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Wash had never really thought about fatherhood back when he joined up.
There wasn’t a reason to. He was young then, right out of high school. Settling down had been the last thing on his mind, too fresh and eager to explore the world. During Freelancer he hadn’t had time to think about it either, and once the program collapsed he was too focused on surviving more than a week at a time to worry about the future.
As a result, Wash had never made time to consider parenting until Lavernius Tucker Junior came into his life.
“Wash,” Junior says, poking his head into the kitchen. Almost sixteen years old, he’s almost as big as Wash, and likely to get bigger with his alien genes. “Do you know where Dad put the toothpaste?”
Wash looks up from his tablet and considers it. Tucker is in the city for the day, busy helping Kimball with her campaign, and knowing Tucker, he probably brought the toothpaste with him without leaving any thought for those he left at home. “He probably brought it with him. You can use mine.”
Junior’s mandibles twitch. “You use cinnamon flavor. Cinnamon flavor is gross.”
Wash can’t help but be mildly offended.
“It isn’t gross.”“It is as a toothpaste flavor.” Junior takes a step back, vanishing behind wall. “Guess I’ll just use mouthwash.”
Wash thinks of Junior’s dentist bills and cringes just a little.
As Junior heads back up the stairs, Wash can’t help but wonder how he ended up here, domesticated, dating a man who thinks vodka is a good chaser to vodka, co-raising his alien teenage son. Probably a combination of terrible life choices (everything before the Reds and Blues) and great life choices (a handful of things after the Reds and Blues). He looks back at his tablet, arranging his errands for today and chews at his lower lip. Maybe if he manages to spend less time at work he’d have enough time to grab Junior some toothpaste.
The doorbell rang, the suddenness of the noise causing him to almost jump out of his seat. He isn’t expecting any of the Blues; Caboose usually spent his Tuesday mornings in the animal shelter, and Carolina had to be at work by now. Which means one of the Reds was probably by to drive him insane. Wash sighs, getting out of his seat to put the tablet aside.
‘Coming! Don’t kick down the door.” There’s no response, which rules out Sarge as his potential guest. Probably Grif or Simmons then. He walks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door when there is a knock again. “Calm down, I’m almost there!”
It happens in a second. Wash hasn’t been in active duty for almost five years, but there are some things he can’t unlearn. Reacting to loud noises. Always checking around corners when in new places. And the sound of gun being cocked.
Wash dives just in time for the bullet to sail over his head as it comes barreling through the front door.
Fire more shots come after it, someone clearly trying to knock him out of commission. Wash rolls to the side so he’s near the vase Donut gave them as a homecoming present, grabbing the pistol they’ve hid there for almost a year and loading it at once. Another shot bursts through the door and Wash raises his gun, ready to shoot whoever tries to come through that door.
“Uncle Wash!” Wash hears Junior yell from upstairs and it takes everything Wash has to avoid from falling into a panic. For the first time in a long time, he wishes he kept to his argument with Tucker about teaching the teen some emergency drills, if only so Junior would know to flee now.
It doesn’t matter, Wash tells himself as there is a kick at the door. Whoever is trying to break in won’t get to Junior anyway. Not over Wash’s dead body.
There is another kick to the door and it splinters where the holes are. Wash tightens his finger on the trigger. Another kick.
The door falls open and Wash fires half his clip to whoever is standing there.
The energy shield is what he notices first, the blue light reflecting in his doorway. The bullets that have fallen to the floor after hitting it are next. Wash looks up to the stranger and as he takes in an orange helmet and armor, he finds himself thinking back to years ago, when Meta showed up in his life once more.
“Hello Agent Washington,” Felix says, voice sweet as sugar. “Nice seeing you again.”
He charges forward, throwing his gun aside, and Wash realizes he probably spent all his rounds shooting at him earlier. Foolish, for him. Wash rolls out of the way, shooting off a few more rounds, but Felix is faster, kicking the gun out of his hands. Before he can dive again, Felix has him pinned to the ground with his foot.
“You’re dead,” Wash growls as Felix stands above him. He has a knife out, pointed at Wash’s throat. If Wash moves, he has no doubt Felix will likely get him in the throat. Felix tilts his head.
“Got better. Alien medicine is wonderful these days.” Wash twitches his hand towards the edge of the carpet he’s on, trying to get ready for the right moment to grab the throwing knives he’s hidden under there. “Like really, everyone should get insurance there.”
“You here for revenge or just to bore me to death?” Bantering gives him more time to stretch his hand towards the hidden knives just a little more. Felix presses on his chest harder. Trying to leave a bruise.
“Actually, I’m here on a job,” Felix says, lazy. “For said aliens. Revenge is just a nice bonus.” He tilts his head up to glance at the ceiling. “Speaking of aliens, where’s the tyke? Don’t you know I love kids?”
Wash’s blood goes ice cold.
“Oh Junior!” Felix calls and Wash wonders how he knows that name, it isn’t on Tucker’s file, how dare he call for his kid (and Junior is Wash’s kid, in all the ways that matter) like they’re old friends. “Wanna come down here before I slit Uncle Washington’s throat?”
Wash hears footsteps. No. He can’t. Junior should be running in the other direction, not saving him. Wash isn’t worth it. No, no, no, no, no.
“Better hurry up, kid!” Felix shouts. “Or do you wanna tell Daddy you let his boyfriend die because you were too scared?”
Wash snaps.
He lunges for the knives under the carpet. Felix throws his own, and when it slices through the side of Wash’s neck, Wash is thankful that it doesn’t feel deep enough to suggest it hit an artery. He plucks the knives from under the carpet quick enough and before Felix can get fully out of the way, Wash gets him right in the shoulder.
Felix’s scream is the most beautiful sound he’s heard all day.
Wash can hear Junior still running and he throws another knife at Felix, this one missing the merc by an inch. Speaking hurts like hell, but he doesn’t care. “Junior! Get out of here. Run to Donut’s and don’t look back you understand me!” He holds his last knife in his hand and lunges towards Felix, his blow missing by an inch.
“Do that and Agent Washington will be found in pieces!” Felix yells. He grabs a knife from his belt with his good arm and throws it at Wash. It sails over the Freelancer’s head. “You come out, and I leave him alive!”
“He’s lying!” Junior is smart,Wash thinks, he has to know Felix is lying. They’ve told him enough stories about the merc for the teen to catch on.
He hears Junior stall. A voice in his head, one that seems to be a mix of the Director and Epsilon whispers in that brief moment of silence.
“He might know Felix is lying, but do you really think he’ll give up a chance of getting you out of this alive. Don’t be a fool, Wash. It doesn’t suit you.”
Wash lunges again, but the blood loss throws him off. When Felix grabs his arm, he knows he’s fucked, and it’s almost a blessing when the man flips him instead of stabbing him outright. Wash smacks right into the ground, his face hitting first, and he can taste blood pool in his mouth. The feeling of Felix hauling him up to flip him over follows.
A knife is the first thing in his line of sight, right in front of his right eyeball. Felix has his knee on Wash’s stomach, his hands trapped over his head with his other hand, rendering him as close to helpless as Wash gets. When Felix speaks again, it is with a venom that could boil blood.
“Hurry up, Junior. Or I dig the brain matter out of Washington’s skull through his eyes.”
Wash glares at him and prays Junior won’t show up, that the teen is long gone, sprinting towards Donut’s as fast as he can. That Wash can die with peace of mind. For a second, he thinks his prayers have come true, that Junior took his advice, and he almost lets out what could be his last breath.
Then Junior appears in the doorway, mouth in a grim line, and Wash can’t breathe at all.
“Good boy,” Felix says, not moving the knife. “Now put your hands up.” Junior does as he’s told.
“Junior, no-” Wash says but it’s too late now, Junior can’t run unless he wants a knife to the back and everyone in the room knows it.
“Now take a step forward.” Junior does that too. He’s standing in front of the window now, and Wash wishes they lived somewhere with closer neighbors, if only so someone might see that something is terribly wrong. “Now another.”
Wash’s brain goes into overdrive. He struggles against Felix’s grip, but the merc is too strong, almost unnaturally. He’s lost. He’s going to die. Junior is going to die or worse. Tucker is going to come home and find out he failed, he failed both of them, right when it mattered-
“Now anoth-”
Felix’s next words are cut off by the sound of shattering glass.
Felix falls back and blood sprays from a new hole in his arm, splattering Wash. Felix curses, falling over, and Junior takes a step back, ducking behind the wall. The merc reaches into his belt as another shot hits right over Felix’s head.
“Gotta go boys,” Felix says, pulling out a future cube. “Tell my partner his baby girl says hi.”
Wash dives forward right as Felix throws the cube to the ground. The merc vanishes with a flash of light. Wash hits nothing but carpet.
“Uncle Wash!” Junior cries, rushing forward with a blanket. He presses the fabric to Wash’s neck. “Holy shit, are you okay, you’re bleeding?”
Wash closes his eyes. “You should have ran.”
“What?” Junior sounds so much like his father with that one word. “You would have died!”
Wash opens his eyes. Stares Junior right in the eyes. Because he has to get this, he has to, he has to know his life is worth more than Wash’s will ever be. “It would have been worth it.”
Junior looks at him. His mandibles curl. In in that moment, Wash knows what his response will be even before he says it.
“Bullshit.”
Wash hears footsteps outside and both man and teen freeze. Wash reaches for one of the knives Felix dropped and holds it up. There’s no time for Junior to run now. Wash has to aim true.
When Locus appears in the door, sniper rifle over his shoulder, it is enough for him to almost drop the knife out of surprise.
“Locus,” Wash says, voice weaker than he would like. “What are you doing here?”
Locus reaches into a bag over his shoulder. Throws Junior a can Wash recognizes as biofoam. Reaches up for his helmet and takes it off in one twist.
His face is haunted.
“Agent Washington,” he says, his voice with the slightest tremor. “I need your help.”