Yeah, not really sure where this came from. I've seen a lot of oneshots about the guys settling into their roles in the New Republic army, and I guess I wanted to do one too. Of course, a lot of people have been focusing on Tucker, since the new season looks like it's setting up for a lot of character building with him. Still, I like to try to be a little different and wanted to give my favorite orange Spartan a little love. That being said, this is the story of how the Blood Gulchers move from the first question they ever asked to a new question that will define their lives.

-J

Grif watched the video play for the hundredth time. Despite the hours he'd spent here, reviewing his team's many mistakes and failures during training, he couldn't figure out what they were doing wrong. He could definitely see that something was going wrong, but he couldn't see what caused it.

"You still watching that?" a familiar voice asked behind him. Grif didn't even bother to turn around. He didn't want to see the smug look he expected to be on Tucker's face. The teal soldier was the only one in their group whose team was even halfway decent at this point.

Well, him and, surprisingly, Caboose. Although, Grif suspected this had less to do with Caboose's leadership than with his lieutenant. Lucky bastard.

Also, now that he thought about it, Simmons team wasn't all that bad either. Sure, the maroon clad nerd was nearly incapable of communicating with his all-girl squad, but they'd still done fairly well in the more basic training situations. They were at least better than Grif's own team.

Grif's face turned even more sullen at these thoughts. It's not like this was anything he hadn't expected. He'd always known he wasn't the leader type. Still, it was a depressing thought that Caboose could be better at something than he was, aside from team killing.

Grif glanced over his shoulder and realized Tucker was still standing there. He was still in his armor, and there were smudges of dirt and dark stains from training guns covering his arms and chest. "Training?" Grif assumed.

"Yeah," Tucker nodded and sat in the seat next to Grif, apparently taking the other soldier's question as some sort of invitation. The chair groaned under the weight of his armor, but held.

"How'd it go?" Grif asked without really caring.

Tucker shrugged. "Eh, alright, I guess. Palomo's still a fucking idiot, but we did okay."

Grif tried not to get too angry at that answer. Of course, he should be happy at least one team was doing well. They were all on the same side, after all. Still, he wished his own team didn't have to be the worst of the worst.

"Why are we here?" he asked suddenly. He kept talking before Tucker could answer. "I mean, seriously, what are we doing here? We don't know how to train soldiers. We're barely even soldiers ourselves! How the fuck do we think we can help these people?"

"Dude, I don't know," Tucker said a bit too quickly. Grif began to suspect that he'd been thinking the same thing these past few weeks. "Kimball asked us to help, so we're doing the best we can."

"But why?" Grif repeated. "Why are we doing this?"

There was a long pause. "We're fighters," Tucker said eventually. "We're probably not really soldiers anymore. I'm not sure how all that got worked out after Project Freelancer. But even if we aren't soldiers, we're still fighters. It's what we do."

"We're fighters," Grif copied him. "But what do we fight for?"

"Wash," Tucker said without hesitation. "Dude was willing to do anything to help us, to keep us safe. I'm not going to leave him in that douche bag Locus' hands."

The two soldiers sat in silence for a few more moments until Tucker spoke again. "And what about you? What do you fight for?" When Grif doesn't answer after a moment, he adds, "cause if you don't know that, then there's no reason to fight. And if you don't have a reason to fight, then you won't do it well."

Grif took a moment to think about it. He and Sarge had never seen eye to eye, and the older man had threatened to kill him nearly every day since they'd met. Still, over the past few years those threats had seemed more like a joke to them both. He knew that if it came down to it, Sarge would have fought for him just like anyone else on their team.

Then, he thought about Donut. Grif was pretty sure Donut's entire goal in life was to find ways to make the rest of red team uncomfortable. Which, you know, considering the years they'd spent in blood gulch, it wasn't exactly a bad way to pass the time. Grif had certainly played his fair share of tricks on Simmons in that time. It had helped keep the insanity at bay. Besides, Donut had grown to be kind of like a little sister to him. Although Grif would never admit it, he'd needed someone like that he could worry about whenever he'd started to miss Sister.

"Sarge and Donut," he finally answered. "They're my team. I can't leave them out there."

"Well, there you go. Now you have motivation." Tucker looked at him for a second before glancing away. "Look, I didn't want to say it, but you're actually a decent soldier. I mean, most of the time you're lazy and you barely try, which I can totally understand. I mean, there was no point in Blood Gulch, so why bother. Fuck it, right? But, the few times you've actually put in a little effort, you've done pretty well. You just need to get motivated.

"Your squad, well, they're the same way. They don't think they can really win this war, so they don't want to bother. You need to convince them differently. You have to motivate them."

"How?" Grif asked. His mind went to the speeches Sarge would often give them about why they fought the blues and what their purpose was. "Do I have to give a speech or something?"

"If you want," Tucker shrugged. "But I don't think that's your style. It needs to be something that works for you. Trust me, they can tell if you're faking it." Grif barely heard the whispered "bow chicka bow wow."

Tucker stood, stretching his back to the sound of a few pops as he did so. As he turned to leave, Grif spoke. "Hey, thanks man."

"Don't mention it" Tucker said. "We're in this together now, right?"

"Right" Grif nodded.

Lieutenant Bitters stood outside the mess tent with the rest of his squad. They were all a little nervous. Yesterday had been their worst training mission to date. Now, instead of going to the usual simulation cave, their CO had told them to meet him here, but had given no reason why. Of course, rumors had already started to spread throughout the squad, the most ridiculous of which being that Captain Grif planned to kill them and hide the bodies amongst the mystery meat. Bitters tried to convince himself that was ridiculous. Their CO couldn't really be that crazy. Of course, the stories Captain Simmons had told them about Grif's eating habits weren't helping. How could one man eat an entire month's supply of rations in one night?

Bitters' thoughts snapped back to reality when the man in question came into view. Grif sprinted over to meet his squad, which they all thought was odd. They had yet to see their Captain move at anything more than a leisurely stroll before.

"Ready to start training?" Grif asked once he was standing in front of the squad.

"Sir?" Bitters spoke up hesitantly. When Grif's head turned to face him directly, he gulped and continued. "Um, the training caves are that way." He pointed off to the right somewhere.

"Jesus, I know that, Bitters," Grif said with exasperation. "Today, I'm going to be teaching you something a little different."

"What's that, sir?"

Grif nodded to the mess tent behind them. "Infiltration."

Hope you all enjoyed!