Work Text:
Tucker trudged through the jungle, pushing ahead of the group to wear away the overgrown path into something more walkable. He kept his teeth grit behind his visor, keeping his glare and annoyance safe in his helmet.
He could have been doing anything else with his day, but he was here, slogging through the jungle of chorus with a small pack of teenagers. And the worst bit? He had volunteered for this shit.
The squad leaders had gotten in trouble, and it wasn’t anything that bad, just trying to sneak into the contraband locker and sneak out with a few beers to have some fun a few miles or so from the base, the kind of trouble that kids their age were supposed to get up to.
Still, it had to be Wash and Carolina who caught them doing it, and it had to be when they were both tired and irritated.
So, when the four of them were dragged to Kimball's office at an unreasonable hour of the night with their tails between their legs, of course, Tucker had stepped in to defend them! Of course, he had mediated with three of the scariest people he knew and cooled tempers.
Of course, he had suggested they just let them do some of the tedious and meaningless runs they usually delegated to the other lieutenants, and of course, he’d gone and thrown out the words, “ hell, I’ll even lead that mission for you if you’re all too busy. ”
So now, he was here, cutting through the jungle and bush with his sword, painfully hot in the summer heat and humidity, tired, and regretting his decisions because the four teens behind him would not stop complaining.
Tucker huffed and turned up his suit’s temperature control up to try cool off while turning the comms volume down.
“Could we please take a break?” came yet another plead from behind him, Palomo back at it again. “In a minute,” Tucker responded, knowing they were only two minutes away from the planned rest stop.
“That’s what you said last time!” Bitters complained, trailing behind the group. “We are two minutes away.” he insisted, “Andy, back me up here.”
“Captain Tucker is correct. We will be able to rest shortly.” Andersmith affirmed, and man, Tucker loved that kid right now. He was built like Caboose, so he didn’t get tired and was always nice enough to help wrangle the others if Tucker was having a hard time.
“Yeah, we pick up pace now. We can collapse later.” Jensen agreed, clearly picking up her speed.
Palomo and Bitter groaned with reluctance but followed her anyway.
Andersmith and Jensen helped lead the pack as Tucker broke into the clearing, taking a thankful seat in the grass as the squad leaders collapsed into the soil around him.
Tucker thought for a moment before caving, finding the latches to his helmet and releasing them, removing the seal and hauling it off, chucking it down into the grass next to him and fiddling with the compartment in his forearm, checking it was the right one then taking a swig, making sure to keeping a straight face as he drank, swallowing just enough to take the edge off.
“Uh, Captain?” Palomo asked, and Tucker raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Can we do that?” he followed up, and Tucker smirked. “You’re on break, I don’t care.” The lieutenants pulled their helmets off almost instantly, panting in the fresh air. Jensen sat up and raised up a knee, fiddling with her shin plate to open the compartment. “Aw, man.” she sighed, letting her head fall against her raised leg.
“What?” Tucker asked, looking over.
“I didn’t pack my water container,” Jensen answered, glancing back at Tucker and then down at the flask in his hand.
“You can’t have this.” Tucker cut off quickly, and Palomo sat up. “Hey, that’s just mean!”
“It’s not that-” Tucker tried to explain.
“Yeah! What’s up with that lately?” Bitters added, glaring at him.
“Guys-” Tucker tried again.
“I hate to agree, but they do have a point. Water is a vital resource.” Andersmith nodded.
“She can’t have it because it’s not water!” Tucker yelled, finally getting his explanation out, and they all paused, the four going a little wide-eyed. “Just- hold on,” Tucker paused, putting the current flask down on the grass next to him and flicking open his other forearm compartment, handing Jensen his actual water flask.
Jensen took it and glanced at it suspiciously but drank some and nodded, silently confirming to the rest of the group.
“Wait, if that’s water, what’s in the other?” Bitter’s asked, almost hopeful.
Tucker thought for a moment as they all looked at him. “Medicine.” he finally answered cautiously.
“Medicine?” Palomo questioned, and Tucker nodded.
“Got it from the Doc cabinet, helps with headaches.” Tucker lied or rather half-truthed. It was technically a medicine, just not one Grey had given him on purpose.
“Are you doing alright, Captain?” Andersmith asked, brow furrowed.
“Yeah, fine.” Tucker nodded.
“You’re not doing that thing where you get injured and then power through it for no reason?” Jensen pressed, and Bitters nodded. “Yeah, you guys promised you wouldn’t do that.”
“ I’m fine ,” Tucker repeated, and Palomo gave him a look.
“That’s exactly what Washington says when he’s not.”
“Alright, low blow, man.” Tucker glared, then looking at the current group, sat in a semi-circle around him, all clearly unconvinced and ready to throw another barrage of questions at him. “Okay, fine. It’s whiskey, happy?” Tucker admitted, and all of them went wide-eyed.
“You’re drinking right now!?” Palomo cried, and Tucker snorted. “Yeah, and if anyone catches me, you guys won’t be the only one in trouble. Wash will get on my ass about it, and not in the fun way.”
“I thought we weren’t in trouble?” Jensen asked.
“There is a fun way?” Andersmith followed.
Tucker paused for a moment, glancing between them, then pointing at Jensen. “No, but If Wash or Kimball asks, you are in deep trouble, and I am being so cruel to you all.” he then pointed at Andermsith. “And I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?” Palomo asked. “We won’t tell anyone.”
“Firstly, you know why. Secondly, bullshit.” Tucker scoffed, patience wearing thin. “And y’know what? I’m done with this topic. Put your helmets back on. We’re walking.” he instructed, ignoring the protests and grabbing his flasks back, putting them in their correct compartments. He wrangled his hair back into his helmet, putting long dreads back into place, tugging it back on, and getting back to his feet as they all followed.
Tucker continued their march through the overgrown dirt path, onward with the maintenance mission. The idea was that this path led through the track from base to an old storage warehouse they still used, so Tucker and the squad were to clear it and make sure a warthog or a mongoose could use it without issue, which was why they were on foot in the first place.
Tucker’s mind wandered as he cut through the overgrown bushes and branches that covered the dirt path. The practised movements of ‘swish, swish, stab stab’ allowed him to think about other things while working, the conversation earlier reminding him of a fond memory.
“The fun way” was something he’d discovered pretty early on after he and Wash had become official.
They were about two months in, and Tucker had been getting a little too relaxed around Wash while they were working, so Wash had gotten back on his whole ‘I’m going to break you’ shtick, and the obstacle course had made a return. Not that Tucker had minded. Wash knew that Tucker was capable, and not being underestimated was a nice change of pace. Plus, hearing him pull the captain's voice again was pretty hot. Well, until Wash was trying to make him complete the course in under twenty seconds, that is, then it got a little annoying.
Tucker had been slacking in response, and it was annoying Wash, leading to him muttering, “What is actually going to get you to do this?” at Tucker in desperation and then Tucker had an idea. Tucker had returned to the start line, Wash standing dejectedly next to him, prepared for another lacking round.
Then Tucker smacked him on the ass and sprinted, taking off as quickly as possible, going just fast enough to look behind him and see Wash’s face as Wash took off after him.
Tucker was agile and hadn’t been trying before, so Wash yelling after him and giving chase was plenty of motivation, and he had the skill to win, which he did, coming to a screeching halt after the finish line, standing proudly just quick enough for Wash to come sprinting around the corner and tackle him to the floor. Wash had pinned him easily, and the image of Wash glaring down at him and panting with Tucker’s winning record displayed on the screen behind his head was enough to make Tucker smile still, even as he continued down the path.
“What the hell was that?” Wash had asked him, and Tucker had beamed the most shit-eating grin up at him. “Something to get me going.” he had answered, watching the realisation dawn on Wash’s face.
“Worked, too.” Tucker had added, nodding to the board, and Wash had looked back at it, then back at Tucker.
“You sly fuck.” Wash had breathed, and Tucker had grinned. “You talking dirty now, Wash?”.
That had done it. Wash had finally leaned down and made out with him right there on the training room floor in answer.
That kind of training had become their usual from then on. Tucker or Wash would generally pull something risky, and the other would hound them for it with no actual anger behind the reaction. It would usually devolve into a giggly game of cat and mouse and end with both of them either against a wall or the floor.
Those training sessions had become the highlight of Tucker’s day, and currently, he was missing one.
“Captain?” Jensen’s voice came from beside him, and Tucker snapped out of his thoughts.
“Yeah?” he asked, glancing forward, checking he hadn’t done something dumb or screwed up thier path.
“How strong was that whiskey?” She continued to ask, and Tucker narrowed his eyes, even if it was hidden behind his visor. “I can handle my alcohol, Jensen. Why do you ask?” he responded.
“You just seem more… enthused as of a few minutes ago,” Jensen explained, and Tucker smiled. “Just thinking, Jensen. Nothing major”
“Right, right.” she nodded, then paused for a second. “ The fun way ?”
“Later,” Tucker answered, having picked up on the marron squad leader's interest in gossip. He’d tell her next time, when she had secrets worth trading, that is.
Tucker broke through some final flora, and the path opened out. They were getting close, walking the bit of the dirt road that was more well-maintained. Tucker tapped on his data pad discreetly, slowing to let the kids walk in front of him so it’d be less noticeable.
“Whatcha doin'?” Bitter’s asked, slacker recognising slack.
“Running some data, the path’s clear; you can walk further ahead.” Tucker lied, opening up Tetris in the corner of his visor.
“So we’re close?” Bitters asked, and Tucker nodded. “Yep, just a few more miles, and we can all go home.”
“Thank god.” Bitters sighed, marching ahead to catch up with the group, antsy to be done.
Tucker smiled and continued the game in his visor, walking a few feet before something flickered in front of it.
[W: Tucker.] The comms transmission read, the text showing up in his helmet and in front of the round of Tetris.
[T: how did you know this time?] Tucker sent back.
[W: it shows up on your suit activity.]
Tucker smirked, typing smugly [T: watching my vitals again?]
[W: mission tracking, technically.] Wash replied, and Tucker could just imagine the look Wash was giving him right now.
[T: is that what we’re calling it now? I thought it was just stalking.]
[W: sorry.]
[T: no, it’s okay, I think it’s cute.]
[W: just focus on your work, Tucker]
Tucker grinned, [T: love you too, Wash]
There was a minute of pause before he got a message back.
[W: <3]
Tucker exited all the open tabs from his visor and looked up, finding the four squad leaders standing proudly in a line at the end of the path. " What are you all so happy about?” Tucker asked, and they stepped to the side to reveal a warthog sitting happily in front of the warehouses, waiting patiently for them.
“Well, what are you all standing around for? Go on!”
“SHOTGUN!” Bitters yelled, running for the first time today to the car. “damn it!” Jensen cursed, running after him.
Palomo and Andersmith followed after them, climbing into the back as Jensen hopped on the Gatling gun, Bitters taking the passenger side as Tucker took his spot into the driver's seat, starting the engine quickly and tearing down the path. The dirt path was now clear and paved through the jungle neatly, the hour or so walk turning to a barely fifteen-minute drive.
Tucker finally pulled into the base garage, arriving to see the other captains waiting expectantly for them.
“Hey, you made it back alive. Good work.” Simmons congratulated, and Tucker scoffed, climbing out and pulling his helmet off to match the other captains. “Simmons, yours is the one bad at driving, not mine. No offense, Jensen.”
“None taken.” Jensen nodded.
“Can we go?” Bitters asked, and they all nodded.
“Dismissed.” the four captains waved off in unison, and the squad disbanded, disappearing together, presumably to the barracks to get out of armour and take a nap, lucky them.
“You think they learned any thing?” Grif asked, and Tucker scoffed. “Are you kidding?”
“You’d better hope not.” Wash voiced, appearing almost out of nowhere beside Tucker.
“Jesus- HI.” Tucker jumped, and Caboose waved at him. “Hi.”
“We have a meeting,” Wash told him, grabbing Tucker by the arm and leading him away, Tucker flipping Simmons and Grif off as they stifled knowing laughs and snickers.
Wash dragged him off into a quieter hallway that definitely wasn’t in the direction of any meeting room.
“A meeting, huh?” Tucker asked as they walked, and Wash went from leading Tucker by the arm to by the hand, intertwining thier fingers. “Mhm, it’s very important.” Wash hummed, eventually stopping in a more secluded spot of the base, the area they were familiar with.
“Misson went well.” Tucker smiled, slinking his arms around Wash’s neck, just over where the metal of his chest plate sat atop his shoulders, using the contact to pull him ever closer.
“That’s good.” Wash nodded, hands settling on Tucker’s waist, resting in the gap of kevlar between the heavy plates of aqua metal.
Wash frowned slightly, eyes narrowed. “Tucker.”
“Wash,” Tucker responded, narrowing his eyes aswell, breath ghosting over Wash’s lips.
Wash seemed to make a conclusion and stepped back, the two untangling from each other and Wash sticking out his hand expectantly. Tucker glanced down at his hand and then back at Wash. “What?” he asked, and Wash gave him a look.
“Seriously?” Tucker complained, and Wash made a grabby motion in answer.
Tucker grumbled but dug the flask out of his forearm compartment, handing it over with a glare. Wash took it with a smile and opened it, Tucker anticipating him pouring it out somewhere, but instead, Wash gave it a slight sniff and then threw his head back, beginning to chug it.
“Hey! That’s mine, you dick!” Tucker cried, trying to grab it back, but Wash jerked backwards away from his hand and finished what little whiskey was left in the flask.
Wash brought the flask away from his mouth and passed it back with a grin. “Thanks.”
Tucker gawked at him for a second and then dropped the flask to the floor, using both hands to shove Wash back against the wall and kiss him, their armour clinking against each other as Tucker pressed himself against Wash, keeping him pinned as Tucker pushed for more tongue, being able to taste the whiskey in Wash’s mouth and trying to steal back as much as he could, dragging his hands through Wash’s hair, making it stick up in a million different directions, then tugging on it to angle Wash’s head, depending the kiss as much as he could.
Wash groaned and tugged him closer, arms pulling around Tucker’s waist and trying to grind his hips into Tucker’s for some friction, instead creating a loud metal scraping sound as their armour clanked together, and Tucker pulled away just enough to look at Wash.
“Did you just do that?” he snorted, and the tip of Wash’s ears went pinker than they already were.
“No,” Wash answered in the least convincing tone Tucker had ever heard.
“Alright, I don’t care what Kimball’s got you working on. I’m borrowing you for training since we missed today.” Tucker announced, stepping back and typing on his datapad as they walked, sending that particular heads up to Kimball.
“That isn't necessary; I've met my personal quota for training today”, Wash protested, and Tucker rolled his eyes.
“for ‘ Training ’,” he repeated, making air quotes around the last word. “C’mon, Wash, you were thinking with your dick a second ago, keep up.”
“Wha-” the meaning dawned on his face along with a slight pink, “ Oh .”
“you’re lucky you’re cute.” Tucker scoffed, shaking his head in amusement as Kimball signed off on the request. “And you’re free for the whole hour,” he smiled, giving Wash a familiar look, “any bright ideas?”
“Just a few.” Wash smiled back, gathering up their helmets and the flask from earlier, grabbing Tucker by the hand and practically sprinting down the halls towards their barracks, and Tucker laughed. “You still owe me whiskey, Wash!”
“I’ll make up for it!”