so docington has been absolutely destroying my pathetic life recently. one of my freaking otp's... god damn it. anyway. it's a cliche scenario and it's probably been beat to death but yOU KNOW WHAT I DON'T CARE BECAUSE IT'S DOCINGTON OKAY. god i can't handle this right now. and anyway it's just a bad little thing i wrote up in like no time flat, so, have it i dont care because i need to go cry okay. and write a paper.

rvb is ruining me.

/ / /

Doc stared at the sky, feeling forlorn. It wasn't often he had a nightmare, and it wasn't often they affected him in a bad way… but tonight, he just didn't know how to handle them. They seemed so much worse lately. He felt like O'Malley was still sometimes in his mind, floating through it, sinister-like. Like he could read his thoughts. Like he was never alone.

Doc just… supposed it hurt more than ever.

His hands reached up and rubbed his arms. It wasn't cold, but somewhere deep inside of him, the fire was gone. He just felt frozen.

"Doc?" Wash's voice floated over to him, and he suddenly felt really exposed without his armor and he kind of jumped at the random voice.

"Y-yea? What's up?" he twisted around to see the ex-Freelancer walking over to him from the ladder. It wasn't often Doc saw him without his helmet, but it was always nice when it was gone. He felt more like a person, that way.

Wash raised an eyebrow and stopped next to him, staring down, "Why are you sitting on the roof?" Doc tried to think of an answer that wasn't stupid, but he found he didn't care. So, he answered with honesty.

"I – uh… I like the stars, kind of," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling oddly embarrassed for no particular reason. Honestly, he had mixed feelings over stars. They reminded him of O'Malley, but he liked what they represented.

Infinity. Stuff like that.

Wash settled down next to him; both of their legs hanging off the roof, dangling in the barely-there breeze. Wash leaned back on his elbows, but Doc stayed slouched forward, forearms on knees and eyes on the ground.

"I thought you were out here to watch the stars?"

Doc shrugged, "Eh. You know. I just like to be outside, sometimes." Plus, the summer-ish breeze against his skin felt really nice. Wearing armor all the time was stuffy. Silence enveloped the pair for a few moments, and it was just them, the stars and the occasional cricket.

"You okay, Doc?"

Doc frowned and glanced back at the leader of Blue Team. He wasn't looking at him, but instead at the sky. Doc pushed up his glasses.

"I'm fine. Why are you out here, though?"

Wash paused, "I don't know. Couldn't sleep?"

"Fair enough," Doc murmured. The silence was almost deafening, but nothing was as loud as O'Malley's voice, so Doc faired alright. Wash, however stoic he was, began to frown.

"I had a nightmare," he said suddenly. Surprised he would say anything, Doc turned slightly, shifting so that one leg was hanging off the roof and the other was propped on the ledge. He watched Wash's face carefully. Brunette hair suited him surprisingly well.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Wash let a small grin slip and Doc blinked, surprised. He could smile? Moreover, why was he smiling? Now, of all times? The train of thought left him though, as Wash began speaking.

"It was just flashes of memories, I think. Things I haven't forgotten from Epsilon's short stay," his words turned slightly bitter then. "But they're easier now than they were before… these guys," he waved his hand around vaguely. Doc assumed he was speaking of the reds and blues. "They help. Or, rather, their company is a relief."

Doc glanced away from Wash because he was green with envy, and he hated himself for that. He should be happy for his friend – he was doing ok. But, no. He was jealous of the fact that Wash was finally doing okay.

He was lost on the subject of himself.

"I bet it is," Doc murmured. He hugged his right knee to his chest; his other leg still hanging off of the roof.

Wash coughed and sat back up, "Okay, seriously, Doc, what's up? You're being all moody."

Doc should've been offended. But he wasn't, and he decided to be honest with the agent.

"I just had a nightmare earlier, like you, I guess," he muttered, half embarrassed and half too-tired-to-care… because he really was kind of tired.

Wash paused for a few moments, "Would you like to talk about it?"

Doc frowned and chewed on his bottom lip, "It was just, you know… flashbacks, I guess. O'Malley messing with me, making me think things… messing with my emotions." He ended it there, not really wanting to talk about it anymore. He didn't look at Wash, even as they faded into silence. It felt like eternities before Wash did anything.

And all he did was put a hand on Doc's shoulder, but somehow it was the single most comforting thing that'd ever really happened to him.

Doc let out a pent-up breath in a sigh, and just let his eyes drift closed. His head was leaning against his knee, and his arms were wrapped loosely around his leg. The last thing he remembered seeing was Wash's sock-covered feet dangling over the edge of the roof.

/ / /

Doc awakened slowly; his eyes barely fluttered at first and his entire body was in that weird shut-up-mind-I'm-still-sleepy mode, where nothing really works. But the first thing he did was snuggle farther into the pillows and couch cushions and blankets, because seriously it was really cozy and he never wanted to move ever again.

The first rational thought his brain decided to conjure up, however, was the opposite of relaxing.

Because how the hell did he get on the couch?

He sat up quickly, but everything was blurry and ugh where were his glasses this wasn't –

"Morning."

And he squeaked. He squeaked. As if he wasn't pathetic enough as it is, he just had to squeak when someone in a populated base said good morning.

To his defense, though, he couldn't really see.

"U-uh, hi, can – I can't s-see-," something dropped into his lap and he reached down. The familiar feeling of the glasses in his hands felt extremely comforting. He quickly slipped them on and everything came into focus –

Wash.

Last night's events rushed back into his mind and he nearly had a heart attack right there and then, but he managed to keep his heart beating, somehow. Doc watched Wash sip nonchalantly from his cup of coffee while reading something – he thought there was a gun on the cover – and he decided to wish that he never woke up.

"How… did I get down here?" he was met with silence, but ever-so-slightly, he saw Wash's lips lift slightly at the corners. A smirk. It'd barely been 24 hours and Doc had seen him helmetless, smiling and smirking.

But, more importantly, that smirk answered the question that Wash wasn't answering aloud. And Doc felt heat creep up his neck.

And he buried himself back in the pillows and blankets and couch cushions, all to escape from the blush trying to eat away at his soul. Distantly – very distantly because it felt like a mountain of cloth was atop him – he heard Wash's rumbling chuckle.

24 hours and he'd heard him laugh.

He managed to mumble out something vaguely resembling 'I dislike you', but the pillows muffled most of it and all Wash probably heard was something like 'idslkyuo'. It just made the chuckling louder. Because, seriously, Wash couldn't just wake him up, last night? He had to carry him? Doc briefly wondered if he was in heaven or hell. After the chuckling died down, he curled his legs up and tried to ignore the glasses smashing against his closed eyes, and jutted out his bottom lip in his little cavern of blankets and pillows. But his pout only grew as he realized -

He really missed the sound of Wash's laughter and –

– Oh no he's in heaven.