#implied docnut

[trashinyourpockets]

Goober.

Seemed to like my junior posts, so i made more sketches

[starshineandbooks]

Bottom of the river (long way down) chapter two

Pairings: Grimmons, Tuckington, Docnut

Rating: T

Summary: Some of the Sim troopers decide to talk with the kids. Shockingly, the kids have some feelings about this mess. Unfortunately, between Kai arriving and Simmons putting his foot in the mouth, there's a lot to deal with.

Warnings: cursing, timetravel, canon divergence, implied/referenced child abuse, Simmons Fucks Up

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

If you would like to be tagged on the next part let me know

Word count: 3,647

Masterpost / previous chapter

-------

Grif prides himself on sleeping in. Which is what got him in trouble today when he nearly missed breakfast, and Simmons lectured him.

But he's not feeling it today, so as soon as he's shown up to enough things for Simmons to leave him alone, he goes to hide.

As he settles in his bed, he applauds himself on his hiding. If he's missing, who would think he'd hide in his room?

Just as he's really settling in, he hears a knock at the door.

Shit.

Grif stays quiet.

"Dad. I know you're in there. I just want to talk." Lani calls through the door.

Oh. Well, at least it's not a job.

Grif considers his options. But he figures any kid he raised will probably just do what they want.

"I'm coming in." She warns before coming into the room. She shuts the door behind her, though.

How polite.

"Hey." Grif says from his spot on his bed.

"Papa's looking for you." Lani inform him.

Grif groans. This must be Simmons's new tactic. Sending their daughter to get him to do work. "I'm not going."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not a snitch. I wanted to talk to someone who's calm and ask what the hells are going on."

"Huh."

"What?"

"You're not freaking out. I dunno, seems like you might be after time-traveling backward and meeting your nervous wreck of a father." Grif shrugs. Though he can't help looking the teen over and wondering if she's hiding something.

"Nah, I had my freak out last night. Then I remembered it could be way fucking worse."

"Yeah, probably."

"I fully expect Kai to show up sooner or later, by the way. She had that look."

"The "I'm going to fuck shit up by trying to help" look?"

"That's the one."

"Fuck."

Lani laughs, moving to sit on Simmon's bed. She's wearing a kevlar undersuit this time.

Good. Those kids should probably have armor. Active warzone and all.

"So, what the fuck is going on?" She asks.

Grif laughs, looking to the ceiling. "Too much man. We got split up thanks to the Feds. Everyone not at the meeting yesterday is with the enemy."

"Yikes my dude."

"Right?"

Lani gives a lazy smile. Crossing her legs at the ankles. "Is papa avoiding me?"

"What?"

"He leaves anywhere he can when I'm around."

"Oh. Uh- Simmons dosen’t do well with change. Or girls.."

"Fuck he's weird."

Grif ignores the urge to defend Simmons. Which is stupid, because Simmons is weird. And it's not like Grif is in a position to defend him.

"He can be." Grif says as he glances to Lani.

She's got a fond look on her face, mostly.

"Hey dad," She says, "do you know anything about Felix?"

"Not really. He's some mercenary."

"Ew."

"Right?"

"I miss my kitchen." Lani frowns, "They won't let me use theirs."

"Why not?"

"They're homophobic? I don't know."

"What dicks."

Lani laughs again, "I also miss self care nights."

"Damn kid, is there anything you don't miss?"

Lani thinks for a moment and then grins. "I don't miss school. Like at all.

"Good I won't raise a fucking nerd."

"Do you know anyone who can help me get contraband?"

Grif looks at her, curious as he asks, "What do you want?"

"Face masks and nail stuff. "

"I guess I can ask around."

She smiles, "Thanks dad!"

Grif has a sinking feeling that he spoils the fuck out of his kid and that she can play him like a cheap kazoo. But that's for later.

Right now he has to figure out how to get the things she asked for help with.

He should also probably try to get Simmons to suck it up and talk to their kid but that's a goal for later. He needs more sleep before that.

"Hey dad?" Lani asks.

"Yeah kid?"

"Any advice on timetravel?"

"Say fuck it and live your life?"

"Yeah... of fucking course." Lani frowns, looking at her lap. "You're right."

Grif sighs. He knows that look.

The way her eyes fall to he lap. The furrow of her brow.

"What's wrong, kid?" Grif asks.

Lani startles, "What the hell makes you think something is wrong?!"

"Lani."

"I-" Lani stops and looks at him. He looks serious, like he cares. "Fuck. Fine. Just give me a second to get my words."

"No rush, kid."

Lani gives a slow breath. Her energy seems to recede. but she looks to her dad and she's not good at lying to him. She never has been.

She hates lying to him.

"I'm scared. I don't want to ruin the future... I'm scared I'm going to fucking loose someone... I'm just scared, dad."

"Oh... kid."

"And papa can't even look at me! I get that none of you have had us, or expected us. Okay? But it's bullshit that everyone else's adults aren't running away and mine can't fucking look at me!"

Grif realizes a few things in the span of seconds.

One, his daughter may have an attitude and confidence, but she's vulnerable to those she loves.

Two, Simmons has really hurt this poor kid by running away. Which is not okay.

Three, despite not having had a child yet he is already attached more than he expected.

And lastly number four, his daughter is scared. To fix this he's going to do everything he can.

Grif hopes his future self does everything he can for his kid. The girl seems wonderful.

"Lani... you know none of this is your fault, right kid?"

She laughs softly. Disbelieving. "Yes it fucking is. I'm the one who touched that stupid machine. They tried to pull me back and we all ended up here."

"Did you do it to end up here?"

"No."

"Not your fault. Sarge should have done a better job putting it away."

"I guess."

"Give me a few hours and we'll have a self care night."

"Promise?"

"Yeah kid, I promise."

Lani looks at him skeptically. And despite it all, there's trust there.

"Your friends really followed you?" Grif asks.

"Yeah... I'm really lucky with them." She admits softly.

Grif sends a message to his hookup for contraband to look for the self care night stuff.

When he turns his attention back to his daughter, he says, "Tell me about them.

So, Lani does.

She tells him how Ben is a guitar player and lead singer in the band and how the boy is loyal despite being a little dense.

She tells Grif about how smart Zach is and how he's practically the group mom froend.

Lani tells her dad about Cassie and how the girl plays bass, how protective she is of her friends... how Cassie is one of her two best friends that she'd do anything for.

Lani tells him about Aspen, who is camer than most of them, loyal and patient, intelligent ... how Aspen is her other best friend who is always there to listen.

She tells him about Violet, who plays drums in the band and softball, how creative the girl is.

And Grif just listens. He takes in all the information he can about the people his daughter obviously cares for deeply. He's grateful she's not alone, that she has friends who would follow her through time.

He's definitely interested in meeting the others, though, specifically Aspen and Cassie. The way her tone goes all soft when she talks about them compared to the others is- something.

-------

Tucker is not having a good day. Between trying to get things handled for his squad, his friends, and a hopeful rescue plan, he's very busy.

It's not until evening that he has any time to go check on the future kids. Mostly, he's going for his own kid, but he doubts that Caboose, Grif, or Simmons have really checked in and connected with the kids.

He knocks on their door, which has since had stickers put on it.

Huh. Where did they even get stickers?

After a moment, the door opens to Zach, whose long hair is in twin French braids.

"Oh, hey Tucker. What's going on?" The tall boy asks.

"Tell whoever that is to go away. We're busy!" Ben calls from behind Zach.

"I can come back."

"No, come in. It's a self care night."

"Okay?"

Tucker comes into the room and is taken aback. The sight before him is something else.

Sitting on the unclaimed bottom bunk is Lani and Ben, who have Clay face masks on. Between them is an impressive hoard of nailpolish and supplies.

Grif is in Lani's bed above the two teens, passed out with a clay mask and cucumber on his face. His hair is also braided.

Tucker wants to know how they got Grif involved but won't ask. Not right now, at least.

"Want a mask?" Zach asks as he shuts the door.

"Where did you guys even get this?"

"I asked dad real nice to help get it." Lani says. She dosen’t bring up the fact that she broke down a little. That's really not anyone's buissness.

"And he helped?" Tucker blinks, thoroughly disbelieving.

He'd asked Grif to help get extra jerky and was turned down because the other was tired.

"You wouldn't believe the favoritism." Ben chimes in.

"It's not my fault I know how the fuck to ask for things in a way that gets what I want." Lani says evenly, though she seems tired and like she might like a nap.

Zach dosen’t comment on that but the soft way they smile betrays that Lani might be exaggerating.

"Did you want a mask of not, pops?" Ben calls again.

"Sure. Why not." Tucker says, trying not to laugh.

Of course, Lani was able to convince her dad to do this. Why not?

Ben stands, "Come on."

He leads Tucker to the other bottom bunk, holding a clay mask jar.

Tucker pulls off his helmet and sits down.

Zach goes to sit with Lani, the two picking up a conversation about true crime podcasts. Both critique the murderes, which seems kind of weird.

Ben just sits down by his father. Opening the jar in his hands.

"You look tired." Ben says.

"I really fucking am, kid."

"Wanna hear about Junior in the future?"

"Fuck yeah!"

Ben pulls some clay mask onto his fingers and starts spreading it across Tucker's face.

"Well, Junior is pretty awesome. He writes home a lot, he graduated with honors."

"That my little man!"

Ben laughs. "He's not so little when I know him, pops. He's almost as tall as Caboose."

"Really?"

"I'll show you pictures later."

"Good. You better."

Ben just rolls his eyes playfully. He's smiling now. "Dad says you were always sentimental."

"Who's your dad?"

"Wash."

"What?!"

"You didn't know?"

"No. What the fuck?!"

Ben laughs, finishing the clay mask on his father's face. He looks genuinely amused.

"Keep it down, dad's sleeping." Lani calls over.

"That man can sleep through anything he'll live." Ben calls back.

"I had kids with Wash?!"

"Pops. What the fuck are you on? Who did you think my other dad was?"

"I don't know!"

"Oh my god." Ben groans, shutting the mask jar and wiping his hands on a stray piece of paper.

Tucker dosen’t know what to say. He had kids with Wash?

What the fuck?

"Did you break him?" Zach asks from the other bed.

"I don't know!"

Lani gives a low whistle, "Hot damn, Benny, what'd you even tell him?"

"That Wash is my dad."

Zach sighs, "Why?"

"I thought he knew!"

Lani just mutters something while Zach sighs slowly.

Ben misses not feeling stupid.

-------

Kai pushes herself off the floor with a low groan, vision blurry as she tries to figure out what is going on. Ugh.

She looks around and finds everything to be sanitized shades fit for a hospital. She hears beeping.

She's in a fucking hospital isn't she?

"Oh! Hi!" A feminine voice calls happily.

Kai pushes to her feet and looks to the woman. "Hi?"

"You aren't in armor."

"No."

"Are you from the same time as the kids?"

"Probably which kids?" Kai has her glare leveled, suspicious as fuck of this woman.

"Cassie Tucker, Aspen Church, and Violet Dufranse!"

"God damn it, why couldn't I be with my baby niece?!" Kai groans loudly.

All she wanted was to be with her niece. Well, that and to get to show off the thousands of pictures from the course of her baby niece's life!

Her favorites include one from a makeover Lani gave Grif when the girl was eight, homecoming where Simmons threatened the girl's date with Sarge as back up, and Grif asleep with Simmons and Lani on him when the girl was a baby.

"That's a greater question! I'm Doctor Emily Grey."

"Kai." The woman says, deciding she'll just show off the pictures later. Maybe she can subject Sarge to it?

"Let's get you checked out. Then we can get you reunited with those kids."

"A checkup?"

"Yes, of course!"

Kai dosen’t care and just starts stripping.

"Whoah- ypu don't have to strip this is not that kind of check up!"

"Oh. Really? Fucking weird." Kai shrugs, pulling her shirt back on.

Dr. Grey does the body scans and asks the usual questions about drug usage and sexual activity. It's not even in the top ten most fun checkups Kai has had. But that's okay.

Kai isn't surprised when Aspen comes in as the check-up is winding down. They are always on top of things.

It's really no wonder her niece likes Aspen so much.

"Hello, Kai." Aspen says as they come in.

"Hey bitch!" Kai grins.

Aspen just looks the older woman over. Their gaze dosen’t betray much of anything. They seem to he looking for an answer.

"You followed us," Aspen frowns, "Why?"

"My little Leilani was who knows where! I was obviously gonna follow your asses."

"Of course." Aspen says, sounding a little too fond for their own good.

Kai grins again, "Are you so pumped?!"

"I'm not sure yet." Aspen admits.

Unfortunately, this ends in a small trash fire, but that's not that bad. Thankfully, Aspen just hears Kai away. Wondering why they ended up with the woman.

They also mourn that Lani isn't here, their friend the only one who can fully handle Kai.

-------

Washington has done his best to avoid the future teens while still being a Good Commanding Officer. Which isn't that mature, but he has no idea what to do.

Teenagers are terrifying.

Unfortunately, his plan is ruined when someone bangs on his door at three in the morning.

Wash opens the door, thankful he dosen’t sleep much.

At the door stands all three teens, and an older woman who bears a resemblance to Grif.

"Why the hell did you bring me to a cop?!" The woman demands loudly.

Fuck. Wash can't help but wonder why the hell Kai is here.

"Holy shit." Wash manages.

"I need an adultier adult." Aspen says evenly.

"I'm not talking to a cop!"

"Kai. You know he isn't a cop." Cassie says.

"Future Wash isn't a cop, this one is!"

"Please help." Violet says.

Wash sighs slowly. He wonders what he did to God for God to hate him so much.

"I want a lawyer!"

"I'll be your lawyer. Just stop yelling." Cassie says firmly.

Kai looks to the shortest of the teens, considering the offer. But it seems to work because she grins, "You're hired."

"Great. Tell Wash the truth. You haven't committed any crimes, so there's nothing to hide." Cassie says quickly.

"You sure?"

"What would Lano tell you?"

"Wash ain't a fucking cop and if he was being difficult can get me arrested?"

"Yeah."

"I still want my lawyer present."

"I'm right here." Cassie says.

Wash wonders is Cassie has any knowledge on law. And does it matter? She's saving him a headache.

"Where are the other kids?" Kai asks after a moment.

"We don't know."

"You lost my fucking niece?!"

"She was never here."

"You're a really bad cop."

Wash wants to scream.

"It's fine. We're pretty sure she ended up woth her parents."

"Oh. Okay " Kai says. Almost immediately calmer.

"Okay?"

"Those two are dumb as hell and probably pining, but they'll keep my baby niece safe."

"Uh, great." Wash manages. He feels significantly less sure of things than he had ten minutes ago. And he wasn't sure of much then.

"I'm going to take Kai to our room." Violet giggles,"Aspen?"

"Sure thing."

Aspen and Violet lead Kai away. Ditching their friend with her father.

"Thanks for the help." Washington says after a moment.

Cassie just shrugs, "It needed to be done."

"How did you know that'd work?"

"Lani. She's uh- pretty fucking cool and she does that."

"Lani, huh?"

The way Cassie looks away even as she gives a lazy shrug is interesting.

Wash glances around, wondering what he's supposed to do here. He doesn't know this kid, like at all. But she seems to know him.

"Dad?" Cassie asks.

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about the rebels?"

Wash blinks, trying to figure out what this kid is really aasking. Because he knows there's more.

"Not enough."

"Okay."

"Are you- adjusting okay, Cassie?"

Cassie laughs, and she sounds a lot like Tucker there. "What's to adjust too, shit is weird, and you guys are loud."

"You seem... okay? Like oddly well adjutsd."

"I'm just not dealing with distress, thanks. My method is to ignore distress and solve problems."

"That sounds- unhealthy."

"You're ignoring your mega crush on papa so you don't get to talk. "

"I- what?"

"Anyway, I have to go try to get ahold of the others now. Wish me luck!"

"What?"

Cassie just smiles too wide.

Wash sighs. "Cassie, come in here and talk."

"I'd rather not."

"Are you sure?"

"Look, dad, my brother, and two of my friends are God knows where. Hopefully they're with the rest of our adults. So I'm trying to hold it together."

"You don't have to. Your friends are here and... I mean, I don't know you, but I'm here too?"

Cassie just blinks at him, looking more than a little confused.

Wash dosen’t blame her, he dosen’t know who let him talk. He made it awkward. Of course he did.

Ignoring all his feelings about Tucker being the other father of his children, Washington wishes the man were here. The other is so good with kids.

A slow smile spreads across Cassie's face. "You're a huge fucking dork, dad."

"I know." Wash says, because it's easier than anything else.

She rolls her eyes, but she dosen’t snap at him or anything. Not that she's been too moddy latley but you never know with teenagers.

Wash wonders how he ended up with this kid. She seems like the best thing to happen to him right after apparently having a kid with Tucker.

"Hey... dad?" Cassie asks.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks.. for - treating us like people."

"You are people, though?"

Cassie just shrugs, "You know Sarge, and Donut is always trying to baby us."

"Oh."

-------

Simmons is not having a good day, and he is grateful Grif isn't in their room when he comes in after everything. All he's heard is his father's voice in his head running commentary on every minute detail and failure.

He knows he's avoiding his daughter, but he can't face her either. She's so much like Grif it hurts.

And he doubts he was a good father. He could never be a good father after what his own was like.

He can't face Lani knowing he hurt her.

But oh- how Simmons thanks any God who will listen that she has Grif's confidence and attitude. That she isn't a pushover that can be easily used.

He strips his armor off, settling to exist in only his kevlar undersuit.

Unfortunately his peace is ruined when the door opens.

Simmons groans, turning to see who's there.

In the door way is Zach who's carrying Grif, and Lani. He can hear Tucker and Ben bidding farewell.

Grif is asleep in Zach's arms.

"I could have carried him." Lani says.

"I know. You're exhausted, though." Zach says gently.

"Oh- hey papa." Lani says, eyes landing on Simmons.

"Hey." Simmons manages.

Zach moves forward, dropping Grif lightly into the older man's bed.

"I should head the fuck to bed, tell dad I say thanks again." Lani smiles.

"Uh. Sure?"

"Thanks, Simmons." Zach says, putting a hand on Lani's shoulder.

"Thanks papa."

"I'm not your dad. I'm -" Simmons starts but falls silent.

"Oh. Uh- yeah. I guess you're fucking not." Lani says, voice hardening even as her eyes look broken.

"I didn't- Lani I just- I'm not parent material. I'm not even your dad yet." Simmons says, trying to soften it, to make it better.

"Just say you don't want me, asshole."

"Leilani." Zach says, soft as he squeezes her shoulder.

Simmons is struck by how pretty bis daughter's name is. It must have been picked by Grif.

He frowns, "Lani I do-"

"Don't bother. You're not my dad, I fucking get it. I'm a big girl. I won't call you papa. Have a great fucking night, asshole." Lani seethes, but the way her eyes are glossy betray her. She's not mad. She's hurt.

Simmons watches his daughter storm out and is grateful that Zach follows her immediately.

He's really fucked up.

He hurt his daughter.

He does want her! He just- wants to be a good dad. And bases on what just happened, he isn't.

Grif is going to kill him. And he'll deserve it.

Simmons can't help the way his eyes burn with shame as he falls face first onto his bed. He wants to follow his daughter but he can't.

He knows he will make it worse.

-------

Tags: @the-team-sucks @dynamitelad

[lightishpurple]

A random thought from Insta that I've been thinking about for a while

[clocks-are-round]

I’m in the interesting boat of not shipping Doc and Donut, but enjoying seeing Docnut content. Like, yeah they have the potential for great chemistry and I will reblog because you have given me serotonin and I love it, but in my headcanon Doc is aro ace. Well, maybe it’s not so strange and it’s just that ship bashing has become far too normalized. Anyways...

So then I start trying to find ways to make other headcanon scenarios fit within my own. Maybe Doc and Donut were dating for a bit, but Doc broke things off because he realized he wasn’t being honest with himself. He was so afraid of being abandoned again that he thought being in a romantic relationship with Donut (who had unintentionally been flirting like always) would mean Donut wouldn’t leave him. Or maybe Donut didn’t even realize Doc thought they were dating. They were just two pals living together.

Doc: Ok, just like ripping off a bandaid. We’ve only been together for months. This’ll be fine.

Doc: *feigning confidence* Donut, I’m breaking up with you.

Donut: What? Wait, you.. you don’t want to be friends? *getting teary*

Doc: No, of course I do! I do want to be friends with you, Donut. But, nothing more than that.

Donut: *tearfully nods* You don’t want to be best friends anymore.

Doc: Nono, we can still be best friends! Like you say, best friends forever! Best friends for life! Just nothing more.

Donut: *confused but happy. Deep breath to calm down* ...okey dokey!

Doc: So, things are okay between us?

Donut: The things between us— The things that connect us... I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sure we’ll always be happy to see each other. No matter how small you feel, I’ll always be right next to you,

Doc: *this is fine, uncomfortable-but-used-to-it-smile*

Donut: —ready to embrace you tightly and take in all you want to give me. *holds out arms for a hug* Now come on in here!

Doc: *goes in for hug a little awkwardly* Yeah, okay. Friendly hug. Hug of friendship. A hug only located in the friend zone.

Donut: *just vibing*

S17 Donut: *reliving the moment* oh my god I’m an idiot

lol just kidding. That would imply someone remembering an interaction they had with Doc

The rest of it though... yes.

[lordsireno]

RvB - Skeletons in the closet still have flesh

Pairing: Implied developing Tuckington, mentioned DocNut

Warnings: Blood, Injuries, Illness, slow burn, No ending

Summary: Tucker comes home to find an injured and wanted man hiding in his cupboard, and finds himself unable to turn him in to the authorities. He now has to support the criminal and his half-alien son on his shitty night job, as well as deal with all his acquaintances sticking their noses in. 

((Welcome to my 5000ish word notfic that inspired my almost-human Junior design.  night-inscriber this was a long time coming. Sorry to anyone who doesn’t have a working read more oof ))

He’s running. His entire body is burning, and his mind is screaming at him for running up into an apartment building of all places. Adrenalin is helping him ignore the blood soaking his shirt, or the unusual bend in his leg, or how his left arm dangles at his side. At the next exit the stairs give way to a long hallway, dirty and unsuspecting. He moves down it, stopping when at the end a mirrored set of stairs open up. He takes a moment for a deep breath, and immediately regrets it as the likely several broken ribs halt his lungs. He doubles back, only to see a door numbered ‘609’ wide open, and small child standing in the hallway, pointedly staring at the drops of blood he’d left behind. The kid looks up and grins at him, and he barely has time to do a double take at the amount of sharp, pointed teeth they have before he hears movement in the stairwell.

He ducks into the apartment, finding himself in the living room, one door into a likely bedroom to his left and a kitchen to his right. The child follows him in and closes the door behind them as the thunderous footsteps got louder. There are two doors in the kitchen, so he picks the closest and throws himself inside, landing in a cupboard full of clothes and spare household items. Its spacious enough that he could probably just lay down, and sitting hunkered in the corner his head only just brushes a shelf. The child steps up to the door, so he puts up a finger in a ‘shush’ motion, to which they gleefully return before closing the door.

In the darkness he stifles his breath, trying to disappear. The walls are thin, so he clearly hears a group break off at the stairs and march down the hall. Their armour adds to the weight of their steps, but they’re not loud enough to cover the sound of safeties being switched. The steps de-sync as some stop and some still move. There’s a resounding crack that echoes in the apartment as the front door is kicked open, and the click of a gun being put at the ready.

“Anything Private?”

“Uhh, just some freaky kid eating jam sir!”

There’s further grumbling, before the collection of voices goes quiet. A few more cracks sound out as other doors are kicked, the stomping gets further and further away. What feels like minutes pass as he waits for the sound of their return, but there’s only the creak of the probably broken front door closing, and the soft padding of bare feet back to the cupboard door. When it opens, the blinding light turns the kid into a silhouette, so he squints to focus. The bright aqua eyes become clear first, slit pupils darting about as they look him over. His dark skin and short brown hair contrast against the bright greens he’s dressed in, but he can’t take in more details as the child darts away.

His injuries weight on him, the aches holding him down. He has to keep moving, but giving it a few minutes to let the hunting group move on begins to sound like a nice plan. He didn’t even realise his eyes had closed until the light in the cupboard changed again, and he forces them open. The child holds something out, a handful of gauze.

“…hu, thanks?”

“Blar-h!”

The grin returns, exposing the lines of the child’s lower mandibles and countless pointy teeth. The closest thing he could match it to was the face of a sangheili, but he didn’t care to dwell on why a child looked like that. He pressed the gauze to the holes in his chest, and reasoned for just a few minutes rest before he’d move on.

..........

After a long day at work, the last thing Tucker had wanted to see was a fully armed SWAT team hanging out in front of his apartment building.

Sure, out on the edge of space this shitty colony, built on an equally shitty rock was exactly the palace that attracted the dangerous kind of person. And those dangerous people would get up to the kind of trouble that would require particular force, but why did it have to be by his house.

They don’t try to stop him entering, just giving him a look over as he ignores every other antsy resident and goes directly to his front door. Which, to his gut-wrenching horror, is slightly ajar and barely on its hinges.

“Junior?”

Everything is quiet. He can’t help but reach for the knife on the back of his belt.

“Junior, kiddo?”

The door shifts awkwardly as he pushes in, and the first thing his eyes fall on are the red drops on the carpet-

“Junior?! Answer me buddy.”

“Grah!”

He relaxes as he spots his son, charging him arms outstretched, jam still in hand and all over his face.

“Geesus don’t scare me like that. What happened to the door? And what’s all this mess?”

He grabs Junior around the waist before the boy’s sticky fingers could get to him.

“Really? What have I said about eating from the jar?”

With a sigh he carried Junior into the kitchen, sitting him down by the skin and prying the jar out of his hands. Dampening a cloth, he begins rubbing away the mess from the small, four fingered hands. Then he feels metal against his neck.

“Don’t move.” A hand fumbles for the knife on his belt, freeing it after a few seconds. “Is this the only weapon on you?”

“And people call me out for being too handsy.”

The knife pressed harder.

“I’ve bled through the bandages your kid gave me. Where do you keep more?”

“Bathroom.” Tucker jerked his head back towards the closest door, thankful to pull away from the blade at the same time, “That door behind us.”

The person behind him is close. Close enough he can hear laboured breaths, the warmth blowing past the top of his head. For the longest moment, no one moves.

“Uh, you want me to grab it?”

“No. Just, don’t move.”

The knife and body behind him pull away. Tucker can’t help but glance over his shoulder at the stranger in his house. The man was clearly a head taller than himself, even as he hobbled towards the bathroom. Blond and grey hair was cropped military style, and his skin was littered in scars which made channels for the blood to travel as it dripped from his wounds. Despite the amount of blood which he’d clearly lost, the look in the man’s eyes was still one that showed he was ready to fight. He stepped carefully into the bathroom, still eyeing Tucker cautiously the entire time.  

With a small sigh, Tucker returned to cleaning the jam from Junior, having accepted that so long as the mas wasn’t trying to kill either of them, he could live with some criminal stealing his first-aid. Junior himself seem whole unfazed by the situation, humming softly as he looked around the room.

“You’re a lil trouble magnet, aren’t ya?”

“Grh?” The boy tilted his head.

“Cute eyes won’t save you. Don’t take in strangers, it’s a bad habit to pick up.”

As he moved to wash his own hands, the bloodied man re-emerged from the bathroom, bandaids and bandages covering any open wounds.

...............

-Tucker quickly finishes cleaning Junior. When Wash exits the bathroom, he’s clearly having trouble breathing and asks for a moment, falling to his hands and knees (junior licks a cut on his head, Tucker berates him licking strange blood), eventually he managed to drag himself away. Tucker laments about having to clean the blood.

-Tucker hears the SWAT return from his window, and against his better judgement, he goes and finds the man slumped in the stairwell. He drags him back to the cupboard.

-The SWAT come to his apartment, questioning. He’s cleaned most of the blood, and they thankfully don’t go hunting through all of the rooms. They show him a picture of the suspect, and hand a phone number to report to. He does his best to show no recognition of the picture even if the version he’d seen was covered in blood and bruises.

-Once he regains consciousness, Tucker asks the man what he did, seeing how he was in no shape to fight, but Wash just says he knows things they don’t want him leaking. He wanted to get to a trusted source so the info could get to the correct authorities. Seeing the amount of blood loss, Tucker guesses the man won’t last the night. He moves away, and Junior gets in close, licking the larger chest wound. The man is kinda terrified of the half alien, but suddenly sees the wound clot. Tucker returns and offers aspirin or alcohol for the pain, then berates Junior for licking the stranger again. He leaves the two items with the man and moves off.

-He goes downstairs only to find the building in lock down as they hunt the suspect. He complains about what he’ll feed his kid, and they throw him two rations.

-He returns and watches the man from the corner of his eye, seeing as he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness. He ends up sharing the last of his food with the man after Junior tries poking some at him.

-The lock down lasts for most of the day, so he has to call into work just in case he can’t leave. He checks on the man every few hours, and is honesty surprised he isn’t dead from blood loss. He sits and tries to get a bit more information from him, but all he says is that his ribs are probably broken and he’s struggling to breath. Tucker knows there’s no way to get him to doctor, and he doesn’t have the money for a home visit.

-Tucker leaves for work in the evening once lock down is over. He leaves a glass of water and reluctantly puts Junior in charge of watching the house, to which the child trills.

-At work he meets Donut, who says that the lock down was because of a crazy ex-military guy on the run. When Tucker questions the crazy part, apparently the guy escaped from a mental institution on the far side of town. Dread sets in at the information, only soothed by how immobile the guy was. Then he asks about Donuts boyfriend, who was nicknamed Doc. Donut doesn’t know exactly how much medical training he finished but he knows some things. Tucker says he’s got a case who can’t leave the apartment. Donut says he’ll bring him over, and even bake something for him and Junior, questioning what the kid eats.

-When Tucker gets home, Junior is asleep outside the cupboard, a defence line of toys set up. Tucker puts him to bed. Then he checks on the man.

….

“He was adamant he had to guard me.”

“Is that so? When did you learn the growl language?” The man’s face twisted with some amusement. Tucker lent on the door frame, staring down at the man. “Listen, an acquaintance knows a guy who might have some medical know how, but before he gets here, I need to ask you something.”

“Mmh?”

“They’re saying you escaped from the loonybin.”

“Oh, so they choose to disclose that.”

“So it’s true?”

His face distorted, either from the conversation or how he tried to readjust himself.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well I’m not going anywhere, and you’re certainly not going anywhere.”

His chest shuddered as he tried to take a full breath.

“Well?”

“I’m not going to fly off the rails and attack you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s part of it…”

The conversation didn’t continue, and the man’s face warped in further discomfort, his breaths rapid and shallow. With a sigh. Tucker closed the door, wedged a chair in front of it, and went to bed for a few hours rest.

 .............

-Tucker wakes up to an eager Junior and a text from Dount saying they’d be around soon. He makes breakfast and ignore the jammed door. When Dount arrives he scoops up Junior, and Doc from over his shoulder makes a curious remark about the alien hybrid. Tucker ushers them inside and Dount brings out the banana bread.

-When Doc questions about the patient, Tucker makes them swear not to overreact or freak out, all while moving the chair to block the front door. He opens the cupboard and the two look in, Doc being mortified at the sight. Dount guesses that it’s the guy the authorities have been hunting, and Tucker admits to that.

“Why haven’t you turned him in?”

“I’ve been avoiding asking myself that.”

-He forces Doc to check him over, else he’ll lock him in there too. Tucker and Dount chat in the meanwhile.

-Eventually Doc moves away, looking quite shaken, and says he’s got a prognosis. Broken ribs, extreme blood loss, bruising and swelling (and possibly breaks/fractures) to the right forearm, left knee, collar bone and face. Even if he gets his strength back, nothing will heal right without a trip to the hospital. Which Tucker reiterates he can’t afford, nor would bringing in a criminal do any good. Doc asks why he hasn’t turned him over to the authorities. He looks to the phone number, then back to the broken man in the cupboard, who squints out at him from a black eye that’s gotten darker.

“Again, what can we do for him? No hospitals.”

Doc sighed, “Uh, well we can splint the possible breaks, use ice to bring the swelling down, and make sure he eats and drinks. Rest will be best cure and the way to keep his pain down.”

“We’ll do that then. I’ll go find something for splints.”

Tucker moved away. Donut just gave a small shrug and turned to Junior, looking to entertain the child away from the possible criminal. Doc frowned, reluctantly moving back to the closet.

“Now before I give you anything, I need to ask if you’re allergic -”

Suddenly there’s a knife near his neck, and despite being held in the swollen hand it was barely shaking.

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to cut me open and get this shrapnel out of me.”

“I’m what?!”

Doc froze, terror surging through him. He didn’t doubt the injured man could kill him on the spot, and the fact he was asking him to perform surgery, in a cupboard, was not and more reassuring.

“I doubt the other three want to see harm to you, or that you want to watch me hurt the others.”

“I really don’t, but what you’re asking-“

The knife pressed harder.

“Alright alright uh…”

Doc moved his large first aid kit closer, twisting to look through it once the knife was removed. This was beyond anything he’d ever tried, but with a threat against himself, Donut, Junior and the idiot who was sheltering the criminal, he felt he only had one choice.

“I’d suggest biting down on this. And please try not to stab me while I’m working.”

He passed him a roll of bandage, which he took and placed in his mouth, before bracing himself. Doc slipped on the latex gloves and fished out the long tweezers and scissors, eyeing the sharpness of the latter. Scalpels were not a staple of kits, but he wasn’t too sure scissors would do the same job. He eye’d the knife still in the man’s hand.

“…You don’t happen to have a clean one of those?”

He got a look back of ‘Seriously?’, but after a moment he did pull out another from beside himself, perfectly clean with a bright aqua handle. Doc nervously took the knife but masked the shaking of his hand by moving swiftly to the wound. The shirt he’d been wearing was damaged, so he cut it away to expose his whole chest. There were a few clear entry wounds, and a few spots that were too covered in blood to clearly tell. Doc took a deep breath and got to work.

...............

-Donut notices the pained noises from the closet and leans in to help, a bit freaked out and confused, but understanding. As he plucks the twisted metal out the man passes out. Donut has to thread the needle as Doc is shaking, more blood leaking out again.

Tucker is mortified at the sight, then pissed that the man threatened Doc, and then worried about all that blood again. They splint what that can and leave him be. Donut says he really needs to think about what he’s doing with the criminal. He and Doc leave, and Tucker spends the rest of the day wondering.

Two nights later the man manages to drag himself out to the bathroom and changes his bandages.

Finding the man properly awake the next day, Tucker asks for recompense. He’s quiet for a moment, before saying that once he can move, he can play guard dog, protecting him and his son, as well as looking after the house. Once he’s able to leave and find his contact he says he can offer monetary repayment. Tucker stares at him, knowing he could get that from the bounty. But something stops him so he nods.

Things don’t improve as the man’s condition suddenly goes downhill. He shows symptoms of phenomena, and Tucker is now digging further into him life savings to try get him some antibiotics. During the haze of this time Tucker learns some more about the man, mostly through delirious muttering and trying to stop him for screaming. He hears the man call himself Washington, but then catches the name David as well. Other people are mentioned, and some are screamed for, but out of it all Tucker is more confused about the whole situation.

Miraculously Wash takes a turn for the better, and even starts breathing better.

Time continues, until Tucker is approached at work.

“Hey, your place is on the north side, right?”

He laments how ex-military types seem to drift towards each other in this colony, but it is a good place to just disappear. He thinks how even ignoring the man’s size, he doesn’t know how Grif lasted even one day in the military. Turns out he’s asking because there’s some work out north, but he wanted a place to crash that was closer.

“And let you anywhere near my fridge? Yeah right.”

“Oh ha ha.”

He actually offers to pay to stay, since the job should pay well. Tucker is torn since money is tight while feeding an extra mouth and buying bandages and painkillers.

“How long?”

“A few days a week, but it’d just be to sleep. I’ll be outa your hair any other time.”

He agrees. The first night he shows up its fine, he tells him to keep quiet not to wake Junior, shows him the bathroom, and tells him not to go in the cupboard else he be buried in trash. Grif says he can relate.

The second night is fine too, and Grif is out like a light and leaves as soon as his alarm goes off. The third night comes around, but Grif is restless. Tucker is on night shift and Junior is growling in his sleep. He gets up and cheekily checks the fridge, feeling rather sorry at the small selection. As he resigns himself to just lie, he spies light from the closed bathroom. He holds as still as he can, listening. It’s all quiet, and he wonders if he just left it on. He holds for a few more seconds, before the bedroom door opens and Junior emerges. He trudges into the kitchen and makes a demanding grunt. After a lot of grumbling Grif correctly fetches a cup for water with a straw, the they both return to bed. The next day Tucker notices the Wash use the bathroom during the day. And he suggests a lock on the fridge. “I fucking knew that fat-ass would go looking.” Tuckers secret guest stays hidden for the time being.

-While on shift, Grif realises his wallet is gone, which contains his ID and legal papers. Unable to skimp on work again, he asks Simmons to go fetch it, because it’s still probably under the couch pillow at Tuckers. Having managed to drag himself to said couch, Wash entertains Junior while Tucker is out. He hears someone approaching, their steps uneven as there’s more weight to one side. Going on alert he puts himself next to the door with Junior. The person stops, knocks and calls out, and then just opens the door whispering ‘wallet’. Wash puts a knife to his neck the moment he steps in and Simmons freezes, arms raised.

“Ohshitohgeezpleasedonthurtme!”

The knife is a steady weight, but shifts slightly.

“It’s quite rude to just burst into someone’s home. What are you doing here?”

“G-Grif sent me. H-he left his wallet.” A finger cautiously points to the couch.

“Grif. Figures.”

“You know- OW.”

Momentarily forgetting the knife, Simmons looked down to find the strange child who kicked him in the shin.

“That’s was uncalled for you little bastard.”

“Thanks for the support Junior. Now are we going to have a problem here?”

Simmons turned his head fully, catching a look at the man.

“Who are you?”

“That’s on a need to know basis. And you really don’t need to know.”

“Wait, you’re not that crazy ex-merc that the military is after, are you? Dount said something about him being around here.”

“Junior, remind me to kill the guy in pink next time I see him.”

“Blarg!”

“Kill?!”

“I’m in every mind just to kill you as well. Though I don’t want to cause Tucker any more problems…”

“I won’t say anything I swear! Nothing at all! I came in, got the wallet, and left!”

Wash stares him down, then narrows his eyes, putting the knife up to the left side of Simmons face, almost in his eye.

“Who stores your optical data?”

“You can tell?”

“Who?”

“Th-The UNSC provided the hardware, but my boss Sarge handles the software and upgrades. All his own development, stored locally and wiped daily.”

(AFTER HERE WE ENTER IDEA LAND. NOT ENDING WE SUFFER LIKE REAL FIC WRITERS.)

Wash notices Tucker is injured, and skipping meals and how Junior hardly gets time with his dad, and the guilt sets in. He didn’t ask to be sheltered and cared for, but he had been imposing for quite some weeks.

The next time Donut visits he says he’s going to turn himself in, but he wants someone to claim the bounty and give it to Tucker. Donut berates him, asking why he thinks Tucker didn’t turn him in in the first place. Wash can’t answer, so Donut says hes caused the trouble so he needs to pay for it. Find a way to pay him back.

.......

(Plot thread A - The Church AI)

Wash is in the Bathroom when he hears two sets of heavy and fast footsteps, and as always he goes on high alert, until the door slams open and someone shouts “Hey looser!” to which Tucker shouts back “Oh for fucks sake, it’s headache 1 and headache 2. Can’t I just have one relaxing day to myself?”.

The strangers must be 'friends’ as someone starts talking about 'stupid tucker’ and saying how he looked like shit. Wash peered out to get a look, only to freeze at the hauntingly familiar face of one of the intruders. He loses his footing, the thump startling the guests. When they ask what that was, Tucker says it’s a guest who’s been renting his couch, and that he better check on them. Inside he finds Wash pale and wide eyed. He asks what’s wrong, and Wash asks back how he knows those people. “What, Church and Caboose? We were in the same squad for a while. Why, you know them?”

He knows Church, Leonard Church. Technically, he knows several Church’s, but he’s uncomfortable at the sight of this one. Against better judgement he exits the bathroom and marches right up to Church, staring him down. Church comments on the type of weirdos Tucker is letting in his house. Wash stares hard and realises the man in front of him is synthetic, fake in the same way Simmons left side was. And when he doesn’t show to recognise him, he asks;

“Which one are you?”

“Which what? Tucker who the hell is this cryptic bastard?”

Tucker tries to pull him away.

“Does the word Alpha mean anything to you?”

“Uh, I was stations at Blood Gulch outpost Alpha when I met these two idiots.”

….....

(Plot thread B - The military’s interest in Junior)

-Tucker gets a letter in the mail, and immediately sours at the sight of the UNSC stamp. Wash asks if it’s another bill, and Tucker jokes he’d rather it be. It is a reminder of Juniors 6 monthly check up, to monitor the growth of the unique hybrid. Junior growls at the mention.

“Yeah, I know you hate it too.”

Wash is wary that the UNSC is keeping tabs on Tucker, but when he tries to press the why it’s clear he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it. The trip and testing take a whole day, and near the end Junior has fallen asleep in Tuckers arms. The doctor comes along and says the blood results have come in, and the higher office wants to try some hormone injections to try even out Juniors growth. Experimental of course and done over several days. Tucker refuses, saying they’re both tired and if Junior isn’t in immediate danger then he doesn’t want to do more harm. The doctor stares him down, but eventually relents. It’s late when he returns, so he puts Junior to bed and goes hunting for food.

“How’d it go?”

He has a small laugh at Wash being in the closet again.

“What, it’s comforting.” Tucker makes him scoot and they both sit together.

-Then it’s finally Wash’s turn to ask why Tucker never turned him in, Tucker admits it’s not quite clear. However, what he does know is that when he first saw him, he related to him. Scared for his life, up against the military, but still fighting to live on. It was how he felt when the military started treating him and Junior as experiments. He says he was offered a job as an ambassador, the cliche 'sire of a hybrid to bridge peace and understanding’. He ran from it in fear they’d both just be used as puppets in military and political affairs. But now he wonders if it would have been better, to live in comfort and shelter, a proper education for Junior and connection to his alien heritage.

(That was a cute end point, but never enough self indulgence)

-Wash’s paranoid nature is a God send at times. He starts noticing regular and unusual foot steps, often before or after Tucker leaves, until one day they are way too close for comfort. One set stops at what are the stairs down, and the other lighter set comes right up to the door. Wash hides Junior in the cupboard and puts himself behind the couch. The mystery person knocks, waits, and then enters. Peering out the man doesn’t look at big of a threat, save for the gun, knives and arrogance in his stance. He mumbles something about a 'brat’, so it’s clear he’s after Junior. Wash watches him as he surveys the room, then checks the bedroom. He’s in two minds of trying to fight the man, who likely has backup outside, or to run. The main window is in the kitchen and is thankfully on a fire escape, but is locked and would have to be broken. He justifies Juniors protection over the window cost. While the man rifles through the bedroom, grumbling, he moves as stealthy as possible to fetch Junior, quietly opening the door, kneeling and lifting his slinged arm up, Junior getting the idea to climb up onto his chest. The man exits the bedroom just as he adjust Junior, so Wash pivots, throws a chair and dives out the window. He jumps to the external ladder and aims to get out as fast as possible. The intruder swears and shouts for his partner. His leg is still stiff from disuse, and with only one arm he teeters one to many times for Juniors comfort. When he hits the ground, he spares a moment to look up, and sees the intruder following down, before a sniper shot gets much to close for comfort.

(Plot thread C - Wash tries to get his information out)

-Finally able to move, Wash goes hunting for a contact. He knows most probably went underground while he was being hunted but goes to find one locally now the heat is off. Unfortunately he finds Maine, and while Wash thinks it’s great to see an old friend, he doesn’t know the man is back under the projects thumb.

-At a similar time, Tucker overhears two guys at the bar mention Wash. When it seems to be friendly in nature, he pokes his nose in. York and North are over the moons to hear about their old friend.

(You thought the whump was over? Think again me!)

Wash is sorely outmatched by Maine, who knocks him unconscious and takes him back to the project. Tucker can’t wait to tell him that he found his old contacts but Wash never returns home. He calls up York and North in concern, and the two say they’ll look into it.

After more silence, they come back with bad news. This is something serious, so just forget about it (And why are you so worked up? What was he to you?)

(WHAM BAM HIT ME WITH THAT TIME LONGING TIME)

A few years later, when news of a mystery hunter stalking old Freelancer ties, things get busy on the little old planet again.

-Tucker convinces the Reds to rig him a ship so he can go out hunting.

-After those years Junior isn’t with him anymore? Either due to medical reasons or Tucker falling for the ‘better life options’

(Or pussy out and give them a happy ending before the time leap) (BUT NOT WITHOUT MORE DRAMA)

Where Tucker goes and saves Wash himself but gets help from everyone along the way. The mercenaries come back and get a hold of Junior, but Junior gives them the slip when they come up against Maine. Junior latches onto Maine, who doesn’t really know what to do, so he brings him back. The Councillor is suitably confused at the new addition. So guess who the little half-human finds partly brain-washed?

[donutdarwin]

RvB Fluff Week: Day Two - Docnut (1)

A second Docnut to come later in the day!

Prompt: Doc is fucking clueless and Donut is trying so fucking hard.

“If it means you’ll shut the fuck up, then just fucking tell him. I guarantee he’s not going to hate you for it.”

“Aww, Grif, I didn’t know you were so supportive!”

“I’m not. I’m just really tired of hearing it.”

“Wow, you really give me a boost when I need it, don’t you? I should come to you more often!”

“Please go away.”

Donut would happily oblige. Today was the day- Doc was about to learn the truth of his feelings. Here we go, oh, yes, this is it. The day. Donut pretended he wasn’t nervous and strode confidently down the ramp and out of the base. He wished the Blood Gulch humidity would let up; this would go so much more smoothly if he could style his hair and flaunt his most charming smile. Then he’d be irresistible, and Frank DuFresne would fall right into his arms.

Donut rode his fake confidence right into the cave. Nothing to be nervous about- it was Doc, and even if he didn’t reciprocate, he’d still be nice about it. That was part of what Donut liked about him. Frank was always so understanding, and sweet, and comforting, and- alright, Franklin, don’t get carried away.

He reached the place in the caves where Frank stayed and paused. When Frank wasn’t immediately apparent, it made Donut a little nervous- but then he came out from an alcove in the rock, adjusting a t-shirt he’d evidently just put on.

“Oh, hey, Donut,” Frank greeted him. “I didn’t even hear you come in!”

“I know! I come so quietly!” Wrong word choice for the occasion. Need to work on that. Moving forward. “So, Frank, I needed to talk to you about something.”

Frank had been about to sit down to some paperwork, but looked up at this, concern lifting his eyebrows. “Are you okay? Is it a medical problem?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Donut said, suavely sliding into the nearest seat and propping his head on his fist. If he just had his helmet off- he could do perfect puppy dog eyes- but his flipping hair would look so awful. Now it would be helmet hair on top of unstyled and frizzy from humidity. God, hitting on someone was so much easier outside of this canyon. “It’s a bit more personal.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not really a psychologist-” “No, Doc,” Donut interrupted, feigning a laugh. “It’s not that serious. Come sit down.”

Frank obliged, sitting in the seat across from Donut and facing him with open, friendly brown eyes. And dammit, those brown eyes just muddled Donut’s brain! How was he supposed to think when faced with such pretty eyes?

“Okay,” Donut said, steadying himself. Focus on the mission, D. “So, I was thinking about maybe setting up a nice candlelit dinner on the roof of the base, say, around sunset, and thought maybe you’d like to come along.”

“Oh,” Frank said, surprise curving his lips to a smile. Finally! Donut thought, smiling behind his visor. “Well, I actually have a lot of paperwork to do, I’m sorry. I don’t really have time for a party.”

Paperwork? Did he just get rejected!? But then the rest of Frank’s sentence processed- a party. Damn- he’d completely missed that it was supposed to be a date!

“Oh, well, it was just a small thing anyway,” Donut said, recovering quickly. “Maybe some other time? Add a little mood music, watch the sun set, maybe put on some nice clothes…?”

Frank glanced down at himself. “Oh, I- that sounds nice and everything- but all I really have is my PT clothes and my armor.”

Donut suppressed a frustrated and overdramatic groan. Just say yes! “Oh, well, that’s fine. You don’t have to dress up. Just- be there or be square! I’ll plan another time and let you know when, okay?”

Donut rose from the table as Frank smiled and said, “Thanks! Sorry to be an inconvenience-”

“You’re not,” Donut assured him quickly. He strode out of the cave embarrassed and frustrated. How had he messed that up so badly!? Maybe he was out of practice? Sent out the wrong signals? A party- as if any of the uncultured swines in this canyon could appreciate a candlelit picnic!

---

The next day, Donut owed Grif the world. He’d finally convinced Grif to feign illness- surprisingly easy once Donut implied Sarge might give him the day off- to get Frank down to the base so Donut could talk to him again. Grif moaned and groaned from his bed as Simmons let out an exasperated huff and headed out for double-duty. (Donut couldn’t help Simmons, obviously, because Grif was dying and needed a nurse-maid, and really, wasn’t Donut best suited for that?)

“I heard you’re dying?”

Frank walked into Grif’s mess of a room to find Donut, in PT clothes since it was, really, all he had besides his armor, too, hair styled, perched on the edge of Grif’s bed. Donut flipped the cold rag he held to Grif’s forehead.

“He seemed pretty ill,” Donut said, voice dripping sympathy. “I gave him some chamomile tea and had him eat some soup with peppers in it. Have you had my chicken soup, Doc? It’s a miracle-worker, really. I think you’d like it. Maybe we should eat some together sometime…?”

Frank chuckled as he walked in and knelt next to Grif’s bed. “Is there something wrong with my diet? This is the second time you’ve tried to convince me to eat something else.”

OH MY- this oblivious idiot! Donut couldn’t believe this was the guy driving him this crazy. But then he saw Frank skillfully check Grif’s all vitals in about a whole minute and remembered Frank’s power of observation was uncanny. Except in social situations. Maybe- oh god, Donut didn’t even want to think it- maybe Frank was…

Straight.

Donut suppressed a shudder. No, that couldn’t be it. He’d just have to be more direct.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, since you’re the more competent doctor,” Donut said, rising to his feet.

“I’m not actually a doctor, I’m a medic-”

“Oh, just take a compliment!”

Donut excused himself with a quick smile and left to pace the halls. Dammit, why wasn’t this working!? He would have to just- just come out and say it- the truth, the full truth, nothing but the truth. He mentally prepped as Frank finished up checking Grif, and when the medic emerged from Grif’s room, Donut paused his pacing and waited for Frank to approach.

“He’s alright, probably just a cold,” Frank said. “Which doesn’t make sense in this canyon, but… What do I know.”

Not how to take a hint. Donut smiled. “Oh, good! So he’ll be fine?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s probably mostly faking it.”

“Good! Hey, Doc, I wanted to tell you something.”

He longed to reach and take Frank’s hand, and settled on laying his hand on Frank’s upper arm. Medics have muscles? Really? Even pacifists? Donut wouldn’t complain.

“Oh, what is it?”

“I really like you,” Donut said, relieved to finally have the truth out. “A lot.”

“Oh- oh, I like you, too, Donut.”

His heart sang. “Really!?”

“Yeah! You have great style and you’re great to talk to. I’m really glad we’re friends!”

Holy shit!

“Anyway, call me if you need anything.”

Frank walked out of the base and Donut watched him go, stunned, a smile frozen on his face. Holy shit. That just happened. Dear God. Was there no salvation for him?

“Dude.” Grif’s head appeared in his doorway. “Ice. Cold.”

---

There was only one thing more direct than Donut outright saying he liked Frank to his face. His heart pounded as he lounged on his bed, propped on his elbow, constantly readjusting his legs. Frank had said if he needed anything to call, and he needed Frank to understand how he felt.

So he was laying naked on his bed after calling Frank to come back down to Red Base. Day three of Operation: Confess Love to Doc. Day three mustn’t be a failure.

How did women make this look sexy in movies? Donut had no idea what to do with his legs. Cross them? Bend them? Straight out? One bent, one straight?

And just like that, he chickened out.

Sheer idiocy had driven him to this point. He had to face it: Frank was straight, or wasn’t, but definitely wasn’t interested. Donut’s best work on his hair had meant nothing. And if outright saying I really like you a lot didn’t drop a hint, then it’s because the other person wasn’t looking to pick up hints. And honestly- presenting himself naked? What a whore move. And honestly, if Frank wasn’t interested, then that made Donut a creep and a pervert, and he wasn’t down for that. It had been a stupid idea. It had been a Tucker-quality idea. And Donut was better than Tucker-quality ideas.

Donut pulled on his underwear, pulled on his shorts, tugged a shirt back on, and collapsed onto his bunk, arms folded under his head, face to the wall. The operation had failed, and Operation: Mope Until You Absolutely Have To Get The Fuck Over It began.

The door to his room opened and he heard Frank’s painfully familiar voice, “Donut? You called?” He sounded a little more concerned than he should’ve been. “Is it an emergency? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Donut mumbled from his pillow. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sounded pretty desperate on the phone.”

Donut snorted. Of course he did. Only someone truly desperate would attempt what he almost did. “It’s fine now. Sorry to bother you.”

“You never bother me. We- we’re friends.” Frank sat on the edge of the bed and Donut winced at his closeness. That wasn’t helping Operation: Mope Until- he really needed an acronym- Operation: MUYAHTGTFOI. “Donut, what’s going on? You seem kinda depressed.”

Donut sighed and rolled over onto his back, reluctantly facing Frank (and messing up his hair). “I’ve been trying to tell you for three days that I like you. As more than a friend. And I thought you’d pick up on it, after all the subtle flirting for the past six months, but then you didn’t, and I thought, God, I must be an idiot, you probably didn’t even feel that way- especially if you didn’t notice-”

“Wait, what? You like me!?”

Donut paused. “Uh- duh?”

“Holy shit!”

And it was a very different tone than yesterday when Donut thought Frank friend-zoned him. Donut’s jaw dropped. He leaned up on an elbow, eyebrows rocketing up. “You really didn’t know!?”

“What, no! You’re the hottest guy here, I didn’t think I stood a chance!”

“What the fudge! I couldn’t have made it more obvious!”

“Couldn’t have- Donut, I had no idea! I didn’t even know you liked guys!”

Donut dropped back onto the bed, scrunching his hands over his face. “Oh, my God, you’re oblivious!” He threw his hands off his face to send another incredulous expression to Frank. “How did you not know I like guys!? I speak exclusively in gay double-entendres!”

“Not as much around me- I just thought you did that piss off homophobes!”

“Wait, wait, wait, okay, hold up.” Donut ran his hands over his face, and then half-sat up again, running a quick hand through his hair to smooth it. “So- does this- does this mean you like me?”

“Uh- duh?”

“Well, what the frick! Let’s go on a date! Candlelit picnic? My place? Around sunset?”

“That was you asking me on a date?”

“How many non-romantic candlelit picnics at sunset have you been on?” Donut deadpanned, 1000% done.

“Good point.”

Donut sat up, laughter bubbling out, mirthful and exasperated. “Alright- so, I’ll see you tonight. This is way better than how I saw any of this going an hour ago.”

“What did you see an hour ago?”

“Oh- nothing. Let’s not talk about that. So, sunset? Sound good?”

Frank just laughed. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“You know it’s a date, right? Like the romantic kind?”

“Yeah, I get it now-”

“I might try to kiss you, not as friends-”

“Okay, Donut, I get-”

“It’s not platonic.” “I get it now, okay!?”

Donut laughed and kissed Frank’s cheek. “Okay.”

[secretlystephaniebrown]

The Sacrifice Part I: Bargain

Summary: When Felix comes back from the dead, Locus makes a deal with the devil to keep the Reds and Blues safe.

The Reds and Blues assume that Locus betrayed them, until they uncover the truth. But they might be too late to save Locus.

Right, so buckle in folks, this will be a rough one.

After I finished "Deprivation", I told myself I'd take a break from angst. And then a few friends of mine started throwing around some ideas for a Locus whump concept (you know who you are), and I couldn't resist. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got LONG, so I've broken it up a bit. Should hopefully be a three-parter. We'll see.

Please read the warnings; things are going to get worse from here (check Ao3 for details). Decide for yourself if you can handle this; if you need details, PM me on Tumblr and I'll let you know things so you can make an informed decision about your reading experience.

Special thanks to @birdsbeesandlemonadetrees for being my beta on this project!

Warnings for chapter 1: discussed character death and torture. Implied/background pairings include Tuckington, Grimmons, Docnut, and some possible Lucker pining can be read.

On Ao3

Locus doesn’t intend to follow the Reds and Blues back to their new home, but it’s how things turn out. Washington survives his injuries, the reporter goes off to find new stories, and the Reds and Blues retreat to their moon.

And Locus, outside of his better judgement, goes with them.

They accept him, which is surprising. He expected that he would be lurking in corners for a while, before they turned on him and threw him out. But that is not how they chose to operate.

Instead, they give him a room and a place, as long as he agrees to follow these rules.

1)     He is not supposed to leave the moon without the others.

2)     He is not supposed to contact people from his mercenary days

3)     He is not to hurt anyone, except for sparring sessions

4)     He must cook dinner on Friday nights

Locus accepts these conditions easily enough. He thinks it will be temporary; until they embark upon their next adventure or until he is called away.

But instead, he stays. He spends his days sword fighting with Tucker and sparring with Carolina. He spends time with Grif and Caboose, and allows himself to be subjected to numerous “treatments” at the hands of Donut, which tend to involve creams on his face.

It’s simple and calm and confusing, but Locus finds himself enjoying it. The Reds and Blues are oddly kind to him, and there is something contagious about their antics. Locus has no right to it, but… there is something almost like home, here.

Six months into this however, things change.

Because Felix comes back from the dead.

In Locus’ dreams, Felix always comes back with a laugh and a blade in his hand.

He’s never really gone away, not to Locus. He’s always there, in the corner of his eye, whispering poisonous thoughts into his ear, miming violent gestures towards the Reds and Blues as Locus falls into these strange patterns alongside them. Even in death, Felix has entrenched himself so thoroughly into Locus’ mind and soul that he knows that he will never be free.  

So when Felix comes back in reality, his fingernails digging into Locus’ cheek as he clasps one hand over his mouth and the knife digs into his throat, it takes a moment for Locus to realize that he’s really there.

He reacts with a lurch, reaching for a weapon, but the blade digs into his throat and Felix makes a soft noise to hush him.

“Calm down, it’s me,” Felix says, and for a single dizzying moment, Locus thinks that the last few years have been a dream, that they’re back on Chorus, that—

And then he sees the scars on Felix’s face; ragged, unhealed lines, lines that look like—

They look like the scars someone might get if they fall off a cliff and their helmet shattered against their face upon impact.

Locus freezes up, staring at the nightmare unfurling above him with wide eyes and a racing heart. Felix laughs in a ghost of his old one; it’s bitter and short and cruel sounding. “Don’t scream, or you die,” he whispers against Locus’ ear, his breath hot against his skin. Panic builds in Locus’ chest, wanting nothing more than to get away, to run, to wake up.

But this is not a dream, and Locus doesn’t scream when Felix removes his hand from his mouth.

“How?” Locus whispers. This is Felix, almost exactly as he had been when he died, with only those new scars to assure him that things have changed. The weight of him is familiar, the grin on his face is familiar; it’s all horribly, intimately familiar, but now there is danger. And Locus might have known about the danger before, but now he cares.  

“What?” Felix traces Locus’ cheek gently with the knife. Locus holds himself stock-still, but Felix doesn’t break the skin on his face, although he feels something damp on his throat. It’s not deep enough to kill him, just enough to be a reminder. “Did you really think I didn’t have a plan in place for my death?” He smiles, the expression a parody of kindness. “Of course, I didn’t think you would be the one setting me up for the firing squad.”

Locus reacts without thinking. Felix is out of armor and the knife is just far enough away from anywhere vital. It gives Locus the opening he needs to grab Felix’s head in his hands and snap his neck. Locus has done this action a thousand times, and in that moment, it’s no different. He twists, and there’s a horrible crack, and for a moment Locus thinks it’s over. He has averted a disaster before it could occur; now all that is left to do is to find the Reds and Blues and try to figure out how this all happened—

And then Felix, instead of crumpling in a lifeless heap on top of Locus, starts to laugh. He grabs Locus’ hands and pulls them up to the headboard, and before Locus can even think to fight back, there’s the snap of handcuffs, and he’s trapped.

“This isn’t possible,” Locus says, feeling numb. Felix grabs his own head between his hands and readjusts it, until—

“Don’t think too hard, Locs, you were never good at that.”

Locus growls at the insult and the horrifying absurdity of the scene above him. “You should be dead.”

“Twice! And don’t think you’re not going to pay for that second one.” For a moment, Locus thinks he can smell death and decay, thinks that a corpse is what is in his room. But the moment passes, and all he can smell is Felix’s expensive cologne and his own blood. “I took a few precautions. Let’s just say that Tucker won’t get lucky this time.”

“No,” Locus breathes, panic settling in. He opens his mouth to scream, to warn them, but what’s the point, if Felix can’t be killed?

“Just be a good little soldier, and stay there until I go kill those other idiots,” Felix says, getting off the bed to loom over him, still smirking. Locus tries to lunge upward, but the handcuffs hold him back. “Do you have a favorite? I promise to kill that one slow.”

“No,” he snarls, pulling at the chain, hoping beyond hopes it will snap. He can’t let Felix go to find the others, can’t let him hurt them.

Felix stares at him a moment, then he starts to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

“You care,” he marvels, reaching forward to cup Locus’ jaw. Locus tries to flinch away, but there’s no room to move. The cuffs clink together uselessly, and he knows, given time, he could find the right angle to break the headboard, but he also knows that Felix won’t give him that kind of time. “They broke you, didn’t they?”

“They helped me,” Locus protests, yanking at the handcuffs again.

“I’m sure they did,” Felix laughs, a sound so horrifyingly familiar that Locus does not know how to handle it. “Tell you what, partner. Let’s bargain.”

And so, handcuffed to his bed, a dead partner above him, Locus makes a deal with the devil.

“What do you want?” Locus asks. Part of him knows, and he’s torn between the numb acceptance and the waves of terror that battle inside of him.

“What a good question,” Felix muses. “I want Lavernius Tucker to pay for that grenade. I want those idiots to suffer. And I want you to die alone, like I did. So how do I get all of those?” Suddenly, he’s straddling Locus’ chest again. “Do they trust you?” He demands, and his eyes are alight, like he’s just gotten an idea. “Those idiots. Do they trust you?”

“I won’t hurt them,” Locus says, feeling nauseated at the very idea. A traitorous part of him wonders if he would hurt them, even kill a few of them, to save the rest, and he’s terrified that Felix will push him to find out.  

“Shh, don’t worry about that,” Felix says, patting his cheek with the flat of the knife. “They do, don’t they.” It is not a question.

Locus jerks, trying to throw Felix off him, only to get a slap for his troubles. It’s not that hard, but Locus still grunts and grits his teeth, sure that it’s left a mark.

“Behave.” His smile is cruel. “Tell you what. You betray them.”

Locus stares up at him, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he tries to process what is being offered. “And then you will leave them alone?”

“Yes,” Felix says. “You get to pay their price. All of it. You betray them, you come to me, and then you let me do whatever I want, for however long I want, until I get bored and kill you.”

“And you won’t harm them,” Locus repeats, for surety.

“Yes, I just said that.” Felix rolls his eyes in annoyance. “I’ll give you three days to betray them. All that trust. All that understanding. You’re going to break it, you hear me? Break it into a thousand pieces, grind it up to bits, and then you’re going to leave them to pick up the pieces.” His smile is wide and feral. “And if you tell them about me, or if you don’t show up at the end of day three, I’ll burn them all alive, and make you watch.”

Locus’ mouth is dry as a bone.

But there can be no other answer, and Felix knows this. Felix knows him too well; even now, even changed as Locus is, Felix understands him better than anyone else possibly could. And as horrifying as that is, Locus knows it says more about him than it does about Felix.

“Deal.”

He goes for a walk to clear his head.

There is a stretch of beach, on the island, that seems to go on forever. Locus takes off his shoes and socks, rolls up his pants to his knees, and wades into the water.

The water is biting cold, but Locus doesn’t react, just closes his eyes and savors the sensations of the waves moving around him, and the sand shifting beneath his feet.

The night is beautiful, and it feels cruel. The planet the moon orbits isn’t visible at the moment, but the stars are scattered brightly across the inky sky, forming constellations unlike the ones that he had grown up with.

Finally, he starts walking, keeping to the edge of the water. The waves move in and out at a leisurely pace, splashing over his feet and then retreating, washing away his footprints in a few movements.

The sand is cool and damp beneath his feet. Every pass of the waves leaves it bright and shining, ever footfall of his pushes the water back out, leaving it dull in his wake until the ocean reclaims it.

Locus hopes that is how it will be for the Reds and Blues as well. Felix thinks that his betrayal will shatter them, but they have gone through worse than this. They will rally, and hopefully it will leave as few marks as Locus is leaving on the beach itself.

He is not arrogant enough to think it will be nearly the worst betrayal, the worst departure, that they had faced in all their years of adventures. He knows the names of those missing from their lives, the ones that feel as if they are always hanging over the Reds and Blues. There is Church, Sheila, and Agent Texas. There is Epsilon, whose loss is still fresh for many of them. Donald Doyle, Tucker’s squad, the Freelancers killed by the Blues and Reds are also a presence that Locus knows the Reds and Blues blame themselves for.

For Washington and Carolina in particular, there are even more names. Freelancer names that they don’t speak about, that he only knows from their files. Connecticut, Maine, York. Perhaps the Dakotas, Florida, and Wyoming as well.

Who is Locus, compared to that? He is a murderer, a monster, a killer. They hide him on this island despite the outstanding warrants both Kimball and UNSC have issued. He does not pretend to understand their logic or justification for aiding him, for concealing him from the courts. When he leaves, he will be a footnote in their stories, soon forgotten.

Locus himself should have left long ago; he has more debt to pay, more people he might be able to help. But instead he had allowed himself to fall into the rhythms of living with them, not making amends to the galaxy.

He comforts himself knowing that, had he left, he might not have been able to stop Felix from taking his vengeance. They might already be dead, and he would be none the wiser.

His debt to Chorus can never be paid. Locus knows this. He can’t seek forgiveness for what he did. There is no one who can speak for the dead, to reach out and pardon him. All he can do is try to do some good with the years he has left. What good will rotting in a prison do? Vanessa Kimball might argue that there is justice there, but can there be justice for what he has done?

Locus has never believed so. He is past justice, past absolution. He is a broken man, left to carry the burden of his sins until he dies, and no prison cell or execution will change that.

He has sent documents to Chorus; evidence against Hargrove that he has gathered, information about Charon and his empire that will help them protect themselves. He just wishes he had thought to hand over information about Felix or even himself, before this. Now, there is no chance. Felix would know, and he would retaliate.

There were many things he should have done, before Felix had returned to make him pay for his crimes.

No, not his crimes—Felix could not care less about the blood that Locus carries on his hands, except his own.

Felix will make him pay for his betrayal, for Felix’s death, for every slight and insult and injury that Locus might have dealt him over the years.

The thought is terrifying; it’s worse than a return to the way things were, in a way. They will not be equals, partners, comrades in arms. Felix had always been reluctant to turn the sharpest edge of his temper against Locus. If the alien A.I. is to be believed, it was because of fear.

And now, Locus has agreed to sharpen the knife and bare his neck, so long as Felix will stay his hand against the Reds and Blues.

“Locus!”

He nearly falls over, turning to see a figure standing behind him. In his reverie, the sounds that aren’t the ocean had faded into the background, allowing him to be surprised. Foolish, he knows. It could easily have been Felix, changing his mind.

Lavernius Tucker is concerned, Locus can tell as he recognizes the person in front of him. It is only then that he realizes that the sun has started to rise in the distance, transforming the color of the water.

He has been pacing all night, since Felix has slipped from his room, unseen by the others and making off with the sword that Locus had once taken from him. Locus makes sure not to touch the mark on his neck, knowing Tucker will probably not notice it unless Locus does so.

Tucker wears white shorts and a tank top in his signature aqua, his dreadlocks falling loosely over his shoulders and down his back, the elastic that usually holds them in place visible around his wrist. He stands ankle deep in the sea, in front of Locus, and he looks concerned.

“Grif says you’ve been out here all night,” he says, and Locus’ mouth goes dry. Of course they’ve noticed something’s wrong. He’s been careless.

“It’s nothing,” he says. Tucker snorts, skeptical, like he did on those early nights when he’d found Locus in strange places when he was supposed to be asleep. So Locus relents. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Sympathy flickers across Tucker’s face. “Bad dreams?”

Locus looks away, and for a moment, the truth bubbles out before he can stop it. “Felix.” He bites his tongue instantly, so hard that he tastes blood, but Tucker just nods, thinking it an explanation of the content of his dreams. There is no way for him to discern the truth from that one slip; that Felix has returned from the dead, and now cannot be killed. That he wants vengeance for his death, and that Locus is going to do everything he can to shield Tucker and the others from the consequences of this for as long as he can.

There is no way for Tucker to know that Locus is about to betray them again.

The waves crash around them, and when Locus licks his lips nervously, he tastes salt.

“Want to talk about it?” Tucker says, reaching out and putting a hand on Locus’ arm, and Locus takes a deep, shuddering breath, jerking back from the contact.

In three days, Tucker will regret looking at Locus with any degree of kindness or sympathy. Anything that Locus takes now; comfort or kind words, Tucker will use to blame himself somehow. It is best to make this clean, to refuse this, to stay away.

“No,” he says, and turns to walk away.

Tucker grabs his elbow, trying to pull him back. And at any other time, Locus might have let him, might have allowed himself to be tugged into an embrace, or perhaps even taken advantage of the momentum and tackled Lavernius Tucker into the waves.

But this is now, and Locus digs his heels into the sand, each beat of the waves making him only steadier in his stance.

“Sam,” Tucker says, and Locus’ breath hitches. Tucker never uses that name, and now it’s like a knife, slicing through him, and he wants to fall to his knees and weep, and confess everything that is about to happen. “It’s okay. I have those dreams too.”

And just like that, Locus’ knees lock in place. He cannot break. He must keep his silence.

“Lavernius,” he says, and he curses himself for his choice to use Tucker’s first name. It’s too close, too intimate, it’s everything that he was trying to avoid doing before leaving. “Let me go.” He hesitates, but he needs to get out of here, needs to run before Tucker manages to break through his resolve. “Please.”

For a moment, he thinks Tucker will push and pry the truth from him, to undo him with a few simple questions and sympathetic smiles. But instead, the hand withdraws, and Locus walks out of the sea, and he tells himself the damp and salt on his face is only the ocean spray.

The worst part is, he knows exactly what he will need to do to convince them of his betrayal.

Felix has given him three days, and Locus makes use of them. He goes into his accounts and sends vaguely worded messages to people with strange usernames, and then does a basic scrub that Simmons will be able to reverse easily. And when he does so, they will be convinced that there were more messages that he cannot recover, once Locus is done with the rest.

He thinks of trying to warn them, of trying to leave some hints of danger, so that they’ll run. But if he threatens them, Carolina and Washington might chase him, the others not far behind. They will not take a threat lightly, and they would chase him into the lion’s den and die as well. It is better they think he was using them and has moved on, nothing more. They are transient by nature, always being lured into strange new events. Hopefully by the time that Felix is done with him, they will have found a new adventure.

He breaks into every computer he can get his hands on, and deletes any photograph with his face. It’s painful, going through the memories, going through the proof that he had been accepted, that he had been trusted, knowing that he is shattering it beyond repair.

This is for them, he reminds himself

He empties out his room in silence, scrubbing the base clean of fingerprints while he goes. They know his first name, but they’ve never tried to locate who he really is, his last name or his history. When they realize he’s left, someone will think to try, but they will have nothing to go on, and they’ll realize this was intentional.

There’s a cave that none of them know about, and he digs a large pit, throwing all the things he wants them to think he’s bringing with them but he refuses to let Felix get his hands on into its depths. Every single strange item that Caboose had given him is carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a box. He places the crude shirts that Grif buys him in plastic, airtight containers and puts them besides Caboose’s presents. His own copies of the photographs he has destroyed elsewhere go there too; it’s selfish, perhaps, to not destroy his own copies, but he wants some reminder of the time to still exist. The mug he drinks tea with, and even the boxes that contain his tea join them.

Then he buries his weapons, except the sword. Felix has that, a reminder that this was not some strange dream.

The last night, Locus does what he knows will convince them.

He breaks into the room that Washington and Lavernius Tucker share while they sleep.

The two of them look peaceful, limbs tangled together and with the sheets, Washington’s head against Tucker’s chest, Tucker’s dreads spread out across the pillows. No nightmares are disturbing them tonight, and Locus drinks in this sight, knowing he is intruding, but unable to make himself care.

There had been a time that Locus remembers, when Tucker had not slept peacefully. His nightmares had been haunted by Felix, among other demons. They had spent many late nights, drinking coffee or tea together, not speaking about the contents of their dreams, but instead talking about silly, banal things, both of them ignoring the dark circles under their eyes or the way that their hands trembled when they picked up their mugs.

Locus might not be able to protect Lavernius Tucker from every evil that the galaxy can create, but he can spare him this.

He steals the physical photographs with his face on them that are scattered across the room, and then he takes Tucker’s sword from its place under Tucker’s pillow, a location that Tucker had told him about once, comforting Locus about his admission that he had weapons stashed all over the base, for peace of mind.

He touches nothing to do with Junior, knowing that any potential threat to his son would cause Tucker to chase him to the ends of the earth. No, this betrayal cannot involve a threat. It’s just him returning to his old ways. In his search history, the Reds and Blues will see that he has researched the value of the swords, and they will think he intends to sell Tucker’s sword, and maybe his own, to fund wherever it is he’s going to do next.

He puts the Tucker’s sword in the cave, not wanting to bring it to Felix, who might find the temptation of a second energy sword too great and go after Tucker.

He does not bury it. He cannot bring himself to.  

He leaves no note for them, no answers or explanations. It can’t seem at all personal. His removal must be clinical, detached from their lives. He puts on his armor, and he burns the physical photographs in a corner of his room, making sure just enough of them survive so that they will know what it is, and realize that he’s destroying evidence.

When he’s done, there’s no sign that Locus was ever there.

It will be like he has vanished into thin air, just another ghost moving out of their lives.

Leaving the base feels like suffocating. Wearing his armor again is bad enough, but he walks through the base invisibly. He shouldn’t spend time on goodbyes that the others don’t get to be a part of, but he indulges himself selfishly. He will never see them again. He wants to be sure he has something good to remember.

He finds Sarge, asleep in his workshop. Lopez stares at him suspiciously from his position in the corner, but Locus just puts a blanket over Sarge’s shoulders and moves away, closing the door behind him. Even if the robot tells them what happened, none of them will understand him, or believe him if they could. Sarge will believe that Lopez did it, in his fondness and delusions.

He finds Grif and Simmons asleep on the couch instead of the room that they refuse to admit they share. Their limbs are tangled together, and they lean on each other in an intimacy they would refuse while awake. A movie plays on the television in front of them, and popcorn is scattered all over the ground.

Locus wishes Grif were awake. He would ask Locus what he was doing, perhaps even invite him to sit with them. He’d see right through Locus, and ask him what was wrong. But if he did…

Perhaps it is for the best that Grif sleeps on.

Donut is asleep in the room he shares with Doc, and Locus stands in the doorway, watching. The two of them are curled against each other. It is a tranquil image, the two of them surrounded by Donut’s fondness for frills and lace in interior design, Doc’s medical texts and yoga mat scattered on the floor.

He finds Carolina in her room, a tablet on her chest, having fallen asleep while reading the news or something similar. Locus resists the urge to take away the tablet, and place a blanket over her, or worse, to wake her up, kneel at her side, and confess what he is doing. If anyone was capable of helping him drive off Felix, it would be her, surely. He imagines her killing Felix, freeing them all from this…

But he thinks about the sound of Felix’s neck snapping, and the way that he had straightened up right after.

Felix has become more dangerous than ever, and Locus can’t take the risk. Maybe she could handle him, even if Locus doubts it, but at what cost? Who would die before they put him down like a rabid dog?

It is much better that Locus is the only one to pay the debt that Felix demands. Locus will happily die a thousand times over, if it means that Felix never touches any of them.

He does not visit Washington and Tucker again. He has said those goodbyes already. Instead, he goes searching for Caboose.

Caboose is on the roof of the base, asleep in his armor. He’s sitting upright, his feet dangling over the edge, and Locus gives into his urges, and shifts Caboose, so that he is lying down in a more comfortable position.

“Sam?” Caboose asks sleepily, waking up slightly as Locus moves him away from the dangerous edge.

“Go back to sleep, Caboose,” Locus says, allowing his voice to show all the affection and exhaustion that he has been hiding these past three days. It does not matter if Caboose remembers this in the morning. The others will not listen if Caboose choses to protest Locus’ innocence, and in time, Locus’ absence will convince Caboose of the betrayal. He is no Leonard Church; Caboose will not expect him to return.

“Okay! See you in the morning!”

Nothing he could have said would have been more agonizing. Locus closes his eyes and waits until the sounds of Caboose’s snores fill the air before he goes back into the base. His home, were it possible for Locus to ever have such a thing. For a while, it had felt like he’d belonged here.

He does one last sweep, and then walks out, panic rising in his chest as he realizes there is now no turning back. He goes to the beach, where Felix is waiting in the pelican, hovering above the water so that there are no marks on the sand to tell of his method of departure.

“Is it done?” Felix asks, holding the sword that both of them are bound to in his hands. He’s wearing his old armor. It’s dented and broken in places, and the paint is peeling. Felix has made no repairs, and the effect on Locus is visceral. He does not want to look, but he knows he must.

“Yes,” Locus replies, the words like ash in his mouth.

“Good. Then get in, and take off that armor.”

Felix starts the pelican, and Locus obeys, taking off his armor piece by piece. Once, he might have considered this some sort of humiliation, being forced to remove it while Felix remained armored. Now, Locus is more comfortable in his own skin and he knows that being out of armor is nothing to be ashamed of, normally. But fear sinks into his stomach as he exposes himself, vulnerable to whatever it is that Felix is planning. It’s final, removing his helmet and placing it on the table. He will never wear it again, he knows this.

Felix keeps his bargains. He won’t harm the Reds and Blues. He will take his vengeance out on Locus, and then…

Locus doesn’t know what happens then.

Felix returns from the cabin and picks up his helmet. “They’ll be waking up soon,” he says. “Let’s see if you kept your end of the deal, shall we?”

He handcuffs Locus to the railing in the pelican, and then he pulls out a tablet that shows surveillance footage of the base. Locus had spotted the cameras when he’d looked, but hadn’t removed them, despite the violation of privacy. Felix would have taken that as betrayal and slaughtered them all.

There’s no sound, as the scene unfolds. Felix makes Locus watch, and laughs and laughs and laughs, as they run around, looking for the sword, for Locus, for the destroyed evidence. They go into his room and tear it apart. They put on their armor and grab their weapons. They argue. Caboose cries. Locus tries to keep his face still and calm, but there’s no helmet to hide behind. Felix can read his expression like a book, and does so gleefully, mocking him every time he recognizes an emotion.

Messages arrive to Locus’ account, from the Reds and Blues. Felix reads them all from his helmet, mocking their voices so that Locus knows who sent which message.

“Where are you?”

“Dude, everybody’s seriously freaking out right now, this isn’t funny.”

“This isn’t true, right?”

“When are you coming home?”

And then finally, Washington is the one to send the final message.

“If I see you again, I’m going to kill you.”

Locus closes his eyes and sags in relief. It worked. They’re safe.

He doesn’t even struggle when Felix injects him with something that makes his limbs grow numb and his eyes grow heavy.

Nothing else matters.

The Reds and Blues are safe.

[comefeedtherainn]

1, 5, 11 and 12 for the fanfic writer ask :)

THANK <3

1. What is your favorite fic you have under your belt?

under my belt implies it’s done, right? if so i have to say All You Are, which is a tuckington fic i wrote for the rvb fandom. It holds a very special place in my heart and the subject matter means a lot to me <3

5. What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

probably my favorite headcanon so far has been tucker (rvb) having adhd. It just fit him really well.

11. What’s a fanfic idea you haven’t done yet?

so on the backburner I have a short ashley/jack fic planned, and for some reason my brain decided it wanted to do an Inquisitor Pavus fic after BoD is done, because i love complicated, canon-rewriting, longfic hell i guess. for rvb i would also like to get docnut a longfic someday. ONE DAY.

12. What’s the hardest thing to write for you?

C O M B A T S C E N E S

I HATE IT SO MUCH AND BREAK OF DAWN HAS SO MANY IM DEAD INSIDE

[ao3feed-tuckington]

Separate Ways

read it on the ao3 at https://ift.tt/2wWqWb6

by WanderingTiredly

After the events of Chorus, the Reds and Blues are given the opportunity to return to their homes. Some take it better than others. Especially one Agent Washington, who can't seem to handle the concept of going home.

Words: 2449, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Red vs. Blue

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Lavernius Tucker, Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Dexter Grif, Richard Simmons, Sarge (Red vs. Blue), Franklin Delano Donut, Frank "Doc" DuFresne, Agent Carolina (Red vs. Blue), AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church, Michael J. Caboose

Relationships: Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington

Additional Tags: implied grimmons, implied Docnut, Angst, Happy Ending, Kissing, Dependency, Some Characters Just Mentioned, Mentions canon character death, Post Season 13

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2wWqWb6

[secretlystephaniebrown]

take me out to the black

One year ago today the dear @sroloc--elbisivni​ sent me a message reminding me that we’d brainstormed a vague outline for a Firefly AU. I said “oh yeah that’s right!” and we talked about it for a bit. Then we came up with a different twist on it which inspired me to write about 7k of it in one week. I’ve been sitting on this for a long time, but I finally have part 1 ready for you guys. 

Who’s up for some space cowboys?

Summary: Captain Carolina Church is a turncoat, a browncoat, and the captain of a Firefly Class ship called Valhalla. But every captain needs a crew. 

Pairings: Tuckington, background docnut, implied Yorkalina pining.

When Carolina had been a child, living in the Core she’d looked up at the blank, orange-tinted night sky, and dreamed of stars.

Now she stares out the big bay windows of the cockpit, staring out at the vast and endless stretch of space before her, and it’s the first time she’s felt at peace since the early days of the war, when she’d been so sure she was fighting for the right reasons.”

“This isn’t enough,” Wash says, beside her. “We’ll need a crew.”

Carolina runs her hands along the pilot’s dash. Neither of them are really good enough at flying to handle it long--just enough to get them away from this planet, get them to place where they can start hiring. “I know,” she says. She’s oddly buoyed by the idea, of filling this ship to bursting, of people who look at her and don’t know what her last name means, don’t know her service record or her history, don’t know why Wash has those scars on his wrists.

She sinks into the pilot’s seat, and carefully continues to steer them.

“What’s her name?” Wash asks her.

“Vallhala,” she says.

Wash gives her a long, knowing look. The coat he wears is as brown as hers.

“Right then,” he says, and there’s nothing more they need to say.

Captain Carolina Church is a turncoat, a browncoat, and the captain of a Firefly Class ship called Valhalla.

Her second in command is a traitor, a browncoat, and a kid from the Rim.

Carolina once had been a Sergeant. She had led a squad, until one night when Connie died and Wash had gone missing and she had ripped through layers of security to get him back. She had taken him and ran, ran so hard and so fast that she had practically collapsed at the doorstep of the Independents’ and bargained for sanctuary.

She had not begged.

The first hire is Lavernius Tucker. He’s a pilot, a good one. Too good to be interested in a ship like hers, which is how she knows he’s hiding something.

He wears colorful shirts and has a mustache that make Wash make a face behind the man’s back, letting Carolina know exactly what he thinks of a man who willingly lets one of those grow on his face. He tells crude jokes. None of those are disqualifying qualities, nothing to stop a man who can fly a Firefly class with the delicacy of a shuttle from flying for any of the major companies.

She expects drugs, or smuggling, neither of which she can afford on her crew, not with the Alliance still breathing down her back. Her pardon for betraying the Alliance, for freeing Wash, is tentative and dubious. But she also can’t afford to pass up a pilot like Tucker.

He’s the one to bring it up, shockingly. They’re almost done with the interview, Carolina having brought him up to the cockpit. “I have a kid,” he tells her abruptly. “He has to come along. It’s a dealbreaker.” His chin goes up, strong and firm.

Carolina flinches. Children. She can’t afford to smuggle, not yet, maybe not ever if the way the Alliance keeps coming after them, keeping an eye out for the runaway and the turncoat, but she knows that even if she can stay clean, stay legal, there will be violence. There’s no way there won’t be.

She tells him this.

“He needs to stay with me,” Tucker says, something desperate in his eyes. He needs this job as much as she needs a pilot, she realizes. “This is what I’m good at.”

Carolina looks around the ship. “How old is he?” Maybe they’ll be lucky and he’s a teenager, barely need looking after.

She should know better than to reach for luck. She hasn’t had luck on her side for a long, long time. Things never go smooth.

“Four.”

Carolina swears, under her breath.

In her mind, she begins to calculate additional child-rations, child-proofing the rooms, making sure that weapons aren’t just laid out in the open.

She doesn’t give Tucker an answer yet, but she already knows what it will be.

Wash grows up on the Rim.

It’s a tiny little planet called Iowa. He grows up with three sisters and a brother, the oldest of them all, and when he gets the scholarship to military school, he takes their photograph in his pocket, his father’s blessing, every coin his family can spare, and his mother’s lucky pistol.

They take the pistol when he gets to basic training, and he never sees it again. The coin goes quickly; Core living is expensive.

He loses the photograph in the war, when they come for him in the night.

The Alliance and the Core is inherently different from Iowa. They change his name because they can’t pronounce it, and Wash learns to adapt, even though he hates it, hates the way that the smooth syllables of home are butchered in the mouths of these Core-worlders, who don’t know what it feels like to stand in the dirt and look at the sky and smile. Wa-Jonathan, son of Jonathan, smoothed and disturbed over time and time again, until the name is Washington, harsh and biting in the voice of his drill master. And he feels further still from his siblings every time they said it, until one day Wash was bleeding from the mouth on the ground, and he looks up into a set of eyes as green as fresh leaves.

“Fighting again, Wash?” Carolina asks, and she holds out her hand.

Wash doesn’t know it then, when he reaches up and takes it, but he now has another sister. A sister in battle and blood, as real and important as any of the ones he left back home.

She graduates before him, but when she gets her own squad, she calls on him, and Wash goes, eager to follow his sister into combat.

Their squad is good at what they do, but then one day Connie leans close and whispers in his ear.

“We can’t trust them, Wash,” she whispers. “We can’t.”

The next day, Connie dies, and Wash doesn’t know what side the bullet comes from.

Wash starts to look for answers on his own.

He never does find them.

All he finds is the inside of a strange white room and the sounds of his own screaming when the stick needles into his eyes.

Wash is the one to bring back Grif and Simmons. Grif can fly a shuttle even better than Tucker, Simmons dabbles in mechanics, and is a decent field-medic, and both are steady shots and decent at listening to orders in a fight.

Neither of them fought in the war, she learns. Their skills are those of people who lived on the Rim for so long, not the product of any schooling or training.

Grif is the one who tells Carolina the stories of the Reavers for the first time, and his eyes are haunted enough that Carolina knows better than to ask if he’s ever seen one.

Epsilon curls up in her lap and purrs until she stops thinking about what it is that someone could see, out in the blackness of space, that could turn a human being into something like that.

Simmons wants to be the mechanic, but he’s never worked on anything bigger than a Mule, and it shows. Carolina almost hates to do it, but she pulls him off and hires the first mechanic she can find who has a recommendation.

In retrospect, she should have realized that Doc’s ship was a bit too eager to be rid of him.

Carolina desperately searches for another mechanic, loathe to risk flying a ship as old as Valhalla without one, but she keeps turning up dry until she walks into the engine room to find Doc having sex with a man named Donut, who turns out to be a thousand times more competent than Doc.

She keeps Doc on as a medic, because Simmons can do stitches and that’s about it. Doc’s still not good as a medic, but he’s better a medic than he was a mechanic, and Carolina’s learning to live with that.

Wash is a bit preoccupied when Donut comes onto the scene, because Tucker just shaved off that awful mustache, and Wash has been staring at him moony eyed, too distracted to barely even acknowledge that Carolina’s hired a new person.

Then of course, he comes into the dining area one day, and yells, “Frank?” Far too loud.

“David?” Donut yells back.

It turns out Carolina managed to hire Wash’s brother, from their old backwater homeworld. He’d decided to go see the ‘verse after the war.

Carolina listens to them listing names of people she doesn’t know and places she’ll never be, because Wash is avoiding his home world the same way she’s avoiding the Core, and goes to her bunk, staring at the photo sheet she has, of the last time she saw her brother.

She opens up the program, starts writing.

Church,

I realize it’s been a while

I’m sorry I had to save him

I didn’t mean to

I was right

Are you okay?

Frustrated, she throws it across the room and closes her eyes. He’s the one who broke contact, she reminds herself. He doesn’t want to talk to her. He hasn’t forgiven her for betraying the Alliance.

Maybe he would, if she could tell him. Tell him about Connie, about Maine, about what they did to Wash, in that awful room.

But she doesn’t dare. Her pardon is tentative enough as it is. They’re above the board, barely, and she needs to keep it that way, because the Alliance will grab Wash and lock him away again if they so much as step over the line.

Her ship is clean, as much as that strains the funds. No smuggling, no robbery, no crime. And because of that, Wash is safe.

She has to keep it that way.

“So, what’s the story with you and the cap?”

Wash looked up from the potato he was peeling as Tucker plopped himself down on the counter. Their pilot of three months' mustache twitched as he waggled his eyebrows. “I mean, I know you fought Independent together and all, but you seem, I dunno, really close."

Wash went back to the potatoes. “We survived one of the bloodier battles of the war together. That sort of thing tends to make some pretty strong bonds. Where’s Junior?”

“Napping. C’mon, spilllll. You two have some kind of history together.”

Wash sighed and grabbed a new potato. “If I explain, will you cook dinner tonight?” For once, they had fresh produce, and if he tried to make anything with it, it would come out a charred mess.

“Sure, dude.” He settled into the table and looked at Wash expectantly, so much like his son when he wanted a story that Wash had to chuckle.

“We were in military academy together.”

“Shit, the Browncoats had a military school? I didn’t know that.”

“They didn’t.”

Wash kept his eyes on the curl of the peel away from his knife, but he still knew when Tucker figured it out.

”Shit.” And it was in a tone of voice Wash hadn’t expected—a little bit awed and a little bit impressed and a lot sympathetic. “Are—were you from the Core, too?”

Wash didn't think Carolina had told Tucker about her past, but he was never able to bring himself to tell her that for all her hard work, her background was still there for anyone with good perception to notice. It was surprising that Tucker, of all people, had noticed.

“No.” And because surprises seemed to be the theme of this conversation, Wash let himself tell a story he hadn’t in years. “I was born on the Rim. Earned a scholarship to go to a fancy Core military school when I was sixteen. That’s where Carolina and I met. When we graduated, we were split up for a couple of years. After the war started, she earned herself a commission as leader of a special squad, and requested I join it.”

And because Tucker still hadn't cut in with a dumb joke or comment, just sat there with a listening face on, Wash let himself remember.

“One of the other members was a friend of mine. She was smart, smarter than the rest of us, and she didn’t like the war. Didn’t trust it. She told me one night that she’d been doing some research, learned some bad things. The next day, she was killed in action. I never figured out which way the bullet came from.” He kept up a steady motion of his knife, scraping every bit of skin away before picking up another potato.

“I started doing some research of my own. Wanted to figure out what she was so worried about. And then, one night…”

The knife stilled as Wash stared into the middle distance, barely seeing Tucker.

“I was outside. I know that much. Then I…wasn’t. And I really don’t remember much of anything else for a bit, except pain, until I opened my eyes and saw Carolina’s face.” With the fingers of the hand holding the knife, he rubbed absently against his other wrist.

“She tells me I went missing, and she went looking, and she found me tied up and screaming. They told her I’d been arrested for treason. She didn’t believe them. Lucky for me.

“The rest of our squad was either dead or reassigned, we were getting orders that made less and less sense, and I was drugged out of my mind and in transport to some unknown location. That was the last straw. Carolina grabbed all the information she could take with her and took us both over to the Independents.”

Wash blinked off the memories and went back to peeling the potato.

“We were both pardoned, after the War, but. We try and avoid the Core now. Mostly brings trouble.”

“Hey, you picked me up in the Core!”

Wash gave Tucker a flat look. “And you’re trouble.” Something occurred to him. “Why are you asking, anyways?”

“Speaking of trouble—I think Carolina’s got the hots for our new renter.”

“The Companion?” Well, that was a surprise.

Tucker dropped himself into the chair next to Wash. “Well, I dunno if she gets the hots, but she doesn’t act with him like she does with anyone else. And I wasn’t sure if you two were, you know…” He waved a hand in the air. “And I wanted to make sure no one got hurt.”

“Really.”

“Really! I don’t want to lose a job because the captain and only sane person on the ship started to fight all the time. Shit’s annoying. ‘Sides…”

Wash looked up from his potato to find that Tucker’s face was very close to his.

“I may have had a, uh…personal interest, too.”

He grinned at Wash, big and bright and kind and wonderful and—

oh. shit.

Wash stood up so fast Tucker almost toppled over.

“I don’t kiss anyone with a mustache,” he blurted out before dumping the potato on the table and walking—at an entirely reasonable pace, thank you very much—to his quarters.

They pick up the old man on a distant moon on a distanter-still planet. He’s a grizzled old man, with big eyebrows and a white beard, but there’s a gleam in his eye that puts Carolina on edge. He’s a shepherd, he tells them, but if that’s his first job Carolina would eat her coat. The only names he gives them are “Shepherd” and “Sarge”. But he pays his rent and doesn’t preach too loudly and makes good tea.

He brings with him Caboose, and Caboose is definitely worth taking on a passenger, even a wandering shepherd. Caboose is strong and tall and broad, with a big goofy smile and hair that falls into his eyes more often than not. He can carry more than the rest of the crew put together and he’s shockingly good in a fight. There’s no rhyme or reason to him; he’s loud and cheerful and ocassionally dumber than rocks, but he has moments of brilliance that Carolina doesn’t know to do with. And he talks to the ship.

But Carolina figures it’s not the strangest thing to happen on Valhalla, so she takes it. She can hardly begrudge the man a few eccentricities, not with Epsilon in her cabin.

She found Epsilon when she went back to Valhalla. The valley, not the ship.

She gets off the shuttle, tokens for the dead in her pockets. She’s not much for religion, but she’s got sticks of incense and a few flowers to leave at the memorial.

She turns her face to the sky and waits, listening for the voices of the dead that she knows she won’t hear.

Instead, she hears meowing.

The cat is small and scrawny, with matted blue-grey fur and bright blue eyes. He’s hissing, his back arched, and Carolina doesn’t know anything about cats but she knows he doesn’t want her to come near.

Carolina knows the feeling.

She reaches into her pockets and takes out the small fishcake she brought to offer up to Maine’s ghost. He’d loved these things. But he’ll understand her giving it to a cat.

When she goes back to Valhalla (the ship, not the valley), the cat comes with her.

Wash opens his eyes and groans, clutching the side of his head as another headache spikes.

Tucker, sprawled across his chest, pushes himself up onto his elbows and glances at him. “Headache again?” He mutters.

“Yeah,” Wash says in reply, screwing his eyes shut. “They’re happening more lately.”

Tucker takes Wash’s wrist in his hand, carefully running his thumb along the scar along the inside, from where the IV had been attached, before Carolina had ripped it out, not caring about proper procedure in her rush to get him away. “Think it means something?” Tucker asks, and his other hand pushes Wash’s hair off his sweat-streaked forehead.

Wash winces as it spikes again, and the only reply he is capable of giving is a groan.

“Nevermind,” Tucker said, dropping his hand. “You stay here, I’ll get you some of that soothing tea that Sarge has.”

Wash shivers, suddenly freezing. He burrows into the covers, almost distracted from his migraine by the sudden, desperate need for warmth.

His eyes sink shut.

“What do you see? What do you feel?” The chair is hard and uncomfortable, and the straps are digging in against his skin.

“What do you know?” There’s blood, so much blood, the taste of it clear in his mouth.

“If you just cooperate, Corporal, this will end,” the man’s accent is grating but his eyes are familiar, and Wash opens his mouth to scream again.

“Wash!” Junior is on his chest. “Wash!”

Wash let out a gasp, and sat up. “Junior?” He says, groggy with sleep and disoriented by the memories.

“You were screaming again,” Junior says. His small face is very close to Wash’s own, his big brown eyes concerned.

“Sorry,” Wash rasps. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I did,” Carolina says, and Wash groans.

“What is it, Boss?”

“We’re taking on passengers, Wash,” she says, looking annoyed. “I came to check on you, see if I need to have Donut play host instead.”

“I’m fine,” Wash says. Indeed, his headache has dissipated. “Where’s Tucker?”

“He had to run to the pit,” Carolina says, handing Wash the mug of tea. “York’s flying in.”

“So soon?” Wash cradles the tea, savoring the scent. None of them know how Sarge makes this tea, but it’s one of the few luxuries they have, out here in the dark.

Carolina shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”

“I’ll be there,” Wash promises. “Who do we have?”

“A businessman on his way to visit his family on a colony, and a woman who says she’s a new colonist. Pretty sure she’s a merc,” Carolina adds, her expression dark. “Too many scars otherwise.”

Wash pauses, halfway out of bed. “Trouble, boss?”

“I don’t know.”

“What side, do you think?”

“Can’t say,” Carolina reaches down to pick up Junior. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

“Thanks,” Wash says.

“See you on deck, Wash.” Carolina climbs up the ladder, leaving Wash alone with his thoughts and his tea.

Wash puts on his clothes and finds his gun, holstering it at his side as usual.

The headache is still there, pounding in his temples, but it’s manageable. It’s odd, they usually don’t last this long. They usually just spike, painfully but briefly, then fade away. This is constant, and he doesn’t like it. It’s putting him on edge.

He puts on his wedding ring, and briefly runs a damp comb through his hair to tame it enough to make himself presentable.

He goes down to the cargo bay, and he examines the two people there. One’s a man with an impressive mustache, already laughing at something Donut’s said. The other... something about her makes Wash’s skin crawl. Blonde hair, muscles, all in black, and she’s wearing dark glasses, standing in front of a tall, metal crate with a blank expression.

“Welcome to the Valhalla,” Wash says as he makes his way down towards her. Carolina was right, she’s covered in scars. She’s either very bad at being a merc, or very good. Either way, Wash wants her off the ship as soon as possible. “I’m Wash, the second in command. What’s your name?”

Her eyes dart across him, not even pausing on the brown coat he wears, and shrugs. “Call me Tex,” she says, placing a hand against the side of the crate.

“That’s it?”

“It’s not like I’ll be staying around.” Her eyes are challenging. She isn’t wearing a gun openly, but Wash didn’t doubt she was armed.

Wash nods, then turned to talk to the other man.

He hates taking on passengers.