Work Text:
Tucker remembered vividly when Kimball told him he’d be at the bottom of the radioactive algae lake if he ever touched her. And it sort of occurred to him that a lot of the people he’d met since joining the army were like that.
Not that he thought about touching Wash all that often. That’d be weird. It was just what Wash had said something similar when they were trying to patch him up before the UNSC got to Sidewinder until Tucker told him to shut the fuck up and he briefly passed out from blood loss.
Church was a really weird dude, then a ghost, then a hologram. So, he was fine. Sarge and Caboose seemed totally fine in armor 100% of the time. Simmons had probably never touched another human being. Probably only Grif and Donut missed it as much as Tucker did.
Cuz see, it wasn’t just stroking up the smooth skin of some hot chick in her bed with the lights on, although fuck he missed that. There was also like, simple human connection and shit.
Like when he rubbed his thumb on his Grandma’s wrist and she would recognize him for the first time in days or when he held his kid for the first time, and even though Junior was three feet tall already he snuggled right in.
You bumped a buddy in the shoulder to let him know you saw him fuck up, or to say ‘did you see them fuck up?’ or ‘Whoa. Fuck, that was fucked up.’ It wasn’t the same with armor but that was the way it was. Tucker had always been pretty tactile so this shit was a little rough, but he’d gotten used to it after a few years.
The first time Tucker saw Wash out of armor he thought ‘that dude needs a hug.’ And he did not think about guys needing hugs all that much, but the guy looked like someone had murdered puppies in front of him. All. The. Time. So he needed a hug, a month of sleep, and to get laid. Dr. Fuck’s Orders.
Except Wash hadn’t really shown any interest in any of those things. And it was definitely becoming a problem. Like right now.
“Caboose. Why.” Wash was standing rigid, his armored fists clenched. “Why would you do this? We have limited enough supplies without you instructing your men to blow things up for fun!”
Wash never yelled at Caboose anymore. If he was yelling at Caboose something was wrong.
“Now we have to re-count everything and we don’t have time to do that before Gold team goes on their mission tomorrow. If we don’t get the ratios right people could die.” Wash had his hand spread over his own face, and he went from pinching the bridge of his nose, to pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids.
Time to step in. “Caboose, go see if Freckles needs a bath or something.”
Caboose had that checked out expression he got when people screamed at him, and a lot of people besides Wash screamed at him, Tucker included. But it cleared up and he beamed at Freckles. “Okay!”
Tucker waited until he’d scampered off before turning to Wash. “Dude, what the fuck?”
“Just. Not right now, Tucker.” His helmet tilted down and Tucker knew he was grimacing. If Tucker was calling him out, maybe he was thinking about how dumb that was. Good, because they were all fighting this war and what they didn’t have time for was Agent fucking Washington losing his fucking shit again.
Wash hadn’t really yelled at Caboose at all since he took Church’s place on their team as one of the good guys. And what this had to do with touching, was that Tucker was going to strangle him if he didn’t stop freaking the fuck out all the time. “Yeah, right now, Wash. Come on.”
Weirdly, Wash followed the order, he could hear him walking after him towards the barracks section. Tucker actually had to stop himself from leading Wash to his own bedroom. His feet just tried to take him there out of habit.
They went farther down and Wash just marched along behind him quietly. When Tucker hit the button on the door, the air felt stale, which was weird because the ventilation system at this Chorus Army HQ was the same in all the rooms, but the un-lived-in vibe fueled his suspicions. Which were that Wash didn't go back to his room very often. They were going to need to fix that. Dealing with him when he hadn't slept was worse than having him as a drill sergeant.
Wash was looking around uncertainly like it wasn’t obvious why Tucker brought him here. He decided a demonstration might be helpful and tugged off his own helmet. “Armor off, dude.”
Yeah, Wash was out of it. And Tucker’s suspicions that Wash wasn't sleeping again were confirmed when he saw the normal dark circles under Wash’s eyes looked more like bruises and the lower lids were red like he’d been drinking or crying, and since Tucker hadn’t known Wash to do either of those things often, it was definitely the other thing.
“How long has it been? You look like you haven’t slept since-"
“It’s only been 36 hours,” Wash said dismissively.
"Seriously? The fuck is your problem?”
“What? It's not that bad. I had some work I needed to do.” He knew it was that bad with that guilty frown, fumbling with his shoulder plates.
“You make it sound like this is a normal thing for you!”
“It’s not… abnormal. Usually I handle it better,” Wash admitted, like that wasn’t completely fucked. Tucker knew Wash had trouble sleeping and was the picture in the dictionary next to workaholic, but…
“Keep stripping, dude. You gotta get some shut-eye before you start hallucinating or some shit.”
“There’s just so much to do. It’s my responsibility to keep you guys safe.”
“I gotta tell you, I don’t feel very safe with a dude with regular sleep deprivation and regular access to firearms.”
Wash looked really sad picking at his armor so slowly, so Tucker held out his arms and just started collecting pieces as Wash took them off. Having someone to hand them off to seemed to help Wash with the task and he sped up. He was a bit of a prude what with thinking sleeping naked was inappropriate, but something must have rubbed off from years in the military because he started shrugging out of his Kevlar under-suit without prompting.
Damn. Tucker had abs now, what with all the action, but he was still a little impressed with the way Wash was built. Tucker saw him do a lot of pull-ups, but was this crunches or…? If he wasn’t afraid of reminding Wash that he cared about Tucker’s training regimen again and he’d go crazy, Tucker might ask for some tips. Cuz damn, Wash’d be a hit with the ladies. Probably guys too, if they swung that way.
Aaaaand suddenly Tucker was thinking he was appreciating Wash’s abs too much. Okay.
He whipped back to Wash’s dresser to get something for him to sleep in because at the crash site he always liked sleeping in a t-shirt and flannels like a kid, but everything was completely empty.
“Have you really not slept in here since we got here?”
Wash blinked like he’d been spacing out again. “I have, I just don’t have anything. They gave us some scrubs at the Fed base but…”
But those reminded him of the hospital. “I’ll be right back.”
The rebels were cool. When Green team had more than just Palomo he'd convinced them to make a run with him to the crash site to get his favorite t-shirts and some of his stuff back. He could have probably grabbed Wash's stuff too but back then he didn't know if- when he'd see Wash to give it back to him. Tucker came back from his room with a couple t-shirt options.
With the promise of sleep looming it was like Wash’s brain was giving up the fight to stay conscious while he was on his feet. He'd stayed right where Tucker left him, half naked, but he still had the energy to frown at Tucker’s Pussy Wagon t-shirt.
“Pulp Fiction it is.” He tossed the t-shirt at Wash’s head and even half asleep he caught it and shrugged it on. It was tight around the shoulders, but it was well worn and soft. The shorts were a little short on him, and roomy in the crotch too, but Wash didn’t put up any fuss about them.
And then Wash was in pajamas dead on his feet and still looked like he needed Tucker to spell it out for him.
"Get in the fucking bed! Do you actually need me to tuck you in?”
A very not-exhausted calculating look entered Wash’s eyes and Tucker knew. This asshole'd be wandering the halls two minutes after Tucker left if Tucker didn't put him in bed.
“Alright, I guess I'm tucking you in. If I see you outside this room before it’s been at least four hours I’m gonna tell Caboose you said you were going to play with him.”
Wash looked unimpressed, but stepped towards the bed, pulling back the blankets in the most awkward and reluctant-looking way possible.
“Oh-my-god. You’re worse than Junior and he’s a kid. Get in.”
Wash climbed in, looking surprised when Tucker stood next to the bed, but Tucker was a man of his word and he’d just promised a Tucker-tuck-in.
He pulled the sheets and blankets out of the tight corner folds and shook them out like a magician’s cape. Then he tucked the blankets in on all sides of Wash's body fast and efficient. Junior was about the same height as Wash now so it was easy to get into that old rhythm. So easy that he pressed a quick kiss to Wash’s forehead without thinking about it.
Wash went rigid under him and Tucker froze there for a moment. When he pulled back, Wash’s sleep-glazed eyes were a bit wide.
Tucker tried to play it off, patting him on the head. “What? You needed to be tucked in. You want a bed time story too?”
Wash actually leaned into Tucker’s hand. Maybe Wash missed touch as much as anyone. His hair was surprisingly soft.
“I’m fine,” Wash finally answered, swallowing and looking down and away. His face was a little red, but Wash did look comfortable there in one of Tucker’s favorite t-shirts. And like he could barely keep his eyes open, which was the whole point.
Tucker grinned. He still had the touch. “Night Wash.”
“Goodnight Tucker.”