Title: Connie's Goodbye
Fandom: Red vs. Blue
Rating: 15+ for implied sex scene
Characters: Wash, CT (Mentioned)
Pairing: Wash/CT
Summary: Wash just heard the news about CT's death, and he's not taking things too well.
Author's comments: I have no idea what this is, it was just thrown together in a mass of CT/Wash feels and I will not let this ship sink. As long as there is breath in my lungs, this ship will not sink.

Wash's armoured fist made a scraping little noise as it was thrown against the concrete wall. He was on the verge of tears, and he knew he shouldn't be like this, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help her.

The locker room was empty, thankfully, so no one could watch as he threw another punch at the wall. He knew it should have hurt, but nothing could hurt more than this pain in his chest. His arm stayed on the wall for a moment, before dropping to his side and letting his legs collapse beneath him.

"She's gone," he mumbled under his breath. He shifted slightly and rested his helmeted head on the wall, "gone..."

The inside of his helmet pressed uncomfortably against his forehead and he was almost certain that it would leave a red mark. It wasn't until a few minutes after that he reached his hands up to undo the catches and pull off the helm. It dropped to the floor with a little clunk. Little strands of his blond hair fell over his eyes, and he let it hang there.

Memories of her danced through his mind, her figure clad in brown on the training room floor, a ghost-soft hand brushing against his while sitting on the couches, a night in his bunk with her body moving on top of his and her back arching like it was the best damn thing that she'd felt in a long time.

She had this smile that she'd hardly wear, but would shine like a ray of sun on a rainy day. Wash sighed. His legs started to ache, so he turned to lean on one wall. His armour made a horrible scraping noise as he did so.

The room had lockers lining one wall, and a window on the other, looking down onto one of the training floors. From where he was sitting, he could see the inside of his locker, open only just enough for him to make out the brown helmet. The yellow eyepieces caught the light, glittering slightly. It was one of the only objects that remained of her here. The helmet she gave him in the locker room, the one she gave him when she told him about the Director, the one she gave him when she told him her name.

Not the child-like name that she hated, not her full name that no one would ever call her by, but one specifically chosen to distance herself mentally from the others.

The name that even two weeks after hearing the news she was dead, still brought back all those glorious and haunting memories.

C.T.