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[agnominal]

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[lovernotafighter]

Real smooth there, Locus. You need to work on your game.

[Pancakes were a good idea; maybe he'd be too busy eating that he couldn't fuck up that breakfast talk.]

So, what is it?

[agnominal]

I was alone when I came here. I had thought it would remain so.

He was...kind. He treated me as a friend. The first to do so in years.

[lovernotafighter]

Did you tell him?

[agnominal]

Yes. Perhaps in different words, but...he must know.

[lovernotafighter]

I don't know, man. I mean, I don't want to bang my friends because they're...well, you've met them; they're assholes. Maybe it's something like that?

[agnominal]

That is not our way.

You know what I was. He chose to believe in me. To see the good in me. He would not rest until I could see it to.

Do you know what that is? To feel unworthy, until someone looks into your eyes and deems you so?

[lovernotafighter]

[There's a long, long silence, the kind that stretched on too long to be nothing or a simple malfunction of equipment. Because yeah, Locus, he got it, he did, and the similarities between them that were mounting was warring with his anger and sense of self-preservation. They should have nothing in common. Nothing. At all.

But fuck, he knew that feeling, sure enough. Because as much as he resisted it when Wash actually started training him, making him do laps, working his ass into the ground, when he believed in Tucker to do better, be better, to have this potential that Tucker had never seen anyone else give him, Tucker felt something that he hadn't known before, a level of pride and acceptance that came from the outside.

And then when Wash trusted him as the leader of the team, his friends, his fucking family, and that--]

We're so not have this conversation.

[Way too personal. Way too anything. His voice, even guarded, gave away everything he felt, though; he never was good at hiding his feelings.]

[agnominal]

[ So he does. ]

...you need not answer. I was simply trying to explain.

[ The feeling is a strong one. Maybe Tucker can understand now how it first began. Why 'getting laid' isn't the point. ]

[lovernotafighter]

Yeah, but this isn't about me.

[But, sure. Okay, so maybe he got it a little more now, found it made a little more sense about things. The first time someone ever believed in you, that shit was a powerful, powerful thing. ]

Talk to Connie. Make him pancakes. And when we spar again, I guess let me know how that shit goes. Or don't.

[agnominal]

Hm.

I will bear that in mind.

[ There's a pause, and then... ]

Thank you.

[lovernotafighter]

[Hear that sigh? That's a sigh because what the fuck was he doing? He shouldn't be trying to help at all!]

Dude, don't make this weird.

[agnominal]

It's far too late for that. You chose to come speak to me, remember?

[ Hey, guess who's slightly more self-aware, it's this guy. ]

[lovernotafighter]

I so fucking hate you.

[Which wasn't exactly true either, didn't even sound remotely true in his tired voice. Locus was a little more human in his eyes, a little less Death Machine and a little more Fucked Up Dude With Fucked Up Problems. Didn't make shit okay, but...

He could hear Caboose in his head asking, Can we keep him?, just as he had with Wash. And Tucker cut off this conversation, because dammit, he wanted the last word in. He needed that victory at least.]