And there's Wash, standing next to him, completely unamused. A lover, not a fighter, that's how Tucker's described himself to him more than once, and maybe it's true to an extent but that doesn't mean Tucker's not just used it as a damned excuse time and time again. The weaponry that they've been given is still strange to him, alien, and he keeps turning it in his hand, keeps checking it, making sure it's right and it's functional even when he knows it is.

It's anxiety. They're just out here, standing guard, but there could be a fight at any moment, and it's another fight they really have no fucking stake in, and yet.

"Your badass natural skills still need a bit of work, Tucker," Wash starts, turning to face him, "And --"

A pause. A breath. And then he just shakes his head, turning his gaze out towards the battlefield. Another battle that isn't theirs, another world that they had no real stake in. The Reds and Blues are apparently in some way forever destined to be toyed around with by greater powers, and well, since he's one of them now, in some fashion, then.

"-- Look," he says finally, exhaling heavily. "I get it."

Would you look at that, Tucker. No lecture from Mr Washington.