Chapter Text
It was during a meeting in the war room that Tucker’s life went to shit. Well not literally, but that was where it started. The Blues, Reds, Carolina, Wash, Kimball, and Doyle were discussing something. What they were discussing was unknown and unimportant to Tucker, because in the training session just before the meeting, Carolina and Wash were sparring, showing off their freelancer moves to everyone else. Well, not really, they were actually showing techniques but it still felt like showing off. Carolina had went in for a pretty powerful kick to the head at Wash, expecting him to block it, but he had missed it and got an armored boot to the face for his mistake. Wash had dropped straight to the floor, and Tucker sincerely hoped that everyone else was too distracted by what had just happened to notice how Tucker dropped the training gun he was holding and ran over to Wash immediately. Wash was checked over by the medics and they confirmed that he was perfectly fine, just a slight headache. His helmet on the other hand was not. Carolina’s kick had hit the side of it, creating a very prominent crack right along the visor, meaning that Wash could not wear it until it was replaced or repaired. Which led to a very distracted Tucker during the meeting.
It was not Tucker’s fault, he listened at the start of the meeting, until Wash had stepped into the room, then Tucker had been glad he was wearing his helmet to cover up his very visible intake of breath at the sight of a helmet-less Wash. Sure, he had seen Wash without his helmet a few times before, but that was always in the morning when he had come into Tucker’s room to wake him and then Tucker usually just caught a glimpse of blonde and that was it. But never like this, where Tucker was able to sit and stare at him. His blonde hair was tousled like he, or someone else, had been running their hands through it, he was still flushed from the training earlier, and he had a bruise forming on the left side of his face, from Carolina’s kick. It was his eyes that captivated Tucker the most, they were a piercing gray, and every single time he looked over at Tucker, it felt as if he could see him through his helmet and knew every single inappropriate thought Tucker had ever had about Wash. That was when Tucker knew what his single biggest weakness was, it was the hot as fuck freelancer sitting right in front of him. At one point during the meeting Wash was deep in thought, and unknowingly bit his lip trying to think of a solution to whatever they were talking about. Tucker almost fucking whimpered at that sight. Then Wash looked straight at him and licked his lips. Tucker was then glad that he was sitting down. It then looked like Wash said his name, directly to him. Tucker’s name on his lips looked as if it had always been destined to be said by those gorgeous lips.
“Tucker”. Shit. Wash had said his name. In a room full of people. Who were all now staring at him. While he had just been staring at Wash. And then Tucker, being an idiot had said yes, Wash asked him if he agreed and Tucker had been drawn in by those eyes again had said he had agreed. Leading to the present moment.
Tucker was standing in the middle of the landing pad, waiting to be experimented on with the future cubes. Carolina, well mostly Church, and Simmons were going over the numbers again while Tucker stood there like an idiot playing with his dreads, trying not to focus on how much he hated himself. Why did he not listen? Why did he blindly agree to something? Why was Wash his kryptonite? Speaking of Wash, the man himself appeared and walked straight over to Tucker.
“You sure you’re ready for this? Wash asked, his helmet had been repaired and he was back in full armor mode.
“Yeah man, I already told you I was cool with it.” Tucker replied, dropping the dread and trying to hide the fact he was shitting himself at the thought of doing this. Wash looked at him, shook his head and bent down to pick up Tucker’s helmet. He straightened up and put his arms around Tucker’s neck to put his helmet on, but before he did he leaned in close to Tucker’s face. Tucker could only see himself reflected in the visor and tried to maintain a neutral expression, which hopefully did not reveal how often he thought of Wash in this exact position.
“Tucker, do me a favour? Next time you agree to do something this dangerous, don’t just agree because you spent the whole meeting staring at me and not listening.” Wash then dropped Tucker’s helmet into place, hiding the shocked expression.
“What? How did? No- I wasn’t. It was- I wanted to do this. How would you even know what I was doing, I had my helmet on.” Tucker was sure there was no way he could know or figure it out.
“You’re not that subtle Tucker.” Fuck. “But just so you know, if you’re not staring at me out of hate, then the feeling may be mutual. Think about that when you’re on your adventure.” Double fuck. “Oh, and I’ll see you very soon, don’t be scared and just try to blend in.” Wash then turned away from him, walking over to beside Carolina, “He’s ready to go when you are.” No, Tucker is not ready. Wash presents him with a riddle like that and then just tosses him through a cube to wherever the fuck. Tucker took a step towards Wash, intending to grab the man and demand answers, and then maybe a bit more if what he said was true, but at the moment Epsilon moved from Carolina’s shoulder to in front of Tucker’s visor.
“Alright Tucker, so as we discussed in the meeting the other day, Doc spoke about this seemingly other dimension that he went to when he got transported. The goal of today is to try and replicate that, and since you volunteered to be our guinea pig, you get to visit the dimension. So good luck, and don’t- y’know die or anything.” Church, always the motivator. Tucker rolled his shoulders back and nodded his head.
“Let’s get this over with then.” Church blinked away as Carolina activated the cube and threw it over at Tucker’s feet. There was a bright orange light that Tucker shut his eyes against, a roaring sound, and the unmistakable feeling of his body being pushed and pulled around as he was transported somewhere. He landed with a thump, his legs giving out on him so he ended up on the floor. Tucker opened his eyes to see . . . nothing. He could not see anything. He stood up on shaky legs and felt around to try and figure out where he was. It felt like a small room, maybe some sort of storage. He patted down each wall until he felt a door handle on one of them, just as he grasped the handle the door opened and he fell out of the closet onto the floor in front of it.
“What’s your name soldier? And why were you in my closet?” Tucker heard someone ask, and he knew that voice. Tucker slowly looked up from the floor, his gaze passing over the familiar gray and yellow armor to his un-helmeted face. Which was a lot less scarred and a lot younger. Then Tucker noticed that young Wash was holding a pistol pointed straight at him.
“My name is Tucker. And uhh, I have no idea how I got in your closet” Tucker stammered out. Wash tilted his head and squinted his eyes at Tucker.
“Well then, I hope a visit to the Director will jog your memory. Get up.” The Director? Oh fuck, Tucker was and truly fucked.