This could be us, but our organization didn’t make us complicit in war crimes, destabilize due to its rate of experimentation and shadowy management, bestow upon us beings that killed themselves inside our heads, rip the lives of our friends and comrades away, and get us incarcerated and/or targeted for assassination.
@tuckerfuckingdidit commissioned some Carwash from me a while ago and I was like HERE YOU GO and Red was like “WAIT POST IT ON RAREPAIR WEEK” and I was like “THAT’S REALLY SMART” so I waited and now here it is, and that is a summary of the story so far
I sent @tuckerfuckingdidit a Fluff Week prompt and then immediately wrote it myself like a punk. SORRY.
Carolina knows what it means, when Wash looks like this. The pinch between his eyebrows. The tension in his shoulders. She knew it well in Project Freelancer—how could she not? It was her job to know what each of her squad looked like under stress, near to breaking.
Headcanon that Carolina can fall asleep in the most ridiculous places. Like sometimes she'll fall asleep standing up and no one is brave enough to go and confirm
The group’s conversation dies off gradually, until anyone who entered the room would see half the New Republic Lieutenants and a Freelancer, inexplicably staring in awed silence at an armored woman leaning casually against a wall.
Except it’s not just any woman. It’s Carolina.
And she’s asleep.
“…You do it,” Tucker whispers.
Wash shakes his head. Neither of them look away from her. “I did it last time.” It had only taken her name and the lightest of taps before their positions were reversed, and he was pinned against the wall.
Wash isn’t exactly looking to repeat that incident.
Epsilon materializes next to her shoulder, and makes a show of rolling his entire head, in lieu of a pair of visible eyes. “Wake the fuck up and go to bed, Lina.”
Her eyes snap open instantly. She straightens, and the hush that’s fallen upon the room dissolves. Grif is the first to snicker, but he quickly falls silent again as Carolina narrows her eyes at him.
She stretches, picks up her helmet, and as she steps away from the wall, her eyes fall directly on Wash. “Come on.” And with that, she exits.
“Uh.” Wash exchanges a look with Tucker. “Okay.”
He catches up to her out in the hall, still confused. “Are you… going to try sleeping?” He asks, pushing for casual, and probably failing.
“I am,” she says. “We don’t have anywhere to be for two hours.”
Wash nods. Then why is he here?
Realization hits, and he flushes. We.
Oh. “I’m not…”
She looks at him, finally, and he can see the tired lines in her face even clearer up close. It makes him not want to protest. “Wash, you always need a nap.”
That, and the fact that he really sleeps better when he’s not alone.