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It was no secret that Caboose wasn't the cleverest member of Blue Team. He was naïve, curious, hyperactive, and possibly the most annoying person on the face of whatever planet they were stuck on. His emotions were a light switch; say one thing, he'd be thrust into a endless state of depression, but say something else, and he was suddenly your best friend in the whole world. He was too forgiving. Too sweet. Too innocent. Too unmistakably Caboose.
That being said...he wasn’t an idiot.
Well. Not all the time.
Caboose was confused by pretty much everything, often getting most orders and situations jumbled up in his mind, but--in his own, Caboosey way--he always knew what was going on. Sure, it took him a while, and he always seemed to let a few details slip his mind, but he’d yet to be completely wrong about anything. His team had learned to trust the team-killer over the years and adjust to his quirks, because there were some things he could actually comprehend. And there was a lot that he knew.
He knew how to work war machines; the ones he could talk to, at least. He knew how to fire a gun (although, he'd be the first to admit: his grenade skills were a bit rusty). He supposed he knew how to hold séances. His best friend was a ghost, so that one was a given.
He knew the correct response to being in a life-or-death situation. He even knew that being in a life-or-death situation meant (about 99.9% of the time) life or death.
And that's all one needs to know when at war, isn't it?
Oh, those things and another thing.
Caboose knew how to run. That was important. Especially during life-or-death situations.
Being the tallest of the Blues and Reds (low-gravity colonies had their perks), he had the longest legs. He also had the widest shoulders, strongest jaw, biggest arms, blondest hair, and most intimidating frown, although he rarely ever frowned. He did everything twice as hard and twice as fast as all of his friends.
So when he ran, he ran like his life depended on it. Because sometimes it did.
His legs carrying him as fast as they could out the back door of Blue base, Caboose's bright blue eyes darted around the box canyon, desperately searching for a hiding spot. Think faster think faster think faster no time left no time turn TURNHERETURNHERE, his mind screamed at him, frantic, almost overworking itself. Caboose wasn't conditioned to this much quick thinking, and his instincts were shoddy at best.
Briefly, he thanked his legs for knowing where to go before he did, as he ran into a nearby cave. He knew that it twisted around for about half a mile, before it forked off, one road leading deeper into the cave, and the other leading back into the canyon. He'd wandered through the cave a lot, specifically for these types of situations. Taking the exit end of the fork would give him a beeline to the front entrance of Blue base, where he'd be able to lock himself up in his room. He'd be safe there.
Caboose halted, pressing his back up against the cave wall, steadying his breathing so he could listen for the sound of footsteps and cursing.
"Son of a bitch," a voice huffed, footsteps slowing to a halt about 3 and a half Sheila-lengths away from the cave opening. A few silent moments passed, then a thoughtful--still very out of breath--question hit Caboose's ears. "Are we really gonna fucking do this right now?"
It might have been rhetorical. It was probably rhetorical.
So instead of answering, Caboose turned and began running again, the short break making it harder for him to move as fast as he had previously. Luckily, the soldier chasing him would probably have the same problem. After about three seconds, he heard a low, exasperated groan echo through the cave; footsteps trudged after him, slower, as Caboose predicted.
Half a mile wasn't a lot--especially not compared to the five and a half miles he'd already been chased--and once he got up to his normal pace, he was able to get to the cave's exit within two minutes. Braving a glance over his shoulder, Caboose made sure that the other soldier was nowhere near him. Hearing heavy breathing from about two Sheilas away, but not actually seeing anyone yet, he decided to make a break for Blue base.
As he exited the cave, he discovered that he was actually in a pretty desperate need of oxygen (or more oxygen than the air filters in his helmet allowed), so he clumsily unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off his head as he neared the entrance of the base. His long, blond hair was mussed by nearly ripping off his helmet, but it was in his face most of the time, more so that he was running, so he didn't really mind.
"Dude," Tucker called from the top of the base, as Caboose got to the entrance, "you can't run around without your-- Wait. What the fuck?" His eyes left the regulation blue soldier and focused on the cave behind him, and he asked incredulously, "Is that Church?"
"Can't talk," Caboose panted, throwing a look over his shoulder and jogging into the base. He came to a quick stop in the hallway, then yelled up at the other private, "Don't tell him where I am!"
As soon as he got into his room, he shut the door behind him, pressing his ear against it to listen for Church's approach.
Most people would assume that Caboose's room would be as disorganized as his mind was. In reality, everything had a place, and everything was in its place. He kept his dresser up against the far wall next to his bed, treating the top of the small, white dresser as a sort of bedside table. He kept a small lamp, a glass of water that seemed to refill itself, and a few pictures of family and friends on top of it. His bed was small, made as neatly as Caboose was capable; the white sheets were tugged up and folded under the pillow, and the blue throw blanket (a gift from Church; the same color as his armor) was folded to the foot of his bed, tucked under the mattress. His floor was nearly spotless, save his shoes, a chair and the spot where he usually stacked his armor.
Honestly, the first time his teammates saw his room, they nearly had a heart attack. It was perfectly synchronized spit-choking. Caboose thought they might have rehearsed.
Even his space in the bathroom was--
Oh no.
Caboose's head jerked up so fast that his crown hit the door. "Ow ow owww," he whispered, a large hand reaching up to cup the back of his head. "Pain... Stinging... Dull throbbing," he muttered idly, looking around for something to keep the bathroom door shut. He couldn't be found.
Finally, his eyes landed on his sneakers (which he didn't really need, but liked having around anyway). More importantly, he focused on the sneakers' laces. Those would work.
As he walked over to grab his shoes, his ears perked up at the sound of a certain aqua (blue-green... turquoise... what was that color?) soldier snarking off to Church.
"You know, you make yourself look like a real big hypocrite when you run around without your shit on, then bitch about us doing it. Church. Are you-- Hey, man, you don't look so good," he heard Tucker say, sounding kind of worried.
Church's breathing was heavy enough to be heard, too. He paused briefly, before he answered, his voice breaking with the sheer amount of effort that went into getting any sound out, "Tucker, I really don't have the time or the patience for any of this right now, okay? Just, for the love of God, please tell me Caboose went into the air conditioned base."
"Yeah, man, go right in. He's probably in his room," Tucker responded almost instantly.
Stupid Tucker.
Caboose nearly yelled at him as Church sighed a few words of gratitude and headed in. "Oh no oh no oh no," he muttered to himself, giving up on the shoelaces and settling on placing his chair under the doorknob. That was one exit taken care of.
"Caboose!" Church yelled, entering the base slowly. The youngest of the Blues could hear his boots scrape against the concrete floor, the metallic clang making him wince away from the bathroom door. He scrambled to the entrance of his room and leaned up against it, keeping it closed. Church's voice was closer, now, but he didn't sound angry. It was nice; gentle and inviting. "Caboose, buddy, game over, okay? You win."
Nuh uh. He wasn’t falling for that again. He wasn’t that dumb.
Church sighed, just outside his front door and pounded on it a few times with the side of his fist. "Let me in," he said, finally able to get enough air into his lungs to give something that was kind of like an order (kind of, but not really).
Caboose still stayed silent, back pressed tightly against the door.
"Okay," his C.O. muttered, the eyeroll he gave somehow evident in his voice. "Fine. Fine."
Caboose pressed his ear against the door curiously, hearing footsteps leaving his door and dying off a few moments later. He furrowed his eyebrows and grabbed the door handle, carefully twisting it and pulling his door open.
As soon as he opened the door and peeked into the base, he realized 4 things.
1.) Church was still outside his door.
2.) Church was a big, meanie, fake-footstep-making liar.
3.) Church was very tall all of a sudden.
4.) He wasn't standing up straight.
Fixing his posture, Caboose opened the door all the way, giving the--now--shorter man a pout. "That's not fair, you cheated!" he complained loudly, looking down at the smug face of his teammate. At first, all he got in return was a raised eyebrow and a pair of arms crossing over a grey-blue chest piece.
"I said 'game over,'" Church shot back finally, slightly amused (and just a bit fond) smirk never leaving his face.
"Yeah," Caboose drawled, all signs of indignation gone from his face, falling into his normal talking-to-Church behavior, "but the last time you said it, and I opened the door, you did takesies backsies, and I did not want that to happen again, so I just kept the door closed."
Church simply shrugged, running his gloved fingers through his coarse black hair. He turned away from the door and picked his helmet up off the kitchen counter, brushing the top of it off. "Either way," he sighed, looking back at the moon-native, "you win this round. 4 Church--2 Caboose."
"Yes! I win!"
"You haven't beaten me yet, buddy," Church said, shaking his head. "Although, if you keep running like you did today, you just might." He inspected the inside of his helmet briefly, greener-than-grass eyes scanning the visor for any dirt that might have gotten into it. "We'll play again tomorrow, though, okay?" he added, idly, as he finished up his inspection.
Just as the Blues' (acting) C.O. was about to put his helmet back on, Caboose asked, "Hey, Church?"
Church brought the helmet down slightly, casting a curious glance Caboose's way. "Yeah?" he finally asked after a few silent moments, when it became apparent that Caboose wasn't going to go on until he got a spoken response.
"Why did you agree to tag with me?"
The question caught him off guard, to say the least. Tearing his eyes away from Caboose's for a moment to think and tucking his helmet under his right arm, he offered a small shrug, with an, "I don't really know, Caboose," to convey the meaning behind it. "There were a lot of reasons why."
Caboose's answer was instantaneous. "What were they?"
"It'd get you to shut up about it, for starters," Church said pointedly, giving the younger soldier a look. He looked away thoughtfully and furrowed his eyebrows a bit--an act Caboose was only used to seeing when Church yelled, or when he was about to yell, or whenever he talked to Tex (which led to yelling). So it was surprising to the private when Church's voice came out calm. "With all this shit going on with Wyoming," Church muttered, "I thought we'd need to work out a bit more. And you seem happy as ever, which is good. Annoying as all hell, but good.
"So..." he finished, looking to Caboose with a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah. I guess that's pretty much it. Workout for us both, gives you something to do, and you'd stop bugging me about going out to play."
Caboose deflated, much to Church's confusion. "Oh," he said quietly, looking back at the open door to his room wistfully.
"Something wrong?" Church asked before he could stop himself.
"Ah," Caboose sighed, looking back to Church with a small shake of his stupidly blond head, "not really." Church nodded, about to turn away, when the younger spoke up again, "It's just...um."
Now it was Church's turn to deflate. He turned back to face Caboose directly, eyes tired and almost screaming I'm not drunk enough for this. "Just what, Caboose?" he asked, sounding a bit more irritable than he meant to.
"Well, I thought you maybe...kinda...might have wanted to play tag with me becaaaause I'myourbestfriend," the private explained, growing quieter and quieter as his explanation progressed. He raised his voice again and shrugged wildly, bringing his eyes back up to Church's, "But I get that you just wanted to exercise more because of Agent Wire Combing and the mean computer people. So that's okay."
Well shit.
Now Church felt like an ass.
"Look, Caboose," he said suddenly, before the blond had the chance to walk back into his room to get his helmet. Christ, he thought, what the hell am I doing? He sighed and scrunched his face up, before offering a small apologetic look. "For what it's worth..." he began, then hesitated. "I have been having fun."
The kid lit up like a Christmas tree, all raised eyebrows and bright eyes and blindingly white smile. "Really?" he asked hopefully, seemingly pulled completely out of his blink-and-you'd-miss-it depression. Church was barely able to get out his confirmation before Caboose was speaking again. "Ah, thanks, Church! I have fun with you too!"
"Yeah, yeah," Church waved him off, turning away so the younger soldier wouldn't see his poor attempt at holding back a smile.
Too late. Caboose totally saw it, and it totally made his day at least fifteen times better.
Church made for the door, then jerked his head toward Caboose's room, "Go grab your helmet and help me check the perimeter. I heard Sarge yelling at Simmons earlier about the Warthog when I was chasing you around Red base. I think he's planning something. Again." Church put on his helmet and said, "I'll wait outside, okay?"
"Okay! I'll be right there!" Caboose chirped, running back into his room and grabbing his helmet off his bed, so he could check the perimeter with his best friend of all time.
Today was a good day.