"Hey, uh. Church. Can I ask you something?"
Church drags his cognitive processes back online with an effort. He doesn't need to sleep, not exactly, but look, it helps to just check out sometimes. Reboot. Stop thinking. Being conscious is overrated anyway.
Tucker's voice is hushed, so Church doesn't bother with the whole ghostly-AI-apparition thing. He's living in the dude's disgusting armor, it's not exactly hard to hack into his comms. "Yeah, what?"
Tucker shifts his weight uneasily, probably because it's fucking uncomfortable to sleep in armor while also, y'know, being on the hunt for the war-criminal Director of Project Freelancer under the leadership of a couple of pissed-off supersoldiers who probably think you're expendable. Frankly, Church is kinda surprised he isn't spending the night whimpering in a corner like Simmons.
"So, this is kinda messed up, right?"
Church sighs. Communicates the idea of a sigh. Manufactures one. "That what you wanted to ask me? Because I got better things to do than listen to you state the obvious all night."
"No, dude, I just." Tucker rolls over a bit to make sure that Carolina, keeping watch at the edge of their makeshift camp, isn't listening in. He hesitates for a moment, then says, "You're not really Church, are you?"
Okay. Right. This talk. The Caboose version comes up fairly often but only takes about five seconds of explanation each time. This is gonna be a little more intense. "Technically," he says, "the Church you knew wasn't the real Church either."
"Yeah, I get that," Tucker says.
"Bullshit."
Tucker starts to protest, then hunches in on himself, picking absently at a scrape in his armor. "Fuck. No, I really don't. What the hell is going on? It's messed up, I feel like I should be grieving or some shit, but you just keep dying and coming back. How many people are you, anyway?"
Church tries to communicate a nonchalant shrug via audio alone. "I'm his memories."
"Yeah, but you're not him."
"I mean, the Alpha wasn't him either."
"Oh my god, shut up with the sci-fi bullshit," Tucker groans. "I don't get this whole memory thing. You've got all his memories, you talk like him, you piss everybody off like him. But you're not him."
"No," Church says. "I'm not. The memories I've got are… a little messed up. Missing pieces. I got an info dump when the Alpha was nearby, and then I got another dump from friggin' Caboose, so it's taking a while to sort it all out."
Tucker rolls onto his back to face the stars. "Yeah, but you've got your own memories too. Whatever the fuck happened between you and Wash. What's happening now. Our Church never had that. It's like a fucking, what do you call it. With the circles. The circles overlapping and the bit in between."
"Oh yeah, I know that, hang on. Venn diagram! Hah."
Tucker brings a hand up, rubs it against his faceplate. "God. I fucking hate you. I fucking hate me for going along with this bullshit. I fucking hate everything about this." Church thinks maybe he sounds more tired than pissed.
"Look, I know this is all messed up."
"I mean, you know me—"
"Better than I'd like," Church cuts in. "Look man, some of those videos were seriously disgusting."
"—but I don't know what to do with this. Any of this. You're acting like you know me, and I don't know what to do."
Church shrugs. "Not my problem."
There's silence for a long moment. Tucker laughs. "You're an ass."
"Well, yeah," Church says. "Nice of you to notice. That Venn Diagram's probably a circle."
"Definitely," Tucker says.
"So we're good?"
A moment's hesitation. "Yeah, Church, we're good."
And as Church lets his brain slip back into its unconscious processing, as artificial synapses flare up again, making connections and separating true memory from fabrication, he thinks, Bullshit.
