Red vs Blue fanfic: Attention to Detail (1/6)

[jennickels]

After their last Eleventh Hour Hail Mary mission, Grif had plopped down right among the dying enemy soldiers and said he wasn’t moving until he got some leave. He wouldn’t even budge for Sarge’s shotgun.

“We’ve saved the galaxy enough times. I think we deserve a vacation.”

No one could come up with a logical rebuttal for that so they headed to the nearest resort planet.

OR

Epsilon and the gang take a vacation, and it goes about as well as you'd expect.

rating: R for language

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attention (n): consideration, notice, or observation | detail (n): a part considered or requiring to be considered separately from the whole

Chapter 1

“Blackwater is a neutral planet,” Simmons read from an advertisement as they skimmed over a midnight ocean, heading to the biggest space dock on the southern continent—a tourist hot-spot apparently. He continued to read off a long list of rules and regulations for visiting Blackwater while Church and Caboose watched their clunky approach out a side window.

“Why do you think they call it Blackwater?” Caboose asked, thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s because the water is black? Or do you think the water is black because the planet is called Blackwater?”

“That doesn’t even make sense, dumbass,” Tucker said from Caboose’s other side. “Why would the water change color to black just because the name of the planet has ‘black’ in it?”

Church reached around behind Caboose and smacked Tucker upside the head.

“According to the brochure,” said Wash, strolling over to join them (or maybe just trying to be closer to the emergency exit as they neared the dock), “the water on this planet appears black on the surface because of a mineral in the soil.”

Caboose mulled this over for a moment. “Neat.”

They bumped and bobbled along as Grif struggled to maintain altitude and pitch on his first landing approach. It usually took two or three tries if they didn’t want to crash and burn on impact, but they glided in, only slamming slightly into the docking bay before easily coming to a stop on the first attempt.

“Ha!” Grif shouted from the cockpit. “Nailed it.”

“Let’s wait and see the paint job before you start celebrating,” Carolina said with a chuckle.

“Whatever. You’re just jealous that I fly better than you.”

“ATTENTION TRAVELERS.” The words scrolled over every screen automatically, repeating the warning from the brochure. “Blackwater is a neutral planet; therefore, armor and weaponry of any kind are prohibited by law and punishable by fines and/or imprisonment.” It really should have been their first warning that things weren’t going to go as plan. They rarely did, but this was a literal blinking-red warning.

“Wait a dag-gum-,” Sarge said. “What do they mean armor is prohibited?”

“It means we can’t wear our uniforms, sir,” answered Simmons.

“And by weapons, they mean?”

Simmons let out a tired sigh. “All weapons, sir. No knives or guns.”

“I see. And by prohibited, then mean?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Church blurted. “Let’s just go somewhere else before the old man has a stroke trying to understand the concept of weaponless.”

“No. No fucking way. We’re already here and my vacation starts in-” Grif stared at his watchless wrist. “-five, four, three, two.” He tore off his helmet with a sigh. “I am officially off the clock.”

Simmons scoffed at his teammate. “Was there ever a time you were officially on the clock?”

“You know what, Simmons,” Grif answered as he shed the rest of his armor. “I’m not even going to let that bother me. Know why? Because I’m on fucking vacation.”

The rest of them looked at each other before Tucker shrugged and began stripping his own armor. Carolina popped off her helmet, red bangs plastered to her forehead. The rest followed—some grumbling more than others.

“Um,” Church said as his friends dug through the storage lockers looking for civvies. “Have you guys forgotten something?”

“Like what?” Simmons asked, struggling to remove a shin guard.

Grif suddenly leaped three feet to the left with a girly squeal. “Like the fact that Donut doesn’t wear underwear?”

“Only when I’m not in my armor,” Donut said matter-of-factly while pulling on a pair of perfectly pressed slacks.

Church crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “No, that’s not it.”

“Did we forget to put the ship in park?” offered Tucker.

“No.”

“Forgot to turn off the headlights?” asked Doc.

“No.”

“The stove?” Donut added to the suggestions.

“The TV?” Sarge asked, scratching the gray scruff on his chin.

Church growled in frustration. “No and no.”

“Well, son, I can’t think of anything else we’ve-”

“Me!” Church exploded. “Me, me, me. Have you forgotten I don’t have a body? I’m a goddamn robot.”

“A gay robot,” added Caboose, cheerily.

Church growled. “I am not gay. I can’t go down there because I can’t take off my armor. I don’t have a body.”

“But-” said Caboose.

“My armor is my body,” Church clarified at his friend’s confused expression.

“Hmm,” Sarge said as he pulled on a pair of regulation fatigue pants. “I can see how that could pose a problem.”

Tucker pulled on a faded baseball jersey. “Can’t you just possess some schmuck on the street? Like a homeless guy or mime or something?”

Caboose started hopping up and down. “Yes, yes, be a mime. I love mimes.” He began pulling himself by an invisible rope.

“I’m not being a mime. And no, I can’t just possess some random person.”

“Why not?” asked Grif, now wearing an awful orange Hawaiian shirt and clashing Bermuda shorts. “You’ve done it before.”

Simmons nodded as he carefully laced his boots. “You possessed Sarge that one time, remember?”

“What?” Sarge said. “I have no recollection of that.”

“That’s because Caboose shot you in the head, sir,” Simmons explained.

“And I saved your life,” Grif added, proudly, getting a disgruntled huff from Sarge.

Church sighed. “That was different. One—that wasn’t even me, and two—it was a rescue mission.”

Donut smoothed the wrinkles from his pink polo then popped the collar with a flourish. “Well, what about that guy in the club on that planet when we-”

“That was different, too.”

“How?”

If Church had a face, it would be burning with frustrated rage right about now. “It just was, okay?”

“Oh, oh, Church.” Caboose waved his arm like a child trying to get the teacher’s attention.

“Yes, Caboose?” Church said with another sigh. He’d tried telling Caboose a million times that he didn’t have to raise his hand before speaking, but in the end, it was just easier to let him do his thing. He was less confused that way.

“Can’t you just go all glowy? Like when you were a ghost?”

“I wasn’t a ghost and no. I need power and a projector to be ‘glowy,’ and those come from the armor.”

“Oh,” Caboose said softly, the smile fading from his face.

“But that was a good suggestion, Caboose,” Church told him before he could slip into one of his funks. That seemed to work because he went back to trying to figure out the laces on his shoes.

“Well,” Tucker said, “the way I see it, you have two choices. You can either be a mime or just stay on the ship. Brooding. But, hey, at least you’ll have your morals to keep you company.”

Jerk. Church turned to Carolina leaning against the wall in an actual dress that made Church do a double-take then to Wash who finished helping Caboose tie his shoes and stood up. “You know, you two could like back me up or something here.”

Wash slipped into a leather jacket and shrugged. “I think Tucker makes a solid argument.”

“What?” What the hell was wrong with them? “I’m trying to do the right thing here. Carolina? You’re on my side, right?” He sounded way too desperate.

She stared at him a long moment with those familiar piercing, green eyes then smacked the control to open the hatch. “Have fun with your morals, Church.”

Church watched in shock as his friends filed out one after another. “Come on guys. This isn’t funny. You can’t leave me here by myself. Doc!” He grabbed the passing medic’s arm. “You’re a pacifist—like all about human rights and shit? You agree with me.”

Doc nodded. “Of course.” He glanced out the door at the lively space dock and bustling city beyond. “But I hear the sweet song of margaritas calling my name. Sorry, Church.”

“Wait, what?” Church asked as they all disappear into the crowd. “Yeah, well- well, fuck you guys. I don’t need you. I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll, I’ll rack up a mile-long phone bill calling those horoscope numbers. And order fifty pizzas I can’t eat on Wash’s credit card. And, and, watch the entire Star Wars series. All seventy-two films! Yeah, who needs you guys?” His anger petered out. “Who needs friends anyway?”

He turned to go back into the ship but ran right into something solid. Caboose.

“Hello.”

“Caboose, why are you still here?”

“Well, if you can’t leave the ship then I will stay and keep you company. No one should have to be alone. It’s not fun at all. And very lonely.” His smile widened. “We can eat ice cream. And stay up late talking about our hopes... and dreams... and feelings.”

Church groaned. “Fuck that. I’m not a chick. Go have fun with the others. If you leave now, you can still catch them.”

Caboose shook his head emphatically—his dark, curly hair flying everywhere. “Nope. I’m staying right here. With my bestest best friend in the whole galaxy.”

“Great. Wonderful.” Some vacation.

“Besides,” Caboose added, “I wouldn’t have any fun if you weren’t there.”

Why did he have to go and say that? “Fuck me,” Church muttered. He scanned the crowd near the open hatch of the ship until he spotted a guy holding a sign that said, “Earth or Bust.” He was blond, looked about twenty and was dressed in a gray t-shirt and plaid shorts. Ugh. He was a total geek, but he’d do.

Church shed his robot body and shook out his imaginary limbs.

“Church! You’re all glowy.”

“All right, Caboose, let’s go have some fun.”

“Yay!”

Chapter 2 >>