A/N: Originally published October 2013. Set in the Blood Gulch Chronicles era.

Three unlucky members of Red Team stared at the crackling flames engulfing what had once been their base. The pop of sparks, the low roar of the flames, and the wafting of smoke formed the soundtrack for this dismal sight, punctuated by the occasional explosion or whoosh of eager fire. Sometimes, they could hear Sarge's distant shouts or Lopez's Spanish grumblings; Simmons resolved not to worry unless the shouting stopped.

No one else seemed predisposed to worry, however. "Are you sure we can't rescue the brownie mix, or the frosting?" Donut asked, dismayed. "Or at least the curtains?"

Grif would have scratched his head if his helmet wasn't in the way. "How the hell did a kitchen fire turn into this?"

"Grif," said Simmons, slow and deliberate, "I fucking hate you. Furthermore, if the Blues don't kill us first, then I am going to strangle you in your sleep."

"Get in line," muttered Grif. "Besides - it wasn't even my fault! In fact, it was yours!"

"Oh, really," Simmons deadpanned. "How do you figure?"

"You told me to make dinner when you know full well I can't cook. Why the hell didn't you ask Donut?"

"That doesn't mean it wasn't you who started the fire!"

"My brief presence in the kitchen does not make the fire my fault," Grif insisted.

"You're an imbecile."

"I thought I was officially designated a moron?"

The smoke had attracted a curious onlooker. Tucker approached slowly, taking in the scene and trying to connect the sight to a possible cause. "I would guess that Tex is back, and also a pyromaniac," he commented, "but you aren't running around screaming, and Church hasn't had a rage aneurysm. So, that leaves... you guys burned down your own base?"

"No," Grif said immediately. "It burned itself down, all on its own." He paused. "Wait, that sounded sarcastic. The important thing is, it wasn't my fault."

Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Wow, I'm impressed. I thought our team had to be the most inept, but at least Caboose has managed not to burn the base down. Wait." He glanced over his shoulder. "Okay, good, he hasn't decided to follow your example or anything like that."

"Shut your mouth," snapped Simmons. "May I remind you that there are three of us, all armed, and only one of you?" He gestured with his gun in Tucker's direction, for emphasis.

"Sure," said Tucker. "May I remind you that the one of me has a base to retreat to?"

"Fuck off."

"Well, that's not very nice," interjected Donut.

"Maybe you haven't noticed," said Simmons, "but our base is currently engulfed in flames, all because Grif is a fuckwit who should never be let near a stove again, and no one here follows fire safety protocols! So I'm not exactly in a nice mood right now."

"Does that mean you won't ask me to cook ever again?" Grif asked. "I still don't know why you didn't ask Donut instead this time. That was obviously a mistake: look where we are now."

"I am not letting you pin the blame on me!"

"Well, it certainly isn't my fault. Maybe it's Donut's?"

A gunshot interrupted the conversation, fired in Tucker's general direction. "Don't be ridiculous," growled Sarge, who had come to investigate the distinctly unproductive sounds of bickering. "This is almost certainly the diabolical work of some Blues! Like that one!" He fired off another shot at Tucker; given that he was using his customary shotgun, the shot went wide.

"Uh, sir," said Simmons, "I actually am fairly certain that it was Grif who started the fire, and not any of the Blues."

"Well of course it was!" barked Sarge. "The Blues knew that they could always rely on Grif to start an accidental fire or two, so they used him as a pawn in their plan! Absolutely diabolical!"

"I always go back to being used," Grif lamented.

"Oh, shut up," muttered Simmons.

"Tucker!" A shout from a quickly approaching figure. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, hey Church. According to the Reds, we've masterminded a diabolical plan to induce Grif to burn down Red base."

"So you admit to your crimes!" shouted Sarge.

Church came to a stop next to Tucker. "Well, it appears to be... working," he said, eying the burning base. He furrowed his brow, and quickly came to a conclusion: "That can't be right."

"It isn't," said Simmons. "Grif tried to cook, and-"

"Say no more," Church said. "Any time Caboose tries to cook, there are explosions."

"Yeah," Tucker sniggered, "but somehow even Caboose has managed not to burn the place down."

"Hey!"

"Don't jinx it," snapped Church, shooting his teammate a glare. "Besides, that's only because of our daily inspections for anything remotely flammable."

"Your team follows fire safety protocol?" cried Simmons.

"Bitch, those protocols weren't safe enough for us," Tucker said. "We wrote our own."

"They're called Caboose Safety Protocols," added Church.

Simmons made a strangled noise in his throat. He didn't know if he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, scream at the heavens, or tear something - or someone - to pieces. "Grif is an idiot, but he's not colossally stupid."

"Wow! I'm flattered!"

"If we followed fire safety protocols - you know, like I suggested," he growled, "we'd still have a base!"

"Hold on," said Tucker. "Does that mean we win?"

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"You guys don't have a base anymore," he said slowly. "We do. That... that's gotta mean we win." He grinned. "Q.E.D., bitches!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Blutard!" snapped Sarge. "We still have a base! It may happen to be on fire - but you have not taken it from us! It is still in our possession!"

"It's uninhabitable," Tucker argued. "You can't claim it's yours if you would die when you walked in. Which you would."

"Would not!"

Simmons glanced at the roaring flames. "Would," he muttered. The only exception might be Lopez, and even he might not fare well in the flames for an extended period of time.

"Don't fires always burn out, eventually?" asked Donut. "The base will still be ours when the fire goes out."

"That's the spirit!"

"It'll only burn out if it runs out of material to burn," said Simmons, "and given that some people refuse to adhere to fire safety protocol, that won't happen any time soon."

"Would you stop harping on about the safety thing?" complained Grif. "It's getting on my nerves."

"Maybe if you hadn't lit the base on fire, I wouldn't need to 'harp on' about the fucking safety protocols!"

"Not my fault!"

Two gunshots interrupted the rapidly deteriorating argument - one fired at Grif, another vaguely at the Blues. "The point is," said Sarge, "it won't burn forever, and when it's done burning it'll be ours! Unless you want to go claim it right now?"

Neither of the two present Blues moved.

"That's what I thought."

Grif yawned. "Well, that's great and all, but does anyone know where I could sleep now? My room's a bit too hot at the moment."

"Just sleep on the ground," Simmons groused. "Fuck knows you'd do it anyways, on grounds of - and I quote - 'it would take too much effort to walk all the way back to bed.'"

"I'm being quoted now, huh? Does that mean I'm famous?"

"You can sleep when you're dead, private! If you would like to take me up on that offer, I will oblige! All you have to do is lie down right there, and not move away when I get close enough to shoot you in the face!"

"Well, I can see you've thought this out very thoroughly, but I'm gonna have to say no. I do have to thank you, though: that sounds like one of the laziest deaths possible! You truly put time into proposing a death you knew I would find appealing, and I really appreciate it. Thanks, Sarge!"

Sarge stared at the ground for a silent, furious moment. "Never mind," he grunted.

"Well, I don't want to sleep on the ground," said Donut. "Simmons, do you think it'll be done burning by our regularly scheduled bedtimes?"

"I don't know," Simmons snapped. "You tell me: how many curtains did you insist on installing, despite their posing a safety hazard?"

"It's really bright here, Simmons! The harsh, glaring light wasn't creating a good atmosphere!"

"Yeah, and the roaring fire is such a wonderful atmosphere."

"Why are we even here?" wondered Tucker. "I mean, clearly, even if the Reds controlled the whole canyon, they'd just end up setting it on fire."

Grif sighed. "He's probably right."

"We could leave, right now, and they'd have our base scorched within a month."

"A week," Church added, "if we left Caboose with them."

"You guys offering?" asked Grif. "Because I have a deep desire for a bed that isn't on fire."

Simmons sneered. "Oh, really? You would prefer a base that isn't on fire? That's funny, because I could have sworn-"

"Dial the sarcasm down a notch, Simmons."

He sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Seriously, though," said Tucker. "Could we leave?"

Church rolled his eyes. "Leave the stench of smoke? Yes. Leave the canyon? Not unless Blue Command approved, which they wouldn't."

"Aw, you're not even going to ask?"

"No, on account of I'm not a moron, and I have no interest in wasting everyone's time. Especially my own."

"Right, because standing here bickering is an excellent use of time."

"Tucker, if we didn't bicker, we would've died by now. Out of sheer boredom. Whereas talking with Command is the definition of boring and useless."

"As fascinating as this conversation is," Grif cut in, "I'd really like to go take a nap."

Tucker turned. "Your puma-thing isn't on fire. Why don't you go sleep in that?"

"Oh, that's a good idea!"

"Absolutely not!" barked Sarge, punctuated by a gunshot. "Lopez is storing anything not on fire in there!" He paused. "And it's not a puma!"

"But where shall I sleep?"

"Doc's cave?" Simmons suggested.

"Ew, no."

"Hey, I've got an idea!" said Tucker. "How about we take Grif captive and he sleeps as a prisoner at our base?"

Grif brightened. "That's the best idea I've heard all day!"

"That does sound fun," Donut remarked. "Can I be taken captive too?"

Sarge glared. "I forbid it!"

Grif gave Sarge a sideways, meandering glance. "Oh, no," he said, as he loosened his grip on his gun, "what's this? The Blues are inducing me to fumble and drop my gun!" Said gun clattered to the ground. "And my ammo! Oh no, I'm defenseless!" He stepped sideways, towards the Blues. "They're manipulating me towards them, and towards their base! It's..." he yawned, "diabolical!"

"You forgot your grenades," Simmons said, bored.

"Oh yeah!" Quickly, he pulled out his grenades and tossed them to the ground, where they began slowly rolling away. "Now I'm helpless."

"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Church.

"I am now your prisoner," Grif announced. "It only makes sense that you would take me back to your base, and specifically to your bed, to interrogate me."

This statement was met with silence, save for two minor explosions: Grif's grenades had rolled into the base, where they were set alight. The various soldiers of Blood Gulch considered Grif's statement.

Church opened his mouth.

"Don't say it," Tucker warned.

Church glared. "How the hell can you tell if I'm about to say something? I'm wearing a helmet!"

"A man can tell. It's not just your mouth; it's your posture."

"I'm wearing full body armor!"

"Whatever," said Grif. "Just take me back to your bed already."

"That can't have been an accident," said Tucker. He hesitated, considering, then shrugged - "Bow chicka wow wow!"

"Jesus, Grif," Simmons said. "Who are you now, Donut?"

"Well, you don't want Tucker's bed," said Church. "I've seen it, and it's positively filthy."

Simmons snorted. "Sounds great for Grif. It'll be just like home."

Donut finally spoke up. "And I'll sleep with Caboose," he announced cheerfully. He had, during most of the preceding arguments, divested himself of his weapons and ammo.

"Please don't say that combination of words ever again," said Church.

"Taking Grif captive I could tolerate," said Sarge. "More than tolerate! But Grif and Donut - that I can't allow!" He raised his shotgun. "If Grif and Donut are captives, it only follows that the remaining members of Red Team rescue them!"

Grif sighed. "Sarge, can't you just let things lie? Specifically, let me lie? In Tucker's bed?"

"Bow chicka wow wow!"

Donut grinned. "Don't worry, Grif! I've got this." To Sarge, he stage-whispered behind his hand, "This is a valuable opportunity to gain intel on the Blues!"

Sarge stage-whispered also. "Like spying?"

"Yep!"

Sarge paused to think about this.

Simmons considered the sleeping arrangements in his future if their base didn't stop burning soon, and grimaced. "Sir," he said, "any... spying endeavors would be benefited by an observant team member. Like myself."

"Whisper, Simmons! Or the Blues might hear! Now," he stage-whispered, "I will agree, but you'd better get me some good info!" In a slightly louder tone of voice, he said, "Alright, Blues! You may have captured Grif, Donut, and Simmons, but the Reds will prevail another day!" He scooped the dropped weapons and ammo of the ground; silently, daring anyone to say a word, Simmons handed him his gun. Without another word, Sarge marched away, towards the far side of Red Base.

"What the hell just happened?" Tucker muttered.

Grif smirked. "That's kinda funny, Simmons. It's almost as if you didn't want to join Sarge in sleeping standing up tonight!"

"And? So what if I don't?"

"Nothin'. Just, you know..."

Church straightened up. "Both of you shut up. Simmons, let me make something clear. The only bed left in our base? Is mine. And there is no chance in hell that I'm sharing a bed with you, so you get the couch."

"Understood."

"Great. Glad we made that clear. Now let's go back to a base that isn't on fire."

The five trudged back across the small canyon to Blue base. Every so often, Tucker would turn around to check if this had all been some elaborate ploy and Sarge was going to come roaring back in the Chupathingy. No such thing occurred; in fact, there was no visible movement from Red base, aside from the fires. The others, especially Grif and Simmons, bickered as they walked, as per usual. As they approached Blue base, Tucker glanced back one more time, eyebrows furrowed. He saw nothing, but he sensed something strange, something that made his hair stand on end. And the smell -

He stopped. "Church, I thought we were leaving the smell of smoke."

"What?" Then Church smelled it too. "Oh, fuck me."

The ground shook from the force of several not-insignificant explosions. Church caught a glimpse of tongues of flame inside the base - inside his base.

"Son of a bitch!"

"You jinxed it!"