#usually you are better but alw did the better Jesus musical

[wowbright]

There are so many things I like about the Schmicago season of Schmigadoon, but my favorite might be the half-assedness of that German accent.

[demi-dufresne]

Fourteen Months of Memories

A Season 6 Inspired One Shot for the blue team, meant for the “Missing Scene(s)” square in the @rvbficwars RvB Bingo. Better dead than red, amirite?

A repost, since I forgot to tag it the first time. Sorry! :)

There was something to be said about being lonely. Especially, there was something to be said about being lonely for months on end. One year today, actually. There was a lot to be said about that. And frankly, Church was getting fucking sick having no one to say it to.

It started out a little wonky, sure- he’d expected someone to join him at the empty base. Here he was, stationed here, without a red in sight. Or a blue, for that matter. Everyone was just… gone. And like, that can get on a guy’s nerves after a while.

And in the beginning it was a little nice, he had to admit. Caboose and the rest of the Blood Gulch crew had been driving him nuts. Well, Caboose specifically, the rest of the guys just sort of… fueled it. But after all that time, it was almost like he was missing them.

Almost.

Either way. He woke up on the day of a year here, alone, feeling like his eyes were anvils. He shuffled a little in the bed, his armor clacking against the frame. Man, did he miss not having to sleep in armor. But that was back when nothing chafed like hell and he was still, you know, alive. With a groggy grunt he sat up, glancing at the calendar he’d hung up by his bed. March 14. One year. Each day was exed out before that, an angry scribble in blue pen. He crossed the new day off, starting his morning ritual, if you could call it that.

Church had sort of set his day into a routine, just something to keep himself from going crazy. First thing was cross of the calendar. Second was an attempt to contact command.

They stopped picking up his calls after about a week. Now that Church really understood the whole meaning of “simulation troopers,” it kind of made sense that they’d ignore the fuck out of him when he kept asking for more and more information. He just wanted to know if someone would be out here. Like, jesus, drop a guy in the middle of nowhere, stranded, with cameras in weird locations and food and supply drops once a month. Not that he could eat it. Were they trying to protect him, or did they just put him somewhere to get rid of him? It beat Church.

Then he’d patrol the barrier. It was really unusual for Church to do anything willingly for this goddamn military, but it was less for them and more for him. He wanted to know who was out there. Call it paranoia, but he always had the strangest feeling that someone was watching him. And more than just the cameras.

On those long walks, he’d had a lot of time to think. Some days he’d think about tiny things– how he missed food, how he wasn’t sure if he actually had to sleep (but it would drive him crazy without his schedule if he didn’t,) how he wished someone else was here. But usually he’d think about memories.

Maybe it was a characteristic of being a ghost, Church didn’t know, but he had a really uncannily good memory. That is, he had a good memory of everything since he started at Blood Gulch. Anything before that was a mystery.

On this particular day, Church let his mind wander back to Blood Gulch, sitting in the shade under a rock. Sure, there were a lot of annoying assholes there, but at least they made good company.

Actually, that day he was thinking of was kind of a weird one. He didn’t know the date exactly, but it had to have been some time after Doc arrived, considering. He was sitting under the boulder, minding his own damned business, when a bizarre, loud, scream/laugh overtook his ears.

“You motherfuckers have got to be kidding me,” he’d said, slowly standing up. Maybe it was another so-called-attack from the reds, before they negotiated a mutual surrender and just wound up going home. Who cared, honestly.

When he stood up though, he could tell that the voice was coming from further into the canyon. He squinted, trying to see who was out there. He’d pull out the sniper rifle, but he’d left it at the base and that was so like, far…

So instead of going back to the base, he’d walked straight into the middle of no-man’s-land and risked his own life. Well, kind of. He was already dead, but the sentiment was still there.

So he reached the middle of the canyon, following the weird sound of laughter, when who did he run into but Doc, walking aimlessly around and shouting at himself.

“You’re a whole fuck load of crazy,” he muttered, looking the guy up and down. What can Church say, though? He was kinda pitying the kid. Walking around, talking wildly. Maybe too much time with Caboose drove him crazy. That seemed about right.

“Hey, Doc!” He’d called to the pacifist, walking closer towards him. Doc stopped mid pace, his posture changing from crooked and bent at the shoulders to the more upright, worried Doc that everyone was used to seeing.

“Oh, hey! Church! How’s it going?”

“Uh, good, Doc. You okay? You seem a little…” Church trailed off, gesturing with his hand. “Uh. Uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Doc said. “Just kinda feeling lost recently. I don’t know. I don’t think the reds like me very much, but for some reason I don’t think the blues like me very much, either. I don’t know. It just sort of feels like I have no one to talk to.”

Man, Church had no idea how relevant that feeling would be in a couple years’ time.

“Uh… Cool. Right. Well, I was just checking in, I better go-”

It was as if a switch had flipped. Doc hunched back down, shoulders twitching at odd increments and fingers moving rhythmically. Church was suspicious. Concerned, but mostly suspicious. “You okay there, buddy?”

“You fool!” The voice shouted, one that was characteristically not Doc. “Nothing is relevant in this tirade of human existence! Futility and stupidity reign your very existence!”

“Whoa there, calm down, man,” Church had said. He leaned forward and lightly tapped Doc on the shoulder, heaving an awkward laugh. “I know people kinda suck, but like. Chill.”

Doc looked sharply up, his neck twisting in an odd way. Church took a step back, coughing up another laugh. “You remind me of someone I know,” the not-Doc murmured, taking a step forward.

“Uh. That’s cool. That’s good. I’m just gonna go now, I remembered something I have to do-”

“Your voice- What is your name?” Doc asked. Church was bewildered at this point. Doc knew his name. He just used it, for crying out loud.

“I-It’s Church. I mean, I don’t know what you want me to say-”

“Your real name.”

“Yep. Still Church. Like I said, though, I’ve got to go, I’ve got to- yeah. Bye.” With that, he pivoted where he stood, walking straight back to the base without saying another word. If he heard a quiet ‘fools’ in the background, he didn’t say anything.

In hindsight, Church definitely knew that was O’Malley. Still though, that business with the name… freaky. And besides, it wasn’t hard to pity Doc, but when Church though back on the guy’s medical skills (really, lack thereof) it wasn’t hard to almost feel like he deserved it. Fucking asshole.

Present day. He kicked at a rock at the side of the ledge. As per usual, nothing to be seen here. Great. Well. Might as well patrol the other side, then.

He kicked the little rock along, mind trailing once again to Blood Gulch.

It was one of the more common times where there was someone shouting in the canyon that it was definitely the reds. As per standard, they arrived in that damned Warthog, polka music playing like they were some sort of badasses and not a group of idiots who couldn’t even work a goddamn robot. This must have been earlier on- Church was still alive and Caboose was still known to them as “the new guy.” The three of them were lined up- Church, Caboose, and Tucker- and looked quizzically up at the three reds in the car.

“What’s up?” Tucker had said, so calmly and blatantly you’d think he wasn’t standing in a battlefield with a gun pointed to his head.

“You nefarious blues! Your conniving schemes are finally over! Prepare to face a world without your tyrannous rule!” The red one was shouting. Church still hadn’t bothered to learn their names, despite all the time he’d spent in Blood Gulch up to that point. He and Tucker had lived there for what felt like forever. Then again, that was back when keeping track of time wasn’t as important to him as it was now.

“Our what? You’re gonna have to speak a little louder, I can’t hear you over the music!” Tucker had shouted. The darker red guy (Simmons, Church now knew) heaved a shrug.

“We don’t know how to turn it off!” He shouted back.

“Then how are we going to talk to you?” Tucker shouted up at them.

“Surrender, you no-good penny clencher!” shouted the red.

“What does that even mean?” The orange one chimed in.

“How are we gonna surrender if you can’t hear me?” Tucker called up. Why he kept this thing up, Church could never guess.

“Hey Rookie, how are you- what?” Church stopped mid-sentence. He had looked over to where Caboose was standing, and no one was there. He glimpsed down, seeing him sprawled out on the floor.

“Did he just fall asleep?” Tucker asked with a chuckle. “What the fuck?”

“Uh. Guys, can we do this later? Like, give you time to figure out your sound or whatever?” Church shouted up at the reds.

“And allow you more time to plot your terrible plans! Never!” The red one shouted.

“This fucker, I swear- Tucker!” Church called above the whir of polka music. “Stall for me.”

“What, I’m not running around in front of a tank while you try and figure out what happened to the rookie. That’s bullshit!”

“Tucker. I have a few favors to call in, don’t I?” Church said, raising his eyebrows. Tucker couldn’t see it, but the point was made.

“Got it. But you owe me, asshole,” he muttered, switching off his radio. Church smiled.

Now there was the whole issue of the guy passed out on the floor. Church tried to pick him up, carry him bridal style, anything, but holy shit was he heavy.

“It’s the fuckin muscle-y ones that always pass out, isn’t it,” Chruch muttered, resolving to the fact that he’d have to pull the guy by the feet.

Until that point, he wasn’t really all too concerned about what had sent Caboose into unconsciousness. Maybe it was narcolepsy, maybe he was scared of the guns. But present-Church was knowledgeable enough to know that Caboose probably just bored and wanted a nap, or at least too stupid to know anything about battle. Maybe he thought fights were done by sleeping.

Then again, what the reds and blues got up to couldn’t really be described as “fights” or “battles,” but that’s besides the point.

So he dragged the guy into the base, into his room and onto the floor. He looked up at Caboose’s bed, blue sleeping bag laid messily on white cot. He pulled it off, throwing it on top of the guy.

“Sweet dreams, Caboose,” he’d muttered, but he stopped just a second, watching the other guy.

Looking back, Church hated how creepy and kind of gay this sounded. But there he stood, watching Caboose breathe in and out. It was kind of serene, in a way. The guy never stopped talking when he was awake, but asleep, breathing. The whole thing was rather peaceful. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

He woke up twenty minutes later and Church changed his mind entirely.

Back to the modern times. Church stopped walking then. He’d circled the entire area twice already. Sure, he supposed he could just leave, but he wouldn’t. For all the shit Church puts up, he doesn’t typically break the rules. That said, he sure as hell likes to bend them.

A rustle wrang out from behind him. He turned around, almost hoping someone would sneak up on him, take him away. But nobody came.

With that he decided to climb up the sniper tower. There was nothing else to do, anyway. And like, at least there’s a view from up there. Church sighed and grabbed the ladder, pulling himself up rung by rung. He glimpsed out, staring over the vast empty land. What he wouldn’t give to have someone here.

What he wouldn’t give to have Tucker here.

Little did he know, Tucker was running the same story through his head, miles away in a far too crowded desert. The sun had set, and Junior was snuggled into his side, the shouts of CT and his crew quiet in the background. For now, they were safe. For now. With Church, things were always safe. In Blood Gulch, they’d made a home.

The sun was always in the sky in Blood Gulch. At first Tucker found it a little weird, but the longer he stayed, the more he’d grown to accept it. Because fuck it, why not. Sometimes, just sitting on top of the base, looking over Blood Gulch was quite interesting, kind of serene almost.

This was not one of those times.

“Aren’t they doing anything? Like, anything at all?” Tucker had said. He was sitting on the top of the base, his legs dangling off the edge. Church was begrudgingly standing next to him, the scope of the sniper rifle pressed against his eye. It was forever ago- before Caboose, before the Freelancers, before everything went to shit. Well, almost everything. Tucker cradled Junior under his arm, a small smile on his face. But, anyways. Back to the story. Spying on the reds was about as interesting as watching paint dry, and Tucker was sick of it.

“No, Tucker, just like the last five hundred times you asked,” Church spit back. Tucker groaned.

“But they have to do something! They can’t just sit there talking all day.”

“Well, that’s what we do, isn’t it?” Church said. Tucker groaned again, flopping back so that his back was against the base, his face to the sky.

“I want your sniper rifle,” he whined. Church was silent for a second, and Tucker gave a chuckle. “Bow chica wow wow.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Church said under his breath. He so wasn’t in the mood.

“Oh, come on, please? I never get to look. I’ll do something for you. A chore?” Tucker said. Church cocked an eyebrow. “Hah. Bow chicka wow wow again. I’m really on a roll here,” Tucker continued. Church ignored him. A chore? Well, Church was sick of doing laundry duty. And ever since Flowers, he’d been in charge of washing Tucker’s underwear- something no human being should ever have to put up with.

“Fine. If you’ll-”

“I know, I’ll tell you shitty stories so you can make fun of me later!” Tucker interrupted. Church raised an eyebrow. That was not what he wanted to hear. “Like… Oh! I know, my first time. It was sophomore year-”

“I am not having this conversation,” Church said, pulling the scope from his eye to glance down at Tucker.

“There was this girl. Her name was Macy, I think- or wait, was it Marcy?”

“Nope, definitely not having this conversation,” Church said. He turned to leave.

“Wait, wait!” Tucker said. He sat back up, looking up at Church. “It was definitely Marcy.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m leaving,” Church said. He took the ramp down to the base, shaking his head.

“She was a ginger!” Tucker called, standing up to follow Church.“Wait, let me finish!” He raced down the ramp after Church, listening intently. Church, though, was already speed walking through the kitchen, hands over his ears and aggressively singing. His helmet had been tossed to the side somewhere in between his entering the base and the kitchen. Tucker’s remained on. “She was this senior, and we were at homecoming.” With that, Church froze. He slowly pulled his hands from his ears. The guy never really smiled, but the face he was pulling right now was a little less of Church’s typical ‘angry-but-still-personable’ and a little more ‘holy-shit-that-struck-a-nerve.’ Now, Tucker might not be the best at reading people, but even he could pick that up.  “Yeesh, why so serious all of a sudden?” He said. Church didn’t move.

“Stop talking,” Church said. “Just… Stop talking.”

“Fine, whatever, dude,” Tucker said. “What do you have against my sex life?”

“No!” Church said. “You idiot, it’s not your sex life, it’s just… homecoming… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?” Tucker said, tone nonchalant. Church’s hands, now at his sides, clenched. They always did that when he got pissy. That, of course, and the scowls. He probably has a scowl for every day of the week, Tucker thought.

Church scowled again. Scratch that, he definitely has one for every day of the year. “Well you see, Tucker,” Church said. He had the uncanny ability to make even Tucker’s name sound like an insult. “You can’t just ask people stuff like that.”

“But dude,” Tucker said, “Now I’ve got to know. Did you have bad sex? I think you had bad sex.”

“Not everything is about sex, you cockbite!” Church called. He’d begun speed walking away from Tucker again.

“Hey asshole, now I get to use your sniper rifle, right?” Tucker called after him. Church didn’t say anything in response. “Oh, mother fucker,” Tucker muttered under his breath. Typical Church. What an asshole.

Church himself walked straight to his room. He was lucky to get his own space of privacy in the base. Flowers had said something about keeping sanity (he’d heavily stressed the word) within tight living conditions. To Church’s knowledge, military units usually had bunks, but hey. He wasn’t going to complain. Church shut the door behind him, sighing at the empty space.

So Homecoming. Huh. There were still several memories he couldn’t recall, and he guessed Homecoming was one of them. The mere mention of the word made him freak out, and he had no idea why. “I just had to slip on a puddle, didn’t I,” Church groaned. After that concussion or whatever immediately after he was stationed at Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha, his memories were all fogged up. It was like they were right there, right out of his reach, but he could never touch them. Still, Homecoming. Huh.

About a week passed and Church would have assumed that Tucker would have let this whole ‘Homecoming’ thing go. “Hey, mornin’, Church. You gonna tell me about Homecoming yet?” Even the mention of the word sent a bad feeling through Church’s gut.

“Fuck off Tucker,” Church said, passing him to grab his helmet off the shelf.

“Oh, come on. Now it’s just getting old,” Tucker said. He himself wasn’t dressed for war yet. He’d only donned a pair of boxers and some white ratty tee for Church’s sake.

“I know it’s getting old, Tucker, so why don’t you drop it?” Church annunciated every syllable like he was talking to a toddler. Tucker made a face.

“But dude. Come on. Your roommate tells you he has this traumatic ass story about Homecoming and leaves you in the dark. Like, come on, man! I would do so much to learn that damn secret.”

“Would you do, say, I don’t know, a week of laundry duty?” Church said. He might not know the story himself, but if he could get both Tucker and his dirty underwear off his hands, well. That’d be two birds with one stone.

“Half a week.”

“Two weeks.”

“What?”

“The lower you barter, the higher it goes.”

“Fuck you. I’m just gonna keep annoying you ‘till you tell me, then,” Tucker said. “I’ll ask you every morning and every noon and night, and for every time I ask about the reds I’ll ask about it twice. How does that sound, huh? Annoying, huh?”

“Ugh, fuck off,” Church said. He screwed on his helmet, a scowl covering his face. If Tucker could see it, he surely would have made another remark.

“Seriously, dude. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.” Church had begun to walk away, and Tucker, still in his boxers, followed him through the base. “Tell me. Tell me.”

“Fuck off!” Church shouted again.

“Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

“Tucker!” Church shouted.

“Tell meeeee. Like, do you know what I’d give to know what it is?” Tucker whined.

“Do you know what I’D give to know what it is?!” Church had turned around, and was shouting to Tucker’s face now.

“W- Huh?” Tucker said. That… threw him off. Where was the story about bad sex? That didn’t sound like a story about bad sex.

“I don’t know, Tucker! I don’t know that story, okay? I forgot it in the damn accident, with near everything else. Now if you’d kindly fuck off, that’d be greatly appreciated,” Church said. “And get dressed while you’re at it, I didn’t ask to see that ugly-ass mug of yours.”

Church turned and walked away, leaving a stunned Tucker. “Wh- What?” He muttered. So Church was really not not telling him afterall. Weird. And as cryptic and terrifying as the term ‘the accident’ was clearly intended to sound, Tucker knew about the whole thing with Church slipping in a puddle. Fuckin’ dweeb. But it did really suck that he couldn’t experience the awesomeness that was Homecoming. Like, the music, the lights, the ladies…

An idea struck Tucker. An idea so wild he knew it had to be done. Because fuck it, if Church got all whiny everytime Tucker mentioned getting laid at Homecoming, then damn. That’d get real annoying, since that was one of the best fucks Tucker had ever had. So it was settled. He knew what he was going to do. Though, he might need a little help…

“Sup my dude, how’s it crackalacking?” Vic’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“It’s great, Vic, but hey. It’s Tucker. I was wondering if you could help me out down here,” Tucker said into the mic. He was standing a good twenty feet from the base, his eye on Church, who was sitting out with the sniper rifle on a ledge above red base. Tucker hoped he couldn’t hear his conversation.

“Sure thing, brochacho. But I think technically it’d be up here, since, you know, geography and all that jazz. Super boring jazz.”

“Yeah, cool. Anyway. I’m gonna need some lights. I’m not talking lamps. I mean big, flashy, rave type lights,” Tucker said. “Does command carry that type of thing?”

“Whoa whoa whoa, man. What you be needing big ol’ rave-y lights for? Your base isn’t a dance club. Well I mean, yet.”

“It’s personal. Uh… Could I get off with saying, like, soldier morale or something?” Tucker said.

“Eh, why not. I’ll send for a ship for you guys. Guess that’ll come in handy when you guys are gone. I’ve always wanted to get funky on a dance floor. Woo woo! The dance-y Vick train is going into the station!” Vick called.

“…right,” Tucker said. “Got it. Thanks.” With that, he hung up the phone.

It took about a week to get the whole plan together. The lights arrived pretty quickly- surprisingly quickly, if Tucker was honest. He hid them in his room, knowing Church wouldn’t dare approach. His last phase of the plan was even easier than the first. He had to get Church out of the base.

“Church. Will you go spy on the Reds? I’m going to do the laundry,” Tucker had said. Church turned to him, his jaw open and eyes wide. It was pretty easy, if he was honest.

He threw up the lights, the banners, the speakers. He threw some vodka in a punch bowl and took a step back. He was proud, if he was honest. This was like, exactly what he was trying to do. Perfect.

Church got back about an hour later to find all the lights off in the base. While this usually wasn’t an issue, what with the eternal sunlight and all, there were blankets tied to each of the windows, blotting out any sunlight. “Wh-” he started, looking around the now-dark base. “Tucker? Are you here?”

“You know, Church, Homecoming is a special event where people who are like, either super close friends, or maybe something more, get together and have some drinks, do some dancing, and have a good time.”

The whole Homecoming thing again. Church still had that same nervous reaction, but it had all but dissolved into anger at this point. As Tucker kept talking, Church took off the rest of his armor, knowing this all to be Tucker’s idea of a good time. What a dick.

“Homecoming was one of the best nights of my life, and I think that fate is an ass to try and take that from you. So. I figured I’d try and fuck fate over once again. How does that sound?” With that, a stream of blue Christmas lights lit up the dark area, a fast-paced EDM song coming over the speakers. Tucker’s face was lit up in the blue, and he wore a small grin with a beaten-up black tux.

Church heaved a laugh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m making this night your Homecoming, asshole. Besides, you know that Command said something about sending a new soldier soon. This might be all we’ve got for the two of us. For all we know, this would be the last night we have together. So like, let’s just enjoy it,” Tucker said. Church paused, looking over the decorations.

“I don’t know, man. That’s pretty gay.”

“Oh, shut up. Just trust me, okay?”

“I’d never trust you, you fucking asswipe,” Church said, but took a step towards Tucker’s makeshift dance floor anyways. The couches from the living area were nowhere to be found (likely in Tucker’s quarters) and the TV was shoved into the corner. It wasn’t perfect, which Tucker did kind of know, but Church looked happy. And damn, Tucker was happy, too. Look at him, planning a party for his sad friend. He was so charitable and modest. No wonder the ladies love him.

The song playing was something ridiculously quick- some trap song about banging a girl and taking her home. Church was so goddamn awkward at dancing, though. Tucker laughed even trying to watch him. “What?” Church said. His face had gotten all red- Tucker could barely notice it in the faint hue of the lights- and he was definitely offended.

“Here, come on, dance with me,” Tucker said. He considered himself a good dancer, all sway and hips and head-bobs. Church tried to mirror him, looking somewhat like a disgruntled bird. It was so hard not to laugh, but Tucker contained himself. The picture of poise, right?

“Alright, alright, so fast dancing’s not your thing,” Tucker chuckled. Church folded his arms, and Tucker could have sworn he saw the guy pout. “It’s fine, whatever. Maybe slower dancing.”

“Oh, I am not slow dancing with you, you moron. You’re not living out your weird high school fantasies with me,” Church said, backing away.

“It’s not like that, calm down. Think of this as… Me teaching you so that you can go out there and seduce all the ladies. Yeah. Think of it like that.”

Church grumbled out something that sounded like disagreement, but moved towards Tucker anyways. Tucker flipped on a slower song; it was less about fucking someone than it was about love and care and respect. Not really Tucker’s speed, but who was he to judge if that was Church’s thing? Sounded like something he could get behind, to be honest.

“Okay, so you’re gonna want to put your hands around her waist like this,” Tucker said. He moved his wrists past Church’s hips, pulling Church closer to him.

“Don’t tell anyone this ever happened or I will actually kill you,” Church threatened.

“Got it, got it. That goes for me too, dick,” Tucker said. The music was just hitting the chorus. It was a pretty song, some guy singing of perfect imperfections. It was a little cheesy, but hey. Nothing was wrong with that.

They were swaying to the tempo, Church’s arms wrapped behind Tucker’s neck and Tucker’s hands on Church’s hips. He let himself close his eyes for a second, leaning his head on Church’s shoulder.

“Okay, asshole, you’re getting a little close,” Church said, but he didn’t pull away. They stayed like that for a little bit. Breathing, existing. Moving in sync.

The song drew to a close, bittersweet and nostalgic. “You know, Homecomings aren’t that bad, are they?” Tucker said. Church scoffed.

“Okay buddy, calm yourself.”

No matter what he said, he could have stayed like that forever.

Flash forward a couple years and Church was standing alone on top of a sniper tower. He’d been alone for a year. He hadn’t seen Doc, Caboose, Tucker in a year.

In two months, he’d stop being alone. But Tucker?

Well. I guess you know how the story ends, huh?

He never got to see Tucker again.