Disclaimer; I don't own Red vs. Blue.
Written by request for Iron-Mantis. Written in a very lazy manner because I'm tired and want to go back to sleep. Sorry it's late, and that it's so bad.
Summary; Church is cooking. That never bodes well.

Cooking

In those small hours between one and two in the afternoon when I stumble out of bed and into my armor for breakfast, I discover Church in the cafeteria kitchen. Cooking.

*Blink*

Do a quick double take. Nope, still cooking. And is that humming I hear through my headphones? Zeppelin from the sound of it, although how Church could possibly think desecrating the holy shrine that is Zeppelin's music is cool is beyond me. Walk to freezer. Pullout popsicle and French fries. Toss fries on counter; unwrap chocolate treat. Lift visor. Insert frozen treat. Suck.

"Bow-chicka-bow-wow," I mutter under my breath, removing the popsicle. Avoid gaze of Evil Dick as it turns to stare.

"What the hell-" he starts, then shakes his head. "Ya know what, don't tell me. I don't wanna know."

Torture opportunity acquired. Aiming main cannon. "I was just talking to Tex about why she dumped you," I lie. Preparing to fire main cannon. "Apparently she was looking for a bigger man. Bow-chicka-bow-wow." Resist urge to speak further. Wait for reaction. Nothing.

What the hell?

Double-check that Dicktator is still alive. Vitals appear normal. Still cooking, bacon and sausage links and French toast and pancakes and scrambled eggs and fried potatoes. "Uh, Church?" I ask. "You okay?"

Pause. "Hm?" Church seems distracted. "Sorry, I was just remembering how bad your mother was last night."

"Too bad you couldn't even live up to her standards." Avoid phrase. Wait for explosion. In three, two, one--

"Caboose! Lunch's ready!"

*Blink*

Scan area for hidden camera. Cafeteria appears bug-free. Food appears edible and free of poison. Food also smells delicious. Ah, fuck it. Tex probably gave him a concussion. Must thank her later. Maybe.

Enter Caboose from flag room. Smile behind visor. Grab plate and sit. Do not ask questions, Caboose. Sit. Eat. Maybe Tex'll give you a concussion next.

Grab fork. Grab Sausage. Insert into mouth. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.

Glance at Church, who is Watching. Not watching, like when we spy on the Reds, but Watching, like when he's waiting to see someone screw up or for one of his sick April Fools' Day pranks to be sprung. Enter Evil Smirk/Chuckle combo.

Suddenly I'm no longer hungry. In fact, I think I'm going to go throw up. Caboose is blissfully unaware. He cannot see the Smirk and shovel food in his mouth. I want to warn him, but maybe he'll eat too much and Command'll send us a new rookie. An intelligent one.

Somehow that seems unlikely.

"What's wrong, Tucker?" Evil Mastermind is speaking. Close visor, turn to Church. "Aren't you hungry?"

No. Not at all. Take your food and shove it up your ass. "Dude, I don't know where your hands have been!" I say instead. I can feel the evil glare even after I turn to stare at my food.

"Really? You didn't seem to mind a second ago." Do not look in eye. Do not pass Sarcasm. Do not collect minor Burn 3.0. My stomach feels funny.

"Church, this food makes my tummy feel weird," Caboose says, and I groan. Stupid rookie. I don't want to know what Church did to our food. For all I know it's made with arsenic and baby blood. Pretty good, though.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine, Caboose," Church says. Cheerful. "I mean, I'm not abandoning you at Christmas. I just laced your food with Ex-Lax and Milk of Magnesia."

*Blink.*

Oh, crap.

Zeppelin; You know, LED Zeppelin? The band from the sixties and seventies? Robert Plant? Good God, people, Google 'em!

Ex'Lax and Milk of Magnesia; Two very potent laxatives. I bet Tucker really regrets ditching Church now.

Arsenic and Baby blood; That's my daily diet, don'cha know.