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Tucker has been trying to come up with the perfect quip for just like… so long, now. There has to be one, has to be a zinger about bleeding out and winning the battle with the long-winded douchebag who should, rightfully, be laughably better than Tucker in a fight.
So maybe he didn't technically win. If he'd won, he'd have Felix's body to look at from his great view on the ground, a variation on the ground and warnings flashing in his HUD and someone in armour kneeling in front of him, a medical scanner in her hand. But he hadn't been able to get a decent hit in. Felix is good, which just means Tucker has to be better next time.
If there is a next time.
Yeah, let's not think about that.
"Fuck, that guy talks a lot," Tucker says, to no one in particular.
"Like you're one to talk," comes Church's sarcastic response. He's so close that he almost sounds like he's in Tucker's helmet with him. It's weird until Tucker remembers Epsilon. An AI talking to him is infinitely more reassuring than thinking that Church is in any way responsible for first aid right now. Field medicine isn't any of the Blues' specialties.
"Where is Doc, anyway?" Epsilon asks, as if he's following along in Tucker's head. He is, Tucker realizes, a little slower than he'd like. Blood loss isn't so great for cognitive function, especially when he's already fought through it to try to get to his feet once already. Almost to his feet. He'd gotten his helmet pointed the right way to get Felix talking a little bit longer, at least.
"Who the fuck knows."
Someone tries to roll Tucker onto his back, so they can get at his wound and as he opens his mouth to shout in pain, Epsilon says, "Let's have some nice thoughts, eh, Tucker?"
Getting Junior out of him had hurt like hell, too. Being unconscious for the immediate aftermath was probably for everyone's benefit, but trying to get used to having a kid, an alien kid, all of a sudden, had still been weird. He hadn't wanted anything to do with the thing at first, but then he'd sat down and let Junior crawl into his lap and snuggle into his chest and… yeah, that was the moment he actually became a father. Still unintentionally, but at least with a little more conscious decision than anything up to that point. Junior was ravenous and near-unintelligible, he wanted to be attached to Tucker's hip and he grew way too fast, but he was Tucker's son, end of discussion. He loves his kid unconditionally, no matter how rocky a start they had.
Good had come of that pain and good was coming of this, too, because two opposing armies now know who their common enemy is. And everybody watching got to share in Tucker's suffering of what a goddamn tool Felix is.
He must have blacked out briefly after all, because the next time Tucker actually takes in his surroundings, he's being jostled around on a crowded Pelican and someone is crying. It's not Caboose or Donut or even Simmons, so trying to figure out who it is drives Tucker nuts for a few long seconds, until he turns his head enough to see the tan and turquoise armour kneeling near his head. He doesn't bother being surprised, just raises a hand to gesture at the younger soldier, trying to get his attention.
"Hey, you."
And Palomo, in all his hysterical idiocy, grabs Tucker's hand in both of his own, leaning in close so he can press it to his chestplate without further extending Tucker's arm. It doesn't cause him any more physical pain, thankfully, but it sure is embarrassing.
"Captain!" Palomo gasps. "You're going to be okay, you don't… don't have to say goodbye or anything like that. You're gonna make it, sir."
That would be way too ominous if this were an action movie.
Epsilon is genre-savvy at the worst of times; Tucker groans.
"Ugh, Palomo, just stop crying."
There's an audible sniffle and Palomo holds Tucker's hand a little tighter. "Yes, sir. And I'll be here," he promises, which isn't at all what Tucker asked for, but he's distracted by the way Epsilon is laughing in his head.
You sure this isn't your long lost son? He takes after you.
"Ugh!" Tucker says again, with a little more emphasis. "Everyone just shut the fuck up."
They don't, of course, and Palomo is still holding his fucking hand when Tucker loses consciousness again.
---
He dreams about Blood Gulch— about Church and Caboose and Sheila and Junior and none of that is really strange. Those are things that happened. But he dreams about Flowers in dark blue armour, too, and a gorgeous blonde in military fatigues teasing him and other things that didn't happen. He dreams about bleeding out outside their Blood Gulch base, Church trying to help, saying endless reassuring shit punctuated with colourful cursing and yelling at Caboose to get a medic, get the Reds, get somebody, as if it'll help.
He dreams, hilariously, of Church letting him use the sniper rifle.
---
There's talking. It's not a loud conversation, but it's obviously close and Tucker just wants to focus enough on it to figure out what's going on. His memory is hazy enough as it is.
There was the mission to the jamming tower that Epsilon wouldn't give good odds for. Carolina and Wash both trying to take the dangerous part from him. Fighting Felix, white hot with a personal anger and then with an indescribable pain in his side. Seeing double, but Epsilon in his helmet reminding him they need more and Tucker needs to stay upright to record it.
He wishes he could have done more damage to Felix. Next time he sees him, for sure, Tucker's getting the asshole back for making a joke out of him and the other simulation troopers, planning to utilize them to make things worse instead of better. And for the stabbing. He guesses. Felix deserves an energy sword in the gut.
Live by the pointy shit, die by the pointy shit.
Except some part of Tucker's brain is sort of convinced that that might have been exactly what he did. Body sensations aren't really a thing right now— he thinks he can account for all his limbs, but he has so little control over moving any part of himself that he can't even open his eyes.
And then there's Carolina's voice, serious but solemn instead of angry, as she explains to someone that she's finished repairing Tucker's armour.
"I only touched up the paint on the badly damaged pieces," she continues. "Gotta let him have a bit of character."
"Yeah, he'd appreciate that," Church agrees. Or… not really Church, but Epsilon. "Never really saw the appeal of the colour but… uh…"
"Better not finish that thought."
It sounds weirdly past-tense and serious and yeah, shit, maybe this is what people are aware of after they die. Hot, crazy Freelancers repairing his armour postmortem and the AI fragment that sounds like his dead best friend acting like he's ever had a better sense of style than Tucker. Prick.
Or maybe he's just being melodramatic. It's hard to tell, especially when he stops being able to follow the conversation. He tries to listen, tries again to open his eyes, but it's all so much work and he winds up just letting himself drift off again.
---
When he finally manages to peel his eyes open, the ceiling is too nondescript to know whether he's actually alive or not. It's no coffin lid, but beyond that, who knows?
And then fireworks go off over his face and yeah, he's pretty sure he's actually dead. It's the only explanation. He's not exactly sure why there are fireworks, inside, over his face, but it must be something to do with his death, some weird Chorus tradition he never learned about and now is learning about the hard way. Or rather, the dead way.
The fireworks go off again and a little holoprojection appears over Tucker's face, armoured and short and kinda purple, the way its red and blue fit together.
"I'm glad you're awake," the projection tells him, sounding unreasonably chipper to be talking to someone who's… not actually dead, maybe? Tucker tries to ask what the fuck is going on, but his throat is dry and every single one of his muscles feels every kind of useless, so it just comes out as a confused grunt. "Oh! We should tell the nurse!" A flicker. "There, someone will want to come check. You saved a lot of people, you know. Everyone's proud of you."
Tucker's only response is some sort of half cough, half laugh sound, because he really wants to be glib and self-important right now, especially if he's managed to survive nearly bleeding out like a badass, but he needs words for that. A second avatar joins the first and Tucker at least knows this one, even if he has no idea what Epsilon is doing here instead of… anywhere else, doing important things.
"Don't lay it on too thick, Theta," Epsilon warns. "It'll go to his head."
"But it's true," Theta argues, gesturing at the taller projection. "It was a really good plan and he stayed conscious way longer than Delta thought he would. You said you were proud, too."
"God, definitely don't tell him that!" Epsilon exclaims, a little too high-pitched, and it's such a reassuringly Church-y line that Tucker is almost smiling by the time a New Republic soldier with medic's markings shows up to check on him. She doesn't have a helmet on and she's got a mess of black curls barely contained by a hairband and Tucker completely forgets about the AI fragments in favour of trying to think up a really good pick-up line.
Aside from being deliciously easy on the eyes, the medic is also both gentle and helpful, checking his vitals and helping him sit up in the bed, bringing him water while he catches sight of his helmet on the little table beside the bed, Theta sitting cross-legged on it to watch the proceedings. By the time the medic's finished checking on him, Tucker can talk enough to ask about putting in a request to keep her taking care of him (if she knows what he means) and she actually laughs instead of telling him off.
Officially pleased that this is the week people finally start realizing how great he is, Tucker takes another sip of his ice water while Theta flickers over to project onto his thigh.
"See? You'll be better in no time," Theta tells him, all childlike faith and reassurance.
"How long's it been, anyway?"
"Thirty-seven hours and eighteen minutes since we got here."
"And… where's here?" Somewhere with the News, clearly, and presumably the rest of the Reds and Blues and Carolina, if Church is hanging around, but it's not like he can figure anything out beyond that.
"The New Republic base, with your troops and General Kimball."
"Thanks," Tucker says, pausing for more water. "Is… everyone else okay?"
"Yes." Theta shrugs. "But Doctor Grey isn't letting anyone fight for a few days."
"Because we all got our asses kicked?" He waits for an answer but Theta doesn't give one beyond an uncertain hum and eventually Tucker clears his throat. "Hey, can I talk to Church?"
The avatar doesn't answer, just fizzles out to be replaced with the more familiar form.
"So, uh…" Epsilon starts. "Don't believe anything the little guy says about us being proud of you. Theta's, like, pure distilled trust and reassurance. He's just trying to make you feel better."
"And god forbid anyone try to make Tucker feel better when he just got stabbed."
"Come on, you know that's not what I meant."
"I know," Tucker replies on a laugh, a little too pleased to have the AI fragment something bordering on flustered instead of just mad. "The super nice part of you is just weird. Not sure I'd ever really get used to that.
Theta flickers back into existence next to Epsilon. "Good weird, right?"
"Yeah, dude. Good weird." In a way, Theta almost reminds him of talking to Junior, so Tucker has to appreciate something in that. It's just thinking of him as a facet of the Alpha, of Church, is such a bizarre concept to him. "You keep doin' you."
That's apparently reassuring enough that Theta doesn't complain when Epsilon shoos him away with a gesture.
"How does that work, anyway?" Tucker asks, gesturing at the space Theta's avatar had just occupied. "I thought you were just the Epsilon fragment."
"Yeah, but it turns out that so long as you still have all the memories of feelings and logic and shit, they're still basically there. You can't divorce memory and emotion, especially if you're still going to let memory have a personality—"
"A shitty personality."
"— So it winds up pretty easy to recreate these guys," Epsilon continues, ignoring Tucker's comment. "Especially when you're as awesome as I am."
Tucker generally doesn't like to admit when someone else is being awesome, certainly not when it's any variation of Church. But there's no argument to be made here, because it is kind of cool and Tucker remembers how weirdly reassuring it was to have Church telling him to hold on while they waited for rescue. So he won't argue. This time.
"So you can basically just do what the Alpha did, right? Make new fragments?" Tucker asks, because that suddenly seems like it could come in handy, even if the original fragments were probably at least partially responsible for all the Freelancers being crazy, in some way or another. He can't deny that Epsilon is handy.
"They're not real fragments. But I know how they'd act if they were and humans think and communicate really slow compared to me so short of trying to make friends with Lopez, I'm kinda alone here, waiting for everything to happen."
There's a pause, brows furrowed in confusion, then: "You made imaginary friends."
"I did not."
"Dude, you did," Tucker insists, and this is doing as much for his mood as the pretty medic did. His body might be one part sore and three parts heavy and numb, but sitting around and irreverently bitching with Church is one of his joys in life. Not that he'd ever articulate that where any version of Church could hear, of course, but he knows it, himself, and that helps. "I mean, I don't blame you, Lopez wouldn't be your friend anyway, and these guys seem pretty cool. I know Caboose really likes the green one and I don't know, little purple dude watching me sleep is better than you doing it, I guess."
"I'm projecting from your helmet, Tucker, what the fuck else are we supposed to be watching?"
"Doesn't this place have wifi?"
"Oh my god," Epsilon starts, exasperation in every syllable, but it's what Tucker hears outside his room that takes priority.
"Church, shut up. Pretend I'm asleep."
"What the fuck, asshole? I thought we were having a bonding moment."
But Tucker is already pretending to be asleep— eyes closed, expression neutral. Epsilon is cursing him out when Palomo shows up for a visit and from the sound of it, one of the other fragments pop up so it seems less like he was arguing with himself. It's not like Palomo would know better, anyway. The soldier sounds more than a little emotional as he explains that he'd just wanted to see how his captain was doing and that he'd been hopeful when he'd heard Tucker was awake. Epsilon plays along perfectly, saying that Tucker was only awake for a few minutes and he had a lot more resting to do, but can't talk Palomo out of sitting at Tucker's bedside for a while.
A for effort, at least.
---
Pretending to be asleep somehow turned into actually falling back asleep and Tucker has no idea how much time has passed except everything is darker when he next wakes up. He's still groggy and heavy, but as he's trying to make heads or tails of the quiet conversation happening beside him, he takes a deeper breath to try to wake himself up and immediately ends up regretting it when pain shoots through his side.
"Ah, fuck," he gasps, one hand going to the bandaging on his side he hadn't paid much attention to before now. There's a flash of light immediately in front of his eyes and he makes himself focus on it, because focusing on anything that isn't relieving Felix's knife in his stomach would be really goddamn nice right now.
"Hey, Tucker, breathe," Epsilon orders from eye level and Tucker just finds himself gasping again, which only makes the pain worse.
"Not helping, asshole."
It feels like breathing isn't working right but not breathing sure isn't going to work either and that creates an anxiety that mixes with being half asleep and being in pain and doesn't stop corkscrewing up into full blind panic until there's a hand gripping each of his shoulders firmly.
"I'll get a doctor," Epsilon says and for some reason Tucker just assumes that the hands holding him will be disappearing. You know, so Church can go do that.
But all that happens is that the avatar in front of him flickers and the person the hands actually belong to says, "Tucker, calm down, you're alright."
It's Washington. And Tucker is so confused at himself for thinking it was Church, actual, physical Church, that he more or less stops panicking. Maybe it's just that grabbing him and shaking him would seem like a reasonable Church response to Tucker freaking out and in pain. Wash wasn't actually shaking him, true, but. Details.
"Hey," Tucker says, as nonchalant as possible while still holding his side and trying to ignore his heart rate, still spiked to the point where he's pretty sure he can feel his pulse in his eyeballs. Wash looks somewhere between baffled and concerned, face all pinched like an upset puppy, so he continues, "You know, getting stabbed kinda hurts."
"I do know, actually," Wash responds. It's only the fact that he doesn't immediately add anything about getting stabbed by teammates that every part of Tucker's brain finally gets the definitely not Church memo.
(He is really gonna have to have a talk with his brain about this, because what the fuck.)
"I'm pretty sure it hurts more now than it did at the jamming station."
"You had adrenaline and your armour back at the jamming station," Wash says, almost gently. Now that his expression is less confused, he just looks tired. Tucker's about to ask what time it is and if Wash should be asleep, but Epsilon pipes up first.
"And me. I wasn't gonna let him bleed out alone."
"And the tests on the effect of AI presence on pain were all inconclusive."
"York said it helped."
"York was borderline crazy."
Wash's grip on Tucker's shoulders is suddenly a little too tight to be reassuring and Tucker really thinks Wash should be asleep, if only because he really doesn't want to be witness to an argument about Project Freelancer right now, especially between these two. It's not exactly his favourite topic on the whole, but holy shit, not with these two.
"What about Carolina?" Epsilon continues, tone aggressive enough that Tucker can't expect him to stop any time soon.
"Carolina never acknowledges pain anyway!"
"I'd tell you to ask one of the others, but oops! Guess we can't!"
Wash makes an offended noise. "What? Like that's my fault?"
"Oh, like you ever did anything to try to save any of them."
"Holy shit," Tucker says, and both the AI and Freelancer stop to look at him. "I get that fighting with your ex is messy, but if you two really need to do this right now, I'm gonna need you to take it outside."
"We're not fighting," Wash says, like a parent blatantly lying to their child about why mommy and daddy are screaming and throwing things.
"Yes we are, dickhead," Epsilon argues, before Tucker can. His avatar has moved to be in Wash's face, instead of hovering over Tucker's chest. "He didn't have a healing unit I could run so I did the only fucking thing I could and you don't get to act like that couldn't possibly have helped."
"That's not what I said."
"But that's what you were thinking. I know how you work, asshole. I've been inside your head."
"And what a great time that was for—"
"Shut up!" It's loud enough that they both stop to look at Tucker again, loud enough that someone probably heard him down the hall. But also loud enough that he pulled his wound again while he was shouting that he immediately follows it with crunching to one side in pain, muttering curses under his breath. Wash shifts one of his hands to the back of Tucker's head, apparently trying to be reassuring.
"Sorry, buddy," Epsilon says, even if it does sound awkward and rushed.
The medic — nurse? Doctor? Tucker isn't sure what anyone's position or life on this planet is outside of what armour can tell him — shows up then and Wash finally lets go of him to sit back in the chair across the room and run his hands through his hair. Epsilon's quiet, not bothering to project himself anywhere.
It's not the same medic from earlier, with the pretty laugh and the afro of curls, but a tall, skinny guy who sort of looks like a hyper-cute version of Simmons, reddish hair and a fuckton of freckles and all. His laugh is stuttery and ends on a snort when Tucker tries to hit on him, so yep, too much of a nerd to try to pursue. Tucker can appreciate, however, that either this base has the most unfairly attractive medical team in the galaxy or they just keep sending him the cute ones as thanks for his heroics. Either way, he's happy.
Very happy, when the new painkillers start kicking in even before the freckled medic has finished checking on him, getting rid of that last bit of panic from before and causing him to bid the medic farewell with a line so lame that he can hear Wash groan from the other side of the room. Wash, naturally, has no appreciation for Tucker's skills.
After that, there's silence, because Epsilon is still hiding in Tucker's helmet and Wash apparently doesn't have any more smartass comments to make. Tucker considers just saying fuck it and letting himself sleep some more, but the medic had called it night shift and it certainly feels like night and Wash does, in fact, look like an exhausted sack of shit. He shifts enough so he's half on his side, looking over to the chair in the corner, his helmet between them.
"Hey, Wash, how hard did Felix and Locus kick your ass, anyway?"
Wash lets out a breath. "Pretty hard."
"Carolina, too?"
"She's tough, but… yeah." The ex-Freelancer clears his throat, continues, "Although the mission was a complete success. We were all successful diversions and you got Felix talking easier and longer than I expected."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, dude," Tucker says dryly, but he can't find it in himself to really be upset. Everyone's proud of you, Theta had said, and it doesn't really matter if Wash was included in that or not. "You all saw a doctor or whatever, though, right?"
"Don't worry, I made sure everyone got patched up."
"You too?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
That doesn't actually answer his question, but Tucker's not one to harp. He's just letting his mouth run on increasingly drowsy autopilot, because that feels like the right thing to do. "Just checking. We're a team, you know, right? Us and the Reds and now you and Carolina might as well be a part of it too."
"Tucker…"
"Yeah, I know we're just supposed to be the troops you use and kill for practice or whatever, but at this point we're kind of fucking committed to watching out for you guys like we watch out for each other, so taking care of yourself is just part of pulling your weight. So… have you even slept since we got back?"
There's a pause from Wash, but he looks like he's trying to take Tucker's words to heart, at least, when he says, "I have."
"For more than like two hours?"
"There's been a lot to do," Wash responds, which is telling.
"Yeah, okay, and you need to sleep, because you're clearly Captain Cranky over there. I think Church has slept more than that."
"Still a computer program," comes Church's disembodied voice from Tucker's helmet. "I like the alliteration of 'Agent Agitated,' though."
"Oh, yeah, that's good," Tucker approves, while Wash rubs his hands up over his face and through his hair. "So, Agent Agitated, when are you going to go to sleep?"
"I'll think about it when I leave." But he doesn't say when he plans to do that, just leans forward with his elbows on his knees and says, "You should get some more rest, Tucker."
It's not a bad idea. The pain in his side is dulled by now, but so is just about every other sensation, making sleeping more and more enticing by the second. He squints his eyes, watching Wash for a long moment before shifting onto his back again with a grimace.
"Thanks for visiting, Wash."
"Yeah, of course. Teammates, right?"
Tucker makes an acknowledging noise, thinking of the fight between Wash and Epsilon. Wash not actually leaving after that probably means something, even if he's not sure what, and Tucker isn't in the mood to exacerbate any already tense situation, but he can't help himself, from checking, "Hey, Church, you okay?"
He doesn't expect Theta to show up on his chest with a "We're okay, Tucker," but he doesn't mind. Honestly, it's kind of nice to fall asleep with some version of your friend acting like your personal, protective nightlight.
---
Tucker learns that the pretty, afroed medic's name is Raquel and she went to school for nursing before she wound up enlisting as a medic and she keeps flirting back when he tries to flirt with her. She's perfect, basically, and now Tucker has to figure out what could pass as a date in a rebel base hidden in a cave, because as soon as he's able to walk without assistance again, he is absolutely asking her out. It's a good thing to focus on.
---
Donut and Simmons bring him a muffin and congratulate him on not dying before they head out to training with Wash. Grey might have told them all to take it easy, but apparently Freelancer easy is different from a sane person's easy and Tucker has to wonder if Agent Agitated wound up sleeping after all.
---
Grif shows up while he's supposed to be at training with Wash and drags a second chair into Tucker's room so he can have somewhere to put his feet up while he lounges in the original visiting chair. They spend the next half hour playing fuck-marry-kill, until Epsilon materializes to scream at them for how often they use Freelancers.
The two men share a look and then Grif smirks and offers, "Tex, Carolina, Washington."
Epsilon's anguished noise just makes Tucker all the more keen to answer.
"Well, Tex was pretty consistently most likely to kill us all, so gotta take her out or die trying," Tucker says, shrugging with the shoulder on his didn't-get-stabbed side. "Fuck Carolina, because damn. And marry Wash, I guess."
"Why not fuck Wash and keep Carolina?" Grif asks, because half the fun of this game is breaking every round down into a little debate.
"Wash is gonna be riding my ass in the least fun way possible whether I like it or not, so maybe if we were married, he'd actually think about listening to me every once in a while."
"So you'd be the naggy wife?"
Damn. "When you put it that way, yeah, I should marry Carolina. At least Wash looks pretty fuckable."
"Definitely fuckable," Grif agrees.
"I'm leaving," Epsilon announces loudly, even though he can't.
When Grif leaves for lunch, Tucker gets the benefit of a bandage change and Theta projecting to sit on his chest in a way that's clearly meant to be comforting. He panics and fizzles out when Caboose and Smith show up, alarmingly loud, but Tucker isn't about to complain about the constant cycle of company that today seems to be. These two refuse to make any real sense to anyone but each other, so Tucker mostly just lets them talk, at least until Smith starts on about how relieved Palomo will be to know Tucker is awake and talking.
"He's got… shit to do, I don't think he'll be able to make time for me," Tucker says, trying.
"Yeah, and Tucker needs to rest," Epsilon says, showing up in front of the visiting pair. "Hey, Caboose, how's it going?"
"Church!"
Tucker tries to think of appropriate alternatives to thank you beer for AI while he watches, Caboose thrilled and Smith suitably distracted.
---
Grey visits to poke at his side and make Tucker pretend he doesn't yelp in pain, then to tell him he should stay where everyone can watch him another night, as if that's not creepy. Carolina visits next, when evening rolls around, and Theta shows off fireworks for her instead of letting Epsilon proper handle interacting with guests. Tucker thinks this is cute as fuck and apparently Carolina agrees, because she actually takes off her helmet and tugs the visitor's chair right next to Tucker's bed and sits there smiling while she talks with him and the AI.
She's there for hours, mostly with stories, but she listens to the few that Tucker thinks are worth telling. The Reds drop by for a bit and they join in. Wash visits after they leave, nearly turning back around when he sees Carolina and the AI avatars. She's the one who talks him into staying, though, demanding his help in telling more Freelancer stories that Tucker will get a kick out of.
Tucker's barely keeping his head up by the time Wash leaves and Carolina calls it a night not too long after, getting to her feet and putting her helmet back in place before looking over to where Epsilon's perched on Tucker's similarly coloured one.
"You coming, Epsilon?"
"Eh... Tch." It's Church's avoiding noises; Tucker knows them well. "Nah, I mean. It's kind of quiet here and he'll be out in the morning, so. You know. I might as well."
"Uh-huh," Carolina says, sounding like she's still smiling. "Then I'll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your sleepover, boys."
When she's gone, Tucker starts to shift to see Epsilon better and the avatar flickers over to his chest instead, that easy to see spot that Theta's been favouring.
"You don't really have to stay," Tucker says, although he's careful not to make it sound argumentative in any way.
"Ah, it's no big deal. Carolina never stops for more than an hour or two, so hanging out here doing nothing for a few days is nice."
Tucker smiles — he means to just grin or something smarmy but the drug and Church combo has some sort of genuine happy expression on his face and fuck it, it can stay there. "I thought time moved really slowly for you now. It's gotta feel like more than a few days."
"Yeah, well, time always crawls with you for company. That's nothing new," Epsilon says, sarcasm thick. "If Theta didn't like you so much, I'd've left with Carolina when she came by yesterday."
But it's not just Theta liking Tucker, because that's part of the Alpha, part of Church, that likes him enough to care about Tucker when he gets his ass kicked and thinks he might be dying and has weird dreams in the hospital. He tries not to be too sentimental a person, especially when it comes to teammates in the military, but Church is… Well, it's Church. And it's complicated.
"Whatever," Tucker says, already half asleep. "You can stay."
And if this is the only time they have to sit around and just hang out between now and whenever, Tucker is more than willing to take it.