Wash dragged a hand down his face, as though he could somehow slough away the memory of nightmares, or the exhaustion that rode like a lead weight in his forehead. He walked two and three steps at a time blind, eyes closed in denial of the morning. The hallway seemed to stretch miles ahead of him and it still seemed too short. This was a day he didn’t want to face, a reality he wished he could scrub away. And yet life went on.
His eyes were closed when he heard it. He stopped dead in his tracks, opened his eyes long enough to confirm where he was, then closed them again as his stomach clenched. His head dropped forward to his chest when he heard it again. He reached out with one hand and steadied himself against the wall outside Carolina’s quarters, listening to the impossible sound of her weeping.
Long after the wound in his head had healed, the ache of Epsilon’s extraction lingered. The pain stayed raw, and even finding him alive had offered no easement. This second loss ripped him open afresh, and he stood there in the hallway, Carolina’s muffled sobbing resonating with his own grief. And yet nothing on earth could force him to open that door. There were no words of comfort that would mean anything, nothing he could do or say that would make this easier for either of them. So he stood there, listening, and hated himself for it.
Wash’s head jerked up – he could hear footsteps, voices further down the hallway. With one hand he slammed his helmet on his head, pulled his rifle around on its strap, holding it ready in his hands. Wash stood with his back to the door, staring straight ahead.
He couldn’t see them until they stopped right in front of him – two New Republic soldiers who were both afraid to speak up. Eventually one worked up her courage. “Agent Washington?” He didn’t answer. “Agent Washington, General Kimball sent us to get Agent Carolina.”
“She’s not available.”
The soldier looked at her partner and tried again. “General Kimball said–”
“Agent Carolina is not available.” He brought his head up slightly, and both soldiers stepped back. They mumbled apologies and left at a trot.
There was a muffled sound behind him through the door, and then a raw – “Thank you.”
“It’s okay, boss. I’ve got your back.”
A couple quick words – a little while ago. I approached @lostlegendaerie for a commission of Wash standing guard over a grieving Carolina, of him keeping people away so she could have a moment of privacy. After some discussion, and a couple basic sketches, this was what we went with. She’s working on the final copy now, and when she’s done, I will update this and appropriately freak out.
The scene I wrote has changed dozens of times in my head, and it will probably change a dozen more before I actually write it properly. This measly 400 word bastard is not the final product by a long shot. I was amiss not mentioning her influence in this before.
Massive, MASSIVE thank you to her. She’s been one of the nicest people I’ve met since joining the fandom, whose writing helped light a fire under me to start writing again and quite frankly, I adore everything she writes and creates. STOP READING THIS AND GO READ THROW AWAY THE KEY. I’ll provide a link later. I’m so fucking tired.
