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“Hey man, it's Church. If you’re reading this message then it means that what I thought would happen, has happened. And I’m no longer in the type of position to be able to tell you all this face to face.”
Church’s death, by Washington’s own experience, had to have been one of the most despairing things he had witnessed, ever. Of all time.
“I know we weren’t on the best of terms.”
The Blues were a mess.
“You hated project freelancer and all it stood for and naturally, me having, unwillingly, been a large part of that entire thing, it’s only right to assume you hate me or hated me for a short while.”
Carolina was gone every day out on some impossible perimeter scout of the planet that Kimball had allowed them to stay on during their retirement and Washington knew the ex-freelancer wouldn’t be finding anything because the planet was completely safe, but he also knew he had to give her some time to mourn Church.
Caboose was gone too, out on walks every minute of every day, getting into whatever kind of indescribable trouble he could possibly find himself to get into. Not that Wash would know because he was trying to give him some much-needed space, but not too much space that their altercation resulted in a Freckles 2.0. Just in case, although he didn't want to be pushy, occasionally, he followed him.
And Tucker hadn’t left his room much at all. Or rather, he went into Wash’s room because they had already been sharing it for such a long time. And Wash allowed it because he wanted the other to have a safe place to shut himself out in if he needed. Until Tucker began going in there and would then lock the door, deliberately choosing to sulk in Wash’s bed under the covers until Wash had to practically bust the thing down just for a clean pair of socks.
“Maybe not even me, as in myself.
You never really got to meet Leonard Church.
Just whatever copy of him was left.”
It didn’t help matters that Carolina had finally transmitted Church’s final words into readable PDFs that were then sent to everyone Church wrote an individual, private message for.
“And I never really got to meet David Washington.
Just whatever destructed person Epsilon turned him into."
Wash wasn’t quite sure what the other’s messages said. Not even Tucker mentioned it to him which was odd because Tucker, as a rule, never shut up about anything and let Wash in on literally every thought that was running through his head.
So the fact that he wasn't now was beyond concerning.
He had never seen Tucker so quiet.
So by that law, we’re even.”
Wash wasn’t even sure why he got one from Church.
“And in celebration of that, I’ll try my best to keep this short and skip all of the, thank you for being my friend bullshit.
Be honored I respect you enough and believe you are mature enough to handle me skipping all of that for you.”
But here he was, sitting in the main area of the living room because Tucker had locked the door to his room again and there was no talking to him when he was in that sort of mood. So instead, he settled on finally getting around to reading the message that Church had written for him; his own voice so similar and apparent in his ears.
“That way we can both focus on the important stuff.
I know you’re the only one who will.”
And Wash never would have guessed it, but his message from Church was lengthier than he ever imagined it to be; its duration stemming at around 5 minutes to be precise.
So whatever Church had to tell him-
It must’ve been important.
“If my guess is right, I’ve completely wrecked everyone on my team with my death.
Not that the Reds will care, they’re probably happy that the teams are even now.
Tucker will most likely do that stupid angry-sad shit that he does. Caboose will probably be doing that annoying cry-distance stuff that he does and Carolina will be stubbornly content on pretending she’s a brick wall with no emotion.
So yea, in shambles.”
And he wasn’t wrong, Wash noticed, shifting his position on the couch as he readjusted the HUD tablet assigned to him in his dominant hand; bringing a finger up to raise the brightness of the screen so that he could see the text better.
“I mean, of course, they are. They’ll all miss me horribly and regret every bad interaction we ever had as well as wish they were just a little more appreciative of my strength and charisma, and are probably all off emailing hopes and prayers to the Easter Bunny or something. (I wouldn’t know, I’m not Christian.)
Regardless, you are the only one who will do what needs to be done and move on.
Although, Carolina may come close, repressing your emotions so that no one will think you’re experiencing them is not the same thing as healthily passing through the stage of mourning and being able to put emotions to the side to focus on the big picture stuff.
Which leads me to what this message is all about-”
Washington read easily through the rest of the text, shutting the tablet off when he reached the end before tipping his head back over the backboard of the couch. A small smile on his face as he bit back an amused scoff.
Taking a deep breath a moment later, he rose from the couch, heading into the kitchen where that morning’s mess was still scattered. Little by little, he began picking up discarded napkins and paper towels, cleaning off counters covered in crud with them before finally sliding the dirty wipes into the garbage can near the sink.
While doing so, he let Church’s words ring in the back of his mind; recalling his speech quite accurately as he played it off like background music in his brain and continued working on getting the kitchen spotless in the process.
“The Care and Keeping of Blue Team.
By, Leonard Church.
Rule #1
Don’t let Caboose go uncared for.
You may already know this by now, but Caboose is a handful and there are very specific instructions when it comes to taking care of him.
No fire, no large bodies of water, no nail polish remover, no dangerous cleaners, no dish soap, no knives, no tide-pods, no laundry pods, no dish pods, no anything that is a cleaner-based pod and looks like candy.
He will eat them.”
Washington sprayed down the kitchen countertop with the half-empty bottle of bleach, wiping it down vigorously before he leaned down to the cabinet and meticulously, one by one took out every bottle of poison and inedible sponge and transferred them to the top of the fridge where they couldn’t be accessible.
“His room tools, and scraps, as well as Freckles, are ok.
But keep an eye on him.
It’s much easier to care for Caboose if you think of him as a baby.
He needs to be told when to go to bed because he loses track of time easily and he needs to be fed three times a day (any foods like spaghetti will need to be cut into smaller pieces. Not because he’ll choke, but because he’ll play with it and make a mess out of the kitchen and himself and hosing Caboose down in the yard, full armored, isn't the funniest activity.)"
Washington then washed off his hands; soap, and water, and moved down to one of the cupboards, opening it and taking out a pot as he sat it under the sink and flipped on the water, watching the pristine liquid pool down into the steel container below.
He let it fill up halfway and then quickly transferred the pot to the oven where he flicked the heat up to high, the flame just below it sparking to life, and he began heading towards the pantry where they stored the boxed pasta as he waited for the water to boil.
“But he also needs to be cared for.
Don’t ignore Caboose.
Let him hug you, even though it hurts because I know that shit fucking hurts.
And make sure he takes his ADHD medicine.”
Washington wandered back into the kitchen, placing the boxed food on the counter near his, almost boiling, water as he shifted towards the fridge, pulling out the can of sauce, and last of their cheese from its cold confinement before seating them both next to the craft pasta.
“He takes one pill in the morning and one before he goes to bed and the bottle is in the top left section of the bathroom cabinet behind the deodorant and I put it there specifically because Tucker is too short to reach that high and there's also no way in hell he’d put on deodorant so I highly doubt he’ll find it anyway.
Oh, and make sure you watch Caboose take it.
If you don’t, Tucker may go up to Caboose and ask for it because he knows that shit gets you high.
And because Caboose doesn’t want to take it, he’ll tell Tucker yes in a heartbeat.
And then you’ll have a bouncing off the walls Caboose and a bouncing off the walls Tucker.
Which, (and I can personally tell you based on experience) you can probably handle one of them acting like that. But not both.
Which leads me to my next point.
Rule #2
Don’t let Tucker get away with his shenanigans.
You’ve known Tucker for a while.
It's strange because I know you two have got some sort of thing between you and part of me wants to be jealous and part of me wants to be happy because I wasn’t always the best to Tucker and he wasn’t always the best to me.”
Washington finished pouring the pasta into the water, watching it cook for a few minutes as he set a timer for 8 minutes and began gathering bowls and plates and forks and whatnot; piling them near his pot until his timer eventually went off and he was reaching for oven mitts and tipping the pot into the sink to get all the water out, being careful not to let the noodles fly out with it.
“And, I don’t know.
Maybe you and Tucker work in a way I didn’t realize we could and that’s good.
I want him to be happy.
And I want you to be happy too.
What I don’t want you to be, is gullible.”
Wash finished making the spaghetti within minutes later, fixing three bowls and leaving two of them near the stove with a stray napkin over them so that they would keep their warmth for whenever Carolina and Caboose finally decided to come home.
Promptly after that, he reached for the third bowl, grabbing an extra napkin as well as a plastic fork as he began making his way out of the kitchen towards the dark cascading halls he knew led back where all the bedrooms were.
“Tucker will tease and pry and bat his fucking eyelashes or whatever and swear to you up and down on his mother’s grave that he didn’t do something or isn’t planning something.
But don’t believe him.
Because he hates his mother anyway.
Don’t let him slack off and don’t enable his lazy habits like I once did.
I’ve seen what he can do and I’ve seen what you’ve inspired him to do and I wish I would’ve taken the same route because God damn, whatever it was, it works.”
Washington made his way down the lonely hall, socked feet hitting softly against the wooden floor before he stopped in front of his bedroom door and sighed; long and heavy and determined.
“ And I’m sure you won’t fall too hard for him.
You’ve probably known him long enough to not ask who Jo is when he brings him up and you’ve probably walked in on him sleeping naked enough times to know to knock and I’m sure you’ve had to scream at him to stop drinking from the milk carton and to get a fucking cup because that shit is gross.”
He then raised his hand, the one not holding what could only be referred to as his semi-attempt at a peace offering and semi-attempt at trying to get Tucker to let him in because he was sick and tired of being locked out of his own room and sick and tired of seeing Tucker in such disarray, and let his fist fall to the door, a soft knock ringing in his ears.
“But I’ve also seen you in your weak moments, Washington.
And Tucker is a manipulative shit.”
“Tucker?” Washington called, sighing a bit and leaning his head against the wooden door with a small thud as he attempted to hear any sort of sound the other may put out.
“He will try to get you to go easy on drills or let him sleep in 5 more minutes or let him pick the song when you’re in the warthog (Which by the way, never do because his music is trash and outdated) And I’m sure throughout your time, wherever you are, he’ll drag you out on a million adventures.
And while I expect you to go to keep him happy, I also expect you to take care of him.”
“Can I please come in?” Washington desperately called a moment later when he heard no answer. “I’ve got food.” He then offered, in the hopes that it would work as some sort of persuasive element.
Unless he was asleep, then it was likely for nothing.
“It’s unlocked,” Tucker called drowsily through the door; his voice hoarse yet clear enough that Wash could make out what he was saying.
“If you hurt Tucker, I don’t care how dead I am, I will fucking kill you.”
Washington reached for the door handle, surprised when he found it open, even though Tucker had told him it was already, as he softly let it turn before pushing the door in with a swing as he walked in.
“Same goes for Caboose.
And Carolina.
Which speaking of her,
Rule #3
Don’t let Carolina be such a bitch.
Don’t tell her I called her that.
Because she will, by some grace of God, find it in her heart to revive me, and then she’ll beat the shit out of me all over again and kill me just for it. Which you can laugh at, but you know it’s true.”
Washington walked further in, the fact that the lights were off causing him to rely purely on remote memory to get to his bed until his eyes naturally adjusted to the darkness and he was properly able to make out a lump under his covers and the clutter-filed bedside table Tucker had been storing all his stuff.
He walked towards the small dresser, leaning forward and placing the bowl and other assortments of condiments on the top of it before he lightly sat down on the bed next to where Tucker was curled up.
“We both knew Carolina very well.
We knew her inside and out, the good and the bad.
And she’s been trying so hard to be good, but you know with the stunt I just pulled, it may not be so easy for her suddenly.
With me, and you guys a little, (although, I did most of the work), she has been lowering her walls a bit, learning to trust and become her own person without the dictatorship of the director.”
Wash let his hand softly reach for the other; careful, light touches placing a warm, reassuring palm against his back as he softly circled it in comforting motions, being extremely careful not to push Tucker into saying anything.
“But then I died and I imagine those walls went right back up.
She’s going to be snippy.
She’s going to tell you that she’s fine and not impacted in the least and that you need to leave her alone.
And she’s going to try and go out on missions and scavenger hunts and quest, upon commission, upon expedition because she feels as if she’s lost meaning and therefore has no purpose.
And she thinks being a soldier gives her one.
But it doesn’t.
It never has and it never well.
And by the end of the day, all she will feel is empty.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Tucker grumbled under the warm bed sheets that Washington had specifically requested from Kimball because he knew Tucker would like the fuzzy feeling of them.
Which only further prompted Wash to wonder just how he didn’t suffocate or overheat under the damn thing.
“On the bright side, after she realizes that, she’ll most likely come home.
That’s where you step in.
Show her that her purpose is her family.”
“Do what?” Washington questioned when he felt Tucker shift underneath him and he carefully drew his hand back, giving him enough space to emerge from his blanket cacoon as he looked up at him with dull, tired eyes.
“Stay,” Tucker further prompted, shrugging off the blanket as he kicked his legs over the bed to hit the floor and Wash scooted over once again so that they could now sit side by side on his mattress.
“You don’t have to stay.” Tucker further explained, looking away from Wash as he instead locked eyes on the bowl of the one thing Wash could properly cook lingering on the dresser, steam still softly rising off the contents.
“But don’t let her push them around or be mean to them. She’ll think that she’s in charge and that’s fine, you can let her believe that, but don’t you believe that for a second.
You’re in charge.
Don’t let my sister convince you otherwise.
But don’t be too pushy about it either because she will kick your ass.”
“But do you want me to?” Washington asked him.
Tucker glanced up over to him and gave him a small nod.
“Then I will.”
“Which leads me to one last thing and then I swear to God, I’ll shut up forever.
Rule #4
Take care of my family because they’re your family now.
I know this is a lot.
I know they’re a lot.
But you need to tolerate them.
And you need to keep them safe.
And you can never, ever, abandon them.
Don’t even think about it.
Don’t fathom the thought for one fucking second because I did.
I did it so many times and I’m so God damn lucky they don’t hate me for it.
Because although I made these rules, I wasn’t the best at following them.
And I broke every, single, one.
And I regret it every day.
So from now on, you need to be there.
Every morning, you need to be there.
Every night, you need to be there.
Every summer afternoon, every tantrum, every family meeting, every scout mission, every Christmas morning, every warthog ride-
Every mid-day coloring activity with Caboose,
Every early morning coffee break with Carolina,
And, especially, every late-night talk on the base rooftop with Tucker-
You have to be there.
You have to be there because I can’t.
And they might not need me.
But they need you.
And one day,
If not already,
You’ll find that you need them back.