Work Text:
After entering the army, Agent Washington has never been comfortable without his armour on. That is an absolute, inarguable fact. Now, far away from Freelancer, he has nothing to hide anymore, not really. No overly worrying scars, no deformities, nothing— Hell, he'd even say he was more or less attractive. Regardless, wearing armour meant you were safer. From bullets, fire, exhibiting tells... It was best to keep everything hidden. Back then, Epsilon had cemented his decision to keep himself hidden away whenever possible. With that protective barrier, no one could see the darkness under his eyes, the sweat that he still felt after showering in the morning— After Freelancer, it became a habit. Now— Well, now it's become a necessity again. A teammate keeping an 18 foot tall Mantis-class droid as a pet tends to do that.
What makes Washington leave his helmet off for breakfast escapes him. He doesn't plan on it taking long, nor does he plan on anyone being awake so early. This is Blue team, after all—
"Washington," Caboose calls, his tone worried. “Washington. Agent Wash— Agent Washington!"
"Yes, Caboose?" He should have known better. A saying from Earth, way back when, comes to mind. Murphy's Law.
The man staring at him opens his mouth twice without making a sound. "I didn’t— You’re—"
"Spit it out, Caboose. I'm hungry," the ex-Freelancer says tiredly. He may have all day to amuse Caboose, but he really doesn't care to.
"Why didn’t you tell me you were related to Freckles, Agent Washington?!” the blue simulation trooper asks loudly.