[It’s not the lack of surprise that gets Tucker; it’s what he says. It’s the insinuation that he knows it’s a secret that needed to be protected, sheltered, kept from anyone else. It’s that he didn’t trust Tucker, after everything. Wash knew.

Wash. Fucking. Knew.

The other follow up questions were forgotten, because screw that, Dr. Freelancer, go check on the patient yourself. Tucker would worry about them later, when he wasn’t wrapped up in a rage so tight that it made his hands curl into fists at his sides. Tucker was, as always, a billboard projection of what he was feeling, from the wideness of his eyes to the way his mouth opened, shut, opened, then shut once more with his jaw tightened.

Wash always had secrets, and whatever, he let most of them lie. But this…?]

You fucking knew and you didn’t warn me that this shit could happen?! What the eff, Wash?! We could’ve fucking died! Shit, I still don’t know how we didn’t!

[There was a step back before he turned on his heel and started to pace, because no. Fucking no.]

Why?!