Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I am just borrowing them for a while.
Author's note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews, guys. Thank you to my beta readers: silvershadowfire and gaianarchy. Please keep up with the reviews, and if you like, please pass the word on.
Chapter 4: The Rules of War"Laundry day, guys. Get your stuff together – I hope you have your names on everything – and hand it over. I'll take it down for you." Jonathan held out a large laundry bag with a 3 stencilled on the side. Obediently the campers began throwing their stuff into it.
"You too, hotshot."
Trip shot him a look. You've got to be kidding.
"Laundry, hotshot. I don't care if you've only worn one set of clothes so far, they need cleaning and getting them wet in the shower doesn't count. Same with your sleeping bag."
Trip didn't budge – he just stood there with his arms folded and watched the others. Jonathan stepped over and reached onto Trip's bunk…
No sleeping bag. No pillow. Just an empty mattress. He looked underneath the beds. Trip's bag had vanished.
"Okay, hotshot. Where is it?" Trip could see Jonathan's patience beginning to fray.
Trip didn't move. How stupid do you think I am?
Jonathan sighed. "You think you would figure it out by now." He stepped over to Trip and knelt at the boy's feet and began unlacing Trip's shoes. When he finished, he lifted Trip up out of his shoes and set him on the floor again. Lifting each foot in turn, he pulled off the socks. Then he took hold of the cuffs of Trip's knee length shorts and tugged.
Fortunately the underwear stayed where it was. Done with the shorts, Jonathan stood up and grasped the tail of Trip's shirt. Since Trip didn't uncross his arms, the shirt pulled up and over his head, and stopped.
"Come on, hotshot. Give up the shirt."
Trip just stayed standing until Jonathan worked the fabric out from under his arms.
"You know, you look pretty silly standing there like that."
Trip said nothing, but darkened his glare.
"Okay then. The rest of you guys are going to breakfast, I don't think we'll make the hotshot show up like that. If you feel like joining us, I suggest you find something to wear."
Trip flicked a gaze around the cabin at everybody else's bags.
"Not any of their stuff, either, hotshot."
Okay. A better idea was forming anyway.
"Maybe he didn't hide them." Malcolm suggested it so quietly, that Jonathan almost missed it. Almost.
"I'd believe that, Malcolm, except for the remarkable coincidence that this is laundry day." Jonathan raised an eyebrow at Trip who met his stare head on in challenge. "Either way, I think hotshot here will figure out something. It just better be in time for work detail. 'Cause you're still doing that, and I don't think he'll make you suffer alone."
I could surprise you and go out like this. That would almost be worth it, except for his tendency to sunburn. But I like my idea better. It fed into his longer term plan, and had the added bonus of further driving this geek up the wall.
Jonathan herded six snickering and one worried looking boy out the door. He paused and turned back. "Don't think you're going to win this one, hotshot."
Trip watched him close the door behind him, heard the locks click. Wanna bet?
# # # #
That wasn't very nice. After all, someone else could have stolen Trip's things. Just because it was laundry day didn't mean they didn't. What better timing could they have? It wasn't fair of Jonathan to simply assume that it had been Trip; Malcolm couldn't think of a single reason for his new friend to hide his own things. Sure – his sleeping bag maybe – but his clean clothes? Since Trip had only worn one set of clothing in the entire week they'd been here (prompting more than one bout of taunting from the others), surely Trip would have no need to do anything else. Unless he thought that with nothing to change into, Jonathan wouldn't make him change. Now that fit with the way Trip Tucker seemed to think. But it still wasn't very nice.
He hoped Trip would find something and make it on time, but it seemed unlikely. After all, Jonathan had stipulated that Trip couldn't borrow from his cabinmates, and – even though Malcolm wouldn't say anything – there was no way he could fit into anything of Malcolm's.
Yet… breakfast had only ended by five minutes when Trip strolled through the doors. Malcolm felt his jaw fall slack, not just due to the fact that Trip was there, but also the matter of the other boy's appearance.
He wore a pair of grey shorts that reached his ankles. The shirt he had on could've doubled as a dress were it not re-hemmed with what looked like electrical tape, and he had a belt double wrapped around his waist to hold everything on. All of it – including Trip himself – bore various stains and spots, including what looked like – to Malcolm at least – lubricating grease.
"Oh my God." Jonathan stared at Trip like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He probably couldn't decide which: while Trip looked ridiculous, it was also fairly obvious whose clothing he had decided to borrow. And destroy.
Jonathan took a deep breath and then cocked his head at Trip. "Okay, hotshot. Because of that, you don't clean the mess hall today." Malcolm could've sworn he saw just a flash of disappointment in Trip's eyes. "You clean the showers and the toilets."
Jonathan turned to Malcolm. "You see what kind of trouble he gets you into?"
"Yes, sir. But it doesn't matter, sir." He was sure that Jonathan was trying to guilt Trip into saying sorry, and Malcolm knew that Trip would never do it. Sure, the older boy might feel guilty, but he would never show it. At least not here.
"Okay. I hope you guys have fun, then. Let's go, hotshot. I doubt you can get those any dirtier."
Again there was a flash in Trip's eyes – delight at a new challenge.
Oh, dear. Malcolm prayed that, this time, Trip hadn't gone in too far over his head.
# # # #
Remind me never to say anything as stupid as that again. Jonathan herded his bickering charges towards the mess hall, noting how nobody wanted to get too close to Tucker. How the kid had gotten any dirtier, Jonathan couldn't figure out. I suppose I should bust him for theft and vandalism. Except Jonathan knew he'd set himself up -- in a way – by insisting that Tucker give up his last remaining set of clothes and then reminding him of his beloved work detail.
I still don't get that. Malcolm had hung back at first – a natural reaction given the state of any toilet and bathing facilities shared by a large number of males – but Tucker had dived into the job: scrubbing and disinfecting every conceivable surface, not deterred in the least by the smell or the thought of what may have caused it.
Yet something else emerged about the kid today, something Jonathan hadn't noted before. Anyone else and Jonathan would've had to stand over their shoulder just to make sure they didn't accidentally mix the wrong chemicals and kill themselves. Tucker – on the other hand – had read every single label, and cross-referenced it in the Material Data Safety Sheets before proceeding. He even tested his solution mixes every time he put together a new bucket. Methodical. I don't know many pro's who are that careful. He'd worn all the requisite safety gear – even though it meant practically disappearing under goggles, gloves, and mask. He'd made Malcolm wear the gear too, though – perhaps significantly – stopped short of insisting their supervisor observe safety regulations. It had taken them well past the time Jonathan had allotted, but he arranged for one of the other counsellors to take over the rest of the kids for activities. He'd been too fascinated by the drama playing out in front of him to do anything else. Especially when Tucker started a repair job on a loose fixture only for Jonathan to stop him – and receive another cursing out in the process.
Well, I'm sorry kid, but I couldn't have you wrecking the entire plumbing system.
A crash distracted him, and he turned to see Malcolm picking himself up off the floor. Jones was nowhere nearby, but another one of the students who'd come in with Malcolm was conveniently sitting where he could have easily tripped the boy.
Jonathan shot a glare at the kid, who looked back innocently, thus he failed to see the hand make a quick pass over his dinner. Instead, he dug in and ate without thinking; without really tasting it at all.
………………. …………………
Oh, God. Something in dinner didn't agree with him and was doing so vehemently. I can't: Tucker'll take off as soon as I'm out the door. On the other hand, if he stayed here, it would only get more embarrassing. Damnit.
He rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the connecting door. He opened it cautiously and looked around the cabin. Everybody seemed to be asleep, including Tucker, who lay stretched out on the floor – deemed (by himself) too dirty to climb into his stripped bunk. I'll only be a minute or two.
# # # #
"Hey, Malcolm. Let's go." Obediently, Malcolm sat up and climbed out of his sleeping bag. He started to pack it up, only to have Trip put a grimy hand on his arm. "Don't worry, you won't need that."
"Huh?" He'd actually fallen asleep, even though Trip had insisted that Jonathan would be going out tonight. How did he know?
"Come on." Trip motioned him out the door, closing it softly behind them. "I thought he was never going to go."
Malcolm looked at him – puzzled, especially when Trip handed him the clean outfit Jonathan had left on Trip's bed – then started down the stairs and up the main path.
"Hang on." Malcolm stopped and watched as Trip wriggled into a small hollow space beneath the cabin. A couple of seconds later he emerged, pulling with him his duffle and sleeping bags.
"You mean you did hide them?" Malcolm couldn't cover his shock. "Why?"
Trip smiled but didn't answer. "Come on."
Malcolm did as he was told. What is he doing? A lot of what Trip said and did made no sense. He wouldn't take part in activities but treated work detail as a reward rather than a punishment. He should have been the most popular kid in the camp but spent much of his time making other people hate him. "Where did you get the name 'Trip', anyway?"
Trip groaned. "I'm Charles Tucker the Third, right?"
"Okay."
"Third. Three. Triple. Do I have to spell it out?"
"Oh." Must be an American thing. He looked around nervously before chasing after Trip who'd now gone on ahead of him.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing." Still, he couldn't quit looking over his shoulder.
"Relax." Trip flashed a sudden smile. "He's not going to come back any time soon."
"How do you know that?" Malcolm looked around again, unable to share his friend's confidence.
"Because I added a little 'special seasoning' to his dinner." Trip's smile turned into a giggle. "He's going to stay right where he is for the next while."
Malcolm stared at Trip, open-mouthed. "You…you're joking, right?"
"Hey." Trip turned defensive. "I needed to buy us some time. Guy's been watching me like a hawk. If I hadnt've got him out of there, hed've stopped us before we got three steps out the door. Now relax. It was a small dose. He's gonna be just fine." He giggled again. "He needed to loosen up anyway."
Malcolm groaned and Trip laughed even harder.
"We're going to be on work detail forever."
"Hey. He can't prove it was us. All he's got is 'prior bad acts' which is inadmissible. We're fine."
"That's what you said last time," Malcolm reminded him.
"Yeah, but this time we're not gonna get caught. This is totally different."
"So what are we doing?" If it was another escape attempt then why had Trip told Malcolm to leave his stuff behind? Surely the older boy didn't plan on abandoning him, did he?
"Stuff." Trip smiled mysteriously. "It's just going to take us some time. And I'd rather not deal with any interference."
Oh no. If Trip wouldn't say – how bad was it? We're not going to go on work detail; we're going to go to jail.
Where they headed right now – he discovered – was the showers. Don't tell me… But sure enough, once they were inside Trip pulled a towel, some soap and shampoo out of his bag and stripped down.
"I thought you didn't take showers."
"Excuse me," Trip stuck a foamy head around the side of the stall, "This hair doesn't take care of itself."
"But…"
"I don't take mandated showers. And at least – now – I know I'm not going to come out dirtier than when I went in."
He really is crazy. At the same time, Malcolm couldn't help but admire it. He'd always followed the rules, to the letter. Trip – on the other hand – seemed to have no such compulsion. Indeed, he saw the rules as a challenge – almost as something to be avoided at all costs. And Malcolm couldn't say he was any happier than Trip… in fact he was willing to bet the opposite. Trip seemed to have found a way to have fun with his life even if it wasn't what everyone else perceived as fun.
Shower finished, Trip claimed his clean laundry from Malcolm and re-dressed. He then picked up his bag and Jonathan's dirty things and headed back out, this time – Malcolm realised – for one of the 'off limits' industrial buildings: the laundry.
Definitely crazy. Hadn't today's adventure started because Trip wasn't doing laundry?
"You know we're not…"
"You can wait outside if you want." Trip's tone indicated that it didn't matter if he did or didn't.
"I didn't say that." No way Malcolm wanted Trip to see him afraid. Not now. "I just wanted to make sure…" His voice trailed off and he took a lookout's position as Trip bent over the lock. A few seconds later the older boy sighed and the door swung open.
"Easy as fallin' in the water." Trip didn't turn on any lights, just pulled a small flashlight out of his bag and shone the blue beam around the room. "This shouldn't take too long… the machines they've got in here look pretty top-notch."
Malcolm closed the door behind them then watched as Trip loaded up one of the washing machines -- not only with clothes but with the bag itself (emptied of several mysterious looking non-clothing items). Then, as the first load began, Trip scouted the shelves until he found something he wanted.
"This ought to work nicely. It's supposed to get out near anything… though the adhesive might be a bit of a problem."
"I'm sorry…"
"The adhesive. From the tape?" Trip gave Malcolm a look that indicated he thought the younger boy was being a little slow. "You don't expect me to return these clothes in this condition, do you?"
Well yes, I had. He realised now that that would be too simple for Trip Tucker. He was starting to get a handle on the other boy's rules – and there were rules. For example, he never did any real damage. And what damage he did do, he fixed. Even if – Malcolm reasoned – the sole purpose of fixing the damage was to drive his opponent crazier. Poor Jonathan. Watching Trip scrub stain remover into the spots, Malcolm chose his side.
# # # #
This is just not my year. Somehow, every year somebody got sick from dinner. For it to be him on top of having to deal with Tucker…
The door opened, letting in a cool breeze. The snap of a match and the scent of burning tobacco told him instantly who it was.
"Hey, Dino."
"Hey. Looks like you really bagged the lottery this year."
"Tell me about it." If he didn't know better, he'd swear somebody was out to get him.
"You don't suppose it was on purpose do you?" Dino's voice held a note of malicious glee. "I wouldn't put anything past…"
"Shit!" Jonathan grabbed for the toilet paper as realisation struck.
"Yes, that does seem to be the problem."
"No. If it is him… to any other kid this would be the joke, but with Tucker it's a means to an end. He'd never go for something this simple." Jonathan emerged from the stall, buttoning his shorts as he walked.
"Hey. Come on. How bad…"
Jonathan headed out the door, and began speedwalking towards the cabin. "Very bad. This is Tucker we're talking about. He's probably gone already."
He didn't even bother to be quiet as he cleared the stairs in a single step and opened the door of the cabin. Sure enough bunks one and two were empty. Shit.
"Jon?" Dino trotted up behind him, still not quite concerned.
"He's gone. Both of them are gone. I can't get a single night's sleep around here. You check the south side… I'll take the north. Hopefully they're not too far." They split up, looking for movement in the darkness.
An hour later, Jonathan gave up. He'd sent Dino to bed after his futile sweep, then double checked everything. The kids had vanished.
I'm going to be fired. I'm going to be arrested. He trudged up to the cabin, already feeling the itch from the bed of stinging nettles he'd stumbled into. I gotta call the director… damnit, kid…
Pushing the door open, he stopped dead. The smell of hot fabric softener wafted towards him and…
Both bunks were now blissfully occupied, with a strangely clean Tucker snuggled away in a nice warm freshly laundered sleeping bag. A small, peaceful, smile graced the kid's lips.
Anger at the stunt found itself balanced by relief that the two of them were safe. A few seconds later relief won out. Doesn't count. You're unconscious. He flicked the bottom of the bag with his finger and headed off to his own room.
His clothes lay neatly folded on the centre of his bed; they too were still warm from the dryer. The belt had been coiled on top and every single stain was gone. Unable to help it, Jonathan sat down beside them and silently laughed. You perverse little bastard.