I blame certain people (there was more than one of you!) putting things in my Tumblr Ask Box about a certain ex-Freelancer and an Aqua Soldier, resulting in this pairing refusing to leave my head.

Crazy

Pairing: Tucker & Agent Washington

Rating: T for Language.

Summary: Agent Washington drove Tucker crazy.

Tucker dumped his armor on the floor of the wrecked space shuttle. The Blue Soldier stripped off the top half of his protective meshing that guarded his skin from his armor and dropped it on the ground next to the aqua metal. He rubbed his aching pecs through his white undershirt, and dumped his tired ass on his bunk. Every muscle on his body burned, and every inch of it was covered in sweat that had soaked through his shirt and armor leggings. Tucker sucked in a breath before pealing off the lower half of the thick black fabric and dumping it in the pile.

Agent Washington was trying to kill him.

Drills, drills, and more drills. Followed by stretches, and regular work outs, and everything else under the sun. It never stopped. Even when Wash was working on the radio or playing babysitter for the Reds, he had some regiment for Tucker to run. Worse, Tucker couldn't even complain Wash wasn't doing it too—because he was! That lunatic ran the drills right along side him most of the time. It was as if Wash had no idea what to do with his time other than exercise, and he was going to drag Tucker down with him if it killed them both.

Hadn't he heard of the wonders of alone time and a rock!? Tucker rubbed the inside of his thigh, pressing his palm into an itch on the skin. It'd sure get Wash to loosen up for a minute.

Tucker threw his boxers and shirt onto the pile, and jumped into the standing shower attached to the room. If they had to be stranded, at least the ships' quarters were well equipped. After he thanked everything in the universe for cold water to calm his burning skin, Tucker leaned over the edge of the bed to get to his trunk. He pulled out a sweat-free pair of clean underwear and pulled them on before someone walked by his room and started yelling about propriety. A fresh teal camouflage printed uniform later, and Tucker was ready for dinner.

Tucker groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted to collapse in a puddle and never move again. Wash's drills were doing wonders for his muscles, but it was not worth it. If Tucker had to run one more lap around their little jungle hideaway, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions.

If Church had been the one giving commands like this, Tucker would have told him to jump off a cliff. In fact, Tucker clearly remembered telling Church to do just that when he gave orders. Especially when they went against Tucker's well being. Not that Church ever wanted to do anything like run drills, but the point stood: Church was Tucker's best friend, but he was also an asshole. And you didn't have to listen to assholes.

But Church was long gone with Carolina. So Tucker had Agent Washington.

Who wasn't an asshole.

Tucker yawned into his hand as he walked down the corridor toward the ship's mess. Every day around 5pm, Wash would distribute the final day's rations to his team first, and then take the other half down to the "Red Base" so he could catch up with whatever those idiots were doing. Because he cared. Again: Wash wasn't an asshole.

And it drove Tucker crazy.

It'd be so much easier if Wash were an asshole to actually blow the guy off and screw all his drill practices instead of just verbally telling him that they sucked and doing it anyway. But no. Wash was running drills because he cared. He was a super-obsessive control freak with an organizational chart because he wanted what was best for the team. The ex-Freelancer showed real, genuine concern for Caboose mourning Church. He ran drills because he believed—honestly believed in full faith—that Tucker was a capable soldier who could handle it.

Wash was an emotional, paranoid wreck because he'd been stabbed in the back multiple times before, and had already lost everyone important to him, so he didn't want it to repeat again due to a ship crash.

A ship crash that was Tucker's fault.

Tucker may have also gone along with the drills due to harbored guilt that Wash's current freak out was technically his fault.

That drove him crazy, too. He shouldn't care this much. But Wash would get this tone in his voice, or that look in his eye that just shouted to the high heavens he was re-living something horrible in his head and Tucker had to swallow his pride. Guy was going to be the death of him.

"Hey Tucker," Wash said, pulling out a box of MRE rations from the food storage closet. Tucker's doom dumped the open box on the counter and leaved through the brown packages. Wash lifted a package and turned it sideways to read the label. "I think it's your turn to decide the menu for the day."

Tucker glanced at the chart on the wall, and sighed deeply at its existence. Wash even used a Blue pen to show his 'Full Support for the Team.' Tucker rolled his eyes. "Yup, my day."

"So, what'll it be?" Wash asked, shoving the box toward the teal soldier so he could read the labels himself.

"Spaghetti," Tucker answered without bothering to check the box. He pulled out a chair and collapsed in it. "It's the only one that's even remotely edible."

"That's not true," Wash said. He pulled out seven packs of Tucker's choice—two for Grif, another unspoken 'Wash is a nice guy' thing—and dumped them on the table. He closed the box up and pushed it back into the storage closet, locking the door tight—to prevent Grif from going back for more. The 'Wash is a prepared guy' thing. Wash looked over his shoulder and grinned. "I happen to like the Chicken Tetrazzini."

"I think your tastebuds are broken," Tucker said, pulling over a pack and spinning it on the table. He couldn't open the self-heating 'treat' until Caboose got his butt to the mess hall. Unspoken rule that Blue Team ate together. "These things are awful."

"Maybe I'm just used to them," Wash said. He leaned against the counter, still in armor from the neck down. Tucker spotted his helmet on the shelf next to the wall. "I was eating MRE packs before I even joined the UNSC. My dad had a ton of these things."

"That does not surprise me," Tucker said, shaking his head. He spun the pack around again on the table. "So you were always an army brat?"

"No," Wash said. He bit his lip and looked to the side. He crossed his arms and leaned on the table. "Dad just liked them. He was sort of weird that way."

"Apple didn't fall far from the tree did it?" Tucker laughed. Wash glared at him, and he held his hands up while shrugging his shoulders. Tucker leaned on his elbows. "So how did you get into the army?"

"How'd you?" Wash answered back. "You're capable, but as much as you complain, I have to wonder what you were expecting when you signed up."

"Fair question," Tucker said. He smirked and flicked the back of rations. "Women."

Wash was unable to hide the half-chuckle, and Tucker rolled his finger in the air. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Wash. I figured ladies love a man in uniform, and signed up hoping for some major action when I wore that armor around town."

"Until you figured out there was no shore leave and that there were no women in your squad," Wash said. "And by then you were stuck with a contract."

"Yeah, didn't quite think it through." Tucker pulled up in his seat, and leaned across the table. "So what about you, Mr. Freelancer? How'd you get into the UNSC?"

Wash shrugged, and sat down in a chair across from Tucker. "I joined. Not much more to it than that."

Tucker tossed the MRE package at Wash's head. He caught it before it made impact. Tucker pushed back from the table and leaned on the back of the chair legs. "Come on, I told you my embarrassing reason. Shouldn't Blue Team Leader have a little more trust in his loyal squad?"

Wash put the food package back on the table. He scratched the back of his cropped blonde hair and huffed. Wash dropped his shoulders, and the top of his cheeks blushed a light pink. "A girl, okay? My best friend didn't want to sign up alone and strong armed me into it."

"A girl, huh? What was her name?" Tucker asked. This was it! Common ground. Maybe Wash wasn't as uptight as he thought if he had interest in the ladies. "She pretty?"

"She's dead," Wash said. His face dropped, all humor of the moment lost in a breath. "So it doesn't really matter much."

The Ex-Freelancer's face turned hard, and Tucker instantly regretted the question. Of course Wash's girl was dead. Everybody this guy knew was dead. He was like a death magnet. Tucker rubbed between his eyes, and drummed his fingers on the desk. No wonder the guy was ultra paranoid about everybody in the vicinity dying at any given second.

"Sorry." Wash sighed, and rubbed the edge of his mouth. He traced the pattern in the metal table. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Nah, my fault for asking about her." Tucker rubbed the short, cropped curls on the back of his head. He tried for a smile and shrugged. "I know what losing a friend like that feels like."

Wash sucked in a heady breath and pushed away from the table like he couldn't breath. He snatched up his helmet, and grabbed four of the food packs. Tucker had barely lifted his head, when Wash clicked his helmet on and was talking as he headed for the door: "I'm taking these to the Reds. You can go ahead and eat, Tucker. And make sure Caboose eats his. I'll be back later. I think I'm going to talk with Sarge for a bit."

"Wash?" Tucker asked. Talk with Sarge? What was he talking about? Wash never missed eating with Tucker and Caboose. Tucker called again, but their new Blue Team Leader ignored him and high tailed it out of the room. Tucker jumped up from the chair. "Wash!"

The Freelancer was out of the base and down the hill before Tucker could catch him. Chasing him down was still an option, but Tucker needed time to think. Wash had looked downright spooked as he bolted from the ship. But what did it? Was he thinking about his girl, or did something else happen?

Tucker smacked his hand into the wall. It was going to drive him crazy trying to figure it out.

Wash didn't come back to the base.

Tucker wasn't worried of course. Wasn't worried one bit. The Aqua soldier snorted, stomping out of his room and heading down the hallway after checking on the Blue Team Leader's empty bunk and passing a snoring Caboose. Who was he kidding? Tucker was worried out of his mind. Which is why he was leaving the base in full armor first thing in the morning to drag Wash out of Red Base—which is where that loser better still be—and find out what the hell set Wash off that night.

Because Tucker never wanted to mention it again if it caused Wash to flake out more than usual.

He made it halfway down the hill, when he spotted the light blue and yellow armor down a side ridge. It was still, and leaning against a tree just on the edge of the jungle. Tucker turned and slid down the space until he was standing behind Wash.

Or what he thought was Wash.

Tucker kicked the empty armor over, and looked around for the body that belonged in it. The woods were empty, save for the normal sounds of wild animals and spooky tree noises. Tucker's hand hovered near his sword just in case it was needed. "Wash? You here? If you are, you're freaking me out. Where are you?"

"Over here."

The voice came from a few feet away from the armor, partially hidden by a low group of vines. Wash was sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, in jeans and a red shirt that looked a size too big. He waved over at Tucker, before falling on his back. Wash covered his eyes with his arms and breathed out. "What are you doing out here, Tucker?"

"Were you wearing that under your armor?" Tucker asked, ignoring Wash's stupid question. Which it was. Stupid. Did he really think that no one would come looking for him after disappearing all night? Tucker crossed his arms and stood over Wash. "Didn't know you were a Red at heart."

Wash snorted, and plucked the top of the red fabric up. He rubbed it between his fingers, and let the shirt fall back on his chest. "No, I borrowed them from Sarge. Sleeping in your armor is a pain."

Tucker watched the woods. "Surprised you'd sleep outside without it."

"I wasn't too concerned about it last night," Wash admitted, something tired in his voice.

Tucker kicked Wash lightly in the side, aware that he was still in full armor while Wash was oddly vulnerable on the jungle floor. "You didn't come back to base."

"Sorry to have worried you," Wash said. Tucker rubbed his fingers together. Wash kept his arms over his eyes, and though he meant what he was saying, there was something worrisome between the lines. "It won't happen again."

"Not good enough," Tucker said. He pulled off his helmet and tossed in the grass. It rolled until it tapped Wash's abandoned helmet. Tucker plopped down beside Wash, leaving an indent in the soft ground. Tucker punched the top of Wash's arm. "Start talking. You ran out of the base last night like something was on fire. What happened?"

Wash sucked in a breath. "It's not important, Tucker."

"Yes, it is." Tucker grabbed Wash's arm and pulled it out of his face. He held it up high enough that Wash had to sit up and look him in the eye. The ex-Freelancer glared, and Tucker met him right back. "What's the deal? You don't get to come in here talking about team mates and keeping us safe and killing us with drills, and then run away when you have a problem."

"I don't want to talk about it," Wash said. Pulled on his arm, trying to free it from the Aqua soldier's grip, but Tucker's armor held true. Wash snarled, "Let go, Tucker."

"I don't want to do drills, and you make me do them anyway, so no to both." Tucker shook his head and his hand squeezed reflexively. "At least tell me what I did so I don't do it again."

"You didn't do anything!" Wash said, smacking Tucker's arm. He twisted his wrist to try and free himself, but Tucker refused to let him go. Wash shoved Tucker's chest. "I did! Which is the point! Now let go!"

Tucker asked, "What'd you do?"

"I killed Church!"

The strangled cry was enough for Tucker to let go of Wash's arm. The blonde held his arm to his chest and rubbed at the slightly red flesh. He breathed heavily, and wiped at his nose with the back of his palm. Tucker ducked his head down and listened to the two of them breathing.

Tucker covered his mouth. "Look, I'm upset Church and Carolina ditched, too. But you didn't exactly kill him."

"Epsilon isn't Church," Wash said. He threw his arms out, and his voice hitched as words spilled out with no control. "Not the one you knew. He was just a fragment of the guy they were both based on, the original Leonard Church. Your best friend was the Alpha, and I killed him along with the rest of the A.I fragments. I killed your best friend. I'm the one who made you feel like I did when Connie died."

Wash covered his face in his arms again and sucked in a breath. Tucker leant back on his arm and looked up at the warming morning sun.

"Church is dead," Tucker said the words slowly, as if he was testing them.

"I'm sorry," Wash said again. "I'm really, really sorry."

"No," Tucker said. He squeezed his hands, going back and forth between fists and stretching his fingers out. Tucker blew out a breath, growled and rubbed his face. "I mean, I never really thought about it before."

Wash asked through his arms, "What?"

"I wasn't there for the whole Alpha thing," Tucker said. "By the time I even met up with Caboose and the others after we all got split up from Blood Gulch, Epsilon was already in that floating ball and calling himself Church. It never really sunk in that Church was dead, because Epsilon was so much like him it was scary. It was like Church had never left. So it never even occurred to me that Church, the one I knew, was dead."

"Then who were you talking about?" Wash pulled his arm down and let them rest around his waist. "When you said you knew what it was like for friends to die?"

"Captain Flowers," Tucker said. He coughed into his hand and scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, he could get creepy when he was talking about making us call him 'Daddy' and shit, but he was really nice. And a good commander. And uh, he promised me a sniper rifle, but it didn't happen because he died."

"Oh," Wash said. The Blue Leader, rubbed his thumb against his palm. "I keep forgetting your team had a leader before Church."

"Yeah," Tucker said. He pulled his leg up, and poked Wash in the side. "So was that it? I mentioned my buddy dying, you assumed I was talking about church, and you got super guilty and made a run for it?"

"If you want to put it that simply, than yes." Wash scrubbed at his face and dropped his legs out flat. He took in a deep breath, and looked up at the sky. He avoided Tucker's face. "Look, I've—I've killed a lot of people in my life. It was part of the job. But this is the first time I've dealt with, well. The consequences.

"I've never had to deal with the people left behind from killing other soldiers before. Hell, I'm still shocked Sarge and the others forgave me for shooting Donut, or Caboose forgave me for Church—which I'm pretty sure only happened because he had Epsilon. I had no idea how you felt about the whole thing," Wash said. "I guess I just got scared that maybe you finally put two and two together that I murdered your friend."

"Yeah, well. I hadn't really thought about it." Tucker fell on his back and joined Wash. He probably should have felt angrier about the whole thing than he did, but it was in the past. Church was gone, and Wash was here. Tucker shifted, the armor heavy. "And at this point, there's no real reason to get mad about it. You're sorry about it, and from what I understand, Church sacrificed himself for a greater cause. So don't worry, no grudges here. I'm too cool for that."

"That's," Wash stopped. "Thank you."

"Don't get mushy, Wash," Tucker said.

In a rare moment of equality, Tucker and Wash were both out of armor and taking in some downtime the next evening. Caboose was out back somewhere working on his special project, but neither were too worried. They were too busy enjoying the peace and quiet.

"I can't believe you still made me run all those drills after our heart to heart yesterday," Tucker groaned, rolling over into the couch. The ship break room was still mostly in tact, though the TV was broken. There was really no point to use this room instead of their own, but somehow it shook things up just by being in a different space. Wash was reading some manuel, and Tucker was lazing about. That was all he could manage. "My nipples are killing me."

"Drills are good for you," Wash said. He flipped a page in his book. Tucker tossed his way back to look over the man's shoulder. A weapons catalog. Fun. Wash circled something with too many gun barrels on the bottom left. "They keep you in shape. Plus, if we missed a day, tomorrow would have been even worse."

"You could give up the drills entirely," Tucker offered.

Wash smiled out of the corner of his mouth and circled another gun in red. "Nope."

Tucker groaned, and buried his head into the couch cushion. Wash was too much. What had happened to all that compliant guilt? This sucked. Tucker huffed, "You have no idea how badly I wish you were an asshole."

"You don't think I'm an asshole?" Wash asked, lowering the book an inch. "I could have sworn that you did."

"Church was an asshole," Tucker said. He lifted his head from the cushion and smashed his cheek into the side of the fabric. He tugged at a bit of Wash's cropped hair. "You're crazy. A caring, completely out of his mind lunatic obsessed with drills, but still not an asshole."

"I'm not crazy," Wash grumbled, pulling his book back up. He wiped away Tucker's hand from his hair. "I'm not."

"Well you sure drive me crazy," Tucker huffed, and cradled his head in his arms. "So it counts."

Wash had the nerve to chuckle. The asshole.