Wash barges into Tucker's room and flips on the light.
"Rise and fucking shine, motherfuckerOHMYGODWHYAREYOUNAKED?!"
Tucker's laying spread eagle on his mattress with his pillows and blankets strewn across the floor. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He asks groggily.
Wash, turning away replies, "Trying to get your lazy ass out bed and running drills. And why in God's name are you Naked?"
Tucker rolls out of bed and digs through his blankets for his shorts, "I was asleep. What the fuck do wear to bed, footie pajamas?" He smirks, remembering Wash sleepwalking in his boxers.
“I... well... That’s... That’s not the point! Get your ass out of bed and running drills with Caboose!”
Wash stomps a few steps down the hall and shouts over his shoulder, “And for the love of God stop sleeping naked!”
After Church deconstructs himself, Carolina sinks into depression. She wouldn't eat; she wouldn't drink; she wouldn't sleep. She just sat in her quarters in a stupor. All of the Reds and Blues and even Wash and the Chorus squad tried to help; but she would just lock her door. But one day, Caboose dropped by...
"Carolina? Are you home?"Cabooses voice was only slightly muffled by the thick, supposedly blast proof, door of Carolina's quarters on Chorus.
"Yes, Caboose. I'm home. What do you want?" Carolina answered in a slightly irritated yet still melancholy tone.
She was sitting on her bed; not at all in the mood for visitors, but Caboose opened the door and came in anyway.
"Washington wanted me to give you this. He said you would know what to do with it." He held out his hand, and even though the paint had faded, she knew exactly what it was. York's lighter.
She must have dropped it some time ago. The last time she remembered looking at was just after the crash on Chorus. When she convinced Epsilon to track the Space Pirates... The tears she had been so careful to hold back came flooding forward with no way to stop them.
"Carolina, why are sad?" Caboose's innocent question enraged Carolina. "Because I lost him!" She screamed. "It's my fault! I should have been there! I should have been with him! I shouldn't have let him go! It's my fault Church is gone." She took a breath and abandoned the screaming, "I told Church that you guys are like my family, and I couldn't lose you. And now he's gone."
Tears continued to stream down Carolina's cheeks but Caboose was quiet for a moment. Gathering his thoughts? Confused? Thinking about cookies?Carolina could never be sure.
"It's ok to be sad." He finally said. "I'm sad too, but it's not so bad. Washington, Tucker, and the Reds; they’re all sad with me."
Carolina had no idea where he was going with this, but she grabbed a handful of tissues from her bedside table and began to try and stem the flow of tears.
"Sometimes when your share the sad, it gets lighter."
Carolina was silent. Caboose must have taken this as her not understanding, so he sad it again, "We're all sad. But if we are sad together, then we can make the sad less heavy."
"I know Caboose, I just..." Carolina stared but Caboose interrupts her, "I don’t think Church would want us to be sad. He would want us to think about his good stuff. Like his leading and being best fiends with me."
Carolina couldn't help but smile, if only a little, at the surety of Caboose's friendship with Church. She hid her tiny smile in the wad of tissues in her hands.
"You can be sad with us, if you want. You don't have to be sad alone. I need to go help Wash some more. Bye Carolina."
Before she could look up, Caboose was gone.
"You don't have to be sad alone." She whispered to the empty room. She was not entirely used to the idea of sharing her troubles with anyone. But they weren't just anyone. They were the Reds and Blues. They were a family. Sure they stared out as enemies, but then, circumstances forced them to work together on so many occasions that they became friends. And now that they've been through so much, they would truly sacrifice themselves for the others. Isn't that exactly what Church did? Sacrificed himself for his family?
It took a few more days for Carolina to leave her rooms, but when she did she took Caboose up on his offer.
Fandom: Red Versus Blue
Character: Agent Carolina, Agent York
Rating: T
Word Count: 2856
Time Count: 55 Minutes
Notes: My husband heard the challenge content and said ‘why don’t you write York and Carolina meeting, that lighter thing’. And so I did. Poem referenced herein is Fire and Ice by Robert Frost, my favorite poem.
Between Desire and Hatred
They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die.
If that’s the truth then either Charlotte Church, known in the military as Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer, has had a rather boring life. The very concept, a small part of her mind tells her, is rather unfair. After all, what can be boring about being betrayed by one of your best friends as he tears AI fragments heavily integrated into your brain out, physically? What can be boring about then, in a moment where your mind is going through a strange sort of combination of hard reset and purging of vital functions, being thrown over the edge of an icy cliff toward an undoubtedly watery fate? What can be boring about the fight she had with Tex or the one sided combat she’d had minutes before that with York? How can her life not fixate on the missions she did well and the friends she saved and high school and her childhood or even her mother?
Why does it play a single scene, a single regret, over and over again?
There’s a poem, that small part of her mind that says this is unfair brings up. There is a poem that fits this situation perfectly. A poem by an Old Earth poet, back in the twentieth century who had been named Robert Frost. A poem about the end of the world, the end of all things. The first part said that the world would end in fire, be brought down around people because of the things they wanted. For a long time Carolina has agreed. But not because of any human desire, not because of any want of her own. She’s seen the pictures of glassed planets. She knows what it looks like when something akin to God’s own fury rains down upon a world, leaving only his fiery wrath in its wake.
That’s how the world will end, Carolina knows it.
The poem, though…
It goes on to talk about ice. How it is an ending fitting for hatred. Cold and consuming, and leaving one in agony as they go slowly.
This is the end that Maine, that Sigma, that fire itself has chosen for her. Desire for what she possessed, desire for what will make you better, stronger, faster, condemns others to the hateful apocalypse of the cold.
She falls, and the seconds between each racing heartbeat are a racing eternity. An unending fear and fate as she plummets, devoid of feeling, utterly emptied out by her loss.
And all she can remember is one thing…
A single point of fiery light.
******
Tomorrow everything changes, Charlotte reminds herself as she moves through Errera. Tomorrow she goes up to the MOI and her years of work in the UNSC pay off. Tomorrow she becomes her mother’s daughter in rights, fights the war her mother died for, and looks for the way to end it. For victory. For her father to…
But no, she refuses to think about him. ‘The Director’ she’s supposed to call him. Not a father. Not a guardian. Not the man who all but abandoned her emotionally even when he’d been a relatively devoted, doting father in the eyes of everyone else around them. The Director is far away, somewhere on a UNSC ship that he probably doesn’t deserve, playing with ideas that could get people hurt, all for a good cause. Charlotte can live with that. It’s not like she isn’t willingly becoming one of his guinea pigs. Together, she’s resolved, they’re going to win the war her mother couldn’t. They will finally find their revenge.
Which makes tonight the last chance she has to be anything mirroring a civilian until either the war is over or she is.
Partying has never been so high on her to do list before.
Eyes are on her from almost every direction. It feels nice, truth be told, to know she can hold their attention this long. There are men, and women, all around looking at her. She can tell by the glazed over look on some eyes that they’re doing a lot more than looking at her, that their minds’ eyes are places they probably shouldn’t be. But hell, she’s spent a lot of time around military men and women, and she knows how important these moments of escapism are, so who is she to burst their bubbles? She’s not going home with any of them. She’s going to dance until she’s tired and then… well, then she’s going to figure it out from there.
Charlotte walks straight to the bar and leans against it, pushing herself between two occupied stools to get the attention of the bartender. The woman to her left barely even pays her any mind, her attention clearly caught up in the handsome man beside her. The man on her right?
He’s cute, she decides in just a moment of looking at him. More than cute. Attractive in that way she figures men who think they can have anything they want tend to be. His hair is tousled artfully to maybe look like he just got out of bed. She’s heard of this approach, the ‘just had sex’ look that was supposed to draw people in. Not that she puts any weight in it, of course. The hair just looks silly, but his face? What’s the old saying?
It could launch a thousand ships. Golden apple material right there. Hell, from how stable he is in his seat, he’s probably dance partner material too. Quickly she puts in her order and turns her attention to the man, leaning just enough over the bar and angling toward him in just the right way to give him a tempting peek at her cleavage. Men tended to be more amenable to her when they got freebies like that. And all she wants tonight is amenable.
“Hey there,” she says, making sure her voice is just high enough to be heard over the throb of the music, “you come here often?”
He doesn’t even turn to look at her. Charlotte frowns briefly, looking at the bartender only long enough to accept her martini before returning her attention to the handsome man. Charlotte Church is not to be ignored.
“Because it looks like you’re made for places like this,” she continues, smiling warmly in his direction. Still he doesn’t look up. “Bet you’re the kind of guy that likes…”
Even as she speaks the man is doing something with his far hand. Charlotte trails off to watch him for a minute. He flicks his lighter open, the flame coming to life immediately. Flicks his lighter closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. And it doesn’t even happen with the beat of the song. So… he’s ignoring her. Well, Charlotte is soon going to put an end to that.
One of the advantages she’s found she has in any engagement is that she’s fast. Faster than most people her size, and definitely faster than people larger than her like this guy. Maybe it’s because of that, or because he isn’t paying attention to her in the least, that Charlotte is able to catch him off guard. Her hand flashes out and as he closes the lighter again she’s plucking it from his hands and pulling it back.
“Hey!” the man protests, and finally, his eyes are on her.
And dear god are his eyes on her. They rove up and down her body like hands do, stroking over her face and down her chest and slipping over the parts of her legs left bare below where the skirt ends. Then, just as quickly, they flash back up to her face, meet her own gaze and the man is smiling.
“Need a light?” he asks, looking pointedly to the lighter in her hand after a moment.
The lighter that Charlotte now finds herself compelled to flick open and closed. She can feel the cool enamel under her fingers, almost icy compared to the warmth of the metal from his own grip. She looks down at the thing, quickly picks out the logo for the club on the side, and frowns. So he didn’t even bring it here. This got more and more interesting every moment.
“I think I’ve got one,” she teases, and the look of confusion on the man’s face is brief. Then he reaches up and Charlotte has to watch in shock and no small amount of understanding as he pulls earplugs from his ears.
He hadn’t been able to hear her.
“Care to repeat that, gorgeous?” he asks, his smile wide and warm and Charlotte thinks that if she had a few more drinks in herself she’d melt before that look. As it is she hasn’t had more drinks, and she’s got a pretty iron strong will as it is.
“I don’t think I do,” she chuckles and winks at him. “Tell me, why come to a club if you’re not going to have fun?”
“DD,” he explains, sitting up straighter in his feet.
That… is a pretty good explanation. Score one point for handsome-but-strange.
“Good thing to be for your friends,” she smiles back. “If only I’d thought to bring one.”
She can see the look of concentration on his face. Clearly the guy is looking for some hidden meaning there, trying to figure out if it’s a pick up line. Or maybe he’s trying to come up with one. But no, if he doesn’t have one on the tip of his tongue immediately, Charlotte has no intention of letting him think it up. Seriously, if he’s sober, he’s either terrible at flirting, or just not good at being actively approached by a beautiful woman like herself.
“Well I could…”
“Anyway,” Charlotte continues, ignoring his clear intention of being charming quite easily, “let’s make a little bargain, okay? You keep me entertained until your friends need to go, and I’ll return your lighter.”
The way he sits there, fumbling for words for a moment, his mouth flapping and his cheeks red just cheers her. He’s going to be the best toy ever for the course of her night. But she’s got to bail him out somehow, right? Before he digs himself a pit of ‘pretty but not smart enough to be entertaining.’ So she simply offers him her hand.
And this time, well, this time his smile almost seems like it was made for her and only her. That, she thinks, she could get used to. If only she had the time. But no, she’s a civvie for one night and one night only, so there is no point in her trying to linger around and get something more out of him. Hell, she’s shipping out early, so there isn’t a point in getting drunk or attached, or even seeking to hook up.
A lot of those urges she’s put aside for the sake of the war. Time and time again Charlotte has sworn not to leave behind pain if she dies, not like her mother did. No men to be attached to her and grieve. No child too young to understand why she did it or care beyond the fact that mommy wasn’t coming home to sing her to sleep anymore. Just a soldier in a time of war looking to fight the good fight and save some lives.
When he takes her hand in his he just keeps smiling, wide enough that Charlotte wants to kiss the look off his face. Instead she makes a show of slipping the lighter into her bra, and she winks as his eyes follow its path.
“Maybe if you’re good I’ll let you fetch it back out yourself,” she teases, knowing it will never happen.
His laughter fills her ears as she guides him to the dance floor. She’s got a night to blow, and clearly her first companion is going to be several different types of fun.
And god is he ever. Through the whole of the night he stays there, at her side. They dance together like it’s meant to be, and the way he smiles at her makes her feel warmer inside than any amount of drinking ever could. His eyes are a warm hazel that never leave hers except when they need to look around to find someone they bumped into and apologize. Truthfully she expects him more than once to make a move, but he doesn’t. For all that their dancing itself could be called more than mildly indicative of where he clearly wants the night to end, he’s a perfect gentleman.
In another life, she thinks, this might play out differently. She might give him her number or invite him to take her home after he drops his friends off. They might enjoy a night together before all is said and done. Instead, when her internal clock tells her that it’s approaching one, she pulls out of his hold.
“Going so soon?” the man asks. All these hours and she still doesn’t know his name. Or he hers. But it’s better this way, Charlotte tells him.
“I ship out in the morning,” she answers. “Need to get some sleep.”
There is a flash of shock, and then a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Strange. She hadn’t expected to see that.
“I get it,” he responds, and then he holds his hand out to her.
For a long moment Charlotte stares at it. What does he expect? Her number hastily scribbled across his palm? What good would that do him? A kiss on the back of his hand? He doesn’t seem that cheesy? A hand shake? God what a terrible way to end a night.
“My lighter,” he says, clearly reading the confusion on her face.
Oh. That.
Charlotte winks as she backs away. “Nope. I’m the valiant knight, fighting to save the kingdom. And you’re my fair lady, who has given me a token of your affection and faith that I might carry into battle. I swear on this charm that I will win. When the war’s over, know that I did it for you.”
It’s a silly thing to say, but Charlotte is in a silly mood. So she laughs as the man stares at her in shock and amusement, and once she’s far enough away, she turns and runs, laughing at the pure joy in the moment.
She’s never felt so alive.
And the next morning, when she sees his face across the aisle on the transport up to the MOI, she doesn’t know what to think.
“Do I get my lighter back now?” he asks as he sits across from her.
Charlotte, no, she became Agent Carolina the second she stepped onto the transport this morning, stares at him.
“Oh come on, it’s not like I won’t get it back eventually,” the man insists, his hand extended to her. “Trust me, if I have about thirty minutes, I can get it from any secure location you could put it on a vessel of this class. It’s what I do.”
“Who are you?” she asks in wonder, staring at the man.
“Well, that would be Agent New York according to my paperwork. And you?”
“Agent Carolina,” she answers, still trying to process her shock.
“Well, Carolina,” he says, his voice warm and smooth like melted chocolate, “you can give it to me now, or I’ll take it from you later.”
“It’s my token,” she says, shaking her head. It’s in a pocket of her fatigues, and she intends to keep it there. “You can have it back when I win the war. Remember?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Okay. But I’ll hold you to that.”
******
As she falls Carolina isn’t sure what it is about the memory that holds on so tightly to her. Maybe it’s regret. She threw the lighter up to him back in the elevator shaft. Was that her way of saying she didn’t see herself winning the war anymore? Was it her finally and fully rejecting him, a man she had come to be so fond of?
Was it something deep down in her recognizing that her end had come, and wanting to give him one last message?
Maybe, she thinks, her mind caught up in a strange sort of limbo as her arm slowly comes up with the grappling gun and her body tries to save itself even as her mind checks out, maybe it’s something more.
Maybe in your final moments you don’t see your life flash before your eyes. You see only your biggest regret. And doesn’t that describe York to a T? A man she thinks she can love and will never let herself reach for? Isn’t she just like her mother, to leave him behind, hurting as he undoubtedly did?
Fire above her. Ice below. Desire and Hatred sandwiching regret.
But Carolina… it’s not your time.
The gun kicks back as she shoots and her body braces itself for pain.
And Charlotte Church decides that fire or ice, it doesn’t matter. This isn’t her end. Her war has only just begun.
Summary: There were several grown men who wanted to be read a bedtime story by an old, angry tomato.
AO3
Day 151 of 365 of 2kficteen
Simmons didn’t like to admit that he had trouble sleeping. Grif knew only because he shared a room with the other man. When Sarge had experimented on him and installed robot parts to his body Simmons had thought that that would solve everything. It did not for he still had (most) of his old brain and therefore all of his nightmares. They’d plagued him since he was young and were always the same. Images of a familiar yet strange character whose face Simmons could not remember. He was always so tall, so dominating and he said nasty things that made Simmons want to run for the hills. Simmons hadn’t seen the man in years and yet he knew he was, he always knew. Simmons’ father was the cause of most of his fears and even in adulthood, even miles away on a new country he still haunted Simmons. The soldier was sick of the nightmares and of so little sleep that he got.
It seemed that even his Captain felt the same way. Though Sarge did not share a room with Simmons he did have to share breakfast, lunch and dinner with Simmons’ roommate. Grif was very adamant on complaining about how Simmons kept him up and how the man climbed into his bed for the fifth time that week. He never seemed so annoyed at the last part though.
“All right,” Sarge shut Grif up one morning, “if it annoys you so much how’s about I come in and read him a bedtime story? That’ll get him to sleep.” Sarge concluded.
“Really?” Simmons sounded hopeful. He felt honoured to have Sarge read him a bedtime story.
“Yeah but then I have to listen to it too.” Grif huffed. Sarge rolled his eyes.
“Suck it up Soldier, you can do some of the voices. I’m sure there’s a girl or two in fairy tales.” Sarge thought. Grif sighed heavily. He wasn’t so sure that he liked this solution.
Yet Grif did not have a choice but to accept it. That evening, shortly after Simmons had climbed into Grif’s bed claiming to fear for the nightmares, Sarge entered carrying an old fairy tale book. Where the man had got they did not know.
“Really? Simmons is a grown man.” Grif scoffed.
“Simmons is in your arms right now.” Sarge countered. Grif chewed upon his lip because, well, yeah.
“All right smart ass, read us a story.” Grif demanded. He did not want this to go on for longer than it was needed. Before Sarge could open the book though, Donut and Lopez came walking in.
“Hey! We heard that there was going to be a story?” Donut spoke for them. Lopez did not bother. He knew that the Reds would simply ignore what he had really said just to twist it into their own words. Grif rolled his eyes from the bed. He did not like the way that Donut was eyeing it right now.
“No, there’s no story go back to your own bunk.” Grif told them bitterly.
“Isn’t Sarge holding a fairy tale book?” Donut pointed out. He was smirking. Damn it, Grif thought. Sarge must have told them at some point. Maybe he told them on purpose because he knew that it would annoy Grif. Well, it had worked. Grif was now extra irritated.
“Come on boys, hurry up – we haven’t got all night.” Sarge barked. Donut and Lopez did not need to be told twice, especially by their captain. Simmons yelped in pain as Donut ran and jumped on both he and Grif. Though thin, Donut still seemed to weight a ton when he landed upon Simmons’ thigh. Simmons tried to hold back the tears and the stream of curses that threatened to come out. Grif was not so eloquent.
“Donut, you fat fuck! Get off of me.” Grif demanded. Sarge chuckled from nearby.
“Grif, you’re the big one here.” Sarge chuckled to himself. Grif couldn’t be asked to argue with him. He couldn’t, not with Lopez weirdly curling himself up by Grif’s feet like a cat. Had Sarge messed up yet another aspect of the poor robot’s programming?
“Can we just hurry up with this story? I really want to go to bed.” Simmons whined. Suddenly everyone remembered why they were here in the first place.
“All right, you big whiny man baby. I’m getting to that part.” Sarge barked. He took a seat upon the floor, uncaring for the stool that sat quite literally a few feet away. Simmons turned in Grif’s arms so that he could see Sarge properly. Then to bask in Grif’s warmth, Simmons pressed back against the man’s chest. It was Grif who hummed in contentment though. What could he say? Simmons was a nice cuddle. Donut was sprawled across them both. Nobody commented on the fact that it was Simmons’ hair that he was twirling between his fingers and not his own. Simmons was not about to complain. It felt absolutely heavenly and was actually making Simmons rather sleepy. It seemed that tonight he was actually going to have a good night’s sleep – at least he hoped.
“Are you ready?” Sarge asked his team. There was a brief silence. Lopez considered whether to just shut down and not bother with this whole ‘story’ nonsense. He didn’t get any enjoyment from it anyway. Grif thought about the sandwich he’d had earlier, Simmons silently begged Sarge to start talking and Donut briefly wondered if he’d peed before he settled down. It didn’t matter, Donut was sure that his pants were pee-proof anyway. That was what Grif had told him.
Sarge flicked the pages of the book until he was past all the prologues and words of thanks to the first page. He opened his mouth to begin and never got to as someone opened the door.
“Don’t mind us.” Caboose said as he shuffled into the room, Tucker close behind him. The turquoise soldier had his small, weirdly-adorable alien son resting upon his hip.
“Get out, you filthy blues!” Sarge yelled out in instinct. Even though they had been working almost together for quite a while now, he couldn’t help himself. He still had a deep hatred for the guys he shared the damn box canyon with. Caboose pouted.
“Please, angry tomato, can we stay? I want to hear a story.” Caboose begged.
“Yeah and Junior is really antsy today, can we stay please?” Tucker asked. Sarge rolled his eyes.
“Sit down before I change my mind. Don’t let your spawn touch the floor.” Sarge narrowed his eyes at the ‘baby’ Tucker was carrying. Though he wanted to, Tucker did not retaliate.
Caboose had no qualms about who was on what team and so forth. He followed Donut’s lead and lay across the small group like a big blue blanket. Tucker was not so enthralled with that idea. Instead he sat upon the floor and tucked his child against his chest.
“Well, go on.” Tucker insisted. Even though he wanted to listen to the story, Tucker kind of wanted to get out of the red base as soon as possible. It kind of made him uncomfortable.
“Are we all ready now?” Sarge asked. He kind of regretted agreeing to do this now. Everyone nodded. “Okay then, once upon a time…” Sarge began. Surprisingly, everyone listened and did not giggle or interrupt. Sarge had barely turned the page before Simmons was snoring. Sarge smiled proudly. “There, now I can leave.” Sarge said.
“No!” Those who were awake cried out.
“What? Are you serious?” Sarge almost laughed. These grown men were asking him to read a story?
“Please angry tomato.” Caboose pouted. Even Sarge was not immune to the blue team member’s cuteness. He huffed but sat down all the same. Later it would be a good story to blackmail them with, Sarge hoped.
