[Everything was a blur of color and pain as his mouth filled with mud and old snow; he could taste the grit and bitterness like the worst meal ever over his tongue. Wash had him, people were watching, and maybe they could play it off like training crap, but Tucker didn't care. Let them bitch or think what they wanted. Let Wash be pissed at him; he'd get over it eventually.]

This isn't about being a fucking hero, Wash! [And it was true; his ego had no part of this.] This is about getting her back here where she's safe and where she fucking belongs!

[Everything inside of him screamed to fight, to thrash, to scrabble out of this, but Wash wouldn't let him, he knew that. For any move that the Freelancer taught him, the teached had a dozen others to combat it.

Fuck. Fuck!]

Let me the fuck up, Wash! You're sitting around fucking with me when we could be getting her back. [Somehow. Someway.] I get that you're fucking pissed at me for letting her get taken-- [Projection was a hell of a thing.] --but you can kick my ass later. I'll fucking let you. [Because he deserved it. Because it was his fault. Because he wanted to kick his own ass.]

But not. Right. Now.