In the week following Donuts party, Tucker started doing some detective work; he'd always been good at judging if chicks were into him but it was a little disconcerting to see the same behaviours in Wash.
A little amazing too.
Wash most definitely notices Tucker studying him when he thinks no one can see. Clearly he doesn't understand the concept of subtlety.
Tucker can tell himself that Wash is too far gone, too melodramatic, too still-pining-for-Epsilon, too everything. Sure he can tell himself that but his stupid heart's not listening. It's almost 3AM, Tucker's laying on his rumpled sheets, thoughts rambling around the echo chamber of his brain. You know, there's a difference between hot and beautiful, he muses, and I'm not sure I really got that before.
Hot is that waitress at Dunkin Donuts with the sweet ass. Beautiful is the lit up glow in Wash's summer-sky eyes when he smiles.
Goddammit when the hell did Donut start controlling my thoughts?
Tucker rolls his eyes and squeezes a pillow against his chest.
It's gonna be a long night.
With all the sexual tension buzzing around one tiny apartment, Tucker could almost see the sparks, it was only a matter of time before it caught fire.
They were watching a terrible 80's movie on a Thursday night while thunder raged outside and Tucker pretended not to notice Wash flinching every time lighting flashed purple against the front window.
To say that Wash was a little on edge would be a massive understatement. His whole body was wound up and pulled taught with steel cables, sending a jolt through his whole form when anything unexpected occurred. Then the fact that Tucker was sitting just close enough to radiate heat like the fucking sun, which was also really not helping the unnecessary suffocation via repressed emotion that plagued the apartment.
Tucker stopped being pretend oblivious to Wash's cringing away from the window when a particularly blinding flash, accompanied almost instantly with a deafening roll of thunder causes Wash's eyes to start away the screen and circle the room like birds looking for a safe landing spot. His breathing had started doing that weird little ragged, hiccuping thing too. The way Tucker's staring at him as if he's made of glass isn't helping the panic attack all that much, either.
Tucker had no idea why he did what he did next.
Maybe it was Donuts little speech still colouring his thoughts, maybe it was that holy crap Wash looks really pretty. Or most likely because he'd waited way too long for this, but for whatever reason, Tucker turned and kissed Wash full on the lips.
Tucker's heart was beating double-time and an icy heat like molten silver spread from the top of his stomach. Wash's lips were thin and firm and just a little bit chapped, they tasted like cinnamon gum. For a few seconds, Wash actually kissed back.
Tucker was losing himself completely in a swirl of delicious warmth until Wash made a soft noise, like a sigh against his lips, that was enough to drop Tucker back into the moment. He immediately pushed Wash away and stepped back.
Betrayal.
That's what he saw in Wash's azure eyes. He left then, walked out into the rain because he couldn't stand to watch the fragile trust, so slowly built, crumble into ash and ruin.
Wash doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't think for a long time after Tucker leaves, just sits with his knees pulled close to his chest and listens to the steady tick tock of time passing where it mirrors his heart. He holds no tension in his shoulders and his breathing is soft and even; the rain and thunder are just white noise in the background. He's calm, calmer than he's ever been; that alone is terrifying. He's hurt in so many ways but can't seem to feel the pain. "I didn't mean you had to leave." He whispers, airily, belatedly, to the silence.
Tucker wanders around a nameless suburb for hours, feeling the heavy rain soak his hair and the shoulders of his T-shirt. He bites at his lower lip as if trying to erase the feeling of rough lips covering his own and then lifts his face to the sky so the icy droplets can rinse away the blood. He walks until he just can't anymore and then sits under a towering cedar in an ugly park, listening to the rain on the branches and telling he shouldn't be so happy for gods sake.
Wash doesn't love Tucker. Tucker couldn't possibly love Wash. So why is this so damn complicated? Why does Wash somehow feel both shattered and complete at the same time? Why can't he erase this memory like he's done with almost every one with Epsilon? What makes Tucker so different?
Eventually Tucker goes home. He steps inside and shakes the moisture from his hair before slipping into his room and changing into dry clothes. He sits on the edge of his bed for a minute before steeling himself and walking into the living room. Wash's gaze stays focused on the floor, even as he hears the door open and close and the soft rhythm of familiar feet (I can tell him by his footsteps what the hell?) across the laminate floor. He can't bring himself to move- don't panic -at all, the tension in the room palpable as Tucker enters once again.
Deep breath. Tucker squares his shoulders and looks Wash squarely in the eyes. "I'm sorry." The apology is bitter on his lips.
Wash sends him a shaky but honest smile. "It's okay."
Tucker is about to say something when he hears murmur what sounds like 'why?' Into towards the carpet.
"What?" Tucker thinks out loud. Wash glances up, then down again.
"Why?" He repeats, unable to keep the question from circulating in his brain.
Tucker sits on the coffee table so they're almost eye to eye "I like you, okay?" He says, not expecting his voice to sound so vulnerable. "It's not much of a riddle, Wash." Wash bites his lower lip, avoiding eye contact at all costs. The question burns like acid on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't ask, just says "Okay." in a tight, clipped voice and leans back in his seat, feeling the nerves in his brain start to short circuit but not making any effort to stop them.
"What?" Tucker's voice is low, pleading, "You look you're not saying something, please tell me." His teeth catch his lip and he feels it start to bleed again. "Wash, you know that no matter what I feel I won't hurt you, right?"
Wash settles on a terse "Thank you." and leaves it at that.
Tucker can feel tears-stupid, girlish tears- grit at the corners of his eyes as he stands and leaves the room.
A spire of guilt drives it's way through Wash's chest as soon as Tucker's out of sight, and it's only then that he notices his hands are shaking.
Tucker paces his bedroom, he's not sure when he's ever felt more like an idiot- no wait what about... No. He's never felt more like an idiot, he just admitted he liked a dude who very obviously doesn't feel the same. Tucker foolishly even dared to think Wash liked him back, a sour laugh forces it's way out of his throat, how could someone as attractive and smart and sarcastically funny as Wash ever like a grade A fuck-up like Tucker?
Wash gets up, slowly, after a long stretch of silence, fishing a damaged set of keys from his pocket as he leaves the building. He turns his head against the bitter wind that hits him as soon as he crosses the threshold, convincing himself that it's the reason his eyes are watering. He's trembling all over by the time he reaches the car, getting in with no other aim than to be far, far away.
By the time Tucker emerges from his room it's dark out. The storm has finally stopped raging and the rain has cried itself out. Wash is gone and the room is quiet, Tucker can't stand quiet. He turns the radio up to Classic Rock and plops down on the couch. He's trying really to get Wash off his mind but the lemony scent of his skin is still imbedded in the cushions. Tucker curls up and lets his eyes drift shut, within minutes he's asleep.
Wash drives and drives until his surroundings blur into incomprehensibility, and even then he doesn't stop until light starts to drift over the horizon. He pulls off to one side of the road, turning the ignition to off with a soft click. He sits in silence, breathing in the empty air. It's amazing how foreign the stillness seems, after just days of living in Tucker's constant movement.
Drifting in warm current on the edge of sleep, Tucker is dimly aware of footsteps. Instead of Dealing With It like he probably should he buries his senses in the sweet copper smell and allows an angled, pale face swim into his vision.
Wash stops by Tucker's side when he enters the apartment, taking a moment to study his soft features. He can't help but notice the way his whole form is relaxed when he's asleep; without having seen him like this, Wash would've never known he was tense at all.
The sense that a certain someone's electric blue eyes are searing through him like a laser beam waves away the last tendrils of sleep. Tucker yawns and sits up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He smiles lazily at Wash before remembering that Wash is probably still really pissed at him. He wipes the grin off his face and stands awkwardly.
Wash stays in perfect stillness as Tucker progresses from welcoming to shameful to apologetic. Waits until they're standing, face to face, no more than a foot of space between them. He thinks about how easy it would be just to step forward, to trace his hand down Tucker's cheek and neck.
He decides on "Morning." instead.
"Hi?" Tucker fiddles with one of the beads threaded into his dreads. "Where did you disappear to?"
Wash shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets. His palms sting against the fabric but he just smiles and hopes his not-answer is enough. "Around."
Tucker raises his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, man, I don't care." He winks. "If you seeing someone I won't tell."
Wash's brow creases in confusion. "Thanks?" He replies, not quite sure how to react to the statement.
The look of bewilderment on Wash's face is enough to bring a genuine smile to Tucker's face. "Anytime man."
The look of honest amusement Tucker sends him is just enough to make Wash's own lips curve in a slight smile.
So that's how the next few weeks go. A little awkward, a little okay. It could be a hell of a lot worse but Tucker is painfully aware that he's probably screwed shit up forever by admitting to liking him. Should've kept my big mouth shut.
It's an obnoxiously sunny Wednesday morning, Wash is sitting at the table so immersed in a novel it would take The Jaws Of Life to pry him out and Tucker is eating cereal and watching football.
Wash has his knees pulled up to his chest, arms draped over his legs to reach the pages balanced on the table in front of him. He's dimly aware of the TV playing in the background, but too distracted to acknowledge it.
The phone starts shrilling though the relative quiet.
Tucker really should know who's calling; all the tell-tale signs were all there: it was the home phone, everyone else (except annoying telemarketers) called his cell. The way it rings supernaturally loud, enough to cause Wash to glance upward.
But Tucker answers it anyway.
Wash, even from a slight sideways look, notices the way Tucker goes dead still when the receiver reaches his ear. He watches (not as subtly as he'd like to believe) in silence as Tucker stands there, frozen, for what feels like an eternity.
Dread pools in the pit of Tucker's stomach as the rasping voice, once so familiar, shreds at his ear.
"Hello, son."
She won't even use his name anymore.
"Hi Ma." She's so loud he's pretty sure Wash can hear from across the room.
"Don't you dare 'ma' me."
"Sor-" She cuts him off of course. "I shouldn't even let you talk to my baby after what you did." Hissing now, like a steel snake.
"Please?" Tucker's voice cracks embarrassingly and he clears his throat, digging his nails into his palms to get himself back under control.
A heavy sigh. "Fine. Five minutes"
Tucker doesn't bother to thank her.
Wash tries to keep the surprise from his face, keeping a careful mask over his features. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Tucker, listening in quiet contemplation as a new voice filters through the speakers.
There's a buzzing noise over the line and then an excited squeal somewhere in the background. Tucker smiles as the childish voice crackles into his ear. "Blarg honk honk blarg blarg!"
"Hey, little dude." Tucker winces inwardly at the nonsense vocabulary.
(Allmyfault.)
"Blarg?"
"No J, not right now." Tucker's always known what he's trying to say.
"Honk blarg honk honk!"
"I wish I could too." God he wishes he could see Junior.
"Honk honk blarg honk."
"Hey tha-" An unhappy whimper tears at his heart as the phone is quite obviously ripped out of Juniors hand.
"Time's up."
"Please Ma I can't hurt him from over the phone."
A sharp intake of breath. "I thought you weren't going to hurt him at all."
The line goes dead. Tucker very carefully hangs up the phone and then walks with measured steps to his and shuts the door. Once alone the pain crashes into him like a tidal wave, Tucker doubles over, willing himself not to be sick.
Wash gets up to follow Tucker, almost instinctively, when he leaves the room, but knows better than to bother him while he's distressed. Instead, he sits back down with a sigh, novel cast aside and forgotten.
She won't even call you by your name anymore. No J not now-not ever. ('I thought you weren't going to hurt him at all.') Tucker isn't so much breathing as drowning now, barely pulling air into his lungs and silently choking on sobs. He's usually upset when she calls but not this bad, now though everything with Junior is all mixed up with Wash in his head.
Tucker stuffs his knuckle in his mouth so only a few strangled, choked noises can escape. He bites hard enough to taste to blood. Bad idea it all transports him back simultaneously to that awful day in the bright white snow and to that awful week in the bright white hospital room.
The whole space is spinning crazily and tilting the world on its axis.
Through the fog Tucker faintly hears the door creak.
Ohgodnoohgodnotlikethis.
Don't let him see me like this.
Wash pushes the door open (softly, so as not to cause alarm), taking in Tucker's hunched form. He doesn't ask what's wrong, knows better, instead just takes a seat beside him and drapes an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close.
Tucker doesn't even think about how he must look to Wash right now but the solidness beside him is good, balancing out the tilt-a-whirl of a planet. He just rests his head on the taller man's shoulder and tries not to let the heaving sobs he can feel in his chest make their way out.
Wash can see Tucker coming down from his panic attack, and stays perfectly still as his breath gradually grows more even. He embraces the quiet, making it something calm rather than hostile, and waits for Tucker to make the first move.
Once Tucker is calmer he almost freaks out again. Oh my god Wash just saw the worst I've been in a long damn time. He sits up and takes a fairly calm breath. "I'm sorry." He looks up then back down. "I'm so goddamned sorry."
Wash shakes his head, still closer to Tucker than he would've allowed in a normal situation. "Don't be." He says it matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Goddammit no" Tucker stands and starts pacing in tightly constricted circles. "My shit." he waves a hand to indicate the shit. "Is not that compared to what I've seen of yours, I had no right to be a freakin' wreck like that."
Wash gives him a sad smile. "Everyone has their moments."
Tucker squints his eyes shut and exhales sharply "I guess".
"Hey." Wash is standing up now, still a little too far into Tucker's space. "Seriously, it's okay."
Tucker manages a laugh. "It's really not." He doesn't say; 'it's a little better with you here though.' He does say; "I guess I owe you an explanation?"
Wash's head tilts down, just a little, so he can see Tucker's eyes better. "Only if you're ready."
Tucker shrugs "Don't baby me, asshole."
Wash sighs. "That's not what I meant."
What is it about Wash that can make Tucker smile even now? "Yeah, I know." God I'm such a wuss.
He laces his fingers together and tells himself to be numb. "So my dad left when I was really little, I don't care cause I don't remember him anyway and my mom didn't really like him anymore. That's what she told me, anyway." He looks over at Wash. "I won't tell you a terrible lifetime movie sob story".
Wash's lips curve a little at that, but he flicks his hand in a 'go on' gesture.
Tucker gives him a scowl. "Hey, this isn't a freakin show this is my life."
Wash softens, and has the decency to look apologetic. "I know."
"Oh shut up, you blond fuck. Anyway, so my mom changed jobs a lot and moved around more than I guess I would've liked, but whatever, I was basically happy. So when I was like 10 we moved to this crap hole. But things okay until she got remarried about a year after that." Tucker stops pacing and sits down on the bed, careful to move out of Wash's space. "God this is so cliché, so right away my stepdad did not like me, not only because I wasn't his kid but also because in case you didn't notice I'm this lovely chocolate colour." God he really doesn't want to talk about this.
Wash doesn't bother trying to hide his surprise at that. "Seriously?"
Tucker raises an eyebrow. "Sadly, yes. But something good did come out of it because they had a kid." He glances over at Wash trying to gauge his reaction, he's never really told anyone all this point-blank before. "Which sounds like it would make it worse but I loved him." Tucker's voice catches slightly, dammit don't break down now. "And hell on toast, Wash, I don't really care about that many people least of all little kids but I loved my brother." His voice flat out breaks on brother. Breath in, breath out. "Maybe it would've been okay even though He hated me, but I fucked it up like I always fuck everything up."
Fresh tears make an appearance along his cheeks. "It was January, two years ago."
The fact that Wash is sitting thisclose is really not helping Tucker stay detached. "So I took J to go sledding up by the Beech Woods, I was all pleased with myself because It was a victory to be allowed to stay alone with him anywhere. We were sledding and having snowball fights and stuff and the snow-" Breathe. "-the snow was so thick you couldn't see the depression where that swampy little pond was." Tucker beats down the inferno racing through his lungs. "It was my fault, all of it." Without really knowing what he was doing, Tucker scratches at the pulse point of his wrist, methodically shredding at the skin.
"He went through the ice."
Tucker's wrist is bleeding but it doesn't hurt enough. He presses the heels of his hands to his eye sockets for a moment before he continues."He just disappeared and instead of going for help- like I should've- I tried to get him out but I couldn't so ran across the street and called 911 and they came roaring up and everyone was yelling and He grabbed me and beat the crap out of me for what I did and oh god I deserved it." Tucker makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's falling apart. "When they pulled out he wasn't breathing and they stuck him in the ambulance and roared away."
Wash says nothing, just takes Tucker's hand with delicate fingers and flips his wrist so it's facing up. He pulls his sleeve over his palm and presses the fabric to the wound, not caring that he's getting blood on his sweater.
"They let me see him once in the hospital." Tucker swallows the acid rising in his mouth and jerks his wrist away from Wash. "His eyes, oh god, his eyes were yellow, gold really and they've never gone back to blue." He gets up and starts circling the room again. "He has brain damage, no one really know what's wrong but something about being in the ice water that long messed him up-permanently. as soon as I was old enough Ma had a shady ass judge sign a bunch of papers saying I was separate her family but she still has to pay my rent and 'necessities' by court order. So they moved to a nice part of town and send checks and J's never said a word since." Tucker can tell he has the insane smile on his face that happens when he's about to explode. "No one knows what's wrong with him, but I do." A beat of silence.
"Me."
The word hangs in the air. "I mess up everything I touch, if life hands me something good I break it like glass.I had junior and look what I did, and goddammit Wash I've permanently screwed up the good thing that you are too because I fucking kissed you like a fool."
Tucker glances at his bleeding wrist. "I'm a curse, Wash. I'm toxic."
Wash breaks just a little bit. "I don't believe that." He whispers, clenching his hands at his sides because he's not sure what he would do with them if he didn't.
"Believe it." Tucker smiles bitterly. Wash (slowly, with delicate fingers), places one hand on either side of Tucker's face and turns him so they're facing each other fully. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, letting a nervous laugh escape his throat before his eyes meet Tucker's again.
They fall shut, and he presses their lips together.
Tucker is so surprised he can't do anything but kiss back. And honestly even he weren't so confused he'd probably do the same thing. If for no other reason than he'll sure as hell he'll never get another chance at this. It's better than anything he can remember and little explosions like the bubbles in champagne are fizzing through his bloodstream, it feels so right to lean in to Wash's body and link his fingers around Wash's neck to keep him close. Wash's hands go up and tangle into his hair and he can't remember his own name.
Wash spends a total of one second wondering why the hell his brain thought this was a good idea now, of all times, before deciding he couldn't care less.
Tucker only pulls away when he remembers that this is Wash and he's barely atoned for last time he did this. He can force himself to break their lips apart but can't quite unlock his fingers and Wash's slim digits stay buried in his ropy tresses like they belong. It's not helping that Wash looks so adorably flustered, with his hair messed up and his cheeks flushed pink and his pupils blown like pools of spilled ink over the irises.
"I'm sorry you had to listen to that rant." Tucker has to concentrate to get the words out. "I really make it out a lot worse than it is." He laughs a little. "And wish I could say I'm sorry for that." They both know by 'that' he means whatever just happened.
Wash suddenly feels a hell of a lot more self conscious than he's been in...well, a hell of a long time. Almost involuntarily, his teeth dig into his lower lip and he ducks his head, but still he can't hold back a smile. "So." The word tastes so foreign on his tongue; normally he's not this lost. "What now?"
Tucker brushes their lips together ever so lightly. Wash looks a little freaked out but he's not moving away. "I don't know."
Wash tightens his hands just slightly in Tucker's hair, but keeps his breathing steady even as the prolonged contact starts to make him dizzy. He can feel his mind start to curl in on itself, but doesn't pull away. "I guess we'll have to figure it out."
Tucker takes Wash's hand and gently traces the patterns of delicate veins under his skin and skims the thick scar on his palm. Neither of them notices that Tucker is bleeding a little bit still.
Wash sighs softly, knowing his emotional sensitivity is making him feel exhausted. He leans forward, hesitating once in a question of permission, and rests his forehead against Tucker's collarbone when he's given no protest. Tucker smooths out the wrinkles in Wash's shirt and firmly rubs at the knots in the blonds shoulders, his efforts to relax him are rewarded with a soft sigh. Tucker has to remind himself that while he's used to physically intimate contact and likes it; Wash probably not so much and going by what he knows about the Epsilon situation, he probably doesn't have great associations with it either.
Wash count slowly from one to ten, then backwards, and forwards again, but nothing seems to calm the coil in the pit of his stomach.
He doesn't say any of that. Just pulls back to look at Tucker and smile as best as he can.
Tucker sits back and gently pushes Wash back a few inches. "We should both get to bed." He gives him a warm smile. "We'll talk in the morning, okay?"
Wash relaxes a little and nods, pausing before getting up to curl his arms around Tucker's shoulders. With a reassuring smile, he darts out of the room, mentally lecturing himself for the flush on his cheeks.
After Wash leaves and Tucker bandages his bleeding wrist, he should be mentally berating himself the little display earlier but…Wash was the one to kiss.
Wash kissed me.
Wash kissed me.
Tucker lays out in his bed grinning like a fool into the dark.
It's hard to believe that after everything that happened to them it was easy, just to act without thinking. It was simple. Everything that happened in his mind since Tucker first admitted to liking him was anything but; all whirlwinds and hurricanes of doubt and insecurity. And while those qualities weren't gone, it was like something had cleared in his mind that made it okay. It took over an hour for the concept of not good enough started to return, but by then he was on the edges of sleep and the focus was short-lived.
Wash wakes to soft sunlight filtering through the windows, and he smiles at the warmth he feels, both inside and outside. He sits up slowly, blinking the sleep out his eyes. It must be past nine, with the brightness of the room, but he doesn't feel any particular hurry to get up just yet.
From the second reddish light hits Tucker's eyelids he's ecstatic. He hates himself for verbally vomiting his stupid life story last night but how can he hate anything with the feeling of Wash's hands and his lips? How can he be worried about what the future holds when Wash has eased the longing Tucker's had for him since Donuts party?
Slowly, Wash makes his way around the house, delighting in the fact that the space doesn't feel so foreign anymore. He can't see Tucker anywhere, and just assumes he's sleeping, ensuring his footsteps are light against the floor and the tap runs without interruption.
Tucker finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shuffles out of the dimly lit room, blinking owlishly in sudden brightness. When Tucker emerges, Wash freezes where he's standing, adopting an awkward smile and a wave rather than an attempt at speech. Tucker stretches so hard his spine pops before gesturing Wash to sit on the couch and perching on the coffee table opposite. Wash complies, taking a seat with a forced casual air and trying not to notice the lack of space between them.
"So..." The silence between them stretches like taffy and hangs over their heads like a guillotine. "You know I hate to start a conversation this way." Tucker grins. "But about Last Night..." The admittedly fairly lame joke does the trick of break of dispelling some of the painful awkwardness. Wash rolls his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches.
Tucker sucks in a deep breath and tells himself to Get On With It "So, what, what are we?" Nice job Tucker, real smooth. Wash's eyes dart to the floor, then back up to rest as close to Tucker's eyes as he can force them.
"I don't know." His voice is soft and accompanied by a shrug.
"Look, Wash." Tucker sits back slightly and forces himself not to bite his nails "We're gonna have to talk about this sometime so it might as well be now." Godthisisawkward. "I like you, Wash." he restates "I've laid my cards on the table but you're hiding yours, you acted like I, like I betrayed you when I kissed that time and then last night you kiss me like you care." Tucker holds his palms up in a gesture of utter bewilderment.
Wash does nothing but blink for a few long seconds, a spire of fear curled like a corkscrew in the pit of his stomach. Then; "Of course I care." He whispers it, like it's almost painful to say aloud.
"Then what the hell is going on Wash?" Tucker takes a deep breath so he won't explode. "I don't expect you to feel the same, I don't expect you to give a shit but I'd appreciate some honesty, or something?" Tucker clenches his fists at his sides and doesn't meet Wash's eyes.
Wash coughs, eyes burning a hole through the floor, and it takes him three tries before he can get the words out. "I've never really had a..." He struggles for a term. "...boyfriend..." Close enough. "Before Epsilon." He glances up when he feels Tucker's eyes on him, but doesn't allow him to respond. "And I sure as hell have never tried something like I did with you yesterday." The I'm sorry goes unsaid, but he's afraid Tucker won't know that it's there. "Still." Pull yourself together. "Really. Honestly. Truly, I care, but good god, I do not know what I'm doing." Deep breath. "And I-" His voice drops. "I get it if you don't want me because of that."
Tucker can't help the huge grin that spreads across his face. "You fuckin idiot, Wash."
Wash flinches, doubt flashing across his face before he reigns the shock back in. "What?"
"It's not like I've been with a lot of Y chromosomes either." Tucker's brain is buzzing with relief and something like elation. "And Jesus Wash, if you think that's any kind of turn off then I guess I wasn't clear on my intentions."
Wash's somewhat strained half smile falters and collapses. Tucker's eyes dart upward, crap what did I say?
Wash looks down for all of two seconds, has his moment, and gives Tucker a look that puts too much emphasis on I swear I'm okay.
Tucker figures this can't really get more awkward so he plunges ahead "But look, Wash, I don't know much about your, um, history, or anything, but I've seen the way you flinch at the mention of, ugh, physical stuff." He was wrong it could get more awkward. "And I don't know what the hell last night was but I know I went too far too fast I could see it on your face, so..." He meets Wash's eyes. "So you have to tell me what's okay, Wash, you have to tell how not to fuck this up."
Wash's features shift to confusion. "Huh?" He stammers, still running the words over in his head.
"Goddammit don't make me try to put that into words again" Tucker can feel his cheeks blazing and the back of his neck is on fire.
Wash nods, slowly, and then faster. "Okay." He says it so impassively, what with his heart beating like thunder and the hollow feeling he gets from the explanation.
"Please." Tucker's voice breaks jaggedly. "Please tell what you're thinking, I can't read your mind, Wash."
Wash smiles, just a little, leaning forwards to brush his lips against Tucker's cheek before resting his head on his collarbone. "I'm okay." He says it like it's weightless, even though the he's held down by the sound of his own voice and his arms curled around Tucker's waist.
The contact, the sudden warmth of Wash's skin, scrambles Tucker's mind for a moment. "Like hell you are." He speaks, of course, without thinking.
Wash hums, gently overlaying the fear with content. "Shut up." He mumbles, burying his face further into Tucker's chest. It feels good like this, to have the other man tucked against him so that Tucker's shoulders curl forward protectively but something keeps the moment good as opposed to perfect. Something feels weirdly disjointed and Tucker can't ignore that.
Wash waits for a seemingly endless moment and the tension in Tucker's shoulder doesn't dissipate, so he pulls back with a sigh, resting his hands on the shorter man's hips. "What's wrong?" He asks, and it feels inexplicably right that the question comes from his lips this time.
Tucker has to force his hazy brain to listen to Wash's words instead of focusing on how perfectly his hands fit right there, cupping Tucker's hipbones in the sweetest way possible. "It feels like you're hiding something."
Wash shakes his head, reaching up to run his fingers along Tucker's cheek. "This is hard for me." The confession comes out barely above a whisper, but he barrels on. "You more than anyone should know that." He pauses, searching for the words to express his thoughts. "But beyond that," He looks straight up at Tucker when he says it. "I'm okay."
"I do know, so that's why it's even more important that we talk, however painful it might be." Tucker instinctively knots his hands against Wash's spine and puts just a little pressure on his tailbone, the resultant gasp and then total relaxation of the others mans form against him shows he did the right thing. "Wash we really do have to talk because I'm scared, I'm scared of messing this up."
Wash sighs. "I know, I know." He tilts his head to the side in thought, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. "But you don't need to be. I'll tell you if something goes wrong and we can sort it out." He gives a half hearted attempt at a smile. "And you have to do the same for me, okay?"
"If the future is anything like last night then I'll never have anything to tell you." Wash ducks his head just a little, knowing that won't hide the flush that spreads across his cheeks.
Tucker laughs at Wash's attempt to conceal his embarrassment. "You're so cute when you're blushing." Tucker teases him, that of course doesn't help the crimson staining Wash's cheeks.
"Shut up." Wash mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.
"Okay." Tucker shrugs and kisses Wash quickly on the lips. "There." He looks away so he won't burst out laughing at the shock that Wash is trying to transform into a glare.
Eventually, Wash gives up on trying to keep a cool front and just rolls his eyes, taking an opportunity for distraction by making his way to the kitchen sink for a glass of water. He closes his eyes, and just for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned.
It's Sunday afternoon, Tucker is half doing homework half not doing anything at all and Wash is out somewhere.
The phone ringing brings Tucker out of his reverie, "Hello?" It's a smoothly moderated robot-voice announcing Epsilons court appearance. They want Wash to testify. Tucker's just hanging up when Wash himself walks in. Speak of the devil.
The minute Wash enters the room he knows something's wrong. Tucker's got a far away look on his face, and his shoulders are far too tense for someone his age. That, plus Wash's phone is in his hands.
"What are you doing?" He asks, enunciating each word carefully so as to avoid miscommunication.
"You left your phone." Tucker says to avoid explaining for a minute. "It's court, Wash." Tucker turns to face his (maybe?) boyfriend "According to them this is the 4th time they've called without answer."
Wash scowls. "And you didn't think there was a reason for that?"
"I'm pretty sure you had some reason but explain to me what it is, Wash, please tell me what's keeping you tethered to him please tell me what you see that I don't." Wash doesn't bother holding back a sigh, kicking his foot against the carpet and training his eyes on the floor. "It's complicated."
"Well I have all the time in the world to listen." Wash flashes him a pained look. "Sit down." It's more of a question than a statement, and when Tucker complies he takes a seat on the coffee table opposite him. He faces Wash head on tells himself he will not speak. He will listen only. He thinks it might be difficult but The tilt a whirl of emotion spinning in Wash's summer sky eyes is enough to shut him up.
Wash takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes when he starts to speak. "I was quite young when I met him." Epsilon's name goes unspoken. "Bright, carefree, reckless. Everything you could expect from a child. He was older, wiser, and obviously better than me. I looked up to him. In retrospect, I should've known then that it would never work. But again; young, foolish." He pauses for a second, glancing up at Tucker's unreadable expression. "At first, everything was perfect. It felt like nothing could go wrong.
"Then the illusion shattered.
"I came out to my parents, after a few months of keeping our relationship secret. They were...angry. Furious. I'd never seen them react like that before. To be honest, I was terrified. "I showed up his door at around midnight, knowing I couldn't go back. He told me that I shouldn't've come, that it wasn't safe. I didn't understand that until much later.
"He had a place of his own, about twenty minutes away. Rotten, run-down, but we didn't have nothing else. We moved in, I continued to go to school, he got a job with a construction company. For a while, it was okay.
"Then it wasn't.
"This was where it all went wrong. The smoking, the drinking, all of it started about three months after we started living together. He got caught intoxicated at work and was fired. Has been unemployed since. I started to get really worried, so I went to see his dad.
"That was my first mistake. The man was livid. Out of control. Said I'd 'stolen his son from him'. Threw a wine bottle at me. Still half full. As you can imagine, I got the hell out of there after that. When I got home, he was waiting for me. Stone-cold sober, first time in months. He asked me where I was, and I told him the truth. That was my second mistake." He looks up, fully faces Tucker for the first time since he started, blinking away the tears that come to his eyes.
Tucker grinds his teeth and fights to keep his face neutral, he presses his hand over Wash's in a reassuring gesture.
Wash smiles, strained, but it falls when he starts talking again. "That was the first time he hit me." The confession is choked, and he has to force the words past his lips. "I...well, you pretty much know what happened after that."
"No, Wash, I really don't." Tucker opens his arms for the other man to fall into them. "Look,I know you don't like talking about this but I-I mean, I've never pressed you talk until now so tell me the whole story." He rubs small circles over Wash's shoulder blades and spine. "Take all the time you need and go up until right now."
Wash shakes his head. "It's pretty straightforward." He's almost whispering now. "It just never stopped. And then..." He hesitates for just a moment, not sure how much he can say. "You were there."
Tucker stays silent, hopeful the empty air will prompt some elaboration.
Wash can tell what Tucker is doing, but instead of talking he just buries his face further against Tucker's chest. Tucker is a little struck by how familiar this is now, Wash's head pressing his rib cage and his arms loosely wrapped over Tucker's hips.
Tucker decides not to press him and instead concentrates on Wash instead of the rage boiling in his stomach. Wash can practically feel the emotion radiating off Tucker. "Stop that." He whispers, edging closer as if that will stifle the feeling.
"I'm sorry." Tucker's voice is rough with everything he won't say.
Wash lets out a long breath that's not quite a sigh. "You know you can tell me, right?"
"You'll be mad." Tucker sing songs.
Wash smiles a little at that. "Nope."
"God, Wash." He shuts his eyes so the sight of the age old scar slicing Wash's collarbone won't fuel the fire "It makes me want to kill him" Tucker admits "I-I mean it kills me to think about anyone hurting you." He can feel his face flush at the confession.
Wash's features falter, but he keeps his voice steady. "Thank you." He murmurs, letting his eyes fall shut.
"I said you wouldn't like what I had to say."
Wash lifts a shoulder in response. "It's okay. I get it."
Tucker tilts Wash's chin up and kisses him apologetically, the rush of sweet sparks ricocheting through his bloodstream soothes his anger a little bit.
The sense of Tucker's lips on his is a little abrupt, and he can't help but pull back for a second before leaning into it, curling his hands around Tucker's waist.
It's not so easy to keep himself just a little removed and to remind remind himself it's Wash, because god the earth is spinning out of control on its axis and Tucker feels drunk on taste of his lips and addicted to perfect way they fit together.
For long while, Wash doesn't dare move, but eventually he leans back just enough to look Tucker in the eyes, still feeling hot breath on his cheek.
Dammit. Tucker mentally shakes himself and it takes all the self control he has to pull away. "Fuck, Wash, I'm sorry."
Wash blinks, taking a second to fully register what was said. He shakes his head, a little faster than perhaps was necessary, and speaking in fast tones. "No, no it's totally okay." Tucker is still wary, turned slightly away from. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"We okay?" Tucker asks him gently, scooting back to put a good few inches between them.
Wash smiles. "Of course."
Tucker finally decides fuck it. "Will you still be okay if I kiss you?"
Wash's grin only grows wider. "Absolutely."
Tucker didn't think anything got better but apparently... It does. It does when Tucker moves so slowly to savour every motion. Pressing his palms flat over Wash's chest and for once getting all the time in the world to study those captivating eyes. And then sweeping the lightest kiss over Wash's chest and drinking in the resultant gasp before kissing him properly.
The look on Tucker's face is almost as electrifying as the physical contact, eyes bright and searching. The room is supercharged, like the space between them has manifested into a solid object, and suddenly there's far too much of it.
Tucker keeps his kiss gentle and quick so as not to overwhelm Wash, kissing him is so much better than anything else; sugar sweet while it lasts it causes physical pain to break away. But he does and sits back so they're joined only interwoven fingers and Tucker's hand resting on Wash's shoulder.
Wash wakes earlier than he'd wanted to, jolted awake by the incessant sound of his phone on the table. He stands up slower than he probably should, running a palm over his eyelids as he makes his way over to the device. Bright and in flashing white letters across the screen, is a name. Wash presses reject and sets the object face down on the counter.
It's not the first time Tucker's woken up to see Wash staring at his phone like he's trying to liquify it with the powers of his mind. "Morning, sunshine."
Wash's head whips around, on complete high alert, before he recognizes Tucker's familiar face and his features soften to a gentle smile. "Morning." He says in return, and is trying to come up with a good follow-up when his phone starts blaring again. He lets out a long breath, flips it over and presses the receiver to his ear. "Go away." He says, before any response could be offered from the other end, and them promptly hangs up.
"Jeez." Tucker mutters. "Is it those rabid journalists again?" Some newspaper covering Epsilons trial had been harassing them for nearly a week hasn't told Wash or anything but he's been following the trial pretty closely too. Wash was thus far refusing to acknowledge that it was happening.
Wash's features twist in something between pain and disdain. "No."
"Was it he-who-must-not-be-named?" The attempted joke falls epically flat as Tucker sits down next to Wash with a sigh "What's up? This usually doesn't bug you this much."
Wash shifts, but ends up leaning closer to Tucker rather than further away. "I want him to stop calling me." He whispers, tensing in preparation for the no-doubt-oncoming phone call.
"I know you'd rather ignore it than give him hell, but I think you should go to the hearing." Damn Tucker's big mouth. He told himself he wouldn't bring this up.
Wash shakes his head. "I don't want to see his face anymore."
"You don't even have to talk, Wash." Tucker figures he's already put his foot in his mouth far enough so he plunges ahead. "They found other people to testify but it might be good for you."
Wash's face twists. Then he looks up, catching Tucker's eye in a sidelong glance. "You'd come with me, right?"
"Yeah of course" Tucker has a brief internal struggle but decides it's better to tell him here than have him find out in court "Listen Wash, thing is the other people testifying are..." Crap how can I say this? "He had other boyfriends, Wash. as far as I know he didn't hurt them so bad. Because he didn't live with them, I guess." Tucker takes a deep breath and continues. "He had other boyfriends while he was with you, Wash."
Wash closes his eyes and exhales, trying to pry his fingernails from his palm. "I'm not surprised." He says, an echo of mirthless laughter following the words.
Tucker's not quite sure what to think of that reaction but does take Wash's hand before his nails puncture a vein. "You deserve so much better, Wash."
Wash smiles at him, just a slight turn of lips. "Is that your ego talking?"
"Hell no it's not, because to be honest I doubt I'm good enough for you either."
Wash leans his head to rest on Tucker's shoulder. "You're better than good enough." He murmurs, resting his cheek against Tucker's collarbone.
"Not really," Tucker pulls their chairs closer together. "But thanks."
Wash shrugs. "I'm entitled to my opinion."
"Whatever you say. Hey, so…" Tucker gestures to their intertwined fingers, to closeness of their forms. "This is okay, right?"
Wash huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. "Yes, of course."
Tucker turns so they're facing each other and lays both palms flat over Wash's chest. "Is this?"
Wash nods, speech quickly losing ground to the heat of Tucker's palms through his shirt.
"Yeah?" Tucker challenges, and honestly, what is it about Wash that sends his heart tail spinning furiously around in his chest?
Wash is still nodding. "Yeah."
Tucker is about to move away a bit and give Wash his space but surprised to find Wash's pale hands gripping his biceps to hold him there. "Hey, what..?"
Wash forces himself still. "Stay." He asks, not succumbing to the shame that often follows that phrase.
"Thought you wouldn't let me." Tucker whispers, settling back down. He can feel Wash's heartbeat thundering wildly under his fingertips and knows his is beating just as furiously.
A ghost of a smile catches Wash's lips. "You thought wrong."
"Did I?" Tucker smiles mischievously up at him. "Prove it."
Slowly, Wash slides his hands along Tucker's arms, trailing his fingers over his shoulders and neck before settling on either side of his face. He looks, just looks, at Tucker for a long moment, touching their foreheads together before tilting his chin up to meet Tucker's lips.
Well Tucker did tell him to prove it, did he ever. Tucker happily leans in kisses back gently, his arms float upwards to twine around Wash's neck. And although this time it's Wash that refuses to break the contact, it's not like Tucker's complaining at being held there.
Wash loses all hesitancy at Tucker's unwavering response, shifting one hand to tangle in his hair and letting the other fall to rest at his waist, keeping him close. Tucker is choosing to ignore how emasculating it is to be sitting pretty much in Wash's lap, focusing instead on how well the fit together- like puzzle pieces slotting into place.
For a moment, Wash is content to just stay there, breathing in tandem, but for a split second his vision flickers and his hand slips under the hem of Tucker's shirt, thumb brushing against the exposed skin, without considering the consequences of the action.
Tucker pulls back with a jolt, and Wash loses all sense of focus. Holy crap. In the grand scheme of things, in all Tucker's seen and done the small action of icy hot skin suddenly coming way closer than expected is not a big deal. But coming from Wash, and considering how fast it makes him giddy it's huge. And also a little weird.
"We okay?" Tucker asks carefully, trying to read the expression on Wash's face.
Wash tries to speak but all that comes out is a soft "Mhm." He rolls with it and maintains a nonchalant expression.
Okay then. Tucker leans away a little and blinks to clear his head "Hello, earth to Wash."
Talking is a challenge. Hell, so is breathing, but Wash isn't totally sure which combination of those he's having success in.
"Okay Wash say something you're starting to freak me out."
The first thing that leaves his mouth is "Sorry!" and he says at a louder volume than he means to. Tucker raises an eyebrow
"I'm not sure what you're apologizing for Wash."
Wash draws a total blank and just sits there, blinking, like an idiot.
Tucker laughs a little at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Wash's face and drapes himself over Wash's chest, resting his head on the other mans shoulder and trying give off calm vibes.
Wash makes a quiet, frustrated noise and curls his arms around Tucker's waist, soaking in the warmth of the figure against him. Heat. That's the difference. He was never warm.
Tucker murmurs little soothing shushing sounds in response to Wash's little outcry. Then he just sits there and breaths and waits for death grip on his T-shirt to be released and for Wash to calm down enough to be coherent. He doesn't mind waiting.
"Sorry." He whispers again, after a few deep breaths, when the flickering flashbacks subside.
Wash's face softens. "Thank you."
Tucker's just thinking that this is a really nice moment when Wash's phone goes off insanely loud causing them both to jump. Their eyes meet for a nanosecond before Tucker erupts into laughter at the absurdity of it all.
Wash's gives him a you are crazy face with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth and they both fall about, near hysterical laughter covering the shrill beeping.
Wash tries to hold it off as long as he can, but eventually the sound grows too overbearing and he presses the receiver against his ear. A half-word gets through the line before he hangs up, flicking the device off and watching it's glow fade. Tucker just looks over with mild concern at the unbridled rage on the blonds features.
"I want to go to court." He says, abruptly and with conviction.
"Well okay then." Tucker's a little startled by the sudden shift in attitude and can't tell wether he should be pleased or very afraid. "Preliminary hearings on Monday."
Wash nods. "Good." He pauses a second before continuing. "Will you be there?" His voice is small, soft, but undeterred.
Tucker can answer without hesitation. "If you want me to be."
Wash smiles, the expression just reaching his eyes. "Then yes."
"You sure about this?" Tucker's never quite seen that particular emotion painted so blatantly on Wash's face before and it's simultaneously terrifying and intoxicating. "This isn't a spur of the moment thing you'll regret?"
Wash turns enough to raise a single eyebrow in Tucker's direction. "Nope."
"Then I'm here for you."
On the drive to the courthouse Wash is quiet, mouth drawn into a flat line and twisting his hands in his lap. Tucker keeps his eyes on the rain slick road and drums his fingers on the wheel. They're sitting within two feet of each other but they might as well be on different planets. Wash tries to keep his mind in the present, really, he does, but he can't even discern what's real anymore. Each flickered memory feels like it's happening at the same time, and it's a struggle not to flinch at passing cars let alone hold a conversation.
Tucker parallel parks across the street and Wash doesn't even seem to realize they've stopped.
He brushes a comforting hand across Wash's shoulder "It's going to fine."
Wash jumps a little at the contact, but quickly pulls himself together enough to send him a reassuring smile. "I know."
"Hey," Tucker tilts Wash's chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes. "We can leave right now, you know that."
Wash's mouth goes dry. "Yeah." His voice, thankfully, doesn't cut out on him this time. "But I don't want to."
"Then come on." Tucker takes his hand and they walk, a united front, towards the imposing marble structure. The courtroom looms up in front of them, casting deep shadows along it's front steps, a tall monolith that almost seems to rise from hell itself. Wash suddenly feels cold all over, and if it weren't for Tucker's hand leading him along he might have collapsed right then and there. There are reporters everywhere, cameras flashing like the paparazzi. It doesn't take a psychic to see that Wash can't deal with this right now. Tucker's not really sure he can handle it either. But he does because Wash's hand is icy cold in his and because for some reason he's been so angry lately.
Tucker flips the bird and curses under his breath and maybe breaks an expensive camera, but somehow gets them both inside without either of them falling apart.
Wash is shaking, just slightly, but even as he's pushing open the door he looks at Tucker and his lips turn up, just a little. He might be okay, he might not, but he's here, and in that moment it seems like enough.
The wall clock ticks away the seconds until Epsilon is due to show up. Wash looks slightly uncomfortable in a grey dress shirt. The collar of which he keeps flipping up. Tucker gives a sigh of annoyance and reaches over the seat to fix it. It earns him a glare but the normalcy of it lessens the tension a bit.
Somewhere in between the moment Wash's eyes meet Tuckers and the moment they meet Epsilon's, Wash loses all sense of focus. White noise drifts in with the sound of the doors opening and the quiet tapping of footsteps, and without knowing it he's clutching at Tucker's hand until his knuckles go white.
Tucker presses his thumb into the back of the Wash's hand in a grounding gesture. It's the only thing he can think of to let his sort-of boyfriend know he's here without drawing attention. Honestly he's not a fan of being here either, the ugly, familiar courthouse (not the same one but they're all the same) is bringing back the sour twisted feeling in his gut. He has to keep reminding himself that this is Wash's problem and that he has no right to be hearing Junior's giggling and Ma's rasping laugh around every corner.
Wash isn't sure what the emotion that boils over as Epsilon walks across the room is, exactly, but it leaves him shaking slightly and with a hollow feeling in his chest nonetheless.
Tucker is so focused on Wash and keeping his own composure that not much of the event actually gets to him. Just random snippets cutting through the haze. Domestic violence. Three month sentence. Pending more. Finally, finally it's over and he and Wash can leave.
Wash though, seems glued to his seat.
Wash isn't sure when the constant hum of voices stops, but he comes to with Tucker's hands laid gently across his face and worried eyes boring into his. "Sorry." He whispers, curling his fingers around Tucker's wrists.
"Please don't be." Tucker gives him one final look before turning and leading briskly back to the car. The walk there is quiet, but not the same suffocating silence as before.
The drive is a blur. Goddammit Tucker get it the fuck together.
Wash almost says something every few minutes, but his head is still buzzing and all that he does is lean his head against the window and glance at Tucker from the corner of his eye.
At home, Wash is acting kind of weird. Even for Wash. Kind of prowling around and sending the oddest looks Tucker's way.
Wash needs to keep his hands busy. He flutters around the house, absently cleaning up Tucker's scattered belongings while trying to avoid the questions that hover in the air between them. Tucker stays quiet and tries to keep the concerned look off his face. Wash flickers over and sits on the opposite end of the couch, bouncing his legs and twisting his hands in his lap. It's quiet, and cracks run along the sides of the walls he'd put together before the trial. Tucker finally has to break the silence.
"Wash?"
Wash exhales slowly. "Yeah?"
"This is the part where I ask if you're okay but.." He gestures to Wash's knotted fingers and wild eyes.
Wash's lips curve slightly. "I'll be fine."
"Promise?" Tucker scoots towards him and Wash closes the gap so they're sitting against one another.
"Promise."
Tucker smiles. "Good."
He playfully presses a light kiss at the corner of the taller mans mouth. Wash returns the expression, and tilts his head to capture a proper kiss from Tucker's lips. Tucker laughs in pleasant surprise at Wash's warm reception of the contact, kisses him back slightly. Wash doesn't know what to do with his hands, but somehow they end up against Tucker's waist of their own accord. The suddenness of Wash's arms around him, with a hell of a lot more force than usual sends a rush of heat through Tucker's bloodstream and he instinctively reciprocates, curving himself to fit in Wash's arms and upping the intensity just a little. The temperature in the room rises by what must be ten degrees, the tension in Wash's form melting under the heat. He takes one hand and drags it through Tucker's hair, holding his palm steady against the back of his neck, locking the two of them into place. Tucker's brain is exploding. Fizzing out into showers of fireworks and stars, painting the inside of his skull with layers of colour.
Beautiful.
But not right.
"Wash!" Tucker gasps his name and pulls away, just a little, goddamn he doesn't want to. This must be too much for Wash though and Tucker wants him to call the shots- at least for now.
Wash just sits back and blinks for a second, then his brow furrows in confusion. "What?" He asks, unsure how much distance to keep between them.
Tucker is a little worried about the wild, manic expression in Wash's eyes. "Are you-…Is this okay?"
Thunder cracks in Wash's brain. "Of course." He replies, too quickly.
Tucker starts to say something along the lines of 'it sure as hell doesn't look that way' but the other man cuts him off, yanking Tucker forward and kissing him lingeringly. The startled reaction is not at all what Wash expects, neither are the hands on his chest holding him back.
"Tucker?" He asks, growing ever more uncertain at Tucker's reluctant look. "This doesn't, I mean, really seem like you Wash?" Wash tilts his head in confusion. "What?"
"Wash." Tucker reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes. "You're usually not so…Okay with this stuff."
He shakes his head. I'm not. "It's fine. Really."
Once again Tucker is cut off by Wash's lips meeting his own. "I want this." Wash's voice is whisper soft, almost inaudible. Tucker kisses him back, reluctant to trust the begging tone of Wash's low voice. Wash's heart thunders against his ribs, giving new haste to his movements, but trepidation makes him less confident in his actions. Eventually, after a collision of wills in his own head, his hands rest on the small of Tucker's back, urgent and yet unwavering. Tucker would later be proud of how he was managing to keep some small part of his mind rational. He would later be ashamed of how easily he gave in to Wash's small sounds of desperation, his fingers scrabbling for hold against Tucker's shirt. Wash whining for him, begging for him, stamps of need branding Tucker's neck.
Colours shift and fade behind Wash's eyes, and every pass of his hands along skin feels like someone different. Two people flash in and out, until he's not sure which one is really here. His body temperature spikes from burning hot to freezing cold in split seconds, his scalp and shoulders ache from the bruising that has long since faded. He chokes on the word "Please." the next time he says it and hates that he's given in so easily.
Wash's movements are getting more frantic his eyes more afraid. But it's his voice stretched to breaking that breaks the hazy spell. "Wash stop." He acts like he doesn't even hear. It takes Tucker almost forcing Wash's head up to break the trance, and the snap of green eyes where there should have been grey.
Wash looks at him like he can't remember his own name.
Tucker immediately stands and takes a step away, cursing himself for not doing that sooner.
"I'm sorry." Wash says, biting off the sir. He tilts his head down, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.
Tucker squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He will never stop hating that horrible scared look on Wash's face. "Wash." he says his name lullaby soft. "Wash it's me." Okay that was dumb thing to say. Tucker honestly has no idea why that seemed appropriate.
"Yes." Wash says, without proper thought, then slowly raises his head to face Tucker. "Yeah." He breathes, softer. More real.
Tucker presses a palm lightly to Wash's shoulder, encouraging him to sit. The seconds tick by as Wash's spine softens and the colour returns to his face. "Wash." Tucker finally breaks the silence. "Wha- What the fuck was that?"
Wash shakes his head. "Nothing."
"Haha, no." Tucker sits down next to him, leaving plenty of space. "Please don't shut down on me now Washington." Wash starts to say something, but it dissolves into nonsense. He presses his hands against his eyelids, biting his lip until it bleeds, holding back tears.
"Hey." Tucker leans towards him and Wash doesn't pull away. "Look, I'm sorry, we don't have to talk about this now." The response to that is Wash turning to lay his head on Tucker's shoulder, tears coursing silently over his cheeks. "I'm sorry." He says after a long moment.
"Don't be, please god don't be, I shouldn't've gotten so caught up."
"Not your fault." Wash replies, leaning back and dragging his sleeves across his cheeks. Then, quieter; "Mine."
"Not yours." Tucker murmurs. "His."
Wash nods. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
"We're going to have a conversation Wash, do you want to talk now or wait?"
Wash lets out a long, slow breath. "Now. Now is better."
"Okay" Tucker wets his lips and tries to make the images stitched together in his head into words. "First of all let me restate that I don't want anything from you that you don't want to give." He flicks his eyes up to Wash's for a second. "I swear to Christ I'll be better if that ever happens again."
Several contradictions run through Wash's mind, but he settles on; "So will I."
Tucker is afraid the voice the thought that's been running a loop through his mind, but he does "Am I- am I really that much like him?"
Wash's head snaps up. "God, Tucker, I-" He has to stop and take a breath. "No. Absolutely not."
Tucker looks away to try and regain control of his facial expression, only partly reassured by Wash's shocked rebuttal.
"Tucker." Wash whispers, reaching out to brush dark locks from Tucker's face. "Don't ever think that. I love you, completely and utterly, and I trust you with my own life and more. Please," His voice breaks. "Please don't ever believe you could be anything like him."
"Oh god, Wash." Tucker captures the hand hovering uncertainly near his forehead. Icy cold. "I hope to hell I never break that trust."
Wash smiles, eyes misty. "The fact that you said that tells me you won't."
A smile finally touches Tucker's face. "I love you."
"Good." Wash clasps his hands behind Tucker's back. "Because I don't know what I'd do if you didn't."
Tucker had sent Wash to bed before turning in himself but no matter how hard he punched his pillow into shape his restless mind kept him all too awake.
Wash had said 'I love you' And you could barely say it back
I meant it though
It doesn't matter, you'll ruin this like you ruin everything
Remember how you got so caught up in Wash that you kept kissing him like you couldn't see it hurt?
No, no
You're just like him
Wash said I wasn't
Liar
Remember when you let Wash get stabbed?
Stop
You're fucking this up Tucker. No; Epsilon
Please stop
Wash will never love you
He does...
All the worse then, you know what happens to things you love
STOP
YOU WILL RUIN WASH LIKE YOU RUINED JUNIOR
stop please stop
Never.
Tucker falls asleep with his insecurities being chanted in his ears and lead lining his stomach.