Sleepwalk

Fuck! Tucker screamed internally, pointing his weapon at the nearest cone and firing a shot at the nearest cone. It missed. What a waste of a fucking bullet.

Despite all his hard work yesterday, Tucker couldn't keep up with Washington's exercises. All day he'd struggled through them, and all day his aching muscles had not responded to his commands. Every movement had taken twice the usual amount of effort, and he didn't know why. All he knew was that Wash was going to yell at him for sure.

He leaped over the minefield, missing his target distance by only just a small amount. Maybe the wind from his landing stirred against the nearest mine, he didn't know. All he knew was that it very suddenly blew up not a foot away from him. The blast send him flying, landing spread eagle, face down, just outside the exit of the runway.

"Tucker!" Wash called, sounding from far away. The aqua-armored soldier tried to roll away from his superior, but found he didn't have the energy.

"Wash," he pleaded with only a hint of sarcasm. "Give me a minute before you yell at me, okay?"

He lay there in silence, listening to the high pitched ringing in his ears. His entire body ached from the experience he'd just been forced to endure, and anger filled him. Why was Wash forcing him to do this training this hardcore? Was it because of what he'd heard last night? Was he upset with Tucker, and forcing him to work extra hard as a sort of punishment?

"Can I talk now?" Wash asked from beside him, sounding as irritated as Tucker imagined.

"Why?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet. "I already know what you're going to say." Tucker couldn't keep the despondence out of his voice. Wash was going to tell him what a disappointment he was to the Blue army. How he was a failure as a soldier.

"Tucker, you can do this," Wash said anyway. "I know you've had trouble sleeping lately, but that's no excuse to fall short in training."

Anger flared in him, making him turn and glare full out at his leader. "You would know, wouldn't you? Always roaming the halls at night instead of sleeping like a normal person."

Wash took a step back, his head bobbing in surprise. "What?"

Tucker couldn't stop himself from going on, even if he'd wanted to. "And why are you always pushing me around?" He did his best Washington impression. " 'More pushups Tucker!' 'Run more laps Tucker!' 'Do the obstacle course again Tucker!' 'You're a fucking disgrace to the army Tucker!'"

"I never said that last part," Wash murmured, sounding hurt. But Tucker didn't care. All he could think about was his anger. How could he ever have thought Washington was beautiful? Washington wasn't beautiful. He was an ugly demon-spawned hateful man.

"You're thinking it!" he accused, putting all the venom in his voice he could muster. "You think I'm the worst soldier you've ever seen. Of all time. That's why you're so nasty to me."

Wash tilted his head, confusion spelled in his posture. "Tucker, what has gotten into you? Where is all this coming from?"

He pointed at his leader, putting all his hatred in that one gesture. "It comes from you! You clearly hate me!"

"I don't hate you!" Wash exclaimed, astounded.

"Yes you do!" He stamped his foot for emphasis. "You think I'm nothing but a stupid simulation soldier whose entire career was a lie! You're so special because you did spec ops and worked on the same team as Tex and Carolina. You're such a badass and I'm nothing but a testing ground for you and your pals. I can't even shoot the fucking sniper rifle." A wave of depression fell over him, subduing his anger. What was he? He was nothing.

They stood without saying anything, Wash probably taking in the tirade he'd just endured and Tucker feeling hopeless.

"I don't think you're a stupid simulation trooper," Wash said at last, his voice calm, as if to be soothing. It only made Tucker feel worse. "I think you are a capable soldier. I just…I'm not used to doing nothing all day. Training is the only thing that keeps me sane."

"Why don't you do it, then?" Tucker asked. His voice cracked, making him wince. Weakling.

"I do," he answered resolutely. "I'm just at a different level than you are."

Tucker's anger flared again. "So you do think you're better than the rest of us!" he spat.

"I never said that!" Wash responded, not sounding angry. "I don't think I'm better than you Tucker! Everyone is at different levels. I've had years more practice than you. It's not a wonder I'm at a higher level."

His frustration bubbled. "I don't see Caboose out here doing all these dumb exercises!"

"He should be!" Wash snapped. "You both should be running right now!"

"Then why aren't you yelling at him?"

Wash answered waspishly, "Because I'm too busy out here yelling at you, since you decided to go all apeshit on me for no apparent reason!"

"Whatever," Tucker answered, and then added without thinking. "You want me."

They stood there, the tension changing from a fiery anger to a charged, electric sort of cold. Tucker's jaw dropped in horror. He tried to gauge Wash's reaction, but there was no way of seeing through the armor. He couldn't even tell if Wash was breathing.

It was a full two minutes of zero talking. There was the sound of the water rolling in the background, and a few birds sang hopeful tunes from far away. Even the bugs had started their symphony and still Wash did not speak.

The silence was beginning to kill Tucker. He was just beginning to wonder if he should say something to break it when Wash finally spoke. "Come with me, Private Tucker."