Challenge for the Red vs. Blue Review Crew forum on crack pairings. Has to include a WTF crack pairing and orange juice must be mentioned.

My crack pairing: Tucker x Tucker's Rock

Enjoy!

Heart of Stone

Love is a strange thing. Private Tucker discovered this on a Friday morning in spring. A stupid bitch Freelancer called Tex had just been blown up in a tank, Church was dead and pissed that his half-shark girlfriend had just been incinerated with a grenade, and Caboose was an idiot.

Nothing new.

Shuffling into the dining room, Tucker stretched and yawned. He wasn't overly fond of mornings, but it meant he could have time to himself for an hour or so. Church was a lazy fucker; he stayed in bed until Caboose did something to annoy him (like the time he'd drawn a curly moustache on Church's face in permanent marker), and Caboose usually spent most mornings having the shit beaten out of him by Church.

The fridge had little of interest in it. Most of the food was off or healthy, which was not Tucker's style. What sort of person wouldn't eat pizza deep-fried in bacon fat and sprinkled with marshmallows? Sighing, the Blue soldier shut the door. He'd just have to starve.

Turning to make a cup of coffee, Tucker paused. There, sat on the table, was a carton of orange juice.

Why wasn't it in the fridge?

Perhaps a cool, refreshing glass of orange juice would be what he needed to start his day off. Technically it was healthy, but the temperature was high that day. He could risk it.

Picking up the carton, Tucker raised it to his lips and had a mouthful.

"Tucker, we have glasses!" Church bellowed from his room, causing Tucker to choke and spit out an orange fountain all over the breakfast table. "And you can clean that up!"

"Ew, that's gross!" Caboose cried, poking his head into the kitchen and pulling a face. A shoe hit him in the back of the head, which had been thrown with force by Church.

"Shut up, moron."

Tucker rolled his eyes and fetched a glass. How the hell had Church even seen that anyway?

Deciding not to dwell on stuff he didn't care about, Tucker left the carton of juice on the table and wandered outside in his aqua jogging bottoms and white vest top. The Reds wouldn't be a danger at this time of the day. For starters, Grif wouldn't even be awake. It was a battle that rang around the canyon every day, with Sarge screaming his guts out for his most hated soldier to haul his ass out of bed. As if on cue, a southern accent cut into the bland silence of Blood Gulch.

"Grif! How many times have I told you that getting Donut to carry your armour around the perimeter of the base does not count as a morning run?"

"Aw, come on, Sarge! You wouldn't have noticed if Donut hadn't been running so fast!"

"I don't care, Grif! You do a morning run every day! And Donut, if you're going to fake a Grif moving, you need to do it properly, damn it! Research your subject; study its movement patterns...which don't exist! If you'd have left the armour on the floor I'd have accepted that..!"

"Excellent observation, sir!" Simmons piped up.

Tucker shook his head and strolled across the dusty terrain, bare footed. He had all the time in the world.

And a glass of orange juice.

It was a peculiar glass of orange juice. It was in an average, misty glass, cold and orange. It looked extremely drinkable and tasty...and yet an essence of pure evil radiated from the depth of its juicy interior, calling to him, begging him to succumb to the taint that lay within it.

Taste the fruit of my loins, it whispered to him. Take me, Tucker. Oh! Take me!

"Shut the fuck up, juice," Tucker muttered, secretly aroused. He knocked back the orange juice in one go and then burped loudly. Definitely an eight.

Finally, he reached his goal...his sanctuary: his rock. Moving around it, he let his fingers trail slowly on the hard exterior, savouring its touch.

Hard exterior...

"Bow-Chika-Bo-" he began, and then paused. "Wait, that's kinda gay."

Tucker stepped back, feeling strange. The empty glass fell from his hand and landed on the floor with a clunk, but he didn't notice. Instead, Tucker stared at his rock, his head tilted to one side. Women's nipples could be hard in correct temperature, right? And on closer inspection, Tucker could see that his rock was clearly a woman.

"Hey," Tucker said softly, swaggering over to his rock. "I see you've got a crack. Mind if I dig into it? Bow-Chika-Bow-Wow."

Silence.

Playing hard to get, eh? Tucker thought to himself, intrigued. Usually girls would react to his chat ups (negatively, admittedly, but still), but this one was...different. However, he knew if he tried enough, he catch her out.

"Baby, I'm a Geologist. I'm qualified to sample your earthly delights. Bow-Chika-Bow-Wow."

"Was that an earthquake, or did I just rock your world? Bow-Chika-Bow-Wow."

"'How about I cause a tremor in your fault line? Bow-Chika-Bow-Wow."

Again, nothing. Tucker was confused. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed with a funny flipping sensation in his stomach and a fluttering in his chest. This lady would not be won over with sweet nothings. He needed to prove himself to his love...and he knew exactly how...

"We must watch our enemies at all times! Who knows what treachery those dirty Blues could be plotting? They could be formulating a way to destroy us all at this very moment!"

"Alright, alright! Calm down," Grif snapped, gritting his teeth as Sarge pointed his shotgun in Grif's direction. Being dragged out of bed before midday was the bane of his life, but at least he could stack his armour up against the Warthog and go back to bed once the morning crawl was done. Sarge never noticed...or at least pretended not to notice to avoid having to be near Grif as much as possible.

Good times.

He lifted the sniper rifle to his visor and peered through it, expecting to see Tucker at his rock again. Grif had installed a camcorder on the scope of the sniper rifle, meaning he could take footage to blackmail with later.

Grif's eyes widened with surprise at the sight he was greeted to.

"Simmons!" he hissed, motioning for the maroon solider to come closer.

"What?" Simmons said sharply, expecting to be asked if Sarge was distracted enough for Grif to return to bed. The thought of Grif in bed made his cheeks flush slightly and he shook his head in embarrassment.

"...what are you shaking your head for?" the orange soldier asked, forgetting his original motives.

"Nothing!" Simmons replied quickly, his voice coming out higher than he'd intended. He quickly coughed and repeated himself. "Nothing. What's up?"

"Look over at Tucker's rock, man."

"I am not looking through that thing again, Grif. You didn't even prepare me for it last time."

"Seriously, just take a look."

Simmons muttered to himself as Grif forced the sniper rifle into his hands, flinching only slightly as the orange soldier's fingers brushed against his. He basked in the moment, and then remembered himself, looking through the gun.

"...what the fuck?"

Tucker strummed awkwardly on Church's guitar, hoping he wouldn't be caught before his serenade was finished. The Blue leader was fiercely protective of the stupid instrument, and it was only because Caboose had put snakes in Church's bed to 'play' had Tucker managed to snatch the thing away during the chaos.

Not that he knew how to play a guitar. However, he thought he was doing pretty well until the G string snapped, shooting back and cutting his cheek.

"Fuck!" Tucker yelled, clutching at his face and dropping the guitar with a harmonic crash. Church appeared at the door of the base.

"Uh," Tucker began as Church stood staring at him. "Now, Church, let's not get mad. I had a drink of bad OJ which made me fall in love with a rock and-"

"That's my guitar," Church said quietly. "And I am going to kill you."

"Oooh, Church is firing the sniper rifle at Tucker!" Donut gasped, peering through his own scope. The entire Red Team stood on top of base watching the Blues through their sniper rifles.

"Yeah, but he can't shoot for shit," Simmons said, snorting. "The Blue will be fine."

"This is the best entertainment since Janet Jackson's woozah fell out of her top at that award show!" Sarge said happily.

Caboose wandered about the base humming to himself. He could hear best friend Church shooting at stupid Tucker, which was fine. Tucker was dumb and deserved to have best friend Church be mean to him.

"Church, calm the fuck dow—ahh! That hit me in the—ow! Stop it!"

Ignoring Tucker's screams of pain, Caboose opened the medicine cabinet where his medication lay. His mother had told him that he had to take it every day, and that it had to be mixed with a drink beforehand.

Caboose smiled. He had been doing what he had been told to, just like a good boy!

Picking up the carton of orange juice on the table, Caboose inserted six pills into the carton and then shook it vigorously. He had done this every day – just like mom had said – ever since he had arrived at Blood Gulch, but usually something distracted him and he would forget to—

"Oh my God," Caboose gasped, placing the orange juice back on the table as he spotted the snake he had put in Church's bed on the floor. "Mr Worm, you need to go back! You will make Church mad if you are not protecting him at all times from evil Tucker. I am trusting you."

Picking the snake up, Caboose strolled back to Church's room.

The orange juice remained innocently on the table.