Rewind

A Tex will be Tex touch up

Yay!

A Fucking Freelancer

It was just like every other day in the Gulch. A Spartan was standing around, playing with his sniper. He had set up some boxes to use as target practice around neutral ground. Positioning the gun again, he tried to take aim from his usual perch atop the base. It was a big target, those boxes were uncharacteristically huge. They had probably been food shipments once, but now they were useless paper-light pieces of shit. He took the shot.

And missed of course.

He swore, lining up the shot a few more times. He wasn't having much more luck. Completely enveloped in his task, his determination could only be broken by one thing.

"CHUURRRCCHHHHH!" A voice came from within the base. Church missed again, and swore profusely.

Of course forgetting to turn the safety on, he threw the gun down in protest. It fired a shot straight into the wall of the base, ricocheting off and hitting him right in the face.

His profanity could be heard all the way to the red base.

Simmons was polishing guns or doing some other useful shit while Grif sat back and tried to catch up on some much needed rest. He yawned once more and took a sip of the beer he had been working on.

"I can't believe you're drinking at ten in the morning," Simmons groaned, intent on his work. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smudging some grease on it by accident. He was covered in dirt and sweat as per normal by doing double the morning chores, because Grif always slept too late to do his.

Grif scoffed at him, downing the thing to make a point.

"Well," he started, "You woke up at five, because you're fucking crazy, but I haven't slept in two days, so that really makes this like double midnight for me. I think I've earned myself a good drunk." He put his feet up, making himself at home.

Simmons put his hands on the workbench, leaning his weight onto it and hanging his head, "That doesn't make the least bit of sense."

Sarge made his entrance, shouting commands at himself. He came to a stop in the center of the room, regarding both of his soldiers with disgust, "Why don't either of you have your armor on? There's work to be done! Plans to be planned! Blues to be killed! Oh how I would love a blue helmet mounted in the common area…"

Grif and Simmons acknowledged each other with eye rolls, continuing their tasks while Sarge fantasized about blue blood.

"You did what?!" Church spat, holding a cloth to his cheek. Luckily, his bullet had only grazed his face, leaving a lot of blood, but no injuries. Caboose sat patiently on a stool in the kitchen while Church tended the wound.

"Hired a freelancer," Caboose replied, pleased with himself, "Command contacted me to ask about rations, and offered us a freelancer for free! Well, for free, but we don't get any of your soda until our next shipment, but that's fine, because I've had it, and you should get better soda. It's pretty gross and sme-" He was cut off by Tucker's exasperated shouts from the other room.

"That's our rum! It's not soda, it's not even remotely the same, that's my happy juice! My break, my sanity, goddamn it Caboose!" Tucker yelled. His yells turned to sobs.

Church sighed, removing the cloth and examining his face. He'd have a nasty scratch under his eye, but hell, maybe it would make him look tougher for this new Freelancers. Fucking Freelancers. They thought they were the shit. All cryptic and good with snipers. Fuck them. "Alright Caboose, next time Command calls, don't be a fucking idiot and just let me take the call."

Caboose nodded in agreement, "Oakie Dokie!" He spun around on his stool.

"Did they say when he would be coming out here?" Church asked, throwing his cloth in a laundry pile and approaching the fridge.

Caboose stopped spinning and regarded the question with confusion. He became too distracted by his dizziness and fell off the stool. Church grabbed some lunch meat to make a sandwich and approached the bar on which the stool was in front of. "Caboose?" Church commanded again, not noticing the young Private's fall.

"Uhhh. Well they said tomorrow. But that was yesterday. Wait was it? I don't remember, stop asking me so many questions." The voice came from the floor.

Tucker appeared in the doorway and Church raised an eyebrow at him. Tucker shrugged in response, "It's not my fucking job."

Church threw a knife at Tucker that missed completely.

Tucker ducked unnecessarily and shouted a retort. He crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway again, "Well if you have to know, he should be here next week or something."

Church swore, "Perfect. Everyone on this team is so fucking helpful. Good job guys, you should get an award or some shit."

The sound of a Pelican's drop stopped Church's rant. He glared at Tucker. Fuck, really? "Nice estimation asshole."

Author's Note ~

I liked the title Rewind, because it's kind of a throwback to old RvB before the plot got good. Not sure how often I'll be updating, but I will either be a very busy or very bored college girl, so do expect updates, but not scheduled, or the same length for every one! I would love your input or ideas on new chapters. I would like to keep the fun air that I had started with in TWBT, before I tried to be all good writer on you guys. If you'd rather mushy and heavy plot, then let me know, but I'd like to find a good balance. Reviews are loved! They keep me interested, and this story is really for all of you! I'll make it into whatever you need in a story.

I appreciate the continued support and love you all! You can check out my tumblr at .com