Four little words. Four, and Tucker was surprised that they ever heard the light of day. Because that sentence led to more and suddenly the Sim Trooper thought he was being praised somewhere in the middle of that, tangled up with gratefulness and other things.

Tucker breathed. Or maybe he thought he did because what the fuck, Wash? What was he supposed to say to that?

"Dude, you're family. Of course we're going to come."

It wasn't just family, though. Oh, to the others, sure; they all wigged the fuck out while Wash and significant portions of Red Team were missing, all of them just as determined as Tucker to get those puzzle pieces back, without hesitation. But they didn't stay up at night, wondering what the hell kind of torture he was being subjected to. They weren't running over all the words he had said before he was gone, or the way he fucking looked across the warzone when he told the robot to shake. They didn't get people killed just to return Wash to them.

He didn't fully get what it all was until later, until he was standing there with everyone else, looking at that familiar gray and yellow helmet with the surprise and gratitude and just relief when he saw him alive. Rescue mission, but who was saving who?

Didn't matter. Wash was alive. Wash had been alive.

And between the moment when they met up again and now, that was when all the other bullshit started to filter in: bad decisions, choices to put his trust in the wrong people, plans that fell apart. How Wash would look at him, knowing how bad Tucker fucked up. How much--

Fuck, he cared what Wash thought. He cared...about more than that. The relief never stopped being there. The way he could suddenly breathe again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It meant something. Something. A Thing. Tucker didn't do Things.

"I mean, you were coming for us, too, right? You know you couldn't stand staying away from us."

He smirked, that cocky little shitty smirk he did. It was good at hiding the rest.