What do you want for Christmas, anyway?
Six Pining Privates (one of which is actually a sergeant but this is my part of the song so I can do what I want, shut up)
5 Promise Rings
4 Calling Birds
3 French Maids
2 Fics of Red Base
And Simmons Stuck In A Christmas Tree!
Title: What Do You Want For Christmas, Anyway?
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Onsided: Grif/Simmons, Simmons/Sarge, Sarge/Donut, Donut/Caboose, Caboose/Church, Church/Tex
Rating: PG, plus some bad language. But what can you expect from these guys, really?
Word Count: 2635
Summary: Nobody knows what to get anyone for Christmas.
Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue. Merry Christmas? :D
A/N: I wrote this during Finals Week. Forgive me for any suckage that may be had.
---
Seven days until Christmas, and Grif still had no idea what to get Simmons.
What the hell did the guy like that he didn't already have, anyway? Stuff he'd actually want, actually get excited over? He had like five books already, how many more could he need? And he already had some nerd t-shirts of Star Trek and Pirates of the Caribbean and other things he'd liked back on Earth, so he didn't need any more of those.
Why the fuck was this so hard?! Grif just wanted it to be perfect!
He could just imagine the surprised, excited awe radiating from Simmons' beautiful face on Christmas morning when he opened Grif's perfect gift, and it sent a tingle down his spine and a ridiculous grin stretched his face wide.
Until he remembered that he didn't have the perfect present. Shitshitshit.
"Hey, um, Simmons?" He poked his head into the other man's room, swallowing his pride for the moment if he could just get some fucking gift ideas.
"Yeah?" The man in question was reclining on his bed, reading one of his books for the umpteenth time. He was wearing maroon sweat pants and a weather-worn beater. Grif gulped at the hard sculpted muscles he could see beneath the threadbare fabric.
"What do you want for Christmas, ba--uddy?" He cursed himself internally for his almost-slip-up. If he called Simmons 'babe' now, he'd never have a chance with him. He'd be doomed. Doomed.
Simmons gave him an odd glance, but looked contemplative for a minute, then shrugged and turned his attention back to the paperback cradled in his left hand. "I dunno, you'll figure something out."
Grif groaned. He would not. That's the reason he was here in the first place! But he figured if Simmons was going to be this unhelpful, he might as well go ponder on it with himself again.
Grumbling slightly, he closed the door firmly behind him and stalked down the hallway back to his room.
+++
"Jeez, what's his problem?" Simmons muttered to himself as Grif left. He tried to concentrate again on his reading, but the question posed by the orange-armored man bothered him. It reminded him of what he was trying not to think about already: the fact that he didn't have a present for Sarge yet.
What would the man want?! Simmons knew that he didn't approve of silly gifts; he'd seen evidence of that many times over for the sorts of things Donut got him in the past, although last Christmas Sarge had seemed to finally have accepted the fact that he'd always get "lightish red" scarves or mittens or kitty hats from the effeminate soldier.
Simmons had always given Sarge something useful, like polishing grease for his shotgun, or books on mechanical evolution. But how many times could he give him that stuff without it seeming like a recycled idea? Not too many more, that's for sure.
And he wanted this year to be perfect. He could just see it now; Sarge's proud face on Christmas morning, a meaningful thank you and then later when Donut and Grif were off making cookies in the kitchen (Donut baking, Grif eating), they'd go off to his room and--
Okay, okay, he had to stop that thought before it got much further. He shifted a little self consciously, knowing for sure his face was bright red.
Once he'd calmed down a considerable amount, he sighed with the knowledge that he would have to go ask for ideas. He plucked up his courage and trudged down the hall warily, poking his head into a few places before finding Sarge puzzling over Lopez in the work room. Simmons gulped a little at the way the other man held the wrench with such power, such force, but willed himself to be suave and confident when he opened his mouth.
"Uh, Sarge?" he asked a little more hesitantly than he'd have wished.
"What, Simmons?" Sarge grunted back, busy at work cranking some loose end on the robot's left arm.
"What do you want for Christmas?"
The southerner paused for a second and looked as though he were in deep thought before shrugging and starting back to work on Lopez. "Yer smart, ye'll think of somethin'."
He ignored Simmons when the maroon private tried to pry for more information, and finally he just gave up with an irritated huff, going back to pretend to read his book in his room. The people around the base were so unhelpful sometimes, Jesus.
+++
"Hurr," Sarge grumbled, watching Simmons leave with some disdain. That soldier was acting off recently, and Sarge wasn't really sure if he liked it. Oh well, maybe he just missed home.
But he did bring up a good point. Christmas wasn't really that far away now, was it? And Sarge still hadn't managed to come up with what he was going to give his favorite Pink Private.
He already had all the girly movies that Sarge knew of, not to mention those flowery scented bath gels and soaps and shampoos that Sarge tried not to think about too much while he was in the shower. What else was there that Sarge could easily buy for the kid?
For not the first time in his life, Sarge regretted not listening to his Cupcake's feminine rantings when he first got here.
But he was jumping ahead a little too much, wasn't he, calling him "his" already? Gerdernit, he still hadn't found the right way to let Donut know how he felt. It wasn't like he was really familiar with this whole closet business. He had a wife back home, for varmint's sake. Not that he'd really cared about her in the first place. He just married her for her money.
But that wasn't the point right now, what was the point was that if Sarge didn't come up with the best, most romantic present that was still subtle enough that Simmons and the dirtbag wouldn't notice before Christmas, he'd never manage to snag the younger man.
"Hurr," Sarge grumbled again, realizing that he'd have to go ahead and take Simmons' lead. He'd have to man up and ask Donut what he wanted, man-to-man, pretty face to ugly one.
Feeling his self confidence drop a few centimeters, Sarge left Lopez in the middle of the work room, muttering to himself all the way down the hallway to the kitchen.
He was right in guessing the rosy private would be there; the other man was baking cookies, wearing an obnoxiously frilly apron and humming carols slightly out of tune as he conducted the instruments in his mind with a batter-covered wooden spoon.
Sarge cleared his throat once awkwardly, and then Donut had turned, that beautiful smile lighting up his gorgeous blue eyes in a way that made Sarge feel like a puddle of goo in his boots. He cleared his throat again.
"What d'ya want fer Christmas, Pinky?" he asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.
Donut's grin stretched wider, and he perked up a hip, settling a hand on it jauntily. "You don't have to get me anything, Sarge! It's enough that you keep this place running smoothly!" He turned back to his work, humming a little louder.
Sarge groaned, but knew when to leave the other man alone. That hum meant business.
It was most certainly not cowardly the way he turned tail and fled the kitchen.
+++
Donut continued his flamboyant humming long after Sarge had left, but what the older man had said was sticking to his mind just like the way the butter crisco was sticking to his wooden spoon. He tsked and scraped it off with a carefully manicured red nail, then continued mixing, mind drifting off to the idea of presents under the Christmas tree.
He knew he had something for everyone (and he did mean everyone -- including Blue Base), and yet, he still felt that he needed to find something different for Caboose. Michael deserved better than even his homemade chocolate chip cookies that he'd delivered yesterday, or the lightish red scarf he'd knitted especially for the dumber man, or the adorable Santa teddy bear that he'd found online. No, he needed something that was personal, that meant something special. Something that showed Michael he really did care, and that he cared a lot. Short of wrapping himself up and crawling under the Blues' tree, he had no idea what kind of gift would invoke that kind of emotion from the other man.
He huffed in irritation, plump lower lip sliding out into a girly pout. He was supposed to be good at this kind of thing! He was supposed to know every man's quirks, the way to every man's heart! He'd tried everything on Caboose and nothing had happened yet! He's pushed it off as the guy was too slow to get it at first, but it had been three Christmases already and still there was nothing.
It was time for drastic measures.
He'd been saving it for Grif and Simmons -- God knew they needed it -- but sometimes he just had the think for himself. He packed it all up in gorgeous shiny red wrapping paper and tied it with an adorable little bow, then donned his armor sans helmet and skipped his way across the canyon, knowing without a doubt he'd get what he really wanted for Christmas: a new boyfriend!
He knocked both loudly and gently on the concrete wall, hoping someone was close enough to hear it. He didn't have to wait long; soon two shining blue eyes peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of the blonde ragamuffin as he grabbed Donut up in a big friendly bear hug.
"Captain Butter-ma-fresh!" he chortled as he put him down. He noticed the shiny package in Donut's hands, and his grin widened. "You are a good friend. You keep bringing presents!" He gasped, as if just realizing something. "You must be Santa's main helper! Oh my God you even wear red."
Donut giggled, feeling bubbly and happy just like the champagne he had waiting in the fridge back at base for Christmas Eve. "Here, open it!"
Caboose grabbed it from him eagerly, tearing open the wrappings to see a healthy sprig of mistletoe. He promptly ripped off a bough and shoved it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"Oh my God, don't eat it! It might be poisonous!" Donut flipped out, smacking at Caboose's cheeks before he spit it on the ground and made a slightly disgruntled face.
"It doesn't taste like normal vegetables," he stated matter-of-factly.
Donut sighed, taking the remains of the mistletoe back gently. "It's not a vegetable," he replied.
He should have known something like this would happen.
+++
Admiral Popperbread left after Caboose told him that whatever it was, it had to be a vegetable, because it was green. He looked kind of sad. Why would he be sad that the gross leafy thing was a vegetable? Was Mister Sergeant making him eat his vegetables and that was the vegetable that he had to eat?! Oh no! That would be horrible!
Caboose was glad that the only vegetables that Church made him eat were broccoli and corn. Caboose liked corn. It reminded him of the Indians and Columbo Day.
He wandered back into the base like a lost cause, until he saw Church sitting on a chair next to the Christmas tree (Caboose liked the Christmas tree, even though when he helped Church put it up the lights buzzed at him and made him feel funny), reading a book without Santa on the cover. Church was so smart. Caboose could never read books during Christmas without Santa on the cover. And there weren't even pictures inside, either!
Caboose wished he knew what Church would like for Christmas. When he was back home with his mom and his sisters he'd draw them all crayon pictures and they would be happy. But every time he drew Church a crayon picture he got yelled at.
"Chu-uuurch!" Caboose singsonged as he got closer to the other man, plopping himself at his feet like a puppy. If he'd had a tail, it would have been thumping enthusiastically against the concrete floor.
"What," Church snapped, turning a page. "Can't you see I'm reading here?"
"What do you want for Christmas, Church?" Caboose asked, pressing his cheek against the other man's jean-covered leg.
Church sighed with exasperation and growled, "I'd like you to shut up and leave me alone, before I decide to not even give you smoal."
Caboose was silent for a long while as he thought about it, then asked, "Church, what's smoal?"
"Oh my God," Church groaned. "Just go away, please."
Maybe he'd just have to draw Church a crayon picture anyway. He bet that if he made it the best crayon picture he ever ever drew, that Church would have to like it.
+++
Church felt a little guilty when Caboose finally got up and padded away silently, but the amusement he got from the jean pattern pressed into the rookie's cheek was more than enough to make him forget about it. But shit, why'd he have to bring up the one thing Church had been trying not to think about? He was reading a book about goddamned taxes for cryin' out loud. Anything to get his mind off of Christmas.
Stupid Christmas. Nothing ever went right during this season. Never had, never would. Every year he'd try giving Tex something else, hoping he'd finally get lucky and pick something she actually liked, but every year she'd open his present, give him a dirty look (and not the fun kind), and then he'd be mauled into Next Tuesday.
Stupid goddamned Christmas.
This year he'd postponed even thinking about it, and he hadn't ordered anything at all yet, but he knew that if he didn't at least make an attempt to get Tex something nice, he might as well start writing a eulogy for himself, because he'd be damned if anyone else would write one for him.
What the shit was he supposed to get that woman, anyway? Nothing he'd ever done had satisfied her. He tried so goddamn hard and she left him for other men, stole his money, and beat the shit out of him. Maybe he should just give her money. She couldn't complain about that.
Except that he knew she could, because it would show that he hadn't thought about it. She would never believe any of his excuses, like he didn't know what to get her, even though they were fucking true.
God, he hated loving that woman. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, he swore.
Well, what the hell. He might as well ask her. It's not like she can get too mad at him for trying, right?
"Yeah, right," he grumbled to himself as he tossed the book a little violently across the room and stood up, cracking a few kinks out of his back. He stomped a little toward the room Tex had claimed as her own, knocking sloppily on the door. It opened, and Tex glared out at him with evil violet eyes.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"Heh, that's exactly what I was going to ask you," Church said lightly, trying in vain to make a joke.
"The fuck do you mean by that?"
"Whaddya want for Christmas, Tex?"
He expected some kind of outburst, and he got it. "You're waiting until now to ask me? What the hell is wrong with you, Church?"
He shrugged. "Don't answer questions with more questions."
"Fuck you, you stupid man." And she slammed the door in his face.
Like he said, loving her was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
---
A/N: Sorry there's not much of a conclusion. I had no idea how to tie all these stories up with a nice bow. D:
5 Promise Rings
4 Calling Birds
3 French Maids
2 Fics of Red Base
And Simmons Stuck In A Christmas Tree!
Title: What Do You Want For Christmas, Anyway?
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Onsided: Grif/Simmons, Simmons/Sarge, Sarge/Donut, Donut/Caboose, Caboose/Church, Church/Tex
Rating: PG, plus some bad language. But what can you expect from these guys, really?
Word Count: 2635
Summary: Nobody knows what to get anyone for Christmas.
Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue. Merry Christmas? :D
A/N: I wrote this during Finals Week. Forgive me for any suckage that may be had.
---
Seven days until Christmas, and Grif still had no idea what to get Simmons.
What the hell did the guy like that he didn't already have, anyway? Stuff he'd actually want, actually get excited over? He had like five books already, how many more could he need? And he already had some nerd t-shirts of Star Trek and Pirates of the Caribbean and other things he'd liked back on Earth, so he didn't need any more of those.
Why the fuck was this so hard?! Grif just wanted it to be perfect!
He could just imagine the surprised, excited awe radiating from Simmons' beautiful face on Christmas morning when he opened Grif's perfect gift, and it sent a tingle down his spine and a ridiculous grin stretched his face wide.
Until he remembered that he didn't have the perfect present. Shitshitshit.
"Hey, um, Simmons?" He poked his head into the other man's room, swallowing his pride for the moment if he could just get some fucking gift ideas.
"Yeah?" The man in question was reclining on his bed, reading one of his books for the umpteenth time. He was wearing maroon sweat pants and a weather-worn beater. Grif gulped at the hard sculpted muscles he could see beneath the threadbare fabric.
"What do you want for Christmas, ba--uddy?" He cursed himself internally for his almost-slip-up. If he called Simmons 'babe' now, he'd never have a chance with him. He'd be doomed. Doomed.
Simmons gave him an odd glance, but looked contemplative for a minute, then shrugged and turned his attention back to the paperback cradled in his left hand. "I dunno, you'll figure something out."
Grif groaned. He would not. That's the reason he was here in the first place! But he figured if Simmons was going to be this unhelpful, he might as well go ponder on it with himself again.
Grumbling slightly, he closed the door firmly behind him and stalked down the hallway back to his room.
+++
"Jeez, what's his problem?" Simmons muttered to himself as Grif left. He tried to concentrate again on his reading, but the question posed by the orange-armored man bothered him. It reminded him of what he was trying not to think about already: the fact that he didn't have a present for Sarge yet.
What would the man want?! Simmons knew that he didn't approve of silly gifts; he'd seen evidence of that many times over for the sorts of things Donut got him in the past, although last Christmas Sarge had seemed to finally have accepted the fact that he'd always get "lightish red" scarves or mittens or kitty hats from the effeminate soldier.
Simmons had always given Sarge something useful, like polishing grease for his shotgun, or books on mechanical evolution. But how many times could he give him that stuff without it seeming like a recycled idea? Not too many more, that's for sure.
And he wanted this year to be perfect. He could just see it now; Sarge's proud face on Christmas morning, a meaningful thank you and then later when Donut and Grif were off making cookies in the kitchen (Donut baking, Grif eating), they'd go off to his room and--
Okay, okay, he had to stop that thought before it got much further. He shifted a little self consciously, knowing for sure his face was bright red.
Once he'd calmed down a considerable amount, he sighed with the knowledge that he would have to go ask for ideas. He plucked up his courage and trudged down the hall warily, poking his head into a few places before finding Sarge puzzling over Lopez in the work room. Simmons gulped a little at the way the other man held the wrench with such power, such force, but willed himself to be suave and confident when he opened his mouth.
"Uh, Sarge?" he asked a little more hesitantly than he'd have wished.
"What, Simmons?" Sarge grunted back, busy at work cranking some loose end on the robot's left arm.
"What do you want for Christmas?"
The southerner paused for a second and looked as though he were in deep thought before shrugging and starting back to work on Lopez. "Yer smart, ye'll think of somethin'."
He ignored Simmons when the maroon private tried to pry for more information, and finally he just gave up with an irritated huff, going back to pretend to read his book in his room. The people around the base were so unhelpful sometimes, Jesus.
+++
"Hurr," Sarge grumbled, watching Simmons leave with some disdain. That soldier was acting off recently, and Sarge wasn't really sure if he liked it. Oh well, maybe he just missed home.
But he did bring up a good point. Christmas wasn't really that far away now, was it? And Sarge still hadn't managed to come up with what he was going to give his favorite Pink Private.
He already had all the girly movies that Sarge knew of, not to mention those flowery scented bath gels and soaps and shampoos that Sarge tried not to think about too much while he was in the shower. What else was there that Sarge could easily buy for the kid?
For not the first time in his life, Sarge regretted not listening to his Cupcake's feminine rantings when he first got here.
But he was jumping ahead a little too much, wasn't he, calling him "his" already? Gerdernit, he still hadn't found the right way to let Donut know how he felt. It wasn't like he was really familiar with this whole closet business. He had a wife back home, for varmint's sake. Not that he'd really cared about her in the first place. He just married her for her money.
But that wasn't the point right now, what was the point was that if Sarge didn't come up with the best, most romantic present that was still subtle enough that Simmons and the dirtbag wouldn't notice before Christmas, he'd never manage to snag the younger man.
"Hurr," Sarge grumbled again, realizing that he'd have to go ahead and take Simmons' lead. He'd have to man up and ask Donut what he wanted, man-to-man, pretty face to ugly one.
Feeling his self confidence drop a few centimeters, Sarge left Lopez in the middle of the work room, muttering to himself all the way down the hallway to the kitchen.
He was right in guessing the rosy private would be there; the other man was baking cookies, wearing an obnoxiously frilly apron and humming carols slightly out of tune as he conducted the instruments in his mind with a batter-covered wooden spoon.
Sarge cleared his throat once awkwardly, and then Donut had turned, that beautiful smile lighting up his gorgeous blue eyes in a way that made Sarge feel like a puddle of goo in his boots. He cleared his throat again.
"What d'ya want fer Christmas, Pinky?" he asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.
Donut's grin stretched wider, and he perked up a hip, settling a hand on it jauntily. "You don't have to get me anything, Sarge! It's enough that you keep this place running smoothly!" He turned back to his work, humming a little louder.
Sarge groaned, but knew when to leave the other man alone. That hum meant business.
It was most certainly not cowardly the way he turned tail and fled the kitchen.
+++
Donut continued his flamboyant humming long after Sarge had left, but what the older man had said was sticking to his mind just like the way the butter crisco was sticking to his wooden spoon. He tsked and scraped it off with a carefully manicured red nail, then continued mixing, mind drifting off to the idea of presents under the Christmas tree.
He knew he had something for everyone (and he did mean everyone -- including Blue Base), and yet, he still felt that he needed to find something different for Caboose. Michael deserved better than even his homemade chocolate chip cookies that he'd delivered yesterday, or the lightish red scarf he'd knitted especially for the dumber man, or the adorable Santa teddy bear that he'd found online. No, he needed something that was personal, that meant something special. Something that showed Michael he really did care, and that he cared a lot. Short of wrapping himself up and crawling under the Blues' tree, he had no idea what kind of gift would invoke that kind of emotion from the other man.
He huffed in irritation, plump lower lip sliding out into a girly pout. He was supposed to be good at this kind of thing! He was supposed to know every man's quirks, the way to every man's heart! He'd tried everything on Caboose and nothing had happened yet! He's pushed it off as the guy was too slow to get it at first, but it had been three Christmases already and still there was nothing.
It was time for drastic measures.
He'd been saving it for Grif and Simmons -- God knew they needed it -- but sometimes he just had the think for himself. He packed it all up in gorgeous shiny red wrapping paper and tied it with an adorable little bow, then donned his armor sans helmet and skipped his way across the canyon, knowing without a doubt he'd get what he really wanted for Christmas: a new boyfriend!
He knocked both loudly and gently on the concrete wall, hoping someone was close enough to hear it. He didn't have to wait long; soon two shining blue eyes peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of the blonde ragamuffin as he grabbed Donut up in a big friendly bear hug.
"Captain Butter-ma-fresh!" he chortled as he put him down. He noticed the shiny package in Donut's hands, and his grin widened. "You are a good friend. You keep bringing presents!" He gasped, as if just realizing something. "You must be Santa's main helper! Oh my God you even wear red."
Donut giggled, feeling bubbly and happy just like the champagne he had waiting in the fridge back at base for Christmas Eve. "Here, open it!"
Caboose grabbed it from him eagerly, tearing open the wrappings to see a healthy sprig of mistletoe. He promptly ripped off a bough and shoved it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"Oh my God, don't eat it! It might be poisonous!" Donut flipped out, smacking at Caboose's cheeks before he spit it on the ground and made a slightly disgruntled face.
"It doesn't taste like normal vegetables," he stated matter-of-factly.
Donut sighed, taking the remains of the mistletoe back gently. "It's not a vegetable," he replied.
He should have known something like this would happen.
+++
Admiral Popperbread left after Caboose told him that whatever it was, it had to be a vegetable, because it was green. He looked kind of sad. Why would he be sad that the gross leafy thing was a vegetable? Was Mister Sergeant making him eat his vegetables and that was the vegetable that he had to eat?! Oh no! That would be horrible!
Caboose was glad that the only vegetables that Church made him eat were broccoli and corn. Caboose liked corn. It reminded him of the Indians and Columbo Day.
He wandered back into the base like a lost cause, until he saw Church sitting on a chair next to the Christmas tree (Caboose liked the Christmas tree, even though when he helped Church put it up the lights buzzed at him and made him feel funny), reading a book without Santa on the cover. Church was so smart. Caboose could never read books during Christmas without Santa on the cover. And there weren't even pictures inside, either!
Caboose wished he knew what Church would like for Christmas. When he was back home with his mom and his sisters he'd draw them all crayon pictures and they would be happy. But every time he drew Church a crayon picture he got yelled at.
"Chu-uuurch!" Caboose singsonged as he got closer to the other man, plopping himself at his feet like a puppy. If he'd had a tail, it would have been thumping enthusiastically against the concrete floor.
"What," Church snapped, turning a page. "Can't you see I'm reading here?"
"What do you want for Christmas, Church?" Caboose asked, pressing his cheek against the other man's jean-covered leg.
Church sighed with exasperation and growled, "I'd like you to shut up and leave me alone, before I decide to not even give you smoal."
Caboose was silent for a long while as he thought about it, then asked, "Church, what's smoal?"
"Oh my God," Church groaned. "Just go away, please."
Maybe he'd just have to draw Church a crayon picture anyway. He bet that if he made it the best crayon picture he ever ever drew, that Church would have to like it.
+++
Church felt a little guilty when Caboose finally got up and padded away silently, but the amusement he got from the jean pattern pressed into the rookie's cheek was more than enough to make him forget about it. But shit, why'd he have to bring up the one thing Church had been trying not to think about? He was reading a book about goddamned taxes for cryin' out loud. Anything to get his mind off of Christmas.
Stupid Christmas. Nothing ever went right during this season. Never had, never would. Every year he'd try giving Tex something else, hoping he'd finally get lucky and pick something she actually liked, but every year she'd open his present, give him a dirty look (and not the fun kind), and then he'd be mauled into Next Tuesday.
Stupid goddamned Christmas.
This year he'd postponed even thinking about it, and he hadn't ordered anything at all yet, but he knew that if he didn't at least make an attempt to get Tex something nice, he might as well start writing a eulogy for himself, because he'd be damned if anyone else would write one for him.
What the shit was he supposed to get that woman, anyway? Nothing he'd ever done had satisfied her. He tried so goddamn hard and she left him for other men, stole his money, and beat the shit out of him. Maybe he should just give her money. She couldn't complain about that.
Except that he knew she could, because it would show that he hadn't thought about it. She would never believe any of his excuses, like he didn't know what to get her, even though they were fucking true.
God, he hated loving that woman. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, he swore.
Well, what the hell. He might as well ask her. It's not like she can get too mad at him for trying, right?
"Yeah, right," he grumbled to himself as he tossed the book a little violently across the room and stood up, cracking a few kinks out of his back. He stomped a little toward the room Tex had claimed as her own, knocking sloppily on the door. It opened, and Tex glared out at him with evil violet eyes.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"Heh, that's exactly what I was going to ask you," Church said lightly, trying in vain to make a joke.
"The fuck do you mean by that?"
"Whaddya want for Christmas, Tex?"
He expected some kind of outburst, and he got it. "You're waiting until now to ask me? What the hell is wrong with you, Church?"
He shrugged. "Don't answer questions with more questions."
"Fuck you, you stupid man." And she slammed the door in his face.
Like he said, loving her was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
---
A/N: Sorry there's not much of a conclusion. I had no idea how to tie all these stories up with a nice bow. D: