legionworld | [Closed to Tucker] There's never enough time

Tucker...wasn't.

Shit was finally feeling back to normal now that he and Grif were on some even level, things worked out and smoothed over. Friends. They were friends again and he had missed that shit more than he was willing to ever let on. Everything else? Well, everything else was just the same.

Except for the Carolina thing. That.. that was rough.

When his omnicom went off, he flipped it out from where he was lying in bed, looking at who sent it and smiling. Connie, huh?

"Always have time for a hot chick."

Yeah. Were you expecting anything else?

She snorts at his reply, smiling despite the shake of her head. Here was someone new, at least for her. Connie's not sure if enough time has passed with them knowing each other for her to call his attitude familiar but...it's definitely welcome. It's refreshing, in a way, knowing how much about all of the bullshit that she and Wash and Carolina lived through, and how he and the others continued to thrive after it was dealt with.

Connie glances across the firepit to the only other empty chair around it, thumb hovering over the keys before she sends back, "It's no water park, but I've got a campfire going and beer. Could use some company."

Fire. Beer. Hot chick that wanted company. It all sounded like his kind of party, and he smiled with a fond little flicker. His chest felt warmer, stronger for it.

"Date? Got smores?"

But he was already up, getting dressed, leaving the armor at the wayside for this. He didn't need it where he was going, comfortable with her, with whatever this was. Sure, it wasn't karaoke, but it'd be good.

He was out the door before he got her answer.

What a dork. Good thing he's so cute.

"Until I can get karaoke sorted out, this'll have to do. And of course I've got smores, it's almost illegal not to have them if you've got an open flame."

It's short work getting the supplies for them together, packages of graham crackers and chocolate waiting to be opened along side a bag of marshmallow replacements. They didn't quite have the same consistency on their own but melted and gooey? They'd do. Just got to put a couple of beers in a cooler and grab a branch from one of the nearby trees and they'd be golden.

And- well. Maybe she'll move that empty chair a bit closer to hers, too.

"omw"

Just that, just the three letters because it felt like that's all that needed to be said. Tucker was a social creature at heart; Connie just made him want to get out more, hang out with her before--well, before the inevitable removal of whatever this was. Her leaving. Him leaving. Someone... disappearing. That hole opening again and his chance lost.

It didn't take long for him to arrive; promise him beers, chicks, and s'mores, and he was strangely motivated. Who would have guessed. Walking out to her, he claimed that seat, falling into it with a bright smile while he held his hand out for a drink.

"I hear campfire smells are an aphrodisiac," he purred. "Want to prove it?"

By the time he gets there Connie's already opened the bag of marshmallows and has one toasting on the end of her stick. She glances past the flame as she spots his figure stepping out from the trees. It's good to see him out of the armour, and out of the training room and other work facilities. Good to just be people for a while.

The line earns a snort from her as she reaches into the cooler at her side to grab him a beer, popping off the cap before she offers it over.

"Already got me figured out have you? And here I was trying to be subtle," she replies with a teasing grin.

People. Not superheroes, not soldiers, not parts of Freelancer (some of them more vital than others). It was nice, but he wasn't thinking about it because that was way deeper than beer and s'mores, and that's what he was coming out for.

Well, and the company. Mostly the company.

"I was made to pick up on this sort of thing." He took the offered drink and took a deep swallow before setting it down. Fuck, when was the last time he had s'mores? That one time when Caboose stole marshmallows from the Reds in his super secret covert operation that he wouldn't stop talking about? Maaaybe? Back at the gulch? "It's hard to be subtle around a chick magnet."

Ha. Get it? Because it's his name?

Connie's got all the goods for s'mores, it's really just down to how Tucker prefers to make them. Is he a golden toasty marshmallow guy or a flaming burnt marshmallow guy? Connie's curious to watch as she draws her own from the fire, giving a bit of caught flame on the marshmallow a quick blow to snuff it out.

"Riiight, I should have remembered that. Guess the chocolate's not going to slip by you either, huh?"

Okay, seriously? Tucker was all about the pyrotechnics on a marshmallow; set it on fire, watch it turn black and burn, then taste the beautiful crunch of the outside char and the oozy gooeyness from the middle. Nothing was better, and he proved it by sticking the marshmallow into the center of the fire, waiting, and pulling it out. One, two, three, and blow.

He had to wait for it to cool, but he was going to lose that fight; the marshmallow was sliding down the stick, threatening to fall--

Nevermind. It drooped right off the wood and into the dirt. "Shit." Well, that was one failure for the day

He held out his stick. "Put your soft bits on my stick." And that was officially the worst.

Connie had just plucked her own marshmallow off of her stick to pop in her mouth when she watches silently as Tucker's charred ball of ooey gooey goodness fell to the dirt floor below. Sucking some of the melted sugar off her thumb as she enjoys her own treat she can only stare when he gives her that line, a brow slowly rising.

"Wow. That might be the worst one I've heard from you yet."

Shifting her stick into her other hand, she reaches down to grab another marshmallow for him anyway and presses it onto the tip for him.

"Think you've got it this time or should I lend you a hand?"

"The date's just starting and I haven't had that much to drink yet." Date. Hm. His smile was cocky as he watched her do it, as she skewered the white fluff to the stick tip. That line worked at least.

"You haven't even begun to hear bad lines yet."

He swung it back to the fire, letting it catch flame almost immediately. Okay, that wasn't...exactly intentional, but it wasn't not-intentional either. He pulled it free, and turned it towards her carefully. God, the last thing he needed was a Freelancer thinking he was attacking her with fire.

"Go on and use your lips to blow. I know you want to."

Spoiler alert: Sober Tucker is worse than drunk Tucker.

"Sounds like excuses to me," Connie snorts back as she watches the newly placed marshmallow be almost immediately set aflame. By now her own marshmallow has cooled to the point where she'll have to toast it again but- oh he wants to play this game, does he?

She raises a brow at him, quickly glancing from him to the burning tip before giving in and leaning forward on her armrest to blow the fire out in a quick breath. And well, since she's here and he's sitting back looking so smug she leans in to steal a small bite of the melting marshmallow from his stick. She's earned it if he's gonna make her do all the work.

Rude. You don't steal a man's marshmallow like that, especially not when it's still crunchy on the outside and filled with gooey, melty innards with that perfect contrast! His eyes widened, mock-offended, before he leaned forward.

Fuck, he wanted to kiss her. He wondered how much he would get his face beat in. Freelancers were still scary, especially the women.

"You know I'm totally going to go after that, right?"

There. A warning. Less chance for death.

Technically they're her marshmallows but oh, this is fun. Connie can't help a little smirk as she cocks her head in reply, eyebrows lifting curiously as if to say, 'I'm waiting'.

She had been curious to see if he'd try for something...hoping for it, really. Question is, is he actually gonna go for it, or is he all bark and no bite?

No way! They stopped being hers when she offered them up; no take-back-sies. But the rule of possession-is-nine-tenths-of-the-law went out of his head because fuck, it was happening wasn't it? Finally? After dancing around it, after so many thoughts of What Ifs and the usual flirting?

Funny how life had a way of just taking something shitty like Your Boyfriend Tried To Kill Me For Weeks In A Desert and turned it into this.

His free hand reached up, sliding behind her neck, trying not to get distracted by the ticklish feel of her hair against his knuckles. He tugged her in closer, meeting across the chairs as his lips sought out hers, the tasty sweetness of the marshmallow still lingering there. Behind him, he could hear the crackle of the fire, but he ignored it because--

He was kissing a Freelancer.

He was kissing Connie.

Fuck. Yes.

There's a kind of quiet rush that comes with letting go of the games and unspoken rules they've been playing. It's all too easy for Connie to play it safe, to stay reserved and hide but...damn it, how many opportunities has she missed out on because of it? She took a chance when she first opened up to Tucker whey they first met and he's given her no reason to regret it. No, the only regret would be if she let him slip by.

She moves easily as Tucker draws her in, the feel of his fingers brushing across her hair leaving her skin tingling under his touch when he meets her halfway. Fond as she is of the teasing and flirting it felt good to give in, to forget everything except for the heat of the fire beside them and the warmth of his kiss.

Damn right it was. And they had mountains of bullshit to forget, things Tucker was tired of tugging him down: Church and Carolina and everyone he was missing back home, the impending doom of losing all of the new friends he made here when he inevitably returned home. Because as great as this all was, he couldn't stay; he had a son who needed him, who he needed just as much, had his own missions, his own teams, family.

But in this moment, it was so easy to let those strings slide through his fingers and let it go. Her mouth was warm and inviting and it had been awhile since he kissed anyone, since Sister, probably, and this felt...amazing. Good. All the things he missed with all the new explorations of someone he didn't know. His mouth opened against hers, his tongue seeking hers out, trying to slip inside and dance, while the scent of the campfire curled around them.

S'mores were, unsurprisingly, forgotten.

Her lips part to the press of his tongue, the sugar from the marshmallow making him taste sweeter as she relaxes under his hand.

They can take their time, learn each other in a way Connie hasn't been able to since before she joined the Project; and yet there's the underlying threat that it could all be taken away all too soon. She doesn't know why Carolina- or South or Maine left when they did, what triggered it or if it was a passing whim of the Time Trapper but without warning, Tucker might disappear too. Or Connie will, returned to the point she was taken from...which would be her death all over again. She doesn't want to think about where her friends would end up, knowing what she knows now.

Connie's free hand reaches up to curl around Tucker's shoulder as the other abandons the stick she'd been using to fist in his shirt, pulling him in closer to her.

People. Not superheroes, not soldiers, not parts of Freelancer (some of them more vital than others). It was nice, but he wasn't thinking about it because that was way deeper than beer and s'mores, and that's what he was coming out for.

Well, and the company. Mostly the company.

"I was made to pick up on this sort of thing." He took the offered drink and took a deep swallow before setting it down. Fuck, when was the last time he had s'mores? That one time when Caboose stole marshmallows from the Reds in his super secret covert operation that he wouldn't stop talking about? Maaaybe? Back at the gulch? "It's hard to be subtle around a chick magnet."

Ha. Get it? Because it's his name?

[Closed to Tucker] There's never enough time

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