Ever wondered why Church is as bitter as he is now? It's not all about Tex... ( and yes, I know my title is different from the lyrics in the song.)

Church and Cappy © Rooster Teeth (( .com )).
"Dreams" © Fleetwood Mac.

It hardly ever rained in Blood Gulch. It doesn't fucking rain in a desert- everyone knows that. But Pvt. Leonard Church wasn't one to complain about it that day. He sat on the roof of the blue base, sniper rifle laid reverently across his lap, and with a blank expression, watched the Pelican expel a load of medics who trundled into the building.

What he walked in on that morning was something that made him ache more than ever for a bottle of something hard and nasty. His eyes followed the medics as they toted someone out in a lightweight quarantine container, and he realized he wanted to cry. He also realized that the cliché of "too numb to cry" wasn't really a cliché after all. There was nothing for it now. Not even an explanation. Nothing for it except to remember.

Now, here you go again-
You say you want your freedom.
Well, who am I to keep you down?
It's only right that you should play the way you feel it,
But listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness-
Like a heartbeat drives you mad,
In the stillness of remembering what you had...
And what you lost...
What you had...
And what you lost.

Church cussed to himself. He couldn't fucking sleep. That goddamn music... it'd be better if it was metal or nothing at all, but... Jesus Christ, he couldn't stand it. The captain was some hippie type, so maybe he wouldn't get pissy if Church asked him to turn it down.

Knock, knock.

"Come in!" came a cheerful voice. Church pushed open the door to find the captain sitting cross-legged on his bed in boxers, a guitar across his lap, auburn mullet mussed into a classic bedhead style. Church considered turning around and walking right back out, but thought better of it. "Ah, good morning, Leonard! What a pleasant surprise! C'mon in, pop a squat! I'll serenade you awhile." Church remained standing. "Unless you wanna talk about something?"

"I've got nothing to talk about, sir," muttered Church. "Just that music-"

"You like it?" interjected the captain cheerfully. "It's called Fleetwood Mac! Old, old stuff from the 20th century! Good for the soul."

"That's great, sir, but..."

"Oh, stop with the sir! Cap, or Cappy! Or... or Butch! But you can only call me Butch because I reeeally like you." He beamed.

"Cap... sir..."

"I'll turn it down, if you want. Not everyone likes the golden oldies, I know. Sure you have nothing to say? The quiet ones always have the best stories, you know," the captain prodded gently. "Or you can just sit in my chair while I play some calming ballads to get you to sleep!"

"I'm fine, sir. Cap."

"C'mon, stay awhile! Cleanse your soul!" chuckled Cap.

"I'm really fine, sir." Church turned to leave the room, slightly annoyed.

"That's an order, private," Cap murmured, gesturing to the chair. Church sighed and slumped into the chair, defeated.

It was the first time he'd really talked to anyone about anything. Goddamn, talking felt good for once.

***

"I don't see why you boys go through so much trouble to smuggle in something so nasty," Cap scolded, picking the vodka bottle right out of Church's hand.

"I don' see why you give a flyin' fuck, sssir," slurred Church angrily, attempting to reach for it. "You get weed."

"Now, now. I have that for medical purposes. The government knows I have problems and would rather I buy my own glue than have to spend their money to replace broken Cap parts. Nobody minds if I take a little extra at bedtime, now, do they?" Cap smiled serenely and sniffed at the bottle as Church scowled and grumbled to himself. "This smells awful. If you haven't already lost her, this will send her right packing. You know that, don't you?"

Church stared up blankly. "I don' care 'bout her no more," he mumbled. "Ain' worth it."

Cap took a small sip and made a face. "Of course you care. You wouldn't be locked up in a storage unit with a bottle this empty if you didn't. But there are better ways to move on than this stuff. All it ever did for me was lose my family."

"Yeah, like pot did you any more good," snorted Church derisively.

"Hey, it doesn't ruin my liver anymore," chuckled Cap. "But I'll overlook this little transgression just because you're a good kid. And if you share with me."

Church stared at him. "Cap, y'just-"

"You heard me. It's been a long time. And I've never had a drinking buddy before." He smiled and took a healthy gulp before handing the bottle back to Church.

And then it was discovered that there was life after Texas.

Now, here I go again-
I see the crystal visions.
I keep my visions to myself.
It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and...
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Dreams of loneliness-
Like a heartbeat drives you mad,
In the stillness of remembering what you had...
And what you lost...
What you had...
And what you lost.

"It never rains out here! This must be a reward for good behavior. Isn't it wonderful?" Cap beamed over his shoulder as he hiked up the side of the cliff, his favorite private in tow.

"Fan-fucking-tastic, sir," Church grumbled, dripping miserably into his armor. He would be wearing his helmet, but Cap declared a bare-headed patrol on account of the rain. Patrols were useless out here- the Reds never did a goddamn thing worth their attention. But they were good exercise for Cap's gimp muscle. The one he always joked about. The one they were always careful with together.

"Something on your mind, buddy? inquired Cap kindly, sitting himself down on a rock and stretching out his leg.

"Nothing at all, sir." But there was. At least this was the right kind of weather for that kind of letter... the letter still in a pocket of his liner suit. He could even feel the words burning out of it into his skin.

"I swear on my grandmama's grave, if I've insisted on Butch once, I've insisted a million times!" fussed Cap, shaking his armored finger at Church. "But really. Tell your captain what's wrong. I'm pretty sure you've discovered by now that I have the power to listen!"

Church leaned against the wall and stared at the ground with a sigh. "She finally wrote to me. After two years, she officially ditched me. She... she's a freelancer somewhere now, after her dad. And she thinks we'll never see each other again, so I'm not worth the trouble to wait around for." Church's voice broke over the last few words, but he refused to cry. Crying was for chicks.

"Well, good for her! At least she's useful for something, right?"

"You don't fucking get it! We were supposed to be eng... goddammit, Cap. You don't get it," Church finished quietly, breathing deeply to prevent himself from flying off the handle. Being around Cap had taught him the remarkable ability to control his temper. Even that stupid big-city rookie they got the month before had noticed a difference in his behavior. He didn't care at the moment, however. He scowled at the mud and weeds on the ground, hoping he wouldn't have to talk any more. And taken by surprise, aquamarine plating jumping into his line of sight, armor clanked together with the intent of a sympathetic hug. He didn't say a word, but he accepted it gratefully. Cap murmured comfortingly into his ear.

"It's all right, Leonard. These things happen. And everything happens for a reason. As stupid as I know you think that sounds, it's true. I like to think every terrible thing you've been through in your life brought you a step closer to me, and I'm thankful for that! That's a start, isn't it?"

Church sighed and pushed him away. "No. It's not. You're nice and all, but Allison... it's Allie, okay? This, you, it's just... it's just we're bored in the army, I don't want anything more out of that. Not with you. It's Allie." He waved his hands helplessly, unable to find a better way to explain the gash he felt inside.

Cap nodded and stepped back with a sad sort of smile. "The Vegas approach. I understand completely. If you want this to stop, just let me know."

"I do now, sir," Church muttered, voice cracking.

"You got it. C'mon, there are fruit bars from our latest drop!"

And Church followed, empty.

He learned that rain meant to understand.

***

"I don't know where you learned that," gasped Butch, curled on his side as if wounded, "but if you give me a name, I'll send them flowers and a thank you card!"

"You don't wanna know where I learned that," Church whispered hotly, almost angrily. He still had aggression to vent.

"Well, teach me someday! It's amazing."

"Shut up and catch your breath," snarled Church. "I'm not finished yet." He sunk his teeth into Butch's shoulder and clamped, eliciting a husky sob. For another hour he burned down his lust-laced rage, contenting himself with wounding and controlling. Church had spent a lot of time raging inside after the letter, after piecing together what had really happened at his previous post in Sidewinder- why he'd been sent here to the Gulch. When he'd realized it, when everything fell into place, his anger was a raw, bloody red. Not even Butch had been able to contain him, at first.

Eventually, though, wounded and needy, Church had extended forgiveness for Butch's previous trespass on his affections, and Butch readily accepted it. The results of this truce were sometimes scary. As much of the captain's hippie tendencies had rubbed off on Church in the past year, nothing quelled his anger like the consensual oppression he exhibited in this room. Nothing made him feel better than hearing the whining, crying and pleading he could cause in here. And nothing fueled his fire more than seeing the scars, scabs, welts and bruises of his territory marks.

In his mind, he could show Allison exactly what to expect if she ever found her way back into his bed. It pleased him to know the bitch wouldn't like it, the way this one did. He was glad to know he could wrap someone around his little finger the way she had him around hers. The difference was that he could keep his ornament loyal. Church explored the fine line between trusted control and alienation every chance they got, and Butch would always push the boundaries to make room for his exploration.

That night was no exception, and the deep hours found him licking blood from the wounds he'd caused with teeth and nails. Roughly, so he could get a whimper from every lick and a cry out of every thrust.

Butch thrashed his head back and forth, trembling, after his third sobbing orgasm. "Gotta... stop... a minute..." he gasped.

Church rolled off of him and rubbed down his own face to get the red tint out of the corners of his vision. "We're done."

"Don't... have... to stop..." Butch whined brokenly, reaching out and gripping Church's arm with a shaking hand.

"Seriously. If we do any more, you'll spaz out and die. And I'm fucking tired." Church did not move to respond to Butch's hand. The older man crawled across the space of the bed and curled up against him, his hand shivering its way up to Church's chest and resting there. He remained silent, or rather, as silent as he could be between catching his ragged breath and the echo of his overworked heartbeat. After a few minutes, he was able to control his voice and whisper.

"Are you still awake?"

No response.

"Good. Because I love you dearly, and I really wouldn't know how to tell you if you were." He turned over, his back to Church, and attempted to sleep.

After a few minutes, Church stirred. "I might love you. I haven't thought about it."

Butch turned and held him tightly, but nothing else was said that night.

Thunder only happens when it's raining,
And players only love you when they're playing.
Say, women... they will come and they will go.
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know.

"What?" Cap's voice was small and incredulous.

"You heard me," was Church's stony reply.

"What do you mean it isn't worth it?" Cap stood up from his perch on the bed and placed his hands on Church's shoulders. "It's worth everything! Don't you see how much you've grown, how much you've opened? How beautiful this is, what we have? How beautiful you are?"

Church shrugged the man's hands off. "That's the point. It's not gonna be there when one of us gets shipped somewhere else. Or home. Just like you said when it was raining, no matter what we do, how we feel... it's a Vegas situation. If you left tomorrow, you wouldn't remember me in five months."

Cap covered his mouth with his hands, looking horrified. "How can you say that?" he cried. "I would never forget you! I would fight my transplant every step of the way, or make them bring you with me."

"And what about me?" Church asked quietly. "If they shipped me out tomorrow, there'd be nothing I could do. And I probably wouldn't know your name in a year. We'll forget each other by the time we get home. You'll make a new family." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, clenching his jaw. "I'll keep running after Tex. We've got nothing outside this canyon, Cap. We need to deal with that accordingly."

The first time he'd ever seen tears come from Cap's eyes was the first night he'd forced the man down and taken him. They weren't tears like this- those were surprised, happy, wanton, submissive. These were like acid. Every one he saw falling down Cap's face dropped into his brain and burned a hole through his being. But this was the way it had to be. Two rookies had been shipped in and out without prior notice on Blue base, and the third one was such a goddamn airheaded teenager that Church didn't expect to see him the next week. Church was afraid. He'd be taken away, and it would be Allison all over again. Except it would hurt a hell of a lot more, because the love here was returned. It had to stop before it could kill him.

Cap sobbed into his hands for a moment before sucking in his breath and trying for words. "Y-you would defin-nitely make some t-team a very g-good captain," he stuttered wetly. "Y-you're realistic-c, and org-ganized, and-"

"Stop," Church muttered. "We don't need this."

"And you c-can cauterize wounds like n-nobody's business," Cap finished miserably.

Church stared at the floor, his arms still crossed. "Just stop. If you need to hug me until you can stop crying, then do it. But you can't let the rookie see you like this. Everything, and even this, can't leave this room. Ever. Our positions will be compromised if it does. Do you understand, sir?"

Cap gulped and brought his sobs to a minimum, coming forward and clinging to Church with shaking arms. Church, as he always had when he was spent, made no move to respond. "I'm always going t-to love you," Cap whispered when he could compose himself. "You're m-my pride and j-joy."

Church left the room feeling sicker than he'd ever felt as a drunk. Hours later, that goddamn song was playing all night long, and he couldn't fucking sleep.

Thunder only happens when it's raining,
And players only love you when they're playing.
Say, women... they will come and they will go.
When the rain washes you clean, you'll know.

And now he had no chance to go back and say he'd changed his mind. Now he couldn't fucking change his mind. He'd gone in this morning to apologize and ask Butch to forgive his goddamn irrational logic. He'd found him on the floor. The first thing he looked for was a note... the second thing he looked for was any sign of suicide. There was nothing. It was probably some sort of heart attack, or maybe a medication OD.

He shouldn't have made that goddamn stupid decision last night... if he hadn't, they could have woken up together and skipped out of duty. They could have hiked in the rain. They could have broken into their waning stash of smuggled brew and lamented the loss of their women. They could have talked about what they would do once they were released from service. They could have picked out a goddamn house. They could have done ANYTHING.

Or at the worst... if Church woke up alone... at least he wouldn't feel like this. At least he would still be able to believe he wasn't alone. He'd pull some hippie coping shit and pretend Cap was still haunting the base to keep an eye on him or something. Anything. But when you pushed someone away that hard, they stayed away. It was the stupidest emotional dance ever invented: you push yourself up to the people who need space, you pull away from the people who want you closer.

Of all the lessons he'd learned in the year he'd been out here, the only one he could think of was that you can never win. You can't be happy with someone else in your life. It had to be you. He swore he'd never give a goddamn hug again if it killed him... or if it would kill him, maybe he would. The raw chasm inside him laughed at the weak joke, and for the first time in two decades, Church let out his breath, closed his eyes... and cried.

You'll know.