Chapter Text
It takes less than an hour for Wash to start regretting his decision to go along with it, and he suspects that Sarge is as well. But neither of them say anything, just exchange a few darkly significant looks as one of the Federalist soldiers they met earlier leads them to their quarters, talking cheerfully the whole time. It’s an awkward journey, as half the soldiers they pass stop dead in their tracks to stare at them, and all of the soldiers stop talking completely. Wash keeps his gun up the entire time, but no one approaches, although Wash doesn’t think their stares are all entirely friendly. It seems to take ages to get to where the soldier is leading them, but eventually he stops, waving his hand at a nondescript door. “Here we all!” he says brightly, already heading back down the hallway in the direction that they came. “Your room.”
Wash isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it isn’t a tiny room with two sets of bunk beds on opposing walls. “Sarge already claimed both beds on the left on the walk over,” Donut is saying as he removes his helmet, “so that leaves you and I with the set on the right. I took the bottom, but I don’t mind switching! I always took you for more of a bottom type of guy, so—”
“Waaait,” Wash interrupts, slowly. “Wait. You’re saying that we have to share this room? All three of us?”
“That’s right!” Donut says. “It’ll be just like a sleepover! Oh, it’ll be great—the three of us staying up late, bonding—maybe watching a movie—oh! Perhaps a bottle of wine—it can’t be that hard to find wine here, can it? Maybe I can ask Doyle—”
“Donut, wait.” Wash interrupts. “We…we can’t hare a room.”
Donut frowns at him. “Well, we just shared a cell, silly! Why is this different?”
Because it appears that we aren’t in immediate danger and who knows how long we’ll be stuck here. “It just is.”
Sarge scoffs, shouldering past him to collapse onto the left bottom bunk, which creeks ominously under the weight of his armor. “Well, I’m not happy about having to share quarters with a dirty blue, but you don’t see me complaining, do you?”
Wash rolls his eyes. “I give it about five minutes before you start complain—”
“Now, listen here, Washington, and listen good!” Sarge gestures down the middle of the room, where, Wash notices for the first time, there’s a thick piece of red duct tape down the center of the room.
“How…who put that tape there?!”
“Never mind who put it there! This side here—” Sarge points towards himself— “is red base! Your side is blue base! There will be no crossing sides at all, whatsoever, or I’ll be forced to take drastic action!”
“Sarge…” Wash rubs at his forehead through his helmet. He can already feel a headache coming on. “Then why is Donut bunking on my side of the room?”
There’s a short pause before Sarge answers. “Well, it’s obvious! This side of the room and the top bunk of that one is Red Base! What matters is that you stay on that side, and Donut and I will stay on this side, plus the top bunk of that one!”
“Oh, really?” Wash folds his arms across his chest. “So, we can’t cross the tape at all? Is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”
“Then how are you going to get in and out of the room?”
Wash watches Sarge’s gaze travel from his bunk, to the other bunk, to the door, which is solidly on Wash’s side of the room. “Well—obviously that doesn’t count!”
“It would count if the door was on your side!”
“It most certainly would not!”
“Would too!”
“Would—”
“Guuuuuuuuuys!” Donut says imploringly. He’s sitting cross legged on top of his bunk, helmet settled in his lap. “Come on! We’re all one team out here! A tried and true threesome!”
Sarge snorts, muttering feverishly under his breath. “One team…no such thing!”
“Well, foursome if you count Lopez—”
“Sarge,” Wash says through gritted teeth. “We’ve been one team for ages now—”
“Hogwash!”
“What—it’s not hogwash, it’s the truth!”
“Well, if it’s the truth…” Sarge looks directly at Wash, victorious in a way that Wash has come to recognize, “then we’d be honest with each other, right?”
“I—what?”
“Well, that’s what teams do! They’re honest with each other!”
There’s a definite trap here, but Wash doesn’t know what it is. “I…” Wash glances between him and Donut, who is nodding solemnly. “Sure, I guess.”
“Then,” Sarge says triumphantly, “you can tell us why you’re so twitchy about sharing a room!”
“I’m not twitchy about us sharing a room!”
“Son,” Sarge says, “you’re twitcher than…than a….”
“Ha,” Wash says, “you can’t think of anything, can you?”
“I know twitchy when I see it! And you, Agent Washington, are twitchy. Why don’t you wanna share a room? Huh?”
Wash pause. “Because….I don’t want to share a room with a filthy red…obviously…”
“You’re lying."
There’s something sharp under the blustery exterior. “I—look. Sarge, Donut—it’s just….not a good idea. I think it’s at least asking the…General…if we can have separate quarters. I still want to be close—we should keep an eye on each other, but—”
Donut’s face falls, and Wash feels immediately guilty. “Aw, but Wash! It’ll be so much fun—”
“No,” Wash says, sharper than he means to. “It won’t. Look, I’ll just…talk to Doyle or something. See if he can find me a new room. A…a blue room.”
“Nonsense!” Sarge says. “We’re behind enemy lines! We have to stick together!”
“What—you just said we had to say on opposite sides of the room! Now you’re saying you need to stick together?”
“Washington,” Sarge says gravely, “you may be a Blue. But there’s no way in hell you’re becoming bunk buddies with one of these Feds.”
“Sarge—”
“Wash,” Donut says, “you have to stay with us. You just had brain surgery! We have to keep an eye on you!”
“You sleep naked or something?” Sarge interrupts.
“What—no! Of course I don’t sleep naked!”
“Tucker says he snores,” Donut stage whispers to Sarge. “Maybe that’s it.”
“I do not snore!” Wash snaps, offended. “That’s—Tucker’s lying!”
“Is he, though?”
“Tucker wouldn’t know if I snore—I don’t sleep enough to snore—”
“A-ha!” Sarge says. “We’re getting warmer. An insomniac, eh?”
“Yes!” Wash says quickly. “Yes. That. That is what I am. An insomniac. I’ll keep you guys up all night.”
“Eh…” Sarge shrugs. “I’m something of an insomniac myself.”
“Oh!” Donut says, delighted. “You can keep each other company!”
“Donut, I’m sure Sarge doesn’t want to be kept company by a dirty blue—”
“A-ha! So you admit you’re a dirty blue!”
Wash pauses. “If I say yes, will you drop this?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, then I admit it.”
“You gotta say it!’
“I’m not saying it—”
“Anyway,” Sarge says loudly, “Donut’s got a point! It’s been a while since I had anyone to listen to m’war stories, and what better time to tell them than when we’re burning the midnight oil? Face it, Frecklelancer. You ain’t getting out of this one.”
“Would you please stop calling me that?”
“I think it’s a great nickname!” Donut gushes. “Your freckles are so cute!”
“You ain’t getting out of this one,” Sarge says again. “Besides! What if something happens and you aren’t here? Don’t think you’d ever forgive yourself if you weren’t able to sacrifice yourself heroically!”
Wash narrows his eyes. “Low blow, Sarge. Low blow.”
“Did it work?”
“I…”
“Yes!” Donut claps his hands. “Nice work, Sarge!”
“I don’t sleep well, alright?” Wash blurts. He can feel his face growing hot, and he folds his arms across his chest. “It’s just not a good idea.”
Unfortunately, neither one of them look particularly phased. “Oh, Wash, that’s okay! We all have bad nights every once in a while—”
“It’s a little more than a bad night, Donut.”
“But isn’t it better to wake up with your friends than all by yourself?”
“No, actually, it’s not—”
“Which one of those Blues did you almost off?”
Wash freezes before whipping around to Sarge. “What did you just say?”
Sarge shrugs. “That’s what’s got you so twitchy, right? You had a bad night during one of your blue team slumber parties—”
“We don’t have Blue Team slumber parties,” Wash says through gritted teeth, at the same time that Donut gasps, “you have Blue Team slumber parties?!”
“—and you woke up swinging a little too hard.” Sarge pauses expectantly. “So? Which Blue were we almost lucky enough to be rid of?”
Wash glances helplessly between Sarge and Donut before unfolding his arms, letting them fall limply to his sides. “Tucker. It was Tucker.”
Neither one of them look surprised. Donut brightens slightly, straightening up in his bunk. “Well, Tucker’s okay, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’re okay, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“And it all worked out, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but—Donut—”
“So then its all okay!”
“’Course it’s okay!” Sarge says breezily. “Washington here just likes to make things dramatic—”
“Stop it,” Wash says, voice sharpening. “It was okay, but—it might not have been. You weren’t there—you didn’t see—if Caboose—”
He turns away, inhaling deeply. It’s fine. He’s fine, and he has to get a grip. They’re fine—it was ages ago and they’re fine—
Unless they’re not—
“Dramatic,” Sarge grunts.
Wash whirls back around. “Sarge—”
“Oh, relax. Don’t get your blue lacy panties all in a bundle.”
“Hmmm, I don’t know, Sarge, I think Wash is more of a plaid or polka dot undies guy—”
“Guys—”
“So it’s settled, then?” Donut asks. “You’ll stay.”
Wash glances behind him towards the hallway, then back into the room, with it’s ridiculous red tape. He probably won’t be able to sleep very well anyway and besides, Donut is right: if something happens, it’s better for him to be here to protect them.
There are miles and miles between him and his team, and nothing he can do about it for now. But this—this he can do.
He can protect what he has left.
“I’ll stay,” he says with a sigh, and turns to hide a smile as Donut cheers and high-fives Sarge.
Despite his promise, Wash can’t truly relax enough to sleep that night. Now that the surgery is a few days is a few days behind him, the need for vigilance outweighs his body’s need to sleep. Every sound makes him tense, every footstep propels him to a sit. He lies awake for hours, trying and failing not to imagine what Tucker and Caboose are doing right this second. Are they sleeping? Are they hurting? Are they, are they, are they—
Alive—
Wash pushes angrily to sit against the wall, glaring at the door until the first rays of light creep through the room. He feigns sleep as Sarge leaves the room, follows shortly by Donut, then does push-ups in the middle of the floor until Sarge comes back in and throws a pillow at him. “Gonna be late.”
Wash pauses mid push-up. “Late for what?”
“For our check-up with the good doctor!”
Wash snorts, then gets up and joins Sarge in getting dressed. He waits until they’re fully armored to turn and face him. “I’m not going.”
Wash doesn’t have to be able to see Sarge’s face to know that he’s rolling his eyes: he can hear the exasperation plainly in his voice. “Listen, Frecklelancer, it’s a simple check-up—”
“It’s not a simple check-up,” Wash snaps. “Not for me, anyway. She just performed brain surgery on me.”
“All the more reason! Look, either you come quietly or I drag your sorry blue bottom—”
“What about blue bottoms?” Donut interjects brightly, flounces into the room with two soldiers in tow.
Wash tenses immediately, but Sarge does him one better, propelling himself to a stand and pointing dramatically between the newcomers. “A-ha! Fraternizing with the enemy, I see!”
“Saaarge,” says Donut, wounded. “They’re not this enemy! This is Fitz, and this is Ali, and we just had the best time at breakfast together. We all technically met the other day, but—Fitz, Ali, this is Sarge and—”
“Agent Washington,” interrupts the one who Donut introduced as Ali. “Yeah, we know who they are.”
Wash frowns, but the soldier doesn’t sound hostile, just curious. Before he can respond, Donut is speaking again. “So what were you guys talking about? Sounded like a lot of fun!”
“Go away, Private Biscuit!” Sarge snaps. “Agent Washington and I have things to discuss!”
Somehow, Donut manages to convey the fact that he’s pouting even through his helmet. “What things?”
“Leader things! Super secret war council things! You wouldn’t understand! Take twiddle-dee and twiddle-dum here and go see what that robot of ours is up to! Washington, you come with me—”
“I’m not going,” says Wash, and Donut rounds on him.
“Not going where? To your check-up? Aw, but Wash, I already went this morning and it wasn’t so bad at all—”
“What do you mean you went this morning?” Wash asks, frowning. “Why did you have to go?”
Donut waves a hand. “Just a general check-up, I had a super teeny concussion when we arrived but—”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Gee, I wonder,” mutters Sarge.
“Donut’s got a pretty hard head, he’s fine,” says Ali, tapping on the side of Donut’s helmet, and he, Fitz and Donut instantly dissolve into snorts and giggles at what’s clearly an inside joke.
“Alright,” Wash snaps, instantaneously and spectacularly annoyed by this display of easy camaraderie, “out, out, out!”
“But—”
Donut’s protests are cut off abruptly as Sarge strong-arms him out of the room, gesturing that Fitz and Ali should do the same. He leans against the door after shutting it, letting out a low whistle. “Gotta admit, the boy’s got some pretty solid infiltration techniques!”
Wash stares at him. “Infiltration techniques?”
“Of course! Why else would he be cozying up to our esteemed hosts? He’s angling for information, so there’s no need for you to be jealous!”
“Sarge, I…I really don’t think that’s what he’s doing—and I’m not jealous, what a ridiculous thing to say—”
“’Course it’s what he’s doing! And don’t try to distract me! C’mon, get up, get moving—”
Fifteen minutes later, Wash only agrees to go see the doctor to shut Sarge up. “Don’t see what the big deal is,” Sarge grumps from several feet ahead of Wash as they walk down the hallway to the hospital wing, Wash walking as slowly as he can manage.
“I don’t like people in my head,” Wash says testily.
“If she hadn’t been in your head, you would’ve kicked the bucket, and then we’d be short one less whiny Blue—”
“I just…” Wash lowers his voice, glancing around. “What if she did something? Put something in there that shouldn’t be?”
Sarge waves a dismissive hand. “She didn’t. I made sure of that m’self!”
That brings Wash up short. “Wait. You were there? They let you into my surgery?”
There’s a very pregnant pause before Sarge answers. “Well, I’d been shot too, hadn’t I? They were slapping a band-aid on me at the same time they were putting your head back together!”
There’s something odd about Sarge’s tone, but Wash can’t pinpoint just what it is. “Okay, well, how would you even know if she’d screwed something up or not?”
Sarge sighs. “In case you’ve forgotten, Blue, I have implants too. We all do!”
“And you know how they work?”
“You don’t?”
They stare at each other as Wash pauses to consider this. “Well…no. I wouldn’t even know if I were looking at if I were able to see mine.”
“Well, maybe that’s part of the problem. Someone’s gonna put fancy smancy wires in your brain, you learn everything you you can about them!” Sarge shakes his head. “Anyway, we’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“Such as?”
“Such as this whole situation! Something stinks to high heaven here, and I don’t like it one bit!”
Wash sighs. “Believe me, I don’t like it anymore than you do, Sarge, but I thought we’d agreed to just go along with everything for now. Unless you have a better plan?”
From the way Sarge fidgets, Wash can tell he wishes he does. “We just can’t get too comfortable here, is all I’m saying. Look, it’s been twelve hours and I’ve got princess bubblegum flirting with anything that moves, I’ve got Lopez trying to seduce all of the mechanics—”
“Really,” Wash deadpans. “Lopez. Seducing the mechanics.
“I caught him in a very compromising position with the blonde from sector three this morning! There’s a whole lot of flirting and fraternizing going on here that I don’t like one bit!”
“Two minutes ago, you said you were impressed by Donut’s infiltration techniques!” Wash makes little air quotes with his fingers.
Sarge ignores him. “Next thing I know, you’ll be flirting with someone?”
“And who have you been flirting with, Sarge?” Wash asks sarcastically. “What infiltration techniques have you been employing?”
To his surprise, Sarge stops, glancing wildly in either direction. “I haven’t been flirting with the good doctor! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”
Wash stares at him. Sarge hastens to continue. “Listen, princess freckles, the point is, we got men being held captive on the other side of the planet by the rebels. Low-lifes! Cannibals who wear their enemies bones as a trophy! We can’t get too comfortable here!”
“I don’t think that’s exactly what’s…look, do you see me wanting to get comfortable?” Wash lowers his voice, motioning Sarge to keep walking with him. “We have no idea where we are, or where the rest of our guys are, either. We need to figure out a little more about what’s going on before we make any big moves. Then, the second we see an opportunity, we take it.”
They eye each other. “So we have an alliance, then? One team leader to another?” Sarge asks, sticking out his hand.
“Sarge, we’ve had an alliance since—” Wash cuts himself off with a sigh, reaching out to grasp Sarge’s hand. “Yes. We have an alliance.”
Sarge gives his hand a hearty shake, then gestures towards the infirmary doors just ahead of them. “C’mon, stop stalling and get your kiester in there.”
He gives Wash a little shove through the infirmary doors. Wash shuffles through reluctantly, Sarge following at an uncomfortably close distance. “Alright, I’m here, stop hovering,” Wash mutters in annoyance as Sarge bullies him into a chair.
“Agent Washington! I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up!”
Wash tenses as Dr. Grey bounds towards them, smiling brightly. She’s wearing all of her armor except her helmet, but Wash doesn’t have a moment’s confusion as to who she is. There’s simply no mistaking that voice. He’s surprised to see that she’s older than he is, her curly black hair streaked with grey, laughter lines etched into her tawny brown skin. She’s wearing glasses that make her dark brown eyes look huge, and she turns them to Sarge as Wash reluctantly pops the seals on his helmet. “Why, Sarge! How nice of you to accompany him!”
Sarge clears his throat, his voice uncharacteristically husky. “I thought I’d hang around in case you needed assistance!”
“So thoughtful of you. You did have an up-close an personal view of the surgery, I suppose, didn’t you?”
Wash eyes Sarge suspiciously, who makes a point of avoiding his gaze. “Well, don’t let me stop you, Doctor!”
Dr. Grey claps her hands together. “O-kay! Agent Washington, if you wouldn’t mind hopping up onto this table right here, I’ll take a peek and have you boys on your merry way in no time.”
“Why do I have to get on the table?” Wash asks at once. “Can’t I just sit in this chair while you look?”
“I’m afraid not. You see this pillow at the head of the table? It’s designed to minimize movement. It makes it easier for me to see what’s going on.” She offers him a smile. “I promise, just a quick peek!”
“Oh, get on the table, babylancer,” Sarge grunts when Wash hesitates further.
He knows that Sarge doesn’t miss the way Wash slips a small knife into his palm, climbing onto the table. Dr. Grey probably doesn’t miss it either, but she doesn’t comment, just hums merrily as Wash rests his forehead onto the pillow.
“Going to take your bandages off now,” Dr. Grey says cheerfully. The first touch of her fingers on the back of his neck is featherlight, but Wash jumps anyway. He grits his teeth hard against the gasp that wants to escape, clutches the knife in his fist and fights every single instinct he has, all of which are screaming at him that he’s in danger.
You should’ve run, Wash—
They pried him open they ripped him out—
“I’m afraid I need to ask you to stop moving so much, Agent Washington.”
“Sorry,” Wash mutters, flushing and grateful that neither of them can see his face. Sarge shifts slightly into Wash’s peripheral, and Wash focuses on that, the fire-engine red of Sarge’s armor grounding him somewhat.
He still continues to jerk and fidget, and Dr. Grey has to ask him to hold still several more times before Sarge sighs loudly. “Want me to find a sedative?”
“No,” Wash says, his voice sharpening as he pushes himself to a sit. Dr. Grey makes a distressed noise, her hands patting at the back of his head. “No sedative—”
“Now, Agent Washington! No sudden movements!”
Wash is about to call this whole thing off—this was a terrible idea and besides, he already knows his implants are fucked, he doesn’t need a check-up to tell him that—when Sarge puts a hand on the top of his head and drags him back down to a supine position. “You heard the lady! No sudden movements!”
Wash is so stunned by the sheer stupidity of Sarge’s action that he just lays there in shock, gaping at the floor. “What…did you just…are you—”
“Oh, shut up.”
Wash sputters into silence as he feels Dr. Grey’s fingers again. He realizes suddenly that Sarge’s palm is still cupping the top of his head to keep him still, the cold metal and ridges of his gloves a stark contrast to Dr. Grey’s small hands. He focuses on the former, whatever Dr. Grey and Sarge are saying fading into background noise until he hears Dr. Grey say, “and besides, isn’t this much easier to see when you’re not holding me at scalpel point, Sarge?”
Wash goes entirely still, eyes sliding to what little he can see of Sarge’s leg in his peripheral. Something is worrying at the very edge of his mind—the fuzzy fragment of a forgotten memory or nightmare, the sound of a voice that he knew and also didn’t, low and hard and menacing, as his head lay cracked up on an operating table:
“One wrong move, doctor, and I kill you where you stand.”
The same voice sounds now, gruff and exasperated. “You alive down there, blue?”
“Yeah,” Wash says slowly. “Yeah, I am.”
Wash doesn’t say anything more, just lays there quietly and lets Dr. Grey finish her work. “Everything looks normal!” she says eventually. “You can sit up now. I’ll just go get a fresh bandage for your implantation site—it might be sore for a few days—and you’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”
She flounces off and Wash sits up at once. He looks at Sarge, who has his arms folded over his chest, as if waiting for Wash to say something. Wash pauses, gives Sarge a calculating look, and says, “So, you really saw Lopez flirting with the mechanics?”
Sarge reanimates at once, throwing his arms theatrically into the air. “I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anything like it!” He launches into an explanation that’s still going on when Dr. Grey returns. She listens to them banter back and forth as she affixes the bandage to the back of Wash’s head and then turns to examine Sarge and says, “well, you are the four musketeers, aren’t you?”
Wash supposes there are far worse things to be.