Chapter Text
Wash sighed with contentment and slowly flipped the page of the magazine neatly placed in front of him on the breakfast table. It had taken ages for Command to accept his request of sending a view magazines down to them. Always hanging around in their bases in the Canyon, Blue Team decided to use their monthly entertainment wish granted by their beloved superiors, for something a little less explode-y than new grenades or less stupid than new Crayons for Caboose. ‘Blue Team deciding’ in that case may as well meant Wash turning off the helmet comms of his Teammates in the night before the request was to be sent in, and then acting as if he didn’t know why their gear didn’t work, but he did it for the greater good. At least that’s what he told himself and Tucker when the soldier asked him a few days later why Command refused to get him a vibrating gun. Washington had thanked god or whoever above that he successfully thwarted the possibility of Command actually sending one down. Just imagine, Tucker with… on second thought, you probably rather not imagine anything in particular.
Well anyways, he didn’t quite get Magazines… plural. He got one Magazine. One about cars and engine types currently tested back on earth with new power sources and revolutionary new tech. He probably should have specifically asked for one about something he actually cared about, like weaponry. Or about cooking. Damn he’d kill for one of his Moms casseroles right now.
Lazily flipping through the pages and mainly staring at the colored pictures of futuristic concept cars, he heard somebody enter the kitchen. The Agent sat with the back to the entrance, but from the footsteps silently tapping on the floor he recognized Tucker sneaking about. In the beginning when he had been freshly ‘adopted’ by the Blue Team, he had been suspicious and nervous whenever he’d been in a room with one or more of the soldiers. Anxiety had kicked in; he tensed up and readied himself, his thoughts completely focused, circling around the gun on his back or his pistols at his hips.
Of course he never meant to hurt any of them, but subconsciously he had been ready to pull the trigger if needed. He chased the memories of not so long ago away with a frown. After a little time living among them and a good few weeks of getting used to their ticks, he got more comfortable around each of them, and even though he probably would never say it out loud, considered everyone in this canyon as a part of his weird new patchwork family. None of them was entirely sane or even the slightest bit normal, that’s what held them together the strongest. He learnt many things in the time he had been stuck with the others in Bloodgulch and he wouldn’t want to miss any of it.
Wash lifted his gaze off the current page, explaining a complicated extraction method of mercury and looked at Tucker who appeared at his right side at this moment, snatching the Freelancers coffee mug off the table and taking a deep sip. He clicked his tongue and sighed after yawning, his dreadlocks which were messily put up in a bun, swaying a bit. “Mornin’ Wash. Did you sleep well? Oh right I keep forgetting about your weird sleeping problems…” Wash rolled his eyes. It was too early in the morning for this conversation. “It’s called insomnia.” “… So I guess you didn’t sleep at all and as everyday I’m wondering why I keep asking-“. The mindless babbling suddenly stopped and Wash looked at the now quite man again, not bothering to turn his head. “-Holy mother of god Jesus on a fucking tricycle FUCK… what is this?” Tucker stared at him as if he had just seen a ghost and Wash was pretty sure that the soldier was more wake then when he made him run around the canyon for an hour yesterday. “What the actual…” Being used to the bullshit, Wash couldn’t bring himself to worry even the slightest bit and sheer curiosity spoke out of him when he asked “Are you alright…”
The dark skinned man only lifted his hand in an obscure gesture, waving in front of his own face, then in Wash’s general direction. After levitating in between them for a while, his arm fell to his side again and he stood there gaping with a weird expression on his face which Wash couldn’t read at all.
The third sigh of the day escaped the Agents lips as he leaned back in his swivel chair with a squeak, crossing his arms in front of his chest and glaring at Tucker questioningly. “You wanna read the magazine or what is going on with you?” A lame try to get over the awkward silence that had built up between them. He knew Tucker well by now, and if there was one thing that made him suspicious, it was when the soldier was quite for longer than five seconds. It had been a good minute by now and Wash officially got concerned.
Suddenly Tucker moved and stepped forward, crouching down in front of Washington, so that they were on eye level. He had never heard Tucker speak as seriously and as genuinely confused as when he moved even closer to the Freelancer, not a hand width away from his nose with his own and whispered with squinted eyes “What the fuck is that in your face.”
Wash groaned annoyed and moved back, away from the man, lifting the Magazine off the table and holding it in front of his face, intently blocking Tucker from his view. “I hate you.” Of course did Tucker not get the hint to leave him alone, instead his head shot up, staring above the upper edge of the mag and looking Wash directly in the eye. Brown eyes now wide open in excitement. Wash could literally see the mischief blossom. “Oh my fucking god you’re blind. Who would have thought that mister super soldier here needs glasses to read a stupid car magazine. I cannot believe.” “Fuck off Lavernius, leave me alone if everything you do is make fun of me.” He only got an amazed snicker in return “Oh wow this is hilarious.” “And just for the record I’m not fucking blind, I just need reading glasses for when I read something for a longer time up close so I don’t get a headache.”
His attempts to ignore the staring hazel eyes of the soldier failed miserably. Wash stopped pretending to read the article and openly glared back at Tucker, a hand lifted to slide the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He needed them as long as he can remember, usually the helmet automatically cleared his vision so he didn’t have to wear them on duty, when cleaning his guns or following a mission briefing. But now in his civil cloths, there was no Spartantech to assure his eyes to function properly, so he had to get back to the classics. The thin steal frame on his nose was a familiar weight and he hadn’t even been aware that Tucker had not seen him with them by now.
Caboose had of course, at least Wash was reading to him almost every day when the soldier in standard blue couldn’t fall asleep or just wanted a little extra attention. He always said that he thought Wash looked very smart when he wore them, although the Freelancer most of the time just ignored their necessity. The dark grey of the glasses was a stark contrast against his rather pale face with the many freckles, but he didn’t consider them looking wrong or unfitting. They made his face look a little sharper but that was about it in his opinion. They make him see and that is what counts.
Tucker still held his gaze and distractedly grabbed the magazine out of Wash’s hands, throwing it on the chair next to him. A grin spread over his pretty face whilst Wash looked like he was experiencing the worst day ever in his whole career. “You know…” Tucker started again, lifting his hand a second time, the tips of his fingers slightly brushing Wash’s right cheekbone just underneath the glasses.
“… You actually look hot as fuck with those.” Definitely worst workday ever. Of all fucking time.
Poor Wash could physically feel the blush creeping up his neck and he blinked twice, opening and closing his mouth trying to find the right words to describe his done-ness with the Sim-trooper. A bunch of silent seconds passed and who are we kidding, he couldn’t think of anything nearly appropriate to say. It was a rushed “If you say so, but I’d like to continue reading the article now, thanks.” what Wash hastily answered after thirty deadly quite seconds of being painfully aware of their proximity.
Tucker only kept on grinning like the idiot he was and then took a step back to Wash’s relief. “I know that you don’t give a fuck about cars, you are just too flattered by my dashing appearance to think of anything else.” The blushing intensified. Fuck. “Yeah right...”. “No need to deny it dear, I’ll leave you to your article then, see ya later.” He got himself a thermos of coffee and left, not without flashing a toothy grin at Wash and winking at him.
When Tucker had left the kitchen, Washington released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. What the actual fuck just happened? He leaned back in his chair again and stared at the dirty ceiling above him, his face still felt uncomfortably hot. Fucking tendency to blush easily... A spider was busy expanding its net in a corner of the room and Wash felt like it was mocking him for his dumb sensibility. He had given Tucker a new thing to tease him with, and this was never a good thing to happen. The absolute opposite was the case; it usually made his everyday life a hundred times harder and definitely a tenfold more embarrassing.
He usually tried to avoid showing insecurities like that just for the sake of his own sanity. Of course it was just him having to wear glasses, a totally normal thing, but this small thing created a giant pool of opportunities for roasting. There was not much business in Bloodgulch; killing time was their profession when they weren’t busy trying to ’kill’ the Reds, and what gets you through the day faster than teasing other people. Especially if said people were your superior and exceptionally easy to make jokes about cause they were too polite and socially awkward to counter them.
The memories of the first weeks of Tucker finding out about his insomnia or when he accidentally let slip that he had a cat when he was younger, still haunted him in his sleepless nights. All these innuendos and puns... He was positive that he wouldn’t survive a month (if he was lucky and it didn’t stick longer) of Tucker making sexy teacher or librarian jokes about him. He’d simply die. “Oh god I’m fucked.” And yes, he definitely was. But in a whole other way then he thought at this particular moment to himself.