He hadn't had this dream in a long time.

He was lying down on a hill, his arms bare and crossed behind his head. He doesn't remember if he had ever owned the tank-top he was wearing, but it was soft, like it had been well loved. It smelled like his favorite laundry detergent. He missed that smell.

The breeze was warm as it blew threw his hair, making the grass around him sway. The sun was high, but no matter how long he looked at the endless traveling clouds, his eyes never hurt. He breathed, long and deep. The flowers were in bloom, it was spring.

It always began like this and ended like this, but the middle always brought him a visitor.

And, like clockwork, a shadow fell over his face, just for a moment, before the person sat beside him, the grass shifting to accommodate his guest.

Wash smiled, his eyes shut and the sun warming his face. He wasn't concerned with who was beside him, it was always a friend here. He'd let them speak whenever they were comfortable.

The person was silent except for their shifting, likely trying to get comfortable. Wash just breathed, wondering if it was impossible to fall asleep inside a dream.

"Wash, you know this is the nature version of watching paint dry, right?"

Wash hummed in acknowledgment, cracking an eye open and looking at his guest.

It was Tucker, wearing an aqua t-shirt and gray shorts. Looks like even in his dreams Wash couldn't imagine the other man in anything but the familiar blue. He was sitting up, looking at Wash with a disgruntled face. His dreads were tied at the nape of his neck, neat and free of their confining helmet. His hands were plucking out pieces of grass like they had personally offended him.

Wash closed his eyes again. "It's supposed to be relaxing, Tucker."

He heard Tucker snort. "Yeah, well, it's boring as shit, and prickly. How do you stand sitting in this stuff? I'm gonna be finding grass in places where there should never be grass, Wash."

Wash just shrugged. To be honest, he couldn't feel the uncomfortable prickling of the grass, or the sweat that should have been rolling down his shoulders and soaking into his shirt. He didn't feel it because he didn't want to feel it, because, despite how real everything he wanted to feel was, he knew this was a dream. It had to be.

Real life hadn't made him this happy in a long time.

Of course, dream Tucker didn't know this. To him, this was real.

Wash wished he could pretend with him.

"Just lie down, Tucker."

He heard Tucker shift. "Fine, but if a bug bites my ass, just know that I'm blaming you."

"I accept full responsibility."

"Good, someone will need to pay for damaging my finest asset."

Wash laughed, turning over so he was leaning on one arm, facing Tucker. "I thought those were your 'glorious calves'?"

It was Tucker's turn to laugh, turning his head to look at Wash, "What, is there a law against having multiple fine qualities?"

"No, but there is one about false advertizing."

"Oooh," Tucker clutched his chest in mock offense, "You wound me, Wash, and here I thought we were..."

Wash was still looking at Tucker, but he couldn't hear what he said, couldn't even read his lips. It was like his mind couldn't decide what Tucker was going to say, couldn't decide what word best described the two of them.

So Wash let it be. Dream Tucker didn't seem to notice his lack of sound, and bringing it up would just disrupt the dream, increasing the chances that all of this would slip away, would crash down around him like shards of glass, landing him in the middle of one of his ever-present nightmares.

Wash settled back down on his back, his arms by his side, fingers sliding through the grass, accidentally tangling with Tucker's.

Tucker moved his hand away.

Wash ignored the stab of disappointment.

He wasn't disappointed for long though as Tucker offered his hand to Wash, palm up, open and inviting.

Wash turned to Tucker, watching as Tucker turned his face away marginally, but not enough to hide the slightly shy expression on his face, like he was worried Wash would refuse.

Wash took his hand and refused to think about what it meant.

Tucker turned back to Wash, looking down at their joined hands before looking back up at Wash's face. Tucker smiled, warm, bright, and the most genuinely happy he had seen the man in a long time.

Wash smiled back and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Tucker stood up then, pulling Wash to his feet by their conjoined hands. "Come on, my ass is getting numb just sitting here. I know this pizza place down the street, wanna have lunch while I kick your ass at Street Fighter?"

Wash squeezed his hand, enjoying the warmth.

No, Tucker didn't really know of such as place in this town. In fact, as far as Wash was aware, he had never even been to this town before in reality, but that didn't matter. They would walk down the street and the pizza place would be there. They would order a half veggie sausage, half meat lovers because Tucker would refuse to eat anything green. Tucker would then refuse to wait for the pizza to cool and would bite down into it too soon and burn the roof of his mouth and Wash would laugh so hard Dr. Pepper would come out his nose and Tucker would bang his fist of the table, doubled over in laughter then yelp as he remembers his burnt mouth and Wash would laugh until he got hiccups. They would keep laughing at each other until they would be told to keep it down, they were disturbing the other customers, but they would laugh a little while longer because they were both assholes before they would eventually calm down and finish their meal so they could play Street Fighter. Wash would win, of course, because he can do whatever he wants in his dream.

And then he would wake, he would wake up and he would remember ever detail of his dream, because Epsilon had left him with that ability, the ability to always remember, even when he didn't want to. He would stare at the ceiling in the newly reformed Army of Chorus bunk room and he would think, and he would think, and he would come to two conclusions:

One, he would remind himself, was that he could control his dreams when he ever wasn't too panicked to do so, like when he was happy, and two, he hadn't wanted Tucker to say "friends".

Wash got out of bed, putting on his civies because, even though there was a war coming, they were still celebrating and hardly anyone was wearing their armor today. Normally, Wash would have opted out of being so exposed, but what he planned on doing today would go better without it.

He left his bunk wearing a standard issue t-shirt, a pair jogging pants, and a pair of sneakers that were just a little bit too big. He searched around the base until he found him, leaning against the mess hall, likely just having had breakfast.

Wash stops for a second, out of sight, and reminds himself that, yes, he does want this, before continuing towards Tucker.

He leans against the wall, mimicking Tucker's casual, easy stance.

"Hey, Tucker."

"'Sup, Wash?"

"Remember that serious talk we had where I was an asshole to you and you called me out on it?"

"Gonna have to be more specific, you're always an asshole."

"Tucker."

"Kidding, kidding, yeah, I remember, why?"

"Wanna try again?"

Tucker looked at Wash, scanning him up and down with a scrutinizing eye. Whatever he found must have passed his are-you-fucking-with-me test, because he nodded, gesturing for Wash to lead the way to somewhere less crowded.

It was after a minute of walking that Tucker asked, "So, where we going?"

Wash smiled, small and unpracticed. "I was thinking we could find a nice hill."

Tucker sighed, looking down at his legs. "It was a bad day to wear shorts, wasn't it?"

Wash laughed, "Nah, besides, you've got to show off those glorious calves."

Tucker looked at Wash, his mouth agape, before snapping it shut, a wicked smile crossing his face, "You know it."

Today was going to be a good day, Wash was going to make sure of that.