You shot Donut. You shot Lopez. You terrorized Simmons, took Doc hostage. They're not just "those red soldiers," they have names, and you only avoided being their murderer out of sheer luck. And those aliens in the desert weren't so lucky. They did nothing to you.
Wash stands there with his eyes closed, like a sudden rain has started and his own sins are washing over him. When he opens them again, he is suddenly someone else, someone that refuses to stand in condemnation of someone so much like himself, even if he does stand in judgment.
His right hand starts shaking, but the fight within stops naturally, and it stills.
Whether it's because his current self has just become this person in this moment, or the Wash Tucker and Carolina knew is taking over, is impossible to tell. They're bleeding together - the man in the present who's trying to be better and the Wash from the time he can't remember who hasn't ever stopped trying.
"North flipped out at you, too, huh?"
Okay, that's sounding more and more like a "North has issues he's not dealing with" problem.
He had been looking away, watching the outburst of pain, when pain is something he understands in the present and guilt is something another version of him understands even more intimately.
Wash doesn't touch her, but he gets in her line of sight, leaning enough to catch her eyes. His body language is tense with purpose (not aggression for once). His expression is determined. Compassionate. More earnest and open than she's seen so far.
"Then don't do it for North. Do it for everyone else you might hurt if you don't become someone different. Do it for yourself. The project screwed all of us up and didn't care what it did to us, so care. They fucked with your head on purpose to make you into something you never wanted to be." He shakes his head. "Are you really going to let them have that?"
no subject
You shot Donut. You shot Lopez. You terrorized Simmons, took Doc hostage. They're not just "those red soldiers," they have names, and you only avoided being their murderer out of sheer luck. And those aliens in the desert weren't so lucky. They did nothing to you.
Wash stands there with his eyes closed, like a sudden rain has started and his own sins are washing over him. When he opens them again, he is suddenly someone else, someone that refuses to stand in condemnation of someone so much like himself, even if he does stand in judgment.
His right hand starts shaking, but the fight within stops naturally, and it stills.
Whether it's because his current self has just become this person in this moment, or the Wash Tucker and Carolina knew is taking over, is impossible to tell. They're bleeding together - the man in the present who's trying to be better and the Wash from the time he can't remember who hasn't ever stopped trying.
"North flipped out at you, too, huh?"
Okay, that's sounding more and more like a "North has issues he's not dealing with" problem.
He had been looking away, watching the outburst of pain, when pain is something he understands in the present and guilt is something another version of him understands even more intimately.
Wash doesn't touch her, but he gets in her line of sight, leaning enough to catch her eyes. His body language is tense with purpose (not aggression for once). His expression is determined. Compassionate. More earnest and open than she's seen so far.
"Then don't do it for North. Do it for everyone else you might hurt if you don't become someone different. Do it for yourself. The project screwed all of us up and didn't care what it did to us, so care. They fucked with your head on purpose to make you into something you never wanted to be." He shakes his head. "Are you really going to let them have that?"