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ichidou:

SO I DID SAY I’D WRITE THIS i’m sorry i didn’t get to it sooner, this month’s been a clusterfuck. Man I had an idea for this, what was it… eh, let’s see what I can get out…

oh my god what did i just write. Inspired by that line in the full version of the S10 Tex song about Wash needing ointments and… yeah. I have no words aside from how do I write Doc.

For queen-of-france. I have no idea if this is what you wanted but it’s what you’re getting.

“For the last time, you do not have clearance to view my medical files!”

“But I’m a medic! I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

“I told you what was wrong! Do something about that!”

“But what if there’s something else in your medical history? I can’t just give you a treatment without knowing if it’ll adversely affect you— and besides, you won’t even let me see—”

“You don’t need to see it!”

“It’s your medical files or the affected area, Wash. Pick one, or I’m not helping you.”

“Isn’t that against that code of yours? The one that says you have to help people?”

“That doesn’t apply when the patient is a kidnapper.”

“I said I was sorry about that!”

Doc gives him a look, and for a minute he looks like he’s seriously considering saying something, but the possibility of it being construed as rude instead of just passive-aggressive wins out. He settles for giving Wash an expectant look, and the other man groans and folds his arms.

“All I need is— an ointment or something. Don’t you have any aloe vera?”

“You can’t put it on that! Besides, I need to see it before I give you—”

“No!”

“Then give me your medical file!”

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Reblogging now that tumblr isn’t, uh, eating itself.

Yeah, I think I like using AO3 for stuff, it’s easy to archive fics and the tagging system’s pretty awesome. Thus: more old Washfics.

I guess Recursion is next, aside from any new stuff I write. That’ll take a while…

whispers | Wash between Recovery One and Reconstruction, 1401 words.

They tell him the war’s over, that it ended while he was recuperating. He should be happier, he thinks, he should be ecstatic that it’s all over and Earth — home — is safe and sound, that humanity’s going to survive after all. That it’s all over.

It’s not over yet. Not for him.

The Counsellor’s more insistent on their little meetings now. He calls it therapy, but Wash considers it a waste of time, and even when he doesn’t say it he knows it’s coming across loud and clear. How is he coping, they ask, with the knowledge that his last mission was nothing more than a set-up to get rid of him and sweep it under the rug? How does he feel about his partner turning on him to save herself? What’s it like to know that it’s because of him one of the precious few A.I.s left in the program is in the hands of a volatile, unrated soldier?

dissolution | Wash on trying to cope with Epsilon (warning for mentions of suicide), 2,078 words.

It’s in every glance he gets from the other agents, from the Counselor in every session he’s forced into, and he hears whispers, now and then, that aren’t in his mind, aren’t Epsilon reaching out and trying to escape the mental prison he’s trapped in. It’s never enough for him to hear, not really, but it’s there, and he knows it’s there, just from the way they keep looking at him. He’s used to South and North gossiping, used to CT skulking around and keeping her eyes on all of them, used to Maine ignoring anything he has to say, but it was never like this.

Then again, he never had anything to hide.

He wishes he could go back to that, sometimes, wishes he could just be normal, wishes he could be that naive goddamn soldier who just did what he was told and believed every word that came out of the Director’s smug fucking face, but he can’t. He knows, and he knows too much, knows he can’t just do something about it, can’t change things, not on his own. He’s trapped, and there’s no getting out.

“How are you feeling today, Agent Washington?”

He doesn’t answer.

SO I DID SAY I’D WRITE THIS i’m sorry i didn’t get to it sooner, this month’s been a clusterfuck. Man I had an idea for this, what was it… eh, let’s see what I can get out…

oh my god what did i just write. Inspired by that line in the full version of the S10 Tex song about Wash needing ointments and… yeah. I have no words aside from how do I write Doc.

For queen-of-france. I have no idea if this is what you wanted but it’s what you’re getting.

“For the last time, you do not have clearance to view my medical files!”

“But I’m a medic! I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong!”

“I told you what was wrong! Do something about that!”

“But what if there’s something else in your medical history? I can’t just give you a treatment without knowing if it’ll adversely affect you— and besides, you won’t even let me see—”

“You don’t need to see it!”

“It’s your medical files or the affected area, Wash. Pick one, or I’m not helping you.”

“Isn’t that against that code of yours? The one that says you have to help people?”

“That doesn’t apply when the patient is a kidnapper.”

“I said I was sorry about that!”

Doc gives him a look, and for a minute he looks like he’s seriously considering saying something, but the possibility of it being construed as rude instead of just passive-aggressive wins out. He settles for giving Wash an expectant look, and the other man groans and folds his arms.

“All I need is— an ointment or something. Don’t you have any aloe vera?”

“You can’t put it on that! Besides, I need to see it before I give you—”

“No!”

“Then give me your medical file!”

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Been posting some older fics over on AO3; think I might move most of my fics over there, though I’m still debating it. Anyway, thought I’d stick links up here, too.

fracture. | Wash/Tex, 561 words.

He’s not in love with her, but Epsilon is.

lie to me | Wash (Epsilon)/Tex, Director/Allison, 1082 words.

she loves me

Her hair always looked best down, no matter how much she hated it. She’d always tie it back in a ponytail or pull it into a messy little braid, but he loves the way it falls over her shoulders, gleaming in the hot afternoon sun.

He’d reach out to run his fingers through it, and she’d smack his hand away, telling him to stop grabbing me, dumbass, can’t you see i’m working, and—

the science of belief | on Wash & the Meta through S6/7/8, 1104 words.

The thing about Maine had always been that the moment he stepped into a room, there was no ignoring him. Some people, like CT, could melt into a corner without a second thought, but Maine had that gravity to him that didn’t just come from the height and the muscles and the looks he gave.

It was the sense that those around him were no more than ants staring up a giant, one who could reach out and snap them all in half without a second thought.

Wash stares at the faceless visor and the man beneath, at the easy way he hefts the bladed weapon in his hands over his back, and doesn’t have to look at the Chairman to know he’s flinching back from the man in the corner of the room, no matter how sure he is that armor lock would hold him back in an instant.

So this is what they’re giving me, Wash thinks.

“I’ll take him.”

data remanance | Wash, introspective, 817 words.

027

my name is leonard l. ch
my name is alpha
my name is epsilon

i remember

i remember everything

Or: My Thoughts on Wash and the Meta in Recollection. This is a fic I’ve been wanting to write for a really long time, and I’m glad I finally got it out.

Prompt was “i’m not calling you a liar/just don’t lie to me/i’m not calling you a thief/just don’t steal from me/i’m not calling you a ghost/stop haunting me” from reeberry.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it — maybe he’d just forced himself not to, believing it was just part of the fever dream, just another thing he could write off as being crazy agent washington, certified article twelve. He’d put it at the back of his mind, told himself they were chasing a nameless, faceless enemy, that he didn’t know the man beneath.

It was always hardest to lie to himself.

Church ( and he can’t pretend, with him, not when he remembers everything he isn’t ) won’t stop yelling at Caboose, and the Reds won’t stop bickering, but Wash doesn’t really hear anything past the low hum of the engine and the wind whipping past and the gravelly voice that only exists in his memories.

.

The thing about Maine had always been that the moment he stepped into a room, there was no ignoring him. Some people, like CT, could melt into a corner without a second thought, but Maine had that gravity to him that didn’t just come from the height and the muscles and the looks he gave.

It was the sense that those around him were no more than ants staring up a giant, one who could reach out and snap them all in half without a second thought.

Wash stares at the faceless visor and the man beneath, at the easy way he hefts the bladed weapon in his hands over his back, and doesn’t have to look at the Chairman to know he’s flinching back from the man in the corner of the room, no matter how sure he is that armor lock would hold him back in an instant.

So this is what they’re giving me, Wash thinks.

“I’ll take him.”

.

Wash doesn’t expect him to speak. He knows better, of course, after all this time, but that doesn’t keep him from that nagging feeling that he should fill the silence with careless banter the way they used to, no matter how little Maine ever said.

“I’m going to need all the time I can get to search the canyon. Just keep them occupied as long as you can, got it?”

The visor turns to him, and for an instant, Wash lets the fear reach out from where he’s pushed it back. He feels every inch of his presence, the heavy armor, the power coiled up and waiting to strike, and when the weapon rises, Wash expects it to go through his neck.

And then the Meta draws back and heads down the hill with a growl that Wash doesn’t need to think to understand.

Shut up.

He can do that.

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