Author's Introduction:

Wrote this as a gift for a very dear friend, who is kind enough to let me share it here.

The question was—Scarlett was so angry at Flint during "Third and Long". Flint said himself that if he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn her attack on him was personal.

But why?

First Down

A G.I. Joe Renegades story by Firestar9mm

Part One: Impressed

Six foot leaning on a lizard chest
Two red dragons ironed on his vest
All that money, you deserve the best
I'm impressed
I'm impressed
I'm impressed

I don't like you, but I'm impressed

(Natalie Imbruglia, Impressed)

The first time it had happened had truly been an accident.

Normally, Scarlett did not love the idea of them being in public places, especially not all together. But she knew the men were starting to feel the effects of being constantly on the run; for so long now it had been just the four of them, and even she was beginning to forget what it had been like to be in a large place, with other people. Their world had shrunk to the inside of the Coyote, to each other's habits and moods, and while in some ways it had brought them closer than any boot camp or war zone could have, in other ways, they were in danger of grinding each other down.

So when Roadblock suggested they splurge on some bar appetizers and a couple of brews and watch a baseball game, she smothered her trepidation and didn't argue with them about it.

Duke had pounced on the idea right away. Despite his frosty cool on the battlefield, the blond sergeant was friendly. Hiding out like this was against his nature, and the idea of doing something "normal" appealed to him. Roadblock was also easy-going, and liked to have fun; moreover, he had unshakable faith in their little unit; if something came along, he never seemed to have any doubt that they'd put paid to it. And Tunnel Rat was a talker; he'd start a conversation with a tree stump until it uprooted in disgust and walked off. He talked to Roadblock to complain, to Scarlett to tease, even to Snake Eyes despite knowing he'd never get an answer; rather, his attempts to get any kind of response from the silent commando were nothing short of heroic. Tunnel Rat talked just to hear himself make noise. Having to stay silent and hidden was wearing on him, too.

When Roadblock proposed the idea, they all turned as one to look the question at her. The wary expressions on their faces bothered her; they looked as though they were waiting for her to veto the idea, like a mean babysitter who enjoyed telling them "no".

Despite her initial position that she didn't give a damn what they thought of her, she heard herself agreeing, partially because she wanted to prove to them that she was a real person, too, and was just as tired of all this as they were. Affecting a nonchalant shrug, she said, "Sounds good. I could go for a burger. Who's playing tonight?"

Their expressions of surprise—and in Duke's case, barely concealed amusement-couldn't have been better if she'd hopped into the center of their huddle dressed as the Easter Bunny.

Roadblock was delighted and didn't even try to hide it. Clapping her on the shoulder with one big hand, so hard it nearly knocked her off-balance, he laughed, "Atta girl, Red. It's the Jays at Atlanta tonight."

Tunnel Rat was grinning, but he was quick to tease her. "Scarlett wants to go out and do something fun? Maybe we better not fall asleep tonight. I bet that's when the pods take over."

"We'll have to keep a low profile, though," Scarlett warned. "Our pictures are everywhere, and you never know what bartender might have a good memory for faces. A few hours won't kill us, but we shouldn't push our luck."

"Never mind. She's back," Tunnel Rat said, and Duke and Roadblock laughed.

They ended up parking the Coyote—now disguised as an unassuming van-on a side street near a bar that boasted color TV, a grill open till 3 AM and wings so hot the local fire department was on speed-dial. As she jumped out of the Coyote, Scarlett couldn't help turning to Snake Eyes.

"You can come with us, you know."

Snake shook his head, as though she were being absurd, and gestured to his face.

"We could...figure something out," she entreated, but the commando only shook his head again. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to have it his own way, then, but she waited a minute, lips tightening, before admitting defeat. "I'll bring you back something."

But Snake shook his head again, waving his hand as if to tell her not to bother. He nodded past her at the other Joes, who were already on their way towards the bar. Tunnel Rat was rocking his weight back and forth on his heels impatiently, and Duke was looking back at her in curiosity.

Sighing through her nose, Scarlett nodded. "O.K. But take a radio if you go anywhere," she said, then added, "Please. And be careful." Snake Eyes was too good to have been caught by the cameras during that first awful skirmish with Cobra, but just associating with them put him in danger, too.

Snake Eyes made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and she couldn't help but smile. "All right. See you later." And she turned her back on him and walked briskly to catch up to the Joes who were waiting for her.

The bar was crowded, which had alarmed Scarlett at first—more potential eyewitnesses who might recognize their faces from a wanted poster—but proved instead to be a blessing; everyone was focused on the game, their drinks, each other, and no one was paying attention to a group of raggedy misfits at the corner table with a good view of the TV bolted to the ceiling.

The men relaxed almost instantly once the first round came; they'd agreed to allow themselves to drink as long as they could still walk back—Scarlett flatly refused to carry anyone back to the Coyote and declared that anyone who got too wasted was sleeping it off in the gutter, Cobra be damned. The Joes laughed at this, and Tunnel Rat immediately began calling her "Sober Soldier", prompting Scarlett to kick him beneath the table as she ordered a beer of her own from the young waitress. But the beer was cold and the menu had their mouths watering after weeks of scraping by on meager rations.

"All I want out of life is a cheeseburger right now," Duke said, handing the menu back to the girl with that megawatt smile of his.

Naturally, the girl smiled back at him, eyes twinkling. "You're easy to please."

"Yes, and thank goodness for that," Duke said with a friendly laugh. "Medium rare and as fast as possible with a side of fries, and you'll be my favorite person in the world tonight."

"Coming right up," the girl sang, flushing prettily.

Scarlett heard herself cut in, forcing her menu between Duke and the waitress as she handed it back. "Make that two, please."

The waitress was visibly startled—and so were the other Joes, looking at Scarlett with interest—as if she had just remembered there were other people at the table. Her generic courteous smile blinked back on and she composed herself, pencil and pad at the ready. "Of course, ma'am, and how would you like that?"

"Rare," Scarlett said warmly. "As rare as you're legally allowed to make it without violating health codes."

The girl blinked. "Um—well—you got it!"

Tunnel Rat and Roadblock were watching the exchange as though it was a tennis match, their gazes bouncing back and forth, but Duke was smiling at Scarlett. "She likes her meat surprised and running," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Roadblock gave a deep bass chuckle and handed his own menu back, breaking the tension. "I'll have the steak sandwich, but make sure it's well dead, please."

Tunnel Rat handed up his menu. "Forget all of you, man, I'm having wings. Extra spicy."

The other Joes laughed, and just like that, the situation was defused. But Scarlett couldn't resist spearing Duke with a warning look. "We are trying not to stick out in anyone's minds, Grunt," she lectured. "Remember?"

Duke tilted his head, blue eyes clear and affectionate. "Aww, don't be jealous, Scarlett," he crooned. "You're still my best girl."

Tunnel Rat and Roadblock's brows arched and their heads swiveled back to see what she'd do with this. Blushing in furious rage at how he managed to make everything into an innuendo, Scarlett kicked him under the table, hard. "In your dreams, Duke."

"Ow!"

"Forget the game. This is way more interesting," Tunnel Rat declared.

Scarlett frowned, turning her attention back to her beer. Jealous over him? Of all the idiotic…she sipped, hoping the beer would cool her off.

The cheeseburger fulfilled all of Duke's lofty expectations; his eyes closed in an expression of ecstasy as he bit into his. The other Joes watched, impressed; Tunnel Rat held up two hands to frame the blond sergeant and gave his own caption: "America".

Roadblock laughed easily, and Scarlett had to join in—she'd cheered up on seeing that her instructions had been followed and her own cheeseburger had basically been slaughtered in the kitchen. The fries were suitably spiced, and everyone was happier when their bellies were full and another round was ordered midway through the televised baseball game.

"Think this is a Braves bar, or what?" Tunnel Rat asked with a smile as a girl at the bar clapped her hands and whooped as an out was made.

"It's too bad we ain't got no home team playing," Roadblock said, glancing around at the cheering bar patrons with a grin. "We'd fit in better."

"I don't know, Roadblock," Duke said, chuckling as three men at the bar along with two nearby tables set up a chorus of boos as a batter stepped up to the plate. "Maybe it's better we don't. Sounds like a powderkeg in here."

Scarlett glanced at the screen, arching a copper brow. "Cabrera is such an asshole," she declared matter-of-factly, sipping from her pint. "Maybe when we spank him tonight he'll learn not to bite the hand that fed him."

The expressions of surprise on the other Joes' faces were almost better this time than it had been when she'd agreed to come here. Smirking at them, she added to Roadblock, "Maybe you don't have a home team playing."

"You're from Atlanta?" Duke asked, at the same time Tunnel Rat exclaimed, "You like baseball?"

Despite her pleasure at throwing them off-balance, Scarlett answered them calmly in turn, "Born there, and yes. Doesn't everyone?"

Roadblock quickly maneuvered her into explaining the crowd's (and her own) disdain for the disavowed Melky Cabrera; she was happy to oblige as with anything she felt strongly about.

"See, the Braves are us," she said, setting the salt shaker on the table to represent the Joes, then putting the pepper shaker beside it. "And Cabrera? He's…he's…"

"He's Mindbender," Duke supplied, reaching across the table to knock down the pepper shaker.

Scarlett chuckled, righting it before too much pepper shook out onto the table. "Basically, yes. Stop. You're making a mess."

"He's a bad guy," Tunnel Rat said sagely. "It's O.K. to knock over a bad guy."

"I didn't know you were from Atlanta," Duke said, and when Scarlett turned a curious look to him, added with an almost-sheepish shrug, "You don't usually volunteer details like that."

"You never asked," Scarlett said simply.

Duke considered her carefully. "I'm sorry."

Cocking a copper brow, Scarlett asked, "For what?"

"For not asking," he answered promptly. "It was impolite."

Scarlett frowned, this line of conversation confusing her. "Why should you care where I'm from?"

"Of course I—we care," Duke said, as though the very idea they didn't was absurd. "We're…comrades, and that's—we care."

"I…forgive you," Scarlett said carefully, unsure where his vehemence was coming from. Suddenly uncomfortable, she got up. "Look, I'm just going to go out and ping Snake Eyes. Make sure he's O.K. Be right back."

As she exited the bar, she could hear the Joes ribbing each other.

"Way to go, Sergeant Smooth."

"What! I meant that!"

The Joes and Snake Eyes had devised an elementary system of signals for radio communication, and he answered her just checking request promptly, but Scarlett wasn't ready to head back into the bar yet, still unsettled by the hurt look on Duke's face when she'd brushed off his concerns. Strapping her arms around herself, she looked up at the clear night sky, trying to remember back to when her life was normal.

But it wasn't normal, and she was reminded of that instantly when a voice said, "Hey there," and a hand closed on her shoulder and tried to turn her in another direction. She immediately brought her opposite arm over it and elbowed the offender in the face. He released her with a grunt and she leaped back, out of striking distance.

Coughing, her attacker straightened. Not a Joe, or a Cobra—just a horny bar patron who'd tried to get handsy. "Bitch," he said, spitting blood onto the pavement, which was gross, but not very threatening.

Genuinely penitent, Scarlett offered a hand. "Sorry—I'm sorry," she said. "You—you startled me. You shouldn't have grabbed me like that." Her nerves were standing on end, but she reminded herself strongly that not everyone was trying to kill her, and this man, even in his stupidity, didn't deserve an overreaction.

Smiling, the man wiped his bleeding mouth with one hand and took her offered one with the other. "Well, that's all right, honey. You can make it up to me."

Oh.

Jaw tightening, Scarlett shook her head. "Actually, I need to get back inside. My friends are probably looking for me."

"Make 'em wait," her unwelcome suitor said, using the grip on her hand to pull her closer to him. "You hit me, after all. Don't you think I deserve something sweet after that?"

Scarlett tore her hand from his grasp, but it wasn't altogether helpful when she was already too close to him. "No, I'm thinking you deserve another shot in the mouth," she said sternly. "Let me go or I'll make you let go."

"Ouch," the man purred, sliding a hand brazenly over her breast. "I like a girl with a temper."

"You haven't seen temper," Scarlett declared, and brought her hand around in a sharp knife strike to his ear. Hitting an ear hard enough was a surefire way to hurt and disorient an attacker, and he pulled back, his hand hooking into her collar and tearing a few buttons off her shirt in the process. Before she could finish with a roundhouse to the face, another voice interrupted.

"There you are, sweetheart. What's taking you so long?"

Both Scarlett and her attacker turned to see a smiling Duke. His eyes quickly scanned the battlefield and while she was sure he knew what was going on, he grinned ignorantly and opened his arms to take her into them. Puzzled, Scarlett allowed this, which meant she was caught completely off-guard when he kissed her soundly, sucking her lower lip between his possessively. He released her quickly, brushing his nose against hers and smacking his lips against hers once more quickly before hugging her to him. Scarlett's ruined shirt allowed her to feel his warmth—along with how hard his heart was beating, she noted in confusion.

"I missed you, babe," Duke said affectionately. Finally looking at the man who'd accosted her, he asked pointedly, "Is everything O.K.?"

And unbelievably, the man held up two hands to show he was unarmed. "Sorry, man. I didn't know." He looked at Scarlett to see if she'd press the issue.

But Scarlett had decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this case. "I'm O.K.," she said. "Everything's fine."

"Like I said, I didn't know. Ya'll have a good night," the man said, backing up as if he expected the Joes to attack him at any second. He all but jogged back into the bar.

As soon as they were alone, Scarlett shoved Duke off her. "How dare you kiss me!"

"You're welcome," Duke said, frowning. Taking her arm, he guided her around the side of the bar, to the alley where they could speak privately. "Listen, Scarlett, I'm not saying it's right or fair, but in a place like this, sometimes all these guys understand is how you relate to a man—if you're his sister, wife, girlfriend."

"That's revolting. And you could have just said so instead of kissing me," she said icily.

"You were the one who said we had to keep a low profile," Duke retorted. "Believe me, as soon as I saw him touch you I wanted to punch his lights out, but starting a fight will only get us on Cobra's radar—or Flint's. I'm sorry. It was all I could think of."

Scarlett scrubbed at her face with her hand wearily. She didn't love it, but she could see the logic in his argument. "…Thanks."

But Duke was reaching for her. "Jesus. What'd he do to you?"

"It's just a…" Scratch, Scarlett realized, looking down at her torn shirt. The man's fingernails had torn furrows in her skin from her collarbone down between her breasts, and blood was seeping from the scratches. "He grabbed me, and this must have happened when I pulled away. It's no big deal."

"Let me see." And bold as brass, Duke was spreading the shirt, exposing the scratches—and by extension, her bra.

"Stop that!" Scarlett said indignantly. "They're just…ow. That…stings…"

Stings wasn't really the word she meant; Duke's touch was gentle as he moved the cup of her bra aside to examine the scratches. Digging around in his pocket for a napkin he must have brought out from the bar, he dabbed at them, sucking air through his teeth. "You might want to go to the ladies' room and clean this. Who knows what that guy had under his fingernails." Pressing the napkin over the scratches, he arched a brow appreciatively. "Can see why he wanted to try, though."

Despite the warmth that blossomed in her at his touch, the glare she fixed on him was freezing. "You're unbelievable."

His smile was confidently languid, his eyes heavy-lidded as he answered matter-of-factly, "Back at you." He applied pressure to the napkin, as though to staunch the bloodflow, but Scarlett didn't trust him.

"Duke, do you want an elbow to the face?" she asked incredulously.

But his expression was as tender as his touch. "Your heart's pounding."

"Adrenaline," she explained brusquely, but he boldly took her hand in his own and brought it to his own chest, where she could feel the steady drum of his own heartbeat.

"So's mine," he said. "Want to explain that?"

She glared at him.

"No? O.K., I will. I wanted to break his hands," he said calmly, as though he weren't describing an act of violence. "Made me sick to see him touch you like that."

"Why?" she asked, almost helplessly.

"I told you in the bar," he said matter-of-factly. "You're my best girl, Scarlett."

Her teeth grit, half in anger, half to suppress a purr as the pads of his fingers stroked the sensitive skin beneath her breast. "Oh...really." She forced the words to lay flat, to drip with sarcasm, but she couldn't stop herself from taking a hitching breath at the deceptively gentle touch of such big hands.

His blue eyes twinkled. "Good Lord, Red, you are tense."

"Don't call me Red, Sergeant," she hissed, trying to maintain some semblance of order and wondering vaguely why she wasn't just ripping his hand out of her shirt.

"Ooooh," he purred, and the sound did traitorous things to her, stomach dropping the way it would in an elevator. "I've never been addressed by my rank in bed, but I think I could learn to like it." He waggled his eyebrows teasingly, as though they weren't in the most compromising position, as if his hand wasn't in her shirt, as if they were just ribbing each other on a perfectly normal day. "Ooh, baby."

She reached up and seized his wrist in a warning hold; they both knew she could snap it if she felt threatened before he could even get out of her reach. "I am not your baby," she snarled. "And we are not in bed."

Duke's bluesky eyes flickered appreciatively down, then up, and when he spoke his voice was resigned. "Yeah. It's a shame."

Scarlett wasn't sure if he meant that they weren't in bed, or that she wasn't his baby. She wasn't stupid enough to ask.

"Thanks…thank you for the help," she said, trying to remain businesslike, to put distance between them. She stepped away from him, and he didn't fight her.

"Anytime, Lieutenant."

She saw his eyes freeze over as he realized what she was doing, and he addressed her by her rank on purpose, to show he understood. His expression, however, told her he wasn't happy about it.

Glancing back at the bar, she looked down at her ruined shirt. The buttons were a lost cause. "How can I go back in there like this?"

Duke had the answer; he unbuttoned his own shirt and handed it to her. "Hold this." As she watched in disbelief, he tugged at the hem of the muscle shirt he wore beneath it and drew it over his head, muscles flexing with the movement. Handing it to her, he said, "Sorry. Best I can do." Taking his own button-down back, he shrugged back into it, even going so far as to turn his back to give her privacy as she switched shirts.

The undershirt was a little big on her, but it covered what needed covering and would have to do. She left her own shirt gapping over it—she would just have to hope that the other Joes wouldn't notice she hadn't buttoned it because she couldn't button it—and before they left to go back into the bar, she said, "Duke…"

He looked at her patiently.

"I…thank you. Really. I appreciate it."

He finally smiled then, a real smile, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on. I think we could both use another beer."

She smirked. "For once, I agree with you."

His laugh—full, genuine, from his belly—somehow made the scratches hurt less.

When they returned to the table, Roadblock grinned and revealed that he'd taken the liberty of ordering them another round. "Ya'll work it out?"

"All systems go," Duke said airily, accepting his beer as he sat down. "What's the score?"

"Looks like a tie game between you two," Tunnel Rat joked. "But the Braves are up."

"Yesss," Scarlett cheered, sipping her own beer.

"Hey," Tunnel Rat said abruptly. "Weren't you wearing a different shirt before?"

Duke's eyes tightened in sudden panic, but Scarlett had recovered enough to field this fly, frowning, not at Tunnel Rat, but in general. "It's too damn hot in here. You'd think they'd get an AC running on nights they'd have this big of a crowd, right?"

Roadblock mercifully agreed with her, tugging at his own collar. "You ain't kiddin', Red. It's hot as hell in here."

Duke gave the barest sigh of relief, and the rest of the night passed without incident, the Joes paying the bill and departing when the game ended in favor of Atlanta.

If Snake Eyes noticed her change of wardrobe when they reconnoitered with him, he didn't show it, and maintained his characteristic silence and stillness as he drove the Coyote to a safe place for them to bed down for the night, contented with food and spirit and the lingering glow of a "normal" evening. Scarlett expected to have trouble falling asleep after the day she'd had, but she surprised herself by falling asleep rather quickly, chased into dreams by the lingering scent of pulse-weapon ozone and cheap aftershave clinging to the shirt she still wore.

Author's Notes:

This was sort of just for fun. It did actually eventually give birth to Third and Long—or, I should say, the part that comes after this did.

I'm grateful to my dear friend for letting me share this—and, for encouraging me always to keep creating! Goodness knows I need the kickstart!