Posts tagged wash.
RvB: Advanced Zoology
"This seems very familiar," York stammered, leaning against the lamppost.
"You got a case of the deejars," North called over, slipping his loose grip on the flashlight and dropping it on Wash’s head.
"Fucking hold on to it, you jerk!" The flashlight was thrust back into North’s chest. "You have one job, North."
"Obviously it wasn’t DD," York said, finishing off his bottle. "What the hell are deejars?"
"It’s French, you uncultured swine,” North leaned forward, redirecting the light again to Wash’s grumblings. “And no, our DD was totally…erm. Was it Maine?”
"I think he went…went…" York looked around, suddenly losing his buzz. "I think he’s talking to the elephants. Wash. Are you trying to steal a tiger?"
"Liberate," Wash corrected, as North muttered something about a thesaurus and Christmas.
"It’s a goddamn tiger, Wash!”
"That’s the point!" Wash said.
"And/or DUH," North added.
"What would you do with a tiger?"
"What wouldn’t you do with a tiger?” Wash answered.
"I remember this being a bad idea…"
"Look who called the sober police," North added, and then stuck out his tongue. "Have a heart for adventure, York. Tigers, they’re…predators…and…"
"And?" York encouraged.
"And don’t…can’t live on spaceships and Wash, what the hell are you doing?"
Wash looked at his companions, his face full of patient disbelief. “Space tigers are better than any other kind of tigers, and how do you think they’re made, anyway? By taking boring normal tigers into space. I’m furthering evolution.”
North and York exchanged a meaningful glance, after two unsuccessful tries at keeping eye contact, and North swiftly knocked Wash unconscious. “I think he’s had too much,” North said, before giggling.
"Let’s go find Maine," York muttered, walking over and taking one of Wash’s arms while North grabbed the other. "I hate being the grown-up."
RvB: Too Many Letters, Too Many Cards (Pt 2 of prompts based on Starring Role by Marina and the Diamonds)
I never sent for love, I never had a heart to mend
Because before the start began, I always saw the end
"Agent Connecticut," she had said, introducing herself, and he remembered how rigidly she had shaken his hand while York had come up to both of them, his hands had clapped their shoulders and he had said with a big, stupid grin, "Wash, meet Connie. None of the "Washington" and "Connecticut" crap, that’s way too many letters."
Now when he was curled up, breathing in her hair, caressing her skin but careful not to show too much affection, too much care, he wondered if she knew how hard and fast he had fallen. He wondered because she’d always say something, some little words she didn’t think twice of, and he’d be so surprised at how well she knew him, how clearly she saw through him. Of course she knew. She must.
Not that it changed anything. She was still holding all the right cards. Even (especially) the ones Wash didn’t even know existed. He was playing with his hand on the table since the start.
RvB: Until You Make It (Pt 1 of prompts based on Starring Role by Marina and the Diamonds)
Sometimes I ignore you so I feel in control
Cause really, I adore you, and I can’t leave you alone
Fed up with the fantasies, they cover what is wrong
Come on, baby, let’s just, get drunk, forget we don’t get on
Sometimes she said things that made Wash remember what they were doing. Things like “I’m not that tired, I think I’ll just go to my room,” or “this broom closet is perfect - no one will hear us.” Sometimes it was what she didn’t say that really did it. The silence when he said he liked her hair down. The way she always wore it half-up from then on. The soft sigh in the bed and his arms encircled her.
He tried to do it, too. He’d try, “someone might hear us,” like he really cared what anyone heard. And she’d leave, and he’d continue to act like it was his idea. He’d say, “I have a mission tomorrow,” and she’d say, “you’re right, we should just go to sleep. See you in the morning,” and he hated that she proved him right. But he still said it, so she wasn’t the only one. Because if he made believe that the relationship is balanced, that she didn’t only show him affection when they’d both been drinking all night, that she didn’t trace circles in his skin only those times when he could smell her night on her breath, then maybe it’d become balanced by some wishful thinking. Fake it ‘till you make it. She said that, once.
completelysane asked: For Wash/CT during season nine: "So if you're lonely, you know I'm here waiting for you I'm just a cross-hair, I'm just a shot away from you"
"Ah, yes, the killers," York announced with a grin as Wyoming, Wash, and CT piled in from their mission. He welcomed them with a mock bow and a grand gesture to the prime seating on the couch.
"Not killers," CT said reflexively, but it was Wash who finished it. "The Avengers."
Wyoming shrugged. “I have no problem with being described by our skills. Sharp shooting, Wash. You should carry the sniper rifle more often.”
"Yeah," CT said, and Wash could swear he heard her blushing. "Thanks."
completelysane asked: Prompt, except it doesn't really have to be a prompt, just a thing I thought might also give you Sandtrap feels: "May you never steal, lie, or cheat, but if you must steal, then steal my sorrow, and if you must lie, lie with me, and if you must cheat, then cheat only death."
Wash stared at the old armor in the sand and it seemed like it was sinking, sinking deeper into that memory of her on the edge of his pillow, smiling stubbornly until he followed, sleeping in his arms. Sinking into the ground along with the helmet she so hated, sinking with every memory of her except the memory of the moment they told him she was dead, and then the moment he found out she wasn’t.
"Wash, your turn," CT said, her armor new and regulation blue, and he considered, for a moment, how much he always hated the yellow stripes of his suit since that night, first night in the cold sand dunes, when she called him a coward.
RvB: Survey Says
"I’m taking a survey," he said, and then he tapped the object in his hand ceremoniously. "I’ve got a clipboard, and I’m taking a survey because Donut said I have to before he tells me anything about the radio." He thought about this a little more, and added, "well, Donut said that Agent Washington had to, but then Agent Washington delegated it to me. That’s when he gave me the clipboard."
Grif had already started to fall back asleep in the doorway. “Caboose, it’s two in the morning.”
"I do my best thinking after after-dinner nap time."
Grif thought about challenging this statement, but decided that “thinking” was an activity Caboose could use more of, regardless of the conditions. “Alright, what’s the question, then?”
Carefully, Caboose read off and circled the appropriate bubbles that Donut had dictated he write down on the paper. Only people of the male gender. Red/Blue? Name. Favourite food. And the last one.
"That’s your big survey? There’s only one question worth answering that Donut doesn’t know about."
"I have to write everything down. On my clipboard," he added dutifully. Grif sighed.
"Oreos. Waiting to eat," he answered. "Can I go back to sleep?"
Caboose nodded, and walked sideways to the next door, knocking until a slightly sleepy, whirring Simmons answered. “Survey!” Caboose announced.
"I heard you when you asked Grif. The entire canyon heard you. Use your inside voice.”
Caboose gave this more thought. “Survey!” he yelled, and Simmons stopped trying.
"Donut already knows my favourite food anyway, and it’s when I stop always correcting them when they’re wrong."
Caboose wrote the answers down as the door closed again, and Sarge’s door opened a little further down the hall. “By winning for them, son. Now get the hell out of my base. Also, pineapples. The warrior fruit!”
RvB: Graduation (Happy Birthday, Nem!)
He held her hand softly, fingers interlaced. “What’s your favourite graduation?” he whispered, keeping this tradition of small, harmless, personal questions in the dark. She was always herself when no one could see her.
"What do you mean?" she said, genuine.
"Mine was fifth grade." He turned and gestured out into the room, even if it was so dark he knew she couldn’t see. "We all got tiny caps and gowns like we were graduating high school, but it only took ten minutes because you can’t make nine year olds sit still for much longer. We got a giant piece of paper and then threw our hats at each other. My parents bought me ice cream." He squeezed her hand a little before adding, explaining, "my mother had passed away by my high school graduation. It was so much longer, too. More stuffy."
She raised their hands and kissed the back of his. Compassion. Another thing she was so good at, in the dark. “Last time my parents were together was in Kindergarten.” She gave it more thought, and Wash heard her lick her lips. “I think my favourite is college. It was long. Neither of my parents came. I didn’t get ice cream,” she added, with a smile. “But I did it. Without any help, I did it.”
They lay there in silence for a while, her thumb making circles over his. “Did you join right after?” he said.
"Yep," Connie nodded, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’d just graduated college. I thought I could do anything."
"You can," he said, without thought. Without hesitation. She squeezed his hand.
"Sometimes, I think so too." She rolled over, closer to him, and he smiled as she fell asleep, slowly, into his arms.
"You seem like you’d be the type to fall in love often," she said, and he wasn’t sure why he took offense to it.
"Is that wrong?" Wash stammered, half defensive, half apologetic. "How many times have you been in love, then?"
"Twice." The number hung in the air, filling the space between them with intimidation. "Once in high school. It was probably more puppy love than anything. And then again, just after college."
"We grew up," she said with a shrug. "We didn’t grow up together, so when I left for training, there wasn’t anything to sustain." Connie said all of this looking at the ceiling. His sheets covered her bare hips, just a corner. She had declared it too hot and lacked the modesty to care that the rest of her lay exposed in the dark. The number two floating between them. Or maybe just over him. "I bet you tell girls you love them after a month."
He crossed his arms, laying down on his back next to her and pouting slightly. “What of it?”
"Doesn’t it, I don’t know, cheapen it? If you say it so often."
"How can it cheapen what you feel? I say it because it’s true." She turned to him, looking at him with that intense curiosity that always made him want to share secrets.
"How do you have so much? I mean. You’d run out eventually. You’d get hurt and you’d stop saying it so often because it lets people hurt you."
"It lets people love you," he corrected, holding to his point. All defense now.
"Love hurts," she concluded, rolling back again.
"People hurt," he corrected again. "Love-"
"I’m tired," she said, with a certain finality. I’m tired of this conversation. I’m tired of love.
It took him three months longer to say it to her. And three weeks shorter to feel it.
She kept pacing on the flight deck, making a semicircle around the decidedly empty pilot seat. Mal had never seen her walk so much without a purpose.
RvB Prompt: Whispers
Prompt from Nem: You’re one of my secrets, too. Wash/CT
She always thought he spoke in little private bursts, moments he makes his own as he leans into her ear. She used to accuse him of stealing them, but the more she got to know him, the more she realized that stealing anything was far too dishonest for him. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But she knew how she felt when he would lean over during lunch and mutter something only for her ears, and stolen or not, it was private. It was intimate. It was just like him.
He always thought she was telling him a secret. The way she smiled when he starined to hear, and the small laugh she always had when he asked her to repeat something. Sometimes she slipped him notes, and he thought he was in some kind of spy movie, and the paper would self-destruct after he read it. The more he got to know her, the more she seemed like a secret herself, from her words to her laugh to her smile to the way she held his hand. No one had ever trusted him with a secret before.
poolwatcher asked: Prompt: "I believe we lied, even though we said it was the truth. We were never in love with each other, it only felt just the same." Pairing/character of your choice.
"Love doesn’t come easy," he said one night, and she frowned in the darkness.
"Shouldn’t it, though?" she said, rustling herself free from his embrace to turn and face him. "Shouldn’t it just be easy and natural? Shouldn’t it come when we feel it, and without having to fight for it?"
"No one writes about the ones that come easy," he offered, after a moment.
"That’s because everyone writes with a broken heart," she said back, turning around again so his face was buried between her shoulder blades.
He was quiet for a while, breathing her in to gather courage. She felt him tense up and ask, “does this come easy to you? I mean, natural?”
"Yes," Connie answered, eyes open in the darkness. As he relaxed into her, she smiled and pressed against him, all second thoughts gone. This feeling, this smell, his arms around her. This was love. Surely, this was love.
Later, she would think, loving and lying are only a few letters apart.
completelysane asked: For Wash/CT: "But I will not chase your shadow as you go from room to room/dropping handkerchiefs and daggers, smoking guns and other clues"
CT never thought herself hard to find, not for someone who had all of the Freelancer network at their disposal. Sure, the Insurrectionists had done their best hiding her behind a new voice and a new signal and, for good measure, in the middle of a desert, but she knew better than to think the Director didn’t know about it. She still spent those first few months waiting for someone, someone very specific, to do just a little digging and follow the smoking trail of self destruction that she left in her wake.
completelysane asked: "There’s no one to talk to/All I can think/Is your eyes are full of train smoke/And your mouth tastes like rain/And I know when I know nothing/I will always know your name" Wash/CT, maybe AU where she stays during the time he's implanted.
For the longest time since meeting him, she refused to call him anything other than Wash. Washington was never even an option. She remembered when he introduced himself and said “David”, our of habit. His cheeks turned red and he immediately tried to correct it, saying he wasn’t used to code names. She cut him off and said her name was Connie, and he thought she’d also confessed her real name for an entire month. York had come up to her later and said his name was Wash, when she asked what it was short for, York laughed. She looked it up in on a map later.
"David," she would say as she sat next to his hospital bed, her hand tentatively next to his but never touching. It always calmed him down. It took her a few days to realize she should try it. She’d been saying "Wash" with no effect.
She only had another few days left. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet.
She kept going back and forth on her goodbye. If he was still unconscious, it might be easier. She thought about taking his hand. Maybe kissing him. Would she kiss David? Would she even kiss Wash at this point?
He moved again, and whimpered. She leaned close and whispered that everything was going to be alright.
That she was here for him.
Here for you,
The Kind You Want to Tell
From Nem: I also request Wash telling Internals that someone besides CT was the traitor.
It would be a really simple lie. He knew how to be dishonest. Like when his mother made meatloaf and he told her it was his favourite food. It was basically the same thing, wasn’t it? When he met with a bunch of high school girls from a different district and he awkwardly told them he was two years older, eighteen, almost graduated. Or when he fed his peas to the dog for half a year straight and got congratulated by his mom, then yelled at by his dad when he got caught. Or how he tells North that he likes Captain America better even though Superman is clearly the superior superhero.
It was just like a white lie. Well, maybe slightly grayish.
"I think you should take a closer look at Wyoming," he said in one controlled breath. There. It wasn’t that bad.
It was just like telling Connie that he didn’t mean it when he said “I love you.”
Y’all Come Back Now
Text prompt from Nem: “he’s a cowboy lost in a long steel hall, see how he can run.”
They had told him time and time again that he didn’t need the accent in order to be a cowboy. They weren’t even sure what accent he was trying to do, because at eight years old, all David knew was that he didn’t want to be an Indian. Their names were cooler, but cowboys got to wear boots. He liked his boots. He had attached cardboard spurs to them for authenticity.
He’d think about that classic game with the neighborhood kids in the program a lot. Happy memories were hard to come by towards the end. He’d remember how much he struggled to sound like he was from Texas and hung out in a smoky, musty saloon. He remember how he’d always elongate the wrong vowel for the accent he was going for.
He remember it when the Director spoke. It got harder and harder to listen to him, towards the end.