grown and it was moving about inside of him by the time Doc arrived and declared him pregnant.
With everything that went on in their lives currently, his initial thought was, 'Yeah, that checks out.' Before he blacked out again. Tucker didn't know how long he was out this time, but when he came around again, barely lucid and pain lessened, it was to the sight of Doc standing on one side, a scalpel in hand, and a bunch of blood covering Tucker's exposed stomach.
He blinked blearily, a growing horror building with the rapid beating of his heart as he registered that there were hands digging into his stomach and some grey and bloody mass being pulled out of him. There was a sense of relief when it was removed, that ache from early gone now, before he blacked out one more because Jesus Christ his stomach was cut open and and that was a lot of blood. Tucker would honestly have been sick of all this passing out if it wasn't a great excuse to ignore what ever shitshow was going on for his team mates as they dealt with this situation.
However, Tucker had to wake up at some point.
The first thing he noted, was that his stomach was lightly throbbing, a familiar feeling that told him of post-surgery stitches. He knew what fresh surgery healing felt like, thank you appendicitis, and it was refreshing to feel that instead of the massive stomach ache.
Tucker groaned into his pillow, noticing next that his skin was tacky from old sweat and grimaced. A shower ASAP would be needed. Then, cracking his eyes open, he saw something grey beside his head. It took a second to understand what he was looking at. It's weird mouth opened, and Tucker jerked back hard with a yelp at the sight of it. Then curled into himself at having pulled at his wound, groaning.
Gritting his teeth, Tucker squinted through the pain to take in the alien baby, his heart hammering with instinctual fear. It was lumpy and struggling to crawl in his direction.
“Fuck off.” He hissed, scrambling away, but not getting far on his bed, only pressing himself against the wall, hands clenching into the sheets.
It stopped, head cocking to the side. A tiny noise escaped from it, a weird low cooing sound, and though it didn't continue it's approach, it's arm reached out to him. Tucker flinched.
Turning to press one side of his face against the cold wall, Tucker breathed hard and heavy, muffling a scream behind tightly closed lips. He really didn't want to face this problem. This problem that was his fucking kid, because Doc said he was pregnant, and how else was an alien baby meant to have gotten here if not because of that fucking ass hole who-
-pain piercing through his under armour lining, something twisting into his gut. He opened his mouth to scream for help but a large clawed hand lashed out and shoved his head back down, covering his mouth. His head spun from the hit against the ground and he was completely helpless as-
-a tiny hand touched his leg. Tucker flinched, eyes snapping open to see the thing had crawled closer in his haze. It's eyes were...
...they were brown.
The alien, the one who did this to him, it's eyes were this sickly green-gold colour. He remembered them. But this one's was brown.
Like Tucker's.
Swallowing hard, Tucker forced himself to stop clenching his muscles, loosening his jaw to whisper out, hoarse and tremulous, “Do you have a name?”
A tiny trumpeting honk as it tilted it's head to the side again was it's response. Tucker would've smacked himself if he had the energy to. Of course not. It was just born. Uncurling a little, Tucker reached out to it, hand shaking.
It reached back, curling a tiny clawed hand around his finger. The fear in his chest ebbed away after a time as he stared at it and took in it's appearance. The longer he looked at it, the more or stopped being creepy-ugly and became cute-ugly. Like a pug or something. It then shuffled closer, and Tucker realised it's entire body was completely exposed, no armour or even a fucking blanket to cover it. He didn't know shit about kids or babies, but he knew enough commonsense that you didn't leave it naked. What if it got cold?
Glancing around, Tucker tugged the case off of his pillow. “Come here, little guy.” He murmured. Though his limbs shook, weakened, he managed to pluck up the child and do his best to swaddle it. It ended up being inside the case, it's claws tearing out two holes at the bottom for it's legs to go through.
Honestly? It was the ugliest fucking child in the ugliest fucking swaddle to exist. But the cheery 'blarg' noise it made, arms outstretched to him had Tucker smiling a little, unable to stop the soft fondness building in his chest. It even seemed to smile back, it's mandibles curling inward. Tentatively, Tucker brought it closer and found himself hugging an alien child. It let out a weird purr sound as it's head nuzzled into his neck.
Tucker had no idea what he was doing, or how he was going to raise a child in the middle of what was technically a war but even if no one was listening he was absolutely sure it was all a lie, however he would make do. Couldn't be any harder than dealing with Caboose. And the Reds were basically harmless besides their sheer stupidity. All of them were idiots really. But Tucker could probably do this because...
Because the kid had no one else. It's other parent was dead and even if he was alive Tucker wouldn't give that asshole a fucking pet rock to raise let alone an actual child. Tucker's own dad was a piece of shit and the only good thing he ever did for him was walk out when Tucker was ten. Even if he had no idea on what to do or how to raise a kid, he at least knew what NOT to do.
And first thing's first, a name.
“This is Junior!” Tucker introduced, still a little weak but gaining some strength in his legs the longer he stood.
The Blue team stared, Doc nice enough to give him a check up. The scarring was a mess, but that's what you get with someone who wasn't actual a doctor gave you an emergency battlefield C-section. At least he was alive, so that's some credit to Doc.
“That's- I. I don't know what to say to that.” Church stuttered, bland tone and disbelieving.
“Blargh!” Junior cheered in response.
“Shut up, you're disgusting.”
Tucker bristled, “Church!”
“What!? It is!”
“I think it's a boy!” Doc chimed in, now cradling Junior who was trying to bite his finger. That seemed to be endearing to the fellow black man.
Church dryly remarked, “It's actually a grub.”
“I don't like him.” Caboose then added, stage-whispering to Church, “It took my blood.”
Refraining the need to roll his eyes at these assholes, Tucker turned to Doc, “Hey, you didn't notice anything else wrong with me right? That fucker who put Junior in me caused a lot of pain the process.”
The medic had his helmet off, and something like sympathy twisted in his expression, “I didn't notice anything, sorry. But...I am trained in psychology and counselling, and what you've been through has been a distressing ordeal-”
Church scoffed, “What? Tucker needs a shrink now? Can't deal with a little pain, dude? Need to talk about your feelings like a girl?”
It might have been the still fresh wound and stitches, but something cold and heavy filled his stomach at Church's mocking. “What? No! I'm fine!” Tucker snapped back.
“But-!” Doc tried to protest, however Tucker just took Junior from his arms. “I need a shower, see if you can find something for the kid to eat.”
“Not me please!” Caboose yelled as Tucker quickly fled the room.
See, here's the thing. Church was his best friend. But he was an asshole. And thinking about it, if they weren't forced into constant proximity of one another, Tucker wasn't so sure he would've chosen Church to be even an acquaintance.
Here's another thing.
Tucker was actually going to take up Doc's offer. He knew he was fucked up in the head after all of this, and the nightmares were doing everything to prove that he wasn't fine. And Junior looked at him with brown eyes -not green-gold, not green-gold- that held too much knowledge for something that wasn't born that long ago. Tucker didn't know shit about aliens, but along with born knowing his species language, Junior also had a higher intelligence than a typical human baby when it's born. And he didn't need his own kid pitying him.
So he was fine, alright? He was fine.
“What a curious set of scars you got there, Captain Tucker!” Doctor Grey happily stated, “Can you tell me where they're from?”
In plain off duty sweats and a shirt, Tucker couldn't help the way his shoulders tensed and he slightly curled over his stomach. Sat in the hospital wing, in a private check-up room, Tucker really wished this wasn't mandatory.
Chorus was a shitshow like none other. He thought all the other past bullshit, up to and including stranded in a fucking desert alone and not knowing if he was going to be alive by the time help arrived (But at least Junior would be safe). If any help was coming that was. But the universe loved to prove him wrong, and after ending up on the wrong end of Felix' knife, forcing away a panic attack at the pain -the stench, the unfeeling green-gold eyes staring down at him, Junior near crawling his way out of him if it wasn't for Doc, the pain as Crunchbite- as he kept his words level, because the plan hinged on Tucker getting Felix to talk of his war crimes like they were achievements, Tucker now had to have a check up after having survived a stabbing.
The stab was not even the worst pain his stomach has gone through, really, so it fucking stupid that he had to have a check up. At least he wasn't the only one but the entirety of the army was getting a check up, Doctor Grey overhauling the entire hospital wing after she inserted herself as the head bitch in charge.
Grimacing, Tucker tried to shrug nonchalantly, “Just casualties of war, you know?”
“If by casualty of war you mean someone decided to get a tiny knife and slowly gut you, I would assume that was a terribly done medical procedure!” Grey announced, “So! Who performed this so that I can force them through proper schooling?”
Scratching at his scalp, Tucker sighed. He heard her annoyance under the bubbly tone and Doc didn't deserve that. “It wasn't his fault. He was the only one that had even a little bit of experience.”
“So it was a surgery then.”
Tucker fiddles with the draw string of his sweat pants. The silence reigns until Grey sighed and dragged over a chair. Settling down, she reached out to rest a hand on his knee. He doesn't have the motivation to make a joke or flirt. Instead, he looked at her, feeling horrifically vulnerable. Without her armour, she was a slight figure and short. Brown hair in a bun and eyes a purple colour. That wasn't unusual for Chorus, people having weird eye or hair colours due to the alien planet and the food they consumed. And with those eyes, she watched him steadily and without a hint of judgment.
Tiredly, Tucker scrubbed his face. “Okay, so, you know about my kid right? Junior?”
Grey nodded slowly, “I believe it's mentioned that you had adopted a Sangheli child in your files.”
He snorted, and ignored the disbelief at how she managed to get a hand on their files. This was Grey after all, she was insane but a genius. “Adopted. Yeah, that's what we had to tell on official documents, you think I got these awesome glowy green marks for fun?” And he gestured to the crest-like marks under his eyes. They weren't the only ones, with plenty more curving down his neck and around his arms and back. “Turns out the aliens can plant a parasitic embryo into a vessel, which was me.”
“You...gave birth to an alien.” Though there was a hint of astonishment in her tone, Tucker could here how excited she was at this new knowledge. Unintentionally, his lips twitched in a wry sort of humour.
“Sort of.” Tucker shrugged casually, “Doc had to cut it out of me or else it would crawl out and probably eat me or something. We're not too sure, and I was out of it for most of the procedure. I woke up to Junior laid next to be, nearly shit myself and busted my stitches trying to get away from him.”
He watched her type a few things down on her pad, fingers flying. She hummed and nodded. Then, glancing back up at him, Doctor Grey asked, “And what off the one who implanted Junior?”
“Dead.”
“And you're happy about that?”
Tucker realised that he was probably getting the therapy he needed finally. It made something churn in his gut, and he could almost hear Church's mocking words. Crossing his arms, Tucker gave a half-hearted shrug, “Only knew the guy for a week, and he-”
Squeezing his eyes closed, Tucker forced away the bile that wanted to crawl up, remembering the pain, the hazy violated feeling of something digging and crawling into his body. He knew a bit more about alien biology, being an ambassador and all, but Tucker steered clear from any knowledge on how they reproduced as best as he could. He had no idea what exactly happened to him or what the process was, too out of it to remember besides pain. And he was happy to not know the exact steps it took to impregnate him against his will-
“Tucker, breathe.” Grey instructed, her voice foggy and distant. He forced himself to take a deep breath in, and listened to her instructions and her counting. When he felt more like he was back in his body, Tucker noted how her hand was on the back of his neck, gently pressing him down to hang his head between his legs.
“Good job,” She softly praised, “Let's take a pause here, alright? I'm starting to see the picture, and you're not in the right head space to continue talking about it.”
Exhaling a shuddering breath, Tucker discreetly wiped away some wetness around his eyes, and straightened up slowly. Grey got up and came back with some water, which he gratefully chugged. When finished, he gave her a wary glance, “You're not going to force me to keep talking?”
The woman scowled, “Forcing does nothing but reduce any chance of recovery and healing. And boy howdy do you have a lot of repression! Can't have you regressing by making you talk about all your trauma when you're not ready for it!”
The return of her cheery voice was relieving, relaxing his tense muscles. “Thanks, Doctor Grey.”
“I'd write a date for your next session, but I have a feeling that would just cause some unwanted anxiety! Best come to me when you're ready to talk, and I'll see if I manage to have time. After all, I'm super busy with being the one of the only people to have studied and gotten a degree in psychology!”
Huffing a laugh, Tucker hopped down from the bed, “Have you met Doc? He's the purple one and attached to the hip with Donut. I think he studied psychology too. Even offered to help when Junior was first born.”
“And you didn't take him up on it?”
Tucker's expression twisted, and stayed silent. Just as she said, Grey didn't push. Instead, she chirped, “Well, it's good to know there's another! Send him my way so I can find where he can fit in with my hospital. And see if I can't instill a good scalpel technique into him.”
“Will do!” He called as he left, then winced to himself, 'Sorry Doc. I tried dude.'
It was at least a month before he took up her offer, and even then it was due to life kicking his ass and forcing his hand.
Chorus had some MREs, but they actually had proper cooks and a mess hall, which meant real food. Or, well, strange planet fresh food that Tucker wasn't completely sure on what it all was. But it meant that his stomach had no idea on what it could handle. It did pretty well up until now, though he wondered if that's because all the worry for Wash, Donut, and Sarge – but mainly Wash – had him not eating as frequently as he should. He wasn't the only one either, a lot of army was thin with muscles covering bones.
Still, it happened during a lunch, surrounded by the Reds and Blues, chatting and arguing, when something in his stomach settled uncomfortably. He didn't think much of it, as it's happened in the past. But as they finished eating, and he was heading to a training room with Wash, that it twisted into something from discomfort to pain.
Stumbling to a stop, Tucker gripped his stomach through his shirt, and groaned. “Fuck.”
“Tucker?” Wash asked, stopping and looking over at him, worry in his voice.
He went to wave him off but another pang of pain rippled through him, and suddenly he was back on his cot in Blood Gulch. The last coherent thought was, 'We've been around a lot of alien technology lately...' And a cold sweat broke over his body. Tucker burst into motion, sprinting towards the hospital wing.
“Tucker!”
There was no way-
He hadn't physically come across another Sangheli besides the AI Santa, so he couldn't be-
Then again, he hadn't thought that the first time.
Barging into Grey's office, the woman startled, pulling up a gun at his sudden entrance, before faltering at the sight of him. “Captain Tucker?”
His breathing was irregular, he could feel himself panting and his limbs shaking as he stumbled towards her desk. It shook as he staggered into it, gripping the edge of the metal to whisper, “I need you to check.”
Slowly, the woman stood up, “Check what, Tucker?”
Another pang in his gut and he bowed forward over himself, wincing, “Pregnant. I need you to check, I need you to check, fuck please I can't be again-”
He barely heard the nonsense that began tumbling from his lips, pleading and thinking 'Oh god please not again, please tell me he didn't find me, tell me he wasn't actually alive-'
A pair of hand settled steadily on his shoulders and Tucker could do nothing but go with them as they guided him down to the ground, his head tucked between his legs.
“Tucker, breathe. I'm going to scan you but we'll get everything sorted. Just breathe.”
With eyes closed tightly, Tucker did. For a long while, all he focused on was breathing. A task that should be simple but it took up all of his concentration. Only Grey's voice breaking through the haze brought him back to the moment.
She was crouched in front of him, the green light of her scanner dying down as she moved it away. “You're alright, Tucker. Nothing but a reaction to the food I suspect. I'm going to have do a few more tests for any allergies or intolerances, but you're alright.”
“I-I'm not-”
“No.” She confirmed, giving him a warm smile, “You're not. Just a simple stomach ache.”
A surge of relief burst through him. Tucker flopped onto back, letting out a groan as he covered his face. “Fuuuuuuck. I acted like a fucking idiot.”
“No,” Grey corrected, “You acted like a man who was unknowingly triggered from a severe amount of stomach trauma.”
“Stomach trauma?” Tucker parroted with a weak snort.
A tiny giggle escaped from the woman as she settled more comfortably on the ground by his side, “Well, from what I gather, you've been shot, stabbed, had a terribly done surgery, and had a parasitic alien all happen within your stomach region. You can't be faulted for such a reaction.”
“Yeah but- Oh shit Wash!” Tucker bolted up right, before wincing at a dull twinge to his stomach. He gripped it as Grey stood up, puttering about her office before presenting him with two white and circular pills and some water. “This will help. And Wash is currently outside the office, having followed you here.”
Heat crept up his cheeks, mortified. Just when he thought he was proving himself to the man that he was a good Captain and good soldier, he went and had a freak out of a fucking stomach ache. Taking the pills, Tucker ran a hand through his dreads.
“Are you ready to talk some more?” She then asked, coming to sit next to him again. And there, on the floor and leaning against her desk, Tucker decided to open up a bit.
About the stupid quest. The way his concerns of Crunchbite hovering over him in the night going ignored – the way his genuine concerns always went ignored – and a vague mention of the night it happened.
“They're fucking huge, y'know? Junior was about two feet above me the last I saw him, and I know he'll be bigger when I see him again. So, the alien just...had the strength to hold me down, I guess.”
“And he inserted the parasite then?”
It made him bristle, and Tucker couldn't help but snap, “Junior isn't a parasite!”
“Of course not,” Grey then soothed, “I was just using the terminology you gave me, but if you prefer to refer to it as Junior, then I will do so.”
The ease at which she amended her phrasing was baffling but Tucker gave a nod, “Thanks. Anyways...stuff happened, I don't really remember it. It just. Hurt.”
“It's likely you repressed the memory, as well as having disassociated in the moment of the rape.”
White noise filled his ears. His heart stalled. Tucker slowly turned to her. “I wasn't raped.”
Her brows furrowed, “Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but your body was violated and it brought about a pregnancy without your consent. It's the best word to describe-”
“It wasn't rape!”
His yell echoed through the small office, and he stumbled to stand up, Grey quickly following him up. “Tucker-”
“It wasn't!” Tucker argued, “That's not- it doesn't happen to guys, alright? And you know me, I love sex, I'd never say no, or- or turn it down-”
“Tucker-” Grey tried again, firmer, and but there was a sadness in her eyes. Pitying.
There was no way it was rape. To say it was would imply there was sex, and he's damn sure that didn't happen. Tucker staggered away from her and stormed out of the office, away from the impossibility of what she was saying. The sight that greeted him was Wash, squeezed into one of the plastic waiting chairs, his armour not doing him any favours. Tucker would've normally cracked a joke, but that stupid word was filling his head, and he couldn't speak.
The man stood up and Tucker had this wild urge to duck into his space. Like he could be safe and protected from everything and all that's happened to him and his body. He refrained instead and just tried to breathe.
Wash hurried to stand when Tucker threw open Doctor Grey's door, his face ashen and lacking in it's usual brightness. Even the weird green marks that always glowed faintly were dull and dim. When he had followed Tucker out of the mess hall, he hadn't thought his afternoon would end up with him chasing Tucker through the base and watch as his team member, his friend, have a panic attack.
Grey had shoved him out of her office and firmly closed the door, leaving him standing out in the hall way, panicked and feeling useless. So he sat himself down and decided he would wait for Tucker. Maybe then he could get some answers, or maybe just assure that Tucker was alright.
He only heard a short sentence, but it was enough to feel like he was on Sidewinder all over again, the cold working it's way through his armour and temperature regulating under armour.
So the sight of Tucker, panicked, and Grey looking frustrated, had Wash stepping forward. “Tucker...” He wanted-
Wash wanted a lot of things. Many he didn't deserve. But in that moment, he wanted to give Tucker a hug. Wanted to hold him and try to protect him from everything that had hurt him the past. It took him a while to realise that there was someone soft and insecure past the bombastic person that greeted the world with a sarcastic bravado and a flirtatious smirk. And now, Tucker was looking more fragile than ever.
His first instinct was to gently tug Tucker over to him so that he could place himself between his friend and Grey. The doctor's sharp gaze noted the maneuver, and her mouth clicked closed. They stared one another down as Tucker's irregular breathing filled the silence. Then, the woman's voice became cheery despite the serious expression on her face, “Come by whenever you're ready to talk again, Captain Tucker! Now go lay down and don't do anything strenuous for the rest of the day.”
“Doctor's order?” Tucker croaked with humour missing it's target as he glanced over at her. Wash would've felt relieved to hear him joking, until he watched as Tucker's gaze then skittered away, unable to meet Grey's eyes. Scared.
They softened when she looked to Tucker, “If they have to be.”
He nodded silently. And just like that, Wash began to lead Tucker away from the hospital wing towards where their rooms were. He decided Tucker's was the best place, as his own room was constantly getting visitors about one thing or another. And Tucker needed to be left alone right now.
Privately, Wash wondered if that meant himself as well.
The man followed beside him placidly. Silent. And Wash had never known Tucker to be placid or silent. He took them through the less busier hallways, not wanting anyone to get a look of his teammate's vulnerable state, and it was a miracle they made it to Tucker's room unbothered.
It felt natural, following the Sim trooper into his room and closing the door. The sound of it though, seemed to snap Tucker out of his daze, looking up at Wash, startled.
“Wash?” His voice was hoarse.
Taking off his helmet, Wash tried for a reassuring smile but it felt tight, “Hey Tucker. Just wanted to make sure you're alright.”
The other man grimaced, shuffling over to his bed to slump down on the edge. “I'm fine.”
“...You sure about that?”
Wash watched as Tucker scrubbed at his face, agitated, “Fuck, I know I'm not fine but can't we just ignore this entire mess?”
Approaching him hesitantly, Wash then stalled. He took in the loose shirt and sweats Tucker wore, then noted his own armoured form. This was not the best wear for comfort, but they were in the middle of the war. He hated to call himself paranoid but the Reds and Blues weren't wrong in that aspect. So he compromised.
Quietly, Wash stripped his upper armour until he was down to just the ones on his legs and feet, Tucker staring a little wide eyed and confused. In the dim lighting of the room – and how the hell did Tucker manage to find little Christmas lights to cast a warm glow around them on Chorus he would never know – Wash noticed how the strange glowing marks on Tucker's face stood out more than in the day light, looking a little brighter now than before.
He felt like a moth to a flame, coming to sit next to Tucker. “I know I'm not the best person to talk to, but I can listen, if you need that.”
Tucker scowled at nothing, “I talked with Grey about my shit. I should be fine now.”
“Don't think that's how it works.” Wash couldn't help but joke. It fell flat with Tucker sending the scowl in his direction. There was a pause of heavy silence before Tucker growled, impatiently snapping, “Just spit it out, Wash.”
Wash withheld the urge to squirm, “I don't want to make you uncomfortable-”
“Just say it, Wash!”
Pursing his lips, Wash settled a hand over the mess of a port in his neck, uncomfortable. “I just wanted to ask...who hurt you?”
That got Tucker to pause in his irritation, rearing back a little. “Who hurt me?”
A little ashamed at having been unintentionally eavesdropping, Wash muttered, “I overheard a little. Just that, end bit.”
“You mean where Grey suggested that I was raped.” Was Tucker's flat statement.
The word sent a ripple of dread through his body, eyes snapping up to meet Tucker's. It was defensive, but he saw the monster that was lurking under it: fearful resignation. Tucker didn't want to acknowledge or admit what happened to him. Like it was something shameful. Wash wanted to find who hurt Tucker and make them pay. He wanted to make it hurt as much as it pained Tucker.
But that wasn't what his friend needed. Instead, he got off the bed to instead in front of the man, so that he could face him and his reactions completely. Wash's hand came out to settled around Tucker's calve, hoping it was a steady anchor as he asked, “Do you not think you were raped?”
Tucker scoffed, looking away from Wash, “I may not remember shit or dissa-whatever Grey said I did, but I would definitely remember if someone stuck their dick in me. And Sangheli don't have those.”
Ice frozen in his chest. “A Sangheli?”
The man glanced at him before looking away again. “Yeah, how else to do think Junior came into the world? They may think of him as the chosen one but it was no virgin Mary bullshit.”
Wash blinked rapidly for a second, trying to compute what he had heard. It took him a moment to piece together what he could with the information he had. Tucker gave birth to Junior, not adopted him. He somehow gave birth to Junior. And in this equation, an alien took advantage of Tucker in some way.
Breathing through the anger that flared – as well as the sheer absurdity that was his life ever since he got involved with the Reds and Blues – Wash calmly replied through repressed rage, “So you were impregnated, but not like...” He fumbled for the words and Tucker rolled his eyes.
“I've already explained to Grey, but basically it's a parasitic embryo that is implanted in the host. It wasn't like he put his dick in me, if he even had one.”
“'Had'?” Wash repeated.
Tucker shrugged, “Yeah, dude's dead. Died like, a week or so before Junior was born. There was this bullshit quest or whatever after he found out I got one of their magic swords, and we trekked a week through some lands and he was so weird. At first he just watched me or stayed really close to me, and then I would wake up to him hovering over me. Then it was actually our last night of the quest where he...whatever to me, and then died the next day.”
“And he forced it on you.”
“Like I would have accepted to give birth to an alien, man. Do you know how painful that shit is?” And here, Tucker lifted up his shirt to reveal a mess of scars over his stomach. Like a fist gripping his heart, Wash stared, not breathing, at evidence to Tucker almost dying multiple times. A bullet wound on the left, where Felix stabbed him, still a little red and on the lower right of the abdomen. And there, in the centre, and messiest surgical scar he's ever seen. A crude a thick line across the middle, just barely missing his belly button. It was all proof of just how easily Tucker could die. How easily Wash could lose him.
Letting out a controlled breath, Wash ducked his head down and away from what was kick starting his rage into gear again. Instead, he used what was meant to be Tucker's anchor as his own, gripping his calve and resting his head on Tucker's knees.
“Uh...Wash, dude?” The other hesitantly asked, “You good, man?”
“I'm just,” Wash tried, “Give me a second. I'm trying to hold back on going out and killing something.”
He felt a jerk of movement, like Tucker leant back suddenly in surprise, “Oh, woah uhh, okay. Stay there as long as you like. We've already had plenty of murderous Freelancers in the past, and you all villain is definitely not what we need. I mean, it was kinda hot, not gonna lie, but that would just be an additional dumpster fire to the hundreds we already got burning right now.”
Wash snorted, “You thought me trying to kill you guys was hot?”
“Hey man, I'm secure enough in my kinks to know that that shit can be hot.” Tucker defended, “Don't you know that villains tend to be the hottest characters in movies and books?”
“You can read?” Wash couldn't help but joke. He got a flick to the top of his head. “Ow.” He dryly added. Some tension bled out of the room now, though it wasn't as carefree as he would've liked it. When it felt like he wasn't going to go on a rampage, Wash looked back up at Tucker.
Soft.
That was the only word he could put to the expression on Tucker's face. It was soft, gaze warm, as he looked down at Wash.
“You know, it's not your fault, right?” Wash couldn't help but blurt out in the quiet.
Tucker tilted his head to the side, questioningly.
“That you were raped.” Tucker's body under him tensed, and Wash quickly continued, “It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's not your fault. Sometimes, there is someone whose stronger than you, and even when you try, it can be impossible to fight back. But it's not your fault, and you weren't weak or whatever people might say. It's on the person who took advantage of you, not you.”
Tucker's breath hitched, and that was when Wash noted that the other man's hand was curled into his hair. He felt the way it tightened at Wash's words. “You really think someone like me could be raped?” Tucker whispered after a long pause of silence, eyes wide.
Wash squeezed Tucker's calve, “Yes. Anyone can be.”
“But you know me, Wash.” Insecurity flickered over his face, “I flirt and I'm ready to fuck anyone-”
“Anyone, Tucker.” Wash cut in, sternly reaffirming his statement. “It doesn't matter if you want to have sex with a lot of people, Tucker. Consent is there for a reason, and when someone oversteps that and doesn't take a no for an answer, then it's rape.”
His expression wavered, crumpling in on itself, “I didn't say no though...”
“Did you want it though?”
Tucker shook his head, and there, Wash could see the resignation and acceptance fully taking hold now. He pulled Tucker into a hug, assuring him softly, “You didn't want it, Tucker. Even if you couldn't say no, you still knew that you didn't want what happened to you. So yes, unfortunately it was rape.”
And just like that, the dam broke.
Tucker gripped him tight as he began to shake and silently cry into Wash's shoulder. He always figured Tucker would be loud and messy with his crying, but this was just quiet anguish, mumbling on repeat, 'It hurt, fuck it hurt, Wash. I was terrified.'
And Wash did what he could, holding Tucker as he slipped off the bed to the floor, burrowing into Wash's chest. He may not be the best fighter or soldier in the universe, but Wash would pave his way through anyone who tried to hurt Tucker like this again, happily leaving a bloodbath behind him if Tucker would be able to sleep knowing he was safe.
Here's the thing: Tucker knew he was fucked up a bit. Like, come on, who wasn't in this universe, on Chorus? But it was a relief, to know that someone wasn't going to be an asshole about his pain, and take him seriously.
And getting himself an unhinged boyfriend, and a talented as fuck kid, out of all this pain felt worth it. Or at least, a nice gift from the universe to make up for the shit he went through.