Wash slumped on the worn couch in what served as the base's living room. He checked carefully as to where his teammates were - Tucker was outside practicing with his sword (sound effects included) and he could hear Caboose knocking things over in the kitchen in search of some orange juice. Satisfied that they weren't going to walk in on him, he pulled out an old and slightly dulled yellow swirly straw.

He wasn't entirely sure why he kept the small object a secret. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd kept it at all. It was symbolic of a lot of things, he supposed, of a happier and more innocent time. Then he snorted to himself. It was just a goddamn straw. It didn't have any sort of greater meaning.

But still he twirled it between his fingers, staring at it as if it held the key to fixing the past.

It was a child's thing, really. All those years ago, during Project Freelancer and before Epsilon had... happened... Wash had been a little goofy and awkward, and very naive. It had suited him then. Now, it was just a dull and dusty reminder of a time that was long gone, people long buried.

"Oh no!" Caboose cried from the next room, immediately followed by a resounding crash of what sounded like all the pots and pans they had. "Tucker did it!" the blue soldier tacked on almost instinctively. Wash allowed himself a small chuckle. Caboose had made the comparison once that they both had a lot in common, and although he hated to admit it, it was, in some ways, true - especially when comparing Caboose to the more innocent pre-Epsilon Wash.

Wash turned back to his crazy straw, lips twisting, mood souring. Crazy was right. He knew that he still wasn't entirely stable, even though he constantly assured the others that he was completely sane. After all, someone tried to commit suicide inside his head. That wasn't something you could walk away from without some permanent scars. He spun the straw again, thinking about how much he had changed. The more he hung around the sim squads - not that he really had a choice, seeing as the alternative was to go back to prison - the more he found himself softening around the edges, opening up and becoming more like his old self.

He wouldn't change all the way back, he knew. He couldn't.

His ruminations were interrupted by Caboose seemingly appearing out of nowhere and snatching the straw from his hand without so much as a please or thank you. Later, he wondered how the big, lumbering child of a man had managed to sneak up on him like that. As it was, he could only stare in shock as Caboose jammed the curly straw into the juice box he'd found and, opening the small hatch at the bottom of his helmet, started slurping happily. Wash stared for another few seconds, still trying to come up with some sort of response as Caboose wandered off, sipping away. A small smile graced his features.

He couldn't change all the way back. But he could get pretty damn close.