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Tucker groaned in relief at the feeling of the bulky armor finally lifted from his frame. He’d been in it for days now without a reprieve, off on a scouting mission with Sarge and Carolina for the past week. It had quickly degraded into a series of well-intentioned competitions between the Blue Captain and Red Colonel, along with long drives interspersed with badly sung classic ballads to the despair of Carolina. They had eventually come across an abandoned pirate base or two that held its own cache of weaponry and information. Still, even with the valuable haul and not awful company, Tucker couldn’t wait for an evening of R and R.
He stripped out of his body suit and threw on a pair of sweat pants. He grabbed a black tank top that was kicked in the corner of his room, before pausing as he caught sight of his bare arms, at the tattoos he had etched into them. The absence of Junior hit him like a punch to the gut, and he slowly traced some of the whorled lines.
Felling his rough fingers upon his scars brought back a lazy memory of many years ago, lying in his bed as his body got used to the sensitive new marks. He remembered the careful touches of a tiny scaled hand passing reverently over the faintly throbbing skin, of quiet and comforting chirps and honks being voiced by the small body curled up by his side. And though Tucker was in pain, and more than a little anxious of being brought into a culture so literally alien from his own, he knew he would be okay. Because a sharp face nuzzled into his cheek, and four digits traced over his skin, and his son was worth it.
A knock at his door brought him back to his room, and he drew his arm from the marks that no longer burned, hadn’t for years. He quickly pulled on his top before answering the hesitant call of his rank.
The young lieutenant that answered seemed somewhat flustered at his state of undress. Normally Tucker would have let loose a breezy pick up line over how his good looks could make most ladies fall speechless, but his mood had shifted with his memories and he suddenly felt the oppressing need to be alone.
“I-I’m sorry sir, I hadn’t realised you didn’t want to be disturbed, it’s just I was told to relay information to you even though I know you’ve just got back from your mission and of course I should have assumed you’d be resting but I had orders to come here so I didn’t want to wait but I can see now that I’m intruding and I’m so sorry I-“
“Woah, woah, easy there Wallhouse!” Tucker put his hands up in a placating motion against her rambling. “It’s totally cool, I’m not angry. So just, uh, ya know, relax a little, kay?” He let an easy smile come to his face, trying his best to calm her down. Though she had her helmet on, he could suddenly feel that he had her full attention.
“What… you know my name?”
Tucker frowned at the non-sequitur. “Um, yes? You’re lieutenant Wallhouse; when we first arrived at the New Republic you were assigned to Caboose’s group. Which, you know, I feel like I should probably apologise for.”
She simply continued to stare at him, uncomprehending of his recognition. Tucker decided to end the awkward silence before it stretched any further.
“So, you had something to tell me…?”
“Oh, goodness yes sir, sorry sir of course, my message.” She took a breath and cleared her throat, and Tucker would never get used to the fact that soldiers would actually get nervous around him, would look up to him due to his rank and his deeds. It was so goddamn surreal being thought of as a hero sometimes.
“I was ordered by Agent Washington to relay to you that there was an issue in your training reports, the ones filled out before you left. As a result, he would like to go over the amendments with you in his quarters as soon as you receive this message. Which, I suppose, means right now.”
Tucker gave an exaggerated groan and leaned heavily against his doorframe, eyes closed.
“Ughh, what the fuck, I hate paperwork! And I just got back too, are you fucking kidding me!” He opened one eye and looked over at Wallhouse, who stood there stiffly.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell Wash to go fuck himself for me, would you?”
She gave a squeak and a startled “Sir?!” but Tucker just waved her off.
“I’m kidding, I’ll go, but I don’t have to like it. And fuck it if I’m getting back in my armor for it.” He walked back into his room and grabbed his boots, grumbling to himself before noticing that Wallhouse was still stood awkwardly at his door.
“Oh, you’re dismissed or whatever, thanks Wallhouse.” She automatically saluted him and, yeah, surreal, before turning away. He felt kind of bad to just finish the conversation so formally, even though that was kind of what Captains are meant to do. He thought about what he would have wanted a Captain to say to him during war. What he still needed to hear if he was being honest with himself. He leant out of the room and decided to call after her.
“Hey, keep up the good work, okay Wallhouse? You’re doing great.”
She paused, and let out a shaky thanks, but he could hear the smile in her voice as she turned the corner and was gone.
Tucker leant down to tie up his boots, wishing he could just collapse onto his comforter and not think for the foreseeable future.
‘Well, the sooner I see him the sooner I can do just that I guess.’ He thought to himself, not that it cheered him much.
He made his way through the hallways towards Wash’s room, tying a knot around his dreads to keep them up in a thick bun. He passed by a few soldiers that gave him a double take, maybe because he was hot, probably just because it was rare to see someone out of their armor outside their own dorm. He felt an uncomfortable weight of anxiety start to build in his gut the closer he got to his destination. In truth, Tucker was reluctant to see Wash for more than just having to fix his reports.
The Reds and Blues had been reunited for close to two months now, with barely a moment to breath. With two armies coming together for a tentative truce, tensions were of course going to be fraught. Moving into Armonia had been a nightmare of itself, and it seemed there wasn’t a day that minor fights didn’t break out between a handful of soldiers from each side. Couple that with the looming threat of Charon and alien relics scattered around to be retrieved, there was hardly a chance that the group of coloured soldiers managed to see one another. Doubly so in the case of the two Freelancers, who were probably the best qualified to oversee the early stages of cooperation between the armies.
So yes, Tucker was tired, but he could manage. He had done so while his friends were held prisoner, so this was a goddamn breeze compared to the months of training an army when he felt he was barely trained himself. Knowing that his friends were safe, that they were ultimately all in this together even if they didn’t actually see much of each other meant he could cope with the workload.
Yet therein lay the problem. After getting the all clear from medical and throwing himself into the throes of the Chorus war preparations, Tucker hadn’t spoken to Wash. Oh, they had gone over training regimens, and had a few brief interactions during meetings or when they needed to clarify certain things over the radio, but they hadn’t actually talked. And that was an issue considering Tucker was pretty sure that he may have been more-than-crushing on the Freelancer.
He gave a groan at the sudden whirl of embarrassed memories. It had all started with that evening when Wash had caught him listening to those old music files he had salvaged from the wreck. One night in which Tucker’s loneliness and desperation had led to an almost-kiss. The worst part was afterwards though, when Tucker realised that his attraction had clearly not been reciprocated by the older man. If anything, Wash practically resented Tuckers very presence, treating him as nothing more than a lesser soldier, forcing him to endure physically draining training exercises and expecting him to live up to impossible (by Tucker’s standards) military regimens. It was exhausting both physically and emotionally. It was one thing for Wash to brush off the event, and another entirely for him to basically punish Tucker for it. And with that came Tuckers own resentment; against Wash, against Church and Carolina for abandoning them, against being stuck in another goddamn canyon with a bunch of idiots who were more likely to kill each other before exposure got to them. So fine, if Wash wanted to be a dick to Tucker for trying to experience something a little akin to humanity in a place so devoid of it, then Tucker could give back as good as he could take.
Tucker absentmindedly rubbed his hand against the light scaring on the back of his scalp. ‘Yeah,’ he thought, ‘because that turned out so well for both of us.’
After the cave in, after the separation and the fear and stubborn attitude towards this rag-tag group of freedom fighters, Tucker had reflected a little. With distance came understanding, and maybe the efforts Wash had put in to train Tucker were more helpful than petty. Tuckers view of them at the time had merely been coloured by his embarrassment and wounded ego. He still didn’t really understand why Wash had put such distance between them, but maybe that was for the best. Loathe as Tucker was to admit it, maybe Wash had honestly just been lost in the moment, stolen away by the mood and the music. Tucker had been there, he got it, when you’re so lonely for comfort that you’ll turn to the nearest warm body that gives you attention. Caboose’s intervention must have felt like Wash had dodged a bullet. Tucker couldn’t resent him for that. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch though.
Because, yes, Tucker was probably a little messed up. He was missing his kid, missing his friend, stuck on an unknown planet with little chance of survival. Being with Wash, dancing with him, had let a little of the building horror of their situation fade a little. But it wasn’t the same for Tucker as it was for Wash. Tucker had been intrigued by the Freelancer for some time, ever since they had adopted him into their team back on sidewinder. At first it was just curiosity gradually warming up into some form of respect. It was only after Wash had defended him against Carolina back in Valhalla that Tucker had started to see Wash as more than their substitute leader. The final nail in the coffin of his love life had been one evening seeing Wash out of his armour and tucking a picture away. Tucker had caught a glimpse, and had raised his eyebrow at what he saw; two cats sat staring disinterestedly into the camera. Wash had noticed and cleared his throat sheepishly.
“I, ah, really like cats….” He had mumbled as explanation. Couple his killer bod with his embarrassed flush and Tucker found himself falling harder than he thought possible.
So had this been a mere almost kiss between two lonely guys, Tucker could have easily written it off and gotten on with his life, unfazed by Wash’s sudden one-eighty attitude towards him. If it wasn’t for his stupid emotions and very real attraction to the other man, Tucker would have been more than happy to do just that.
And yet here he was, almost at the door of his unrequited crush, stuck in a foreign war and about to go over battle strategies when he’d much rather be hiding from the world for a while. The universe really just loved to fuck with him, but he had known that for a long time now.
Tucker reached Wash’s room finally, and just stared for a moment at the menacing metal. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and knocked.
As Wash beckoned him in, Tucker reached for the handle and told himself that it was okay. Because Wash was safe, and he’d take that over some silly requited crush any day.
xxxxxxxxx
He opened the door and promptly felt like slamming it shut and heading straight to Doctor Grey to report any head trauma he may have neglected to inform her of after he got back. Because the sight of Wash out of armor, his furniture pushed to the walls to make space in the center, with actual fucking candles and slow jazz music filtering through the stereo in the corner had to be nothing short of a hallucination.
“I, ah, hope you don’t mind. I felt, however, that our next dance lesson was a little overdue.” Wash explained shakily, hand extended to Tucker as invitation, expression kind and soft without the dark lines of stress that had been present in the past weeks.
Tucker stared incredulously. He was now about ninety percent certain that he was still in the hospital from his stab wound and the past few months up to this moment were the results of a long and intricate fever dream.
As Tucker flailed for some response other than staring in awe, Wash started to frown.
“I… unless I’ve really read the situation wrong here.” He dropped his hand, his expression closing off prompting Tucker into action because good God, he couldn’t mess this up before it even began.
“What, no! Jesus Wash, I’m just- holy shit,” he let out choked laugh “I was just really not expecting this, I mean, Christ-” He took a breath, brought himself together, and smiled.
“I’d love a dance if you’re offering one.”
Wash looked surprised for a split second, clearly expecting rejection (as if Tucker would even dream of it) before his expression smoothed over in relief. He exhaled sharply and took hold of Tucker, aligning them in the way Tucker had shown him so many months ago.
I have to say though, isn’t this all a little over kill? I mean, the big bad Freelancer setting up candles and mood music?” Tucker teased as they began swaying to the soft hum. Wash just let out an embarrassed huff.
Blame Donut, he’s been planning this set up for weeks now. I wasn’t sure whether to discourage his pet project or accept all the help I could get.”
"Ugh, I should have known by those incense sticks in the corner.” Tucker laughed, before noticing how smoothly they were moving.
“Hey, you’ve actually improved,” Tucker raised an eyebrow, “Spent all your time stuck with the Feds practicing, huh?” He joked.
“Mmm, not really. Just been thinking about our lesson a lot in the past months is all. It was a comforting memory considering, well, everything else that has happened.” He said it off-handedly, but Tucker didn’t miss the soft flush the taller man was now sporting. Tucker just grinned and let it go for the moment.
They danced in silence for a while, each man relaxing in increments against the other, until soon they were flush against one another, Wash resting his head on the side of Tuckers. Tucker felt like he was glowing inside and out and felt more relaxed than he had in an age.
He felt Wash run gentle fingers across the markings on his arms, and the feeling of comforting alien hands flittered across his memory once again.
“Junior used to do that. I think the marks on that arm were his favourite,” he remarked almost unconsciously.
Wash paused in his ministrations, turning to the tattoos as if not realising he had been caressing them. He smiled before resuming his touches more confidently.
“He has good taste. They’re beautiful,” And wow, Tucker was glad Wash was facing away from the furious blush slowly making itself known across his face.
“Do you know what they mean? Or are they just for aesthetic?”
“Nah,” he coughed out, willing down his warm cheeks, “they mean something, though hell if I know what. If I’m honest, I don’t really care what they mean. It could be some super religious scripture or a dirty joke, doesn’t really matter.”
Wash frowned, looking back down at Tucker. “Then, why get them done at all?”
“Two reasons really. First, it was to allow part of myself to belong to the Sangheili culture. It’s not easy, after all, for a kid to be born from two totally different species. So I wanted something that showed I was willing to be a part of both of Junior’s worlds, to make myself a little more alien so that he didn’t feel so different. And the other is a reminder I guess, that no matter how far away I am, there’s always a part of me connected to my kid.” He looked down at where Wash’s hands still rested on his tinted cuts and smiled. “It’s good to know that there’s something worthwhile behind all the shit we have to go through, you know?”
He didn’t see Wash’s expression, but he felt his hold on him increase.
That’s probably the most selfless thing I’ve heard you do Tucker.” Tucker looked up, and there was that expression on his face again, the one from the crash site. When Wash had just looked at him like he was keeping Wash’s world together for that one moment. Tucker knew he had to say something before he fell for the stupid freckled man any harder than he already had.
"Not really. I was just trying to be a dad is all.” He paused, Wash still looking at him beatifically. “Plus, it’s like some awesome glow in the dark shit. Great if I need to find the bathroom in the night.” Wash cuffed him playfully round the back of the head, the moment gone and the two continued their dance in a comforting silence.
“You should be proud, you know.” Wash muttered softly. Tucker tensed but Wash carried on undeterred.
“Everything you’ve done, from your son to this war, it’s commendable. You’ve achieved a lot more than most people give you credit for. Than I give you credit for.” He sighed, bringing a hand up to the back of Tuckers head.
“I am proud of you, Tucker.”
It should have felt good to have the praise and recognition from a man he respected and looked up to. Instead, all Tucker felt was sickening guilt, and the sense of dead mens eyes calling him out, labelling him a fraud.
“But I was scared,” he whispered, so quiet that he wasn’t even sure if Wash heard. His hushed admittance wasn’t out of shame exactly, but Tucker hadn’t felt it was his place to voice his concerns. Not during the separation, not when an entire army was looking to him for his hope and his help.
Wash’s arms tightened around him, and Tucker pushed himself to explain, voice just as soft as before. They had stopped swaying, stopped pretending that they held each other for any other reason than for the closeness they craved.
“Just… so scared to lead these people, when you could have been tortured or dead. And what would I have done if we couldn’t get you back? I was scared that I couldn’t do it, not for Chorus, or the soldiers that died under my orders. Not for all of you, or Junior. I just couldn’t do anything -“
“Oh Tucker,” Wash breathed out, voice aching.
Tucker wasn’t sure who moved first. Whether each man just fell in sync with the natural progression one follows with their partner in a dance; the moves subconscious, the next step followed as effortlessly as those before have come to learn.
Their lips met, and Tucker had never received or given a kiss with such reverence to it. It was both chaste and yet the most passionate kiss he’d ever reciprocated; desperate but gentle. The hand on the back of Tuckers head pulled him closer, trying to create as little space between them as was physically possible.
Tucker knew that they were both a little broken, and this wouldn’t fix them, their shaky hands and startled breathes. But Tucker was glowing, in every sense of the word, and it felt right and it felt good, and they had each other for this one moment. And that’s a lot more than most people get in this war torn universe.
They broke apart, and for a moment just basked, eyes half lidded. Wash was practically drinking in Tucker, and he had the most beautiful look on his face that Tucker didn’t know whether he wished Wash smiled like that more often, or whether to jealously guard it for himself.
It hit him then. Wash was smiling like that, smiling like he had the most wonderful goddamn thing in the world standing right in front of him, and it was because of Tucker. Because he had kissed Tucker.
He couldn’t have hidden the pure elation on his face even if he wanted to, as he practically dived back onto the other man, spattering sporadic kisses all over Wash’s face. He could feel Wash’s own smile spread under his own lips, before he was suddenly grasped around the waist and hoisted into the air. Wash was laughing (and holy shit, Tucker could get used to that sound), and he spun Tucker around the room clumsily but wholeheartedly.
“You really think we can handle a relationship in the middle of a war?” Tucker asked when Wash put him down, both breathing hard and smiling.
“Sounds about as manageable as learning to dance in a stranded crash site.” Tucker just laughed and kissed Wash on the corner of his mouth.
“God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Wash breathed between kisses.
“Aww, pining for me whilst with the Feds?”
“Mmm, and before.”
“Before?” Tucker pulled away with a frown. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you wanted to kiss since the crash site?”
Wash’s face scrunched up in confusion (and goddamn it if the look wasn’t adorable).
“Well, of course I did.”
Tucker gaped in disbelief. “Dude, you mean we could have been boning this entire time?! Oh my God, why didn’t you say anything?!”
Wash looked away uncomfortably, running a sheepish hand through his blonde hair. He was blushing faintly, which, okay, that was just unfairly cute goddamn it.
“It seemed… advantageous. An officer using the chain of command to manipulate his subordinates, even if it was done unconsciously. I didn’t want you to be put in a difficult situation with someone of higher rank than you.”
If anything, Tucker’s disbelief increased. “Jesus Christ, you are such a nerd. Are you kidding me? You know I was the one coming on to you, right? Man, I was practically throwing myself at you!”
Wash laughed gently, avoiding Tuckers gaze by looking awkwardly at his feet. “Well, I did say I’m not good at emotional things.”
Tucker just huffed, Wash’s explanation filling in the gaps to his questions on his treatment back at the crash site. He shook his head but couldn’t stop the soft smile he felt tugging at his face. “I don’t think that any of us are.”
He reached up and kissed him again and again until he couldn’t keep count even if he wanted to. His skin thrummed pleasantly with alien awe, and he knew he’d be okay. Because Agent Washington was worth it.
“And hey, this is a lot better than going over those training reports you told that lieutenant had errors in them. Can’t believe you used that as a lie to get me to come over.” He snickered.
“Oh, no that was true. Your paperwork is honestly some of the worst I’ve seen."
Tucker’s expression fell as he looked up, hoping the man was joking.
“I…what?”
“Tucker, you listed Palomo as ‘excellent battle fodder, put that bitch ass on the front line’ and ended the section on weapons maintenance as ‘most machine guns may blow up after the water hose incident. I have to be there when it happens though because I bet Grif twenty bucks that the girliest scream to come out of that will either be from Mathews or Simmons’ before signing everything off with a sunglasses emoji.” Wash shook his head in exasperation. “I’m actually glad you brought it up, I had completely forgotten all about it. Come on.”
“You can’t be serious.” Wash just took Tuckers hand and went over to the desk, turning on the lights and moving two chairs over to the report sitting there. “Oh God you are serious.”
Wash sat down and looked up at Tucker with a raised eyebrow. He patted the seat next to him mockingly.
“Its too late to bail on all of this isn’t it.” he groaned. Wash merely smirked at him.
"Yes, actually, it is. Get writing, Captain.” He pulled Tucker down onto the chair, close enough that their bodies were both aligned. Tucker just sighed as he picked up his pen.
“You’re lucky you’re a good dancer.” He mumbled, and felt the laughter reverberate from the other man as a kiss was pressed into his dark hair.