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Church was not a morning person. Sure, Tucker and Wash weren't, either, but, most days, only the promise of donuts could tear Church from their firm, starch Queen-sized bed. (Only Wash appreciated the unyielding mattress, but with plenty of soft embraces between the three of them, neither Tucker nor Church felt the need to complain). The dense haze of sleep stuck in his eyes and mouth and settled over his mind not like a harmless fog, but rather like a foul tasting scum. His daily irritation at simply being awake was often exacerbated by the cruel chill of the air conditioner, which ran unfalteringly even in the dead of winter.
Curse stupid Tucker and his stupid night sweats, Church groused halfheartedly one typical winter morning after he finally tumbled out of bed. He couldn't be too annoyed with him; the man was plying him with chocolate donuts, after all. Fumbling with the doorknob, he managed to swing the bathroom door shut and flick the lightswitch on, albeit not without knocking several things over in the process. After several long minutes of staring absently at himself in the mirror-he could swear that shitbird was staring back-while brushing his teeth, he heard Tucker shout from the kitchen.
"Dude, hurry up! We're going to be late for work, and I'm going to be as old as Wash by the time you're out! If you're not out here in two minutes, I'm going to eat your breakfast!"
All affection for his lover died right then. Wash was his favorite now. Wash would never betray him like this. Church turned on his heel-no one would notice if he didn't brush his curly hair and he could throw on deoodorant in the car anyway-and practically leapt for the door. Unfortunately, he landed on a bottle of shampoo, tripping him and sending him colliding into the door. He hit it hard, crushing his jaw painfully against the wood and slamming his elbow into the door handle. His fingers pawed at the lightswitch and drug the flick downwards as he fell onto his back, leaving him aching in the dark.
The problem wasn't that he was scared of the dark, per se. It was that he was terrified of the dark. He knew better than to think that witches and other ghouls would spring from the dark, eager to rip him apart, but he also knew that, on the off chance someone was someone was lurking in their bathroom at this ungodly hour, it wasn't to bring him on a surprise trip to the local fair for ice cream and pony rides.
"Church? You ok?" Tucker called with concern from the other side of the door. He must have heard the crash and come running.
"'S whatever," Church mumbled as he slowly pulled himself to his feet and peered apprehensively at the dark shadow he knew the tub was in. If he recalled correctly, the curtains were drawn, and he hadn't bothered to pull them back when he stumbled in, so anyone, a grown man with a kitchen knife, or an assassin with the CIA, could be there, waiting for just such a perfect opportunity to jump out and stab him.
Or, he thought wildy, for Wash or Tucker to step in to stab them while I'm not looking.
He wasn't going to let that happen. His hands balled into fists of their own accord, but he hesitated again to step forward. He was being irrational, he knew, but he couldn't just check and assuage his fears, not in the dark. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his shoulders tensed suddenly. Somebody was behind him!
Church whirled around, throwing his right arm out. His palm hit something smooth and cold...the mirror!
"Dude??" Tucker called with more alarm, apparently still hovering by the door. In his own alarm, Church scrambled around the tiny room, searching for a safe place to regather his wits. He kicked and shoved things out of the way, sending them hurling towards the floor and shooting around the room upon impact. The door handle rattled violently.
"Church! Unlock the door! You're freaking me the fuck out!" Tucker shouted frantically. "...and why's the light off?" He trailed in confusion.
The light! Right! He could turn the light on! Hope and faint embarassment nearly overpowered his adrenaline rush. Church sprung to his feet, keeping to the wall for protection, and groped for the light switch.
Several moments of increasingly desperate groping, Church called miserably, "I can't find it!"
"You can't-? Hold on, I'm calling Wash." On the other side of the door, Tucker pulled out his phone and hit Wash's contact number.
"Good morning, dewdrop," greeted Wash in an exhausted but nevertheless adoring voice. Wash had worked the overnight shift at the shipping yard again, so he had not expected to see Tucker and Church before they headed out to work in their crowded and noisy IT department. Tucker's call was a pleasant surprise.
"Do you have the keys?" demanded Tucker. Wash frowned. Tucker sounded anxious, which was unusual for him.
"Yeah, what's going on? Did you lock yourself out?" He asked as he pulled into the parking lot outside their small apartment complex.
"What-no, Church is stuck in the bathroom."
Wash waited a beat.
"Doesn't it lock from the inside?"
"Yeah, it's dark in there, he's freaking out-look, do you have the keys or not?" rushed Tucker.
"Church? Wash has the keys. He's coming. He's going to let you out." Tucker soothed through the door, pressing against it so Church would know he was there.
"Three minutes, ok buddy? You just gotta hang on for three minutes," he continued. From this close, Tucker could hear a quiet, high pitched whimper, followed closely by a sniffle. His brain froze.
Church is crying. Church never cries, about anything. Ever. Of all time. Church is crying and needs my help and is sitting in the dark and there is a door in the way and the damn door is locked and I can't get to him and three minutes is a long ass time to endure this and-
"STEP BACK!" he shouted, pulling back and bracing himself. A raspy, confused noise interrupted the sniffling.
"STEP BACK, CHURCH!" he shouted again. "STEP BACK!"
A scrambling noise quickly died. Tucker reeled back, pulled his leg all the way up to his chest, and launched it near the handle of the bathroom door. Wood splintered and cracked, and, with a clang of metal, the door shot open. Church was on him in an instant, burying his face in Tucker's shoulder and squeezing him as though he expected him to disappear. Tucker hugged him just as tightly.
Wash threw open the front door-which was unlocked, ironically, they'd need to talk about that-and reeled around the corner to see Tucker holding Church, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly into his ear. He looked to the bathroom door in confusion, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was busted, splinters hanging from the frame and the knob hanging loosely in its slot.
"Three minutes," Wash muttered in irritation. It hadn't even been two. "Three fucking minutes..."