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"Morning, sleepyhead," Tucker murmurs as Wash starts to stir, pressing a kiss to his sleep-mussed hair. The early rays of sunlight that stream through the cracks in the blinds cast him in gold.
"Hrmph," Wash mumbles, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the light.
Tucker follows, ducking his head under the blankets as well. "Do you know what day it is?"
"Too early," Wash groans, but he's smiling.
"You want pancakes for breakfast?"
"Yes please."
"Of course." Tucker gives him another kiss before slipping out from under the sheets and heading for the kitchen. "Happy Wash Day."
It's technically just Sunday, but in an effort to get Wash to actually relax and enjoy their retirement on Chorus, Tucker's started a new tradition. Sundays are now very specifically dedicated to Wash and to doing whatever Wash wants to do.
So far, Wash Days always consist of sleeping in and having pancakes in the morning. After that, sometimes they go for a walk, or go swimming, or just stay in bed and watch movies all day. Whatever it is, Wash gets to pick, and Tucker is rewarded with getting to see Wash happy and relaxed and having a good time.
Tucker hums as he starts the coffee pot and turns on the stove. It takes no time at all to whip up the pancake batter, and soon he's produced a plate of them to add to Wash's breakfast tray along with his coffee.
He ventures outside as an afterthought to pluck a few citrus fruits from the big tree that stands in the backyard. Tucker's not sure what they're actually called– everyone just calls them "Chorus oranges", even though they're a little more sour and a little greener than an actual orange. Whatever they are, Wash likes them, and Tucker adds them to the tray after slicing them up nicely.
Wash sits up when Tucker returns, rubbing sleep from his eyes and messing his hair up even more.
“Breakfast,” Tucker grins.
“Smells delicious,” Wash yawns, reaching for coffee first as per usual. “Thank you, Vern.”
Tucker snuggles up next to him while he eats and drinks his own coffee, stealing an occasional bite off Wash’s plate. Wash hums happily when he gets to the fruit slices, making Tucker’s trek outside to get them even more worth it.
He sets the tray aside when Wash is finished and wraps an arm around him. “Did you have enough to eat?”
“Mmhm,” Wash nods, and yawns again.
Wash always gets sleepy when he’s full. Tucker pulls him close and tugs the blankets up to his chin. Once they’re settled, Tucker resumes sipping his coffee, and the next time he steals a glance down at Wash, he’s fast asleep, snoring softly.
Tucker drifts off a little as well, warm and comfortable with Wash tucked against him. Sundays are probably the best day of the week now, he thinks. Even though they aren’t being constantly shot at, retired life has its own struggles, and it’s nice to take a day to just focus on themselves and take care of each other like this.
Their nap lasts until late afternoon, when Wash slowly blinks awake, yawns again, and stretches, accidentally shoving his armpit in Tucker’s face. Tucker snorts awake, shoving him off, but they end up tangled together anyway, kissing and laughing.
“Good morning,” Wash says, finally, once they’ve settled again.
Tucker snorts. “Good afternoon. It’s four PM.”
“We should go out for dinner,” Wash blurts. His eyes widen after he says it, like even he’s surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth.
“Sure.” Tucker beams. Paranoia still usually keeps Wash holed up at home, so Tucker’s quick to jump on the idea before Wash changes his mind on principle.
They shower together, Tucker helping scrub shampoo into Wash’s hair, and Wash helping Tucker rub soap onto his back where it’s hard to reach, humming contentedly all the while. Wash doesn’t ever sing, but when he’s happy he hums, and Tucker hangs off every note.
They shave and brush their teeth, grinning side by side, and get dressed in what Tucker would call “casual, but still really fucking hot”, and then they’re ready to go.
The flat they’ve been gifted is in the heart of New Armonia, within walking distance to just about anything they could ever need or want. They stroll hand in hand until they pass a restaurant that catches Wash’s eye, where they sit down and order.
To say dinner was good would be an understatement, Tucker thinks. Dinner is great, the food, the drinks, but most of all the company. They laugh and talk and stay so long they don’t even realize the restaurant has closed ten minutes ago. Tucker’s pretty sure they would have been kicked out by now if they weren’t renowned war heroes, and he makes sure to leave a generous tip.
It’s getting dark out when they stumble out onto the street, still laughing and holding onto each other and maybe just the slightest bit tipsy. Tucker offers to call a cab since Wash is looking tired again, but Wash insists on walking home, and so they do.
“Thank you, Tucker,” Wash says after a period of companionable silence.
“Of course.” Tucker smiles.
Wash smiles back. “I’m going to have to find a way to return the favor for these ‘Wash Days’.”
“No you don’t,” Tucker says simply, lightly swinging their hands back and forth. “I mean, I won’t complain if you do, ‘cause like, not gonna lie, I do love getting my ass spoiled, but— I’m not doing this to get something in return. I just like spending time with you, and taking care of you. I love you, Wash.”
They’ve stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk just beaming at each other like fools.
“I love you, too, Tucker.”
“Happy Wash Day.”
Wash chuckles. “Happy Wash Day.”