It's Father's Day, and Caboose has a plan. It goes about how you'd expect a Caboose plan to go, so Wash reluctantly comes to the rescue. Part of the retirement fluff series.
928 words | [PG]
Wash follows the smell of something burning into the kitchen. He takes in the scene—there is paper and markers and glitter strewn over the table, and a pot billowing thick black smoke. And in the middle of it all—Caboose and Junior.
“Caboose, what are you doing? You’re going to burn the entire base down.”
“Oh, it’s okay, Agent Washington. I took the batteries out of the smoke alarm, so it wouldn’t bother anyone.”
Wash stares. “That won’t stop-” He doesn’t bother to finish. Wash pulls the pot from the stove. He can’t tell what was even in it. “Were you hungry? You could have asked someone to make you guys lunch.” What does a Sangheili eat anyway?
“It’s Father’s Day!” Caboose says as if that explains anything.
“What?”
Caboose rolls his eyes like Wash is being the unreasonable one. “It’s Father’s Day, and I’m helping Junior make something for Tucker. Even if he is stupid.” He mutters the last part under his breath before putting on another glowing smile. “We looked it up, and it said that kids make macaroni art for Father’s Day.”
Wash rubs a growing pain between his eyes. It’s typically how all of his conversations go with Caboose. “Caboose, you’re not supposed to cook the macaroni first.”
Junior lets out a string of honks and blarghs. Wash doesn’t need to understand the words to get the meaning—Junior already tried to tell him that.
Caboose’s smile falters. “Oh.” He looks around at the mess, brow knit together.
Damn him. “You know what, let me clean this up, and I’ll help you. Okay?”
That brightens him right back up. “Really?”
Wash sighs. “Yeah, really.”
Ten minutes later, the three of them surround the table—the middle filled with bowls of every shape of pasta and every variety of dry bean they could find in the pantry. Carolina is going to kill him, but Caboose looks thrilled. That kind of balances things.
Caboose and Junior argue over how they are going to make the card. Wash wonders if Caboose actually understands the alien or is just arguing with himself the way everyone seemed to treat Lopez. So far, Tucker is the only one he’d found that legitimately knows what Junior is saying. Wash can’t explain it—it must have something to do with their genetic connection. With the Reds and Blues, it’s best not to over think things. It just gives him a headache.
“Guys,” he interrupts when things sound heated. “Why don’t we each make something and decide later which one to give him.”
That seems to settle things for the time being and both get to work on designing pictures.
“You’re not starting, Agent Washington?” Caboose says as he reached for the glue.
“Uh-”
“You said we would all make something.”
Wash sighs. “Yes, I did, didn’t I.”
He pulls a sheet of paper from the pile and stares at it with a frown. He remembers this. Macaroni art. Making it. No, not making it. He never made art—especially not for his domineering father. It’s not his memory, he realizes, squeezing his eyes shut. Epsilon. It’s been a while since he’s had one of these uncontrolled flashes, and it takes a moment for him to untangle his thoughts. He spends one moment considering the idea of Carolina gluing macaroni to a paper for her doting father before shutting the memory away where it belongs.
While the glue dries on their projects, and the boys clean up, Wash cooks a special dinner. Tucker’s favorite roast chicken and potatoes. He’s starting to regret his choice to investigate the smoke. Next time, he’ll let the base burn down and save himself the headache.
Junior suddenly lets out a startled honk.
“Oh, no,” Caboose says. “You ruined the surprise.”
Wash glances over his shoulder at a bewildered Tucker. “What surprise?”
Junior scrambles to grab his artwork, practically shoving it in Tucker’s face as he rambles something in Blargh-speak. Tucker’s frown melts away. “You made this for me?”
“It’s Father’s Day,” Caboose says, handing him another paper. “We all made something. It was Wash’s idea, but then we couldn’t choose which one to give you so you get three cards.”
Tucker looks from the two papers Caboose is holding over to Wash, an eyebrow arched. Wash shrugs and goes back to cooking, trying to ignore the glimmer of unshed tears he sees there.
“Thank you, guys, I guess,” Tucker says. “This is-”
“Why are you crying?” Caboose asks in alarm. “Are they not good enough? Did we do it wrong? Wash said you don’t cook-”
“No, it’s not that, and I’m not crying. I just got glue in my eye—this is still wet.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Tucker swallows hard, obviously having trouble controlling his emotions. “I just never- I didn’t expect anything, that’s all.”
Junior says something that sounds apprehensive and a little sad.
Tucker hugs him. “It’s okay, buddy. I don’t expect you to know every human custom. I love it.”
Wash shakes his head—this is the weirdest family he’s ever known. He sets the finished platter of chicken on the table just as Caboose scoops both Tucker and Junior into a hug. Tucker mutters curses, making Wash snort in amusement. Weirdest family ever. Of all time.
Making a sound is a mistake, though. Caboose notices him and drags him into the most awkward group hug. Caboose doesn’t notice. “I blame you for this,” Wash says, shooting Tucker an annoyed look. “And Happy Father’s Day.”
Four days. Four wonderful, peaceful days in Wales have gone by far too quickly. Four days of long walks to the local village and then back again once the pub closed. Four days of James getting to tend the garden while Q watched, and four days having very loud sex in every room of the cottage. The closest house is nearly a mile away, and the woods shield them from the worst of the winds from the cliffs. Even the constant rain can’t keep back some of the more tenacious plants. It’s turning quickly autumn, and the leaves are starting to shed their greenery for brighter reds, oranges, yellows.
Q’s weary from a long, chilly walk back from the pub for a weekend quiz night, and he and James are curled up in front of a crackling fire to warm up. Their clothes are scattered about the room, and they’re cuddled skin to skin beneath a dark blue throw. Q leans back against James to trade lazy kisses as they talk—well, as Q talks and James mostly listens. As much as he wants to enjoy the cottage a little longer, Q needs to start shifting back into his work headspace.
“No calls all weekend. I think R will be fine to take over. She’s been the best second in command I’ve had as Quartermaster, and she’ll be able to take the reins with ease. It helps that the other minions already respect her.”
James nuzzles Q and presses a gentle kiss to Q’s earlobe. Q groans and leans into the warmth of James’s mouth while his ear tingles from the kisses. “Do you like it here, Simon?”
“The cottage?” Q asks.
James hums a yes, still kissing Q’s ear.
“Yes, I do. Very much so.” Q squirms a little and presses back against James’s chest.
“Because I was thinking I might buy it.” James stops kissing him and sits up, letting Q turn to look at him.
Q’s blinks a few times and stares at James. “Buy the cottage?”
“The owners want to sell and move to be closer to their grandchildren. And I put down an offer today.”
Q’s hearing the words, but he’s barely processing them. James wants to move here. James wants to leave London… and Six.
James starts speaking a little faster, his lips hinting at a smile. “We could move in as early as May. Sell the flat, leave London. We’ll still travel several times a year, but it would be a chance to get away— And you’ve talked about passing the mantle to R for a few months now—”
“Yes.”
James stops speaking and meets Q’s gaze. “Yes?”
“I going to spend this week starting the process to retire. I think it’s time, and I want to spend the next however many years with you.” Q’s beaming now, and he nods. “I will move here with you.”
A slow grin spreads across James’ face, and suddenly he’s kissing Q, kissing him deeply and tenderly. Q shifts to straddle James’ hips, wraps his arms around James, and kisses back, . “Bloody hell, we’ll both be retired,” Q murmurs when they break for air. James presses warm kisses to the still slightly chilly skin of Q’s neck, making Q moan softly.
“Think they’ll give us watches to commemorate our tenure?” James says with a barely concealed chuckle as he nibbles Q’s ear before kissing back to his mouth.
Q snorts and shakes his head, pulling back to fix James with a resigned look.. “Knowing you, it’ll be a bloody exploding pen.”
Despite feeling like crap and barely the energy to get out of bed, I still wrote a thing. It’s not a particularly well-written thing, but it’s a thing. Take that, depression.
Junior visits Tucker--from Junior’s POV. (Sticking this in my Retirement Fluff series somewhere.)
The creatures are ugly. Gross. The stuff of nightmares. What with their lack of exoskeleton and saggy skin. But Dad says I have to be nice to them. They're family or something. Gross family.
"Blargh, blergh, blar-blargh, honk," says the one with the tuft of red on its head. Like I'm supposed to know what that means.
The one with the fuzzy yellow head joins the first's complaining. I think. Dad looks annoyed so I’m guessing that’s it.
"Blerg! Honk-blargh!"
What is that supposed to mean? That one creeps me out. He talks to himself a lot—random honks and blarghs as he wanders the hall of the base. Weirdo.
I wish that stupid bomb guy was here. He was a dick, but at least, I would know what's going on.
Don't tell Dad I said, "dick." I don't have any more quarters to put in the swear jar.
Eventually, the yellow-topped one throws up its arms and stomps off. The red one shakes its head. "Blargh, blergh. Blargh-blar?"
Dad yells something at them and makes a rude gesture. "Screw them," he tells me.
"But I thought they were family?"
"They are, but sometimes family is just a bunch of assholes that live with you."
"Uh-"
"Dammit." He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and fishes out a couple dollars to put in the swear jar. "I suck at this."
I laugh which makes him smile.
"Come on, Junior, we don't need them to have fun anyway. Let's go scare the guys at Red base."
"Ooh, can I stand over Simmons again until he wakes up? That was funny when he started crying."
