一道 (ichi·dou)  

reeberry:

“You could’ve said no,” Wash said, arms crossed. He was sitting as close to the edge of the sofa as possible, leaving as much space as he could between himself and the tangle that used to be two separate people until the movie started.

“Nonsense,” York said, his face emerging from somewhere between Carolina’s chest and arm. “We like spending time with you.”

“Yeah,” she piped in, looking over at Wash, not even bothering to smooth out her hair. “I’ve been waiting to see this movie.”

“But you’re not even watching!” Wash said, gesturing with both hands at the screen. “This is the best paaart!”

“Wash, you’ve been saying that about every part,” York said patiently. He tapped Carolina on the side of her ribs and she sat back, the slightest sign of an annoyed pout on her face as she stared at York.

“Yeah, but, this really is a really good part,” Wash said defensively.

York sighed. “‘Lina, why don’t we take a break. I’ll go get a beer. You want one?”

Carolina slid off of York’s lap and sat down on the couch, regarding the screen with apathetic interest. “I’m good,” she said as York got up. He took two fingers to his forehead in a small, casual salute as he walked over to the refrigerator.

“I’m so glad you two are feeling more comfortable around me,” Wash muttered, reaching down to pick up the bowl of popcorn that had been hastily abandoned in his retreat to a safe distance from his two companions.

Carolina noticed the popcorn and grabbed the bowl out of Wash’s hands just as he sat back into the couch. “Yeah, well, at least our clothes are on this time. Unlike when you walked in and-“

“I didn’t see anything!” Wash said hurriedly, a bit too eagerly. Carolina didn’t respond, merely stared at the screen. Wash could swear he saw her mouth twitch upwards into a smirk.

York sat down again, turning his eyes to the screen. “They’re just praying now!” he said indignantly, complaining to Wash. “What happened to that girl that beat everyone up in the bar?”

“She was a sleeper,” Carolina said simply. “The commercial was a codeword and now they’re on a planet full of high-class hookers.”

“Companions,” Wash corrected.

York chuckled. “I don’t know if I should be happy about the hookers part of that sentence or offended that you’ve paid that much attention to the film.” She threw two kernels of popcorn at York’s face, predictably landing both and hitting him on the nose and cheek.

“Don’t be jealous, York,” she said with a smile. 

He grinned and set his beer down on the table next to him. Carolina managed to push the bowl of popcorn away from her and on the floor safely as York dived at her, pushing her down and into Wash’s lap as his lips closed the distance between them.

“Guys,” Wash said, trying desperately to ignore the fact that now they were fully on his lap. York didn’t seem to mind that he was slowly pushing Carolina further up on the couch, completely invading any hope that Wash had for personal space. “Guys, no, seriously, this is the best part!”

oh my god this is beautiful.

He’s not really sure how it happened — the cat was a stray, brought in by somebody (York, probably, with that bleeding heart of his) and left in the common room, and someone had to feed it, Wash said, if no one was going to get rid of it (doesn’t anyone else care about regulations, honestly) and he’d done it all himself until he realized that the milk in its bowl came from Maine stealing it out of the mess.

Wash never realizes how much it hurts until afterwards, when there’s nothing he can do but lie in the hospital bed and stare at the ceiling and think about the hole in his back.

Simmons has never really seriously considered the idea of quitting, but waking up to find every single package of food they have strewn around the kitchen and half-empty and Grif snoring off a hangover on the couch is making him rethink it.

He’ll never get it — CT wishes he could, wishes he would just open his eyes and think for one goddamn minute instead of falling all over himself to kiss the Director’s ass, but she’s tired of getting shot down every time she tries to bring it up, and eventually, she just stops trying.

Wash never stops wishing she hadn’t, but only after it’s too late.

It’s impolite to ask, of course, but Doc can’t help but wonder why exactly Agent Washington needs so many ointments.

(See this.)

Wash isn’t sure what to expect when he finally steels himself to go take it to her — whether she’ll let him apologize (even if he’s not sure what for, but York said it would help and if nothing else he knows how to deal with girls better than Wash, not that he’s about to admit that) or if it’s going to be another argument, with both of them insisting they’re right and neither one willing to budge, but he doesn’t care which, so long as they can find some way to get around it, but she doesn’t even look at him and he knows things aren’t going to be the same again.