In memory of Church.
Caboose hadn't spoken in a while. No one could blame him.
Tucker expected it to be like the aftermath of Chorus, but it wasn't. This was way worse.
At Chorus, there were distractions. Citizens that survived crowding round, thanking their "war heros". Victory party after victory party after victory party. Nights of dreamless sleep, because it's the only thing their tired brains could manage.
Here was quiet. Simmons and Grif chatting lowly. There was nothing to distract them. Anything that there as to talk about had already been talked about, letting them only think. Think about the hope that had been dangled in front of them, a carrot on a stick. And the pigs had followed greedily.
Think about their friend.
It was supposed to hurt less, this time. Church had died three times already. Why did it feel like he was ripped from them, like he was gone, gone, gone, gone? Tucker didn't know exactly how to feel. He didn't know how he felt.
Betrayed, obviously. But not just by the Blues and Reds. By Church himself, as well.
Tucker seethed at himself. How could he just blatantly blame a dead man for dying? How could he blame a dead man for not being allowed to come back? He's been given enough chances already, and he used the last to let the rest of them live. How could he feel betrayed by a man- admittedly a pain-in-the-ass asshole- who let them all live? It's not fair. It's not fair on Church.
But it's not fair on them, either. It's not fair on- dammit, it's not fair on Caboose!
Temple should know this! He should know! It's not fair! None of this is!
But it started with… Carolina. Who started with Church. Is there some sort of irony to this? Tucker decided not to voice the thought. He couldn't handle a debate right now. He didn't think the others could, either.
He glanced over to Caboose. The blue soldier was slumped in the corner. During their stay on the moon, he'd somehow figured a way to pull his arms into his chestplate, and out of the arm holes. Caboose had employed that trick now, staring downwards, his face concealed behind his faceplate.
Tucker was glad for that little detail. Grif, Simmons, Donut and he had all taken theirs off. Orange and Maroon were kinda close- Orange just leant his head on Maroon's shoulder, and Maroon pulled Orange closer by the arm wrapped around his shoulders. Pink stared off into some distant detail beyond the wall, his brown eyes flickering from one spot to another from time to time.
Caboose started when Donut pulled himself up, suddenly slamming into the bars with a need to do something- anything- to get out.
Slam. Slam. Slam. Pointless.
But you couldn't say. The silence binds you, and sound is like shitting on a dead man's grave. Which is exactly what Temple did to his counterpart.
Donut sneered at the still firmly locked door, before crumpling, though still standing, against the wall. He pounded it with a fist, now falling to his knees. "Damn you, Damn you, Damn you damn you damn you, Sarge. I hate you." His head was bent, and a splash sounded through the otherwise silent room.
Simmons extended a hand, and Donut took it, the three now linked as Donut resumed staring through the wall with his million-mile-stare, though now a little more red-eyed.
Tucker looked back to the blue soldier. He took a hand. It was floppy, having no arm to it, but Caboose knew Tucker cared. And that was what they all needed. To know you cared.
Tucker knew Church did.
He'd still be here if he didn't.-
Bang. Another smear to the name of Church.
"Not the time, Locus." It needed to be said. Tucker regretted that he was the one forced to say it.
Carolina. "Why are you all so down? C'mon, we gotta all hurry so we can get the hell outta here to save Church!"
"No. We can't." Caboose shuffled backwards into his corner, hiding his head between his knees.
"Well, why not?"
"Because there's no Church to save."
Silence, only punctuated by a small, broken whimper of a sob.
"C'mon. Let's go get those reporter guys and leave." Donut rose, emotionless. Red team followed, but when Tucker and Caboose's door opened, they filed in, knowing this wasn't an easy task. No words were said, just a universal pile of understanding somehow crammed into a hug.