Wash wasn't getting enough sleep.

That wasn't new. In the past few months Wash could count the number of mornings he had woken up refreshed and energized on two fingers. Most of the time he either collapsed into bed too exhausted to dream or tossed and turned, hearing noises in the walls. Maybe South wasn't just blowing smoke about the rats on the ship.

But the others seemed fine. York was joking around over a plate of eggs, chatting with a genial North. South complained loudly the obviously freeze-dried and reconstituted food, Wyoming was contemplating his coffee, and Carolina had rushed her energy bar breakfast to get back to training. As for Maine, he always looked a little tired. Did weird noises keep him awake too?

But not voices. Maine definitely didn't hear voices. Anything sounds weird when it wakes you up at 3 AM and your brain's cooked from intensive training. Wash tried to remember that.

"Hey. You alright?"

Wash snapped alert at the voice, turning to see Connie looking over at him. He immediately pretended he was eating his generic military Froot Loops and not stirring them in a half-dead state until they turned to multicolored mush.

Sadly, the already mushy state broke the illusion.

"Uh, yeah. Fine! I'm fine." He made himself swallow a spoonful of cereal remains and purple milk. "Just, you know. Going over yesterday's training exercises."

Connie made a not-too-convinced-sounding hum. "For the record, you're not missing anything. They're having the 'guess what amazing dream I had last night' conversation. You know, the one no one ever cares about."

"Hey! I care about it," York cuts in, setting his fork down and leaning across the table.

"Cuz it's your dream."

"Yes! And it was very deep and interesting if you ask me." York shrugged. "Which no one ever does. What about you, newbie? You sleep alright?"

No. "Yeah," Wash said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine, like I said. Why does everyone think I need more sleep?"

"It just takes a bit to adjust to Project Freelancer's level of activity." North took a kind, non-judgmental sip of orange juice, somehow. "You'll do better in time."

"Or flunk out," South muttered.

Wash knew he was turning red and hated it. "Nobody flunks out. You get in, you're in. And for the last time, I'm. Totally. Fine. Hell, I even had dreams last night too! Important ones!"

"Did you?" York looked at Wash expectantly.

"Here we go," Connie mumbled.

That wasn't actually a lie. "I was really mad because I'd been left behind somewhere. Like I was supposed to meet people but nobody showed up. At...a Mexican restaurant? With music playing...?"

South squinted. "What, like you got stood up on a date?"

"No? No. Like I was waiting for someone. Look, I don't remember it that well." Wash wished he hadn't brought it up in the first place. "Just alone at a table. With Tejano music. And salsa. Uh, the dip, not the music."

South snapped. "There. That's what we need for these eggs, North. Drown them in salsa." She stood up to no doubt bug the kitchen staff, and Wash was once again safe from being the center of attention.

Which suited his current mood just fine.

"Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

"What?" Grif poked his head out from under the jeep.

"I said, you ever wonder why we're here?" Simmons cupped his hands over his mouth to shout over the motorized sounds, rumbling and high-volume music blasting out from their cobbled-together vehicle.

"Can't hear you! Doing percussive maintenance!" Grif thwapped the Guinea Pig with an unwound paperclip. "Oh my God, can't we just get Lopez to do this?!"

"He's on watch! You know we can't interrupt watch!" Simmons covered his ears as the music blared louder. "Dude, just fucking turn it off!"

"He's on lunch?! You fuckers took lunch and didn't tell me?!" Grif gave the undercarriage another thwack, finally shutting off the malfunctioning radio and silencing the Tejano music. He poked his head back out again, helmet smudged with oil. "Thank God. So what was it you were asking me before?" "Nothing," Simmons said as he leaned against a paperweight, wiping sprayed oil off his armor. "The moment passed."

"Hey now, what if I had something really deep and insightful to say? What if I wanted to be philosophical for a while, huh?" Grif climbed out from under the vehicle, setting his tool down on the shotgun seat. "That's me claiming shotgun, by the way."

"What? But you're the driver. And we're not going anywhere."

"Yeah, I know. I'm the driver. I'm also claiming shotgun because I don't want anyone sitting next to me. Not hard to understand." The orange-armored soldier peeked under the hood. "Okay, seeing as I'm still not sure where the hell Lopez installed the music player, I...guess it's fine. Why do we even play music? Seems kind of counter to the whole 'don't let anyone see or hear you' thing."

"So's competition," Simmons pointed out.

"That's what I've been saying! I think, for the sake of all Borrower-kind, we need to just stop this whole not-war territory spat. Greater good shit. Just walk away, see if anyone's dropped any peanut butter cups, and live peaceful, Sarge-free lives. It's the only sensible thing to do." Grif punctuated his speech by shutting the hood with what Simmons thought was a little more force than necessary.

The music immediately started blaring all over again.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Grif covered his own ears. "Fuck, this doesn't really help when you're wearing a helmet."

"He's gonna hear us! They're gonna hear us!" Heart pounding in his chest, sure he was about to feel the familiar, awful sensation of the floor vibrating, Simmons panicked and gave the Guinea Pig a swift kick to shut it up.

That did, in fact, turn off the music player. It also sent one of the cheap-looking plastic wheels flying off the machine into the wall of Red Base.

Both soldiers stared at the fallen vehicle and one another.

"Okay." Grif held up his hands. "If Sarge asks..."

"It was like that when we got here."

"Beetles. Hercules beetles. They're hella strong, dude!"

"On the ship?" Simmons took another look at the mess that was the Guinea Pig. "Actually, yes. Sure. Hercules beetles."

"It's our word against theirs." Grif picked up his paper clip and poked at the patched-together seat of the reconfigured toy vehicle. "Still not sure why that music's there. One would almost think Lopez was passive-aggressively trying to kill us."

"What?" Simmons blinked. "Lopez? But he adores us!"

"Yeah, you're right. Dunno what I was thinking!" Grif finally wiped the glass of his helmet with a scrap of rag. "I'm actually starting to get a little paranoid."

"Paranoid's good! Paranoid keeps us alive and unseen and, you know, un-squashed!"

"True. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Both jumped at the sound of the radio frequency crackling into their helmets, fed from the receiver chips built into the backs of their armor. Even Grif seemed to tense, no doubt waiting for Lopez's droning warning of Incoming Human.

Instead Sarge barked right into their ears. "Attention, all Red Team Units! Lookout excluded, of course. We've run across a Code C-H-I-P, fully intact and untouched."

"Hell yeah!" Grif punched the sky. "Bag of chips! What are they, Fritos? Cool Ranch? Can we expect any nacho cheese powder?"

"Even better!" Donut chirped over the frequency. "No sugar added, all natural apple chips!"

"Considerably less hell yeah. You're breakin' my heart here, Donut."

"Dude, we can't exactly afford to be picky," Simmons pointed out. He actually loved apple chips. "And excellent scouting and snack-spotting observation skills, sir!"

"Lopez!" Sarge said. "We clear? Any sign of El Gigante?"

"No."

Simmons frowned. "Was that 'no, he's not coming, or no, we're not clear?"

Sarge ignored that concern. "Then move out! We meet in three minutes down at Checkpoint Big Ugly Lamp. Bring your climbing gear, men!"

Already on edge from Lopez's rather vague answer to Sarge's awkwardly worded question, Simmons felt a shiver go down his spine. "Climbing gear, sir...?"

"So we're just letting them go for the chips?"

Church didn't look up from the makeshift telescope when he heard Tucker's voice. "I guess so, right? It's their turn."

"Yeah, but there's no way we're gonna get an equal share. Pretty sure the whole idea of a resource war is that you war. Over resources."

"Well, yeah." This time Church did lower the looking device, cobbled together from broken bits of lab equipment. "But we can do that after they get the chips for us. Down from there."

Tucker grinned. He was helmeted, but Church knew Tucker well enough to tell when he had that asshole grin. "I could get up there before them."

"No you can't! Sarge and Donut are already up there."

"Well, I'd know that if you let me borrow the telescope sometimes! And I mean Maroon and Orange. You know, those guys."

Church looked over at Tucker, then back through the crack in the wall that served as Blue Base's observation point. The chips were up on the highest wall-mounted shelf, somewhere even the human probably had to stand on his toes to reach. That was where The Good Stuff ended up, presumably to hide it from the other humans who never even came to visit him. And while the "conflict" with Red Team was one of those things Blue Team was a little lax in enforcing, there was pride at stake.

"Well, the bag is red. I can't tell from this angle, but..." Church took a deep breath, his tone heavy with the gravity of the announcement. "We may have Doritos."

"Holy shit! Okay dude, that does it. I am going up there."

"Sarge is gonna attack you."

"Whatever! I'm up for a scuffle." Tucker held up the wire he'd twisted into a sort of two-pronged sword. Not that he ever really used it against other soldiers, but it was good for warding off rats and cockroaches. "Tell you what. I get there before the rest of the Reds, you take my next round of lookout duty."

"Oh, it's a bet now? Is that what's on the table?" Church truly despised lookout duty. Nothing got to him like hiding near the edge of a doorway, trying to predict the movement of enormous, Church-squashing boots. "You don't make it, and you get mine. Two shifts."

"Oooh! Ooh! Can I have them? Are we sharing shifts? Can I have some? I will trade you for whatever I have in my packed lunch." Caboose's excited voice came over the radio, reminding Church that he had his turned on. Of course he had; they needed to be ready in case Sister gave the signal.

"I packed that lunch, Caboose," Church reminded him with gritted teeth. "And no. You don't get lookout duty, remember? We've been over this. No going near the humans. Definitely no talking to them."

Caboose whispered, "But I want to make a giant robot friend and ride on his shoulder and fight Godzillas. WHO IS GOING TO FIGHT GODZILLAS IF WE DON'T?!"

"Just...stay in the vents." Church took a deep breath. As a scout, Caboose was questionable; as a lookout, he'd be incredibly dangerous to his own team, let alone Borrower-kind. But Church had to give the guy credit; when he was patrolling the vents, cockroaches left them alone.

"Yes! The vents. By myself, because it is just me. And a mostly-intact Cheezit. That is for me," Caboose said. "Um, also I have to go walk down THAT vent so I have to go bye!"

After that odd exchange, Church and Tucker weren't sure what to say for a good fifteen seconds.

"What the hell was that about? Why does he keep saying 'by himself?' Nothing's in there but some rats and bugs and stuff!"

Tucker shrugged. "He wouldn't be running across anyone from other bases, would he?"

"What the hell would they be doing out here? Besides, we'd hear them. Shouting at him." Church went back to his spyglass. "Hey, you wanna get a move on. They're at the ugly lamp."

"What? Oh, fuck. I better not lose this one because of Caboose!" Tucker grabbed a roll of rope with a grappling hook attached and slid open a panel in the wall and slipped through into the main room, taking off in a sprint along the edge of the walls.

Probably just showing off that he's the better climber, Church figured as he was left alone in the base. Which was fine with him. He did just fine alone, finally able to hear himself think. The lack of anyone to talk to certainly didn't highlight every faint, distant floor creak, every shuffling sound that might be rats or mice, or that peculiar sense that they weren't as good at hiding from the security cameras as they thought.

Nope! It was fine. He was fine. Even if Tucker didn't beat Grif and Simmons, which was unlikely given that Grif and climbing didn't mix and Simmons was obviously afraid of heights, they'd end up sharing the chips anyway. The rivalry just determined who would get to divvy up the share, and how.

Even Blue Command would prioritize survival and security over the Glorious Territory Battle On Behalf of the Blues. They'd never officially said anything about the arrangement and Church hadn't told them for just that reason. What they didn't know wouldn't get Church in trouble.

Besides, he reminded himself as he watched Tucker pull off an infuriatingly perfect grappling hook throw, they had the best battlefield on the entire too-large-to-comprehend ship. Their Human Bean was a snack hoarder who barely spent any time in his quarters during the day. They couldn't be safer.

"Um, hey guys?" Sister's voice piped into Church's helmet. "I'm supposed to tell you when Mount Hottie is heading inside, right? So you have time to hide?"

Church took a deep breath. "Yes, Sister. That is the lookout's job. You tell us if he or anyone else is on the way. And then you hide too. We went over this seventeen thousand...did you just say Mount Hottie?"

"Yeah, it's my code name for him!" "I thought we agreed it was Dye Job!"

"I just thought we should all get to pick our own code names." Sister paused. "Oh, and thanks! Cuz he's heading inside."

"WHAT?!"

"You heard Lopez! Sabado Gigante approaches! Get to hiding," Sarge barked over the radio.

Simmons froze, clinging to the climbing rope for dear life. He was surprised to find he could go into panic mode while already panicking from being a full four feet off the ground. "But sir! Hide where!? We're just hanging!"

"Just pull us up," Grif added, fear elevating the pitch of his voice.

"Will take me too long! This is why you need to climb faster! And get here faster! Why the blazes didn't you take the Guinea Pig?"

"Hercules beetles," Simmons blurted, his mind blanking on what the relevance was.

"...Hercules beetles." Sarge snorted. "Always knew they'd come back for round 4. Just get your keisters in, under, or behind something!"

Simmons stared at the doorway, shuddering with each impending heavy footstep. Below them was solid floor, and enough space in between that a fall would crush their bones. Above, the lowest shelf loomed too high up to reach in the little time they had. And no matter how big the human was and how easily he overlooked the obvious, there was no way he wouldn't see a pair of three inch soldiers hanging from a string.

Simmons breathed sharply, scanning the floor until he noticed a basket of dirty clothes under the shelf. It was risky, but better dead than spotted.

(That was a lie. Simmons would rather live.)

"Grif!" He called down to the other soldier, who was bracing himself on the wall. "On count of three, push off and swing us forward! I think we can make it!"

"Count of three?! Screw that, we don't have time!" With surprising strength, Grif shoved hard and the whole rope swung upwards. As it just reached the edge of the basket, Simmons ignored his lurching stomach and jumped.

He landed in a sea of pungent linen, or maybe cotton. He was trying not to think too hard about it as he burrowed in, hearing the door unlock and open.

"...Grif?" He whispered, looking around the sea of clothes. "Gri-oof!" The weight of his fellow soldier landed right on his back, cushioned by only a thin layer of shirt.

Grif crawled in after, offering no apology nor complaint as he froze just as deathly still as Simmons. Well, sort of deathly still. Shivering was a response Simmons and Grif couldn't seem to shake.

The impact of the heavy footsteps was softened by the fabric, but he could still feel and hear it. Simmons could just see through if he peeked out the side of the basket, between the weave, though he kept telling himself not to look.

He looked anyway, because apparently the curious part of Simmons hated the rest of him.

God, it was always worse closer to the floor, more so when the human was in armor. When he wandered his quarters at night, usually just to wash up and then collapse onto his rather Spartan wall-mounted cot, the human wore a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts, and he'd change into a black bodysuit before leaving in the morning. The armor, Simmons guessed, was stored elsewhere.

But once in a while they'd encounter the human like this, already enormous feet carrying the added bulk and weight of boots, clad from head to toe in plates of gray armor with yellow highlights and a helmet that just looked like it was made for looming.

At least normally the guy had a face. You could look and see something familiar, though warped and made terrible by scale. That suit was designed to make a human more intimidating to other humans, meaning it turned a Bean into a monster.

The boots stomped in towards the wall facing the door, the one with the mounted shelves, stopping right in front of the laundry basket. They blocked the view as the massive soldier reached up to the shelf, not saying a word. Simmons could make out the sound of crinkling plastic and foil.

The human proceeded to lumber onto the pullout bed, still hanging open, a bottle of water in one hand and something cupped in the other. The shield of the helmet went up, briefly revealing a flushed, sweaty face. He cupped his hand over his mouth, then took a long swing of water. Of course, Simmons thought. He was taking some kind of pills. Probably painkillers. Those tended to go fast.

Pressing his fingers against his temples, the human took a long, deep breath. "Okay. Mission. Can do this." Down went the shield, the human once again a faceless monster as he rose to his feet and headed out, the door locking electronically behind him.

The sounds of footsteps echoed from behind before fading away, followed by a transmission from Lopez.

"The human has left. I don't suppose anyone got squished."

Of course, Simmons didn't understand a lick of Spanish. But he had to assume that was Lopez's way of saying they were in the clear. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the urge to vomit from panic as the adrenaline left him, crawling out from beneath the heap of clothing.

"Ugh." Grif popped up right next to him, gagging. "I had to hide underneath a pit stain the size of me. Are we sitting on his undershirt or his jockstrap? You know what? I don't want to know. I need a shower."

"You hear that?" Sarge said over the radio. "Grif is volunteering to take a shower! That's one of the signs of the Apocalypse, along with leviathans and flying flaming eyeballs."

"I'm going to ignore that," Grif said, walking unsteadily on the soft surface of the laundry. "Did you get the chips?"

"Why yes, Grif, we are perfectly safe! Thank you!" Donut's cheer had a little bit of sarcasm beneath it. Maybe he was tired, Simmons thought. "We hid behind this dusty old photo frame. Really dusty. I guess he doesn't look at it often!"

"And a treacherous Blue crouched like a coward behind that mug with a dog on it," Sarge added.

"Hey!" Tucker's voice came in from the background. "You guys hid too!"

"But we did so like soldiers! Hmph. Back in my day, Borrowers didn't have to hide. We were stealthy! Never even thought about getting caught, cuz it wasn't gonna happen." Sarge paused. "Wait. Where's the chips?" Seconds later, over the sounds of an angry Sarge and frustrated Donut, Simmons saw Tucker shimmy down the rope with a small chip bag tied to his back. He gave some odd combination of a salute and a middle finger to Grif and Simmons as he dropped past their view.

"HEY! Get back here, asshole!" Grif ran right over Simmons, only to hesitate at the rather sizable drop down from the basket rim to the floor. "Unhand the chips, Blue!"

"Sucks to be you! Dibs!" Tucker called, as he and the chips disappeared into a niche in the wall.

Grif collapsed against the side of the basket, head in his hands. "I could just hear them getting all crunched up when he pulled them through the hole. You can't be that careless with chips!"

"I thought you hated apple chips." Simmons was still reeling from his near-encounter with the human, and taking it out on Grif seemed like a convenient outlet. "Besides, what does it matter if they get it first? We all split everything at night."

"Because those were going to be my chips, Simmons. I was going to pick out the best chip. Even if it was an apple chip. Some things are important." He sighed. "...Eh, I'll just get Kai to hook me up ahead of time. You want anything?"

Simmons leaned over the basket rim, awaiting rescue from Donut and Sarge. "I'm not hungry..."

Wash adjusted his helmet as he strapped himself into the landing shuttle. He thought he ought to say something encouraging to the rest of the mission team, but he wasn't sure what. Wyoming would probably mock him for it. Based on how tense she looked, Connie might not be in the mood to hear it. She might think he was condescending to her.

And Carolina? She probably didn't need it.

"We need to be in and out as fast as possible," Carolina said as 479er readied the ship. Carolina looked perfectly at ease, so much so that Wash started to feel like a nervous wreck himself. "We do this right, they won't even know we were there."

"But," Wyoming added, "I take it that if it isn't that easy, you have a backup plan?"

Carolina visibly bristled at Wyoming's tone. "We've always got one. But we're not going to need it."

As the ship lurched into the air, Wash just hoped he wouldn't throw up in his armor.

"While I am glad everyone's safe and not caught," Caboose radioed his teammates. "I still kind of wish we could make friends with him."

"Dammit, Caboose," Church transmitted, "we've been over this. Many times. There are plenty of good reasons why we have to hide from Beans. Old, well-established reasons."

"Yeah, and you won't get anywhere arguing this with Church," Tucker added. "He's a traditionalist."

"Exactly, I'm-what? I am not a traditionalist." Church paused. "Am I? What the hell does that even mean?"

"You're old fashioned. Calling them Beans and making up all these horror stories. They'd probably just scream and pass out if they saw us. But, uh." Tucker cleared his throat. "That does not mean reveal yourself, Caboose. Got it? Do. Not. Reveal. Yourself."

"Right. Yes. I got this thing." Caboose 'got it' on the level of rules being rules, which he decided was close enough. Every time he tried to ask why, exactly, having a human friend would be so terrible, Church and Tucker would start ranting about being discovered and horrific science experiments.

At least Sister seemed to agree with him. "Personally? I think it'd be cool if someday one of us did make contact. Not like, one of us specifically? But someone. Then we wouldn't have to run and hide around all the time. It's soooo boring. I barely even get to see most of the cute ones."

Caboose wasn't sure how much of that statement he agreed with. He didn't have much time to ponder it as he heard the sound of skittering feet echoing through the ventilation shaft. And a squeak! He knew that squeak.

"Ummm, oops my radio is getting some static noises. Static static static! Pssssh." He switched it off before Church could yell about him going radio silent on a mission again, looking ahead into the darkness illuminated only by the LED light tied to his helmet.

A pair of red eyes gleamed up ahead, followed by half a dozen more.

It wasn't that he liked keeping secrets from Blue Team. And he wasn't going to keep them secret forever! It was like how technically, Borrowers were just a temporary secret from the Humanity Beans. A temporary secret that had lasted millennia but would eventually end as soon as everyone was ready. He was sure of it.

Just like he would eventually tell the others about Freckles.

"Freckles! You brought your family!" Caboose ran up to pet the big, patchy rat's snout, earning pleased squeaks from his friend. He was quickly swarmed by smaller rats, many of them bearing the same spots as their mother. They stood shoulder-height to him, sniffing him curiously.

"Your babies are getting so big so fast! Last time they were little wriggly pink ugly things. Uh, I did not mean to imply you are ugly," he amended as one of the babies started chewing on his helmet. "Please do not be offended. I just do not like babies."

Freckles nudged Caboose back with her nose, inadvertently freeing him from the baby rat swarm and earning a laugh from the soldier. "Okay, okay, I get it! You want this, right?"

He reached into his backpack. "You are getting greedy! I think later I will be really mad at myself for giving you my travel rations that I am supposed to eat on my way back to the base, but I will be even more upset if I do not give you something and you chew my arm off. And Church will be very upset with me if I come back missing an arm. But if I come back saying I am hungry, he will just grumble."

As soon as he held out the Cheezit, the mother rat grabbed it with her great yellow teeth and started dragging it back as the babies tore into it.

"You see? I am the best rat fairy godfather ever!" Caboose punched the air triumphantly. "You know, when I do introduce you to Church, which I absolutely certainly will, you should tell him he needs to eat more often. I think hunger makes him grumpy."

The Freckles family responded with more chomping noises and squeaks.

"Well, I have to start heading back the way I am not sure I remember, so, uh...oh! Hi!" The little rat so intent on chewing on his helmet was back, climbing onto his head. "This is very cute so I do not mind that you're heavy. But could you not do that? Uh..."

The light went out as the rat chewed it off, leaping off of Caboose and following her family back down the tunnels with the bulb in her mouth.

"...Um. That was also very cute so I am okay with that and not frustrated." Caboose took a deep breath, surveying the absolutely nothing he could see in any direction and listening to the sound of running machinery. "Yes. This is fine. I will turn around and just keep walking the way I went. And then I will end up somewhere. And maybe somewhere will be Blue Base!"

The fact that he might be lost in the ventilation systems was another thing Blue Team didn't need to know about until the time came.

The mission was not a complete disaster. At least Wash wouldn't have classified it as one, if it was up to him. A 75 percent disaster, sure. 80 percent.

The enemy no longer had access to the data files he'd failed to get in time, because the back up plan was to destroy them. He'd at least managed that. And thanks to Wyoming's cover fire and Carolina's quick thinking, he'd managed to get away with a limp and bruises instead of gunshot wounds. Everyone made it out in one piece. That had to count for something.

He reminded himself of this during the short, harsh debriefing, making a note not to avoid Carolina's gaze. One didn't want a reputation for shrugging off mistakes or wilting under them.

What he hated most was how none of that really made him feel better about how things had gone, and how many errors he could spot in his tactics and approach on review. What helped him keep his cool was one thought: at least I'm still in the top ten.

Then he glanced at Connie as they headed back to the barracks and immediately felt like an asshole.

"Don't," she said, holding up her hand before he could say anything. "I messed up in my own right, and I was lagging behind you already. It's...fair."

"It doesn't really mean anything," Wash said, taking off his helmet to get a bit of recycled 'fresh' air. "The leaderboard, I mean. It's just to encourage us to do our best."

"By making us compete with one another? For...what? Doesn't seem to be doing much for morale or teamwork." Connie sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just, you know. It's easy to be down on it when you're slipping. I'm sure if I start ranking higher I'll think it's a great idea." She laughed without any real humor.

"Hey, it's out of 50. That's still-"

Connie shot him a look. "I don't need your pity, Wash."

Wash bristled. "I'm not. I wouldn't." He backed off, wincing as he put weight on one leg by accident.

She turned away. "I know. I just...keep thinking about the triplets? How we used to hang out with Ohio and Idaho and Iowa and now we just...don't. Not anymore. Not even sure why," she said as she removed her own helmet. "I think I just need sleep."

"...Yeah. I keep meaning to message them about lunch or something." Wash didn't want to spend too much time thinking about what Connie just brought up. People drift away all the time. They weren't on missions with the Triplets anymore, that was all.

"Just, you know. Keep your ears open." As she walked past him, Connie whispered. "Been hearing voices."

The human had collapsed into his bed again, stomping around like the floor was the only place he could funnel his frustration. Church hoped the resulting quake was worth the guy's little moody fit.

Whatever the issue, it wasn't Church's problem. As far as he was concerned, Dye Job could be the happiest guy in the universe and it wouldn't matter. He was out cold, and it was Church's job to make sure he stayed that way during the nightly meet up.

Except it was getting hard to keep an eye on that huge mass messily covered by a blanket when Church had a lot on his mind. Especially when he couldn't yell.

"Where the fuck is he?!" Church hissed, which was nowhere near as satisfying as yelling. "He's out of contact. We told him not to leave radio range!"

"I don't know, I told you! I called him like 30 times. We can't wait, dude." Tucker was pacing on the floor, in the 'neutral' corner where security lights gave off a faint glow. "He's probably fine. We'll just get his share."

"Yeah, he got eaten." Grif stretched, unconcerned. "Probably, anyway. You know how it is."

"Eaten? What the hell would eat him?" Simmons asked, arms crossed.

"Crows. Space crows. Anyway, I think in order to pay tribute to Caboose, we need to move on with our lives and get to redistributing the wealth here."

"Nobody got eaten," Church snapped. "He's probably still mapping, or camped out there."

"Wait." Grif let go of the packaged cookie he absolutely was not dragging away preemptively. "You let Caboose do the mapping? In the ventilation shafts?"

"He's actually like, really good at it. Since he's one of the strongest, he can just fight anything that gets in his way." Sister was leaning against the wall, standing between the gathered Reds and Blues. She was about as indifferent to the conflict and its rules as anyone Church had ever met. He'd call her positioning symbolic if he thought Sister ever did anything with any forethought.

"The maps are kind of a mess, but it's not like Blue Command complains or anything." Tucker shrugged.

"Hey, you wanna tell 'em anymore Blue Command secrets, Tucker? Like the name of our communications officer? How they spend their weekend?" Church glared like he was trying to burn a hole in Tucker's head.

"Dude, there's nothing to say. I bet the Reds have to do it too. Don't you?"

"I believe that is Private Grif's job. Our Private Grif," Sarge added with a meaningful look at Grif.

He was rewarded with a shrug. "Oh jeez, looks like it slipped my mind to risk my life in the vents. For months. How'd that happen. Anyway, Caboose is probably just fine. You're like, really high strung, dude."

"I am not high strung," Church snapped, tightening his grip on the crossbow they'd fashioned from salvaged elastic, metal rods and springs. "I'm the fucking sensible one! I just don't want him to get caught."

Tucker paused. "Yeah, he'd definitely get caught. I mean if one of us was gonna get discovered, it'd be him."

"And then the end of Borrower-kind would be your fault, and they will curse your name for generations," Lopez said in his digitized monotone, indifferent as ever to the food being distributed.

"Lopez is right! We're all in this together, and we can't just let one of ours go missing like this. Even if he's part of the other team!" Donut grinned and held out an M&M to Church. "Here, Church, eat something. You're getting a case of the crankies."

"I AM NOT CRANKY!"

Church didn't even realize he'd shouted until it came out of his mouth. The sound echoed through the room in the dreadful silence that followed as all eyes turned to the human on the fold-out bed, watching for the slightest sign of movement.

The mass of blanket and rumpled clothing stayed motionless save for the rise and fall of his breathing.

"Fuck, dude," Tucker whispered. "You gotta watch that!"

"I know! I know." Church feared breaking his crossbow if he held it any tighter. "Look, uh, remaining Blue Team. We'll pick up our rations here and form a search team. Reds, you...do whatever, I guess."

"Don't you ever sleep?" Grif asked.

"Yeah, you know. Catnaps here and there. I don't need sleep right now. Sleep's overrated." Church bounced in place.

"Now hold on a second, Blue." Sarge sauntered right up to Church, clearly attempting to loom over him despite being the shortest member of Red Team. "Caboose conveniently vanishes and gives you an excuse to go on a mission right before a major battle, huh? Is that how it is? You think I was born yesterday? I was born a long time ago! In a fishing gear store! And fish is good for your brain." He tapped the side of his helmet.

Church twitched. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Sarge."

"What major battle? We never have battles. We've never had an actual battle!" Tucker threw up his hands. "We're just assholes to each other a lot!"

"Exactly. You're just biding your time before your big strike!" Sarge poked Church in the chest with his free hand, balancing that damned harpoon of his on one shoulder. "Reds? We can't let the Blues out of our sights. Get packing, men, we're going on a trip!"

"What?! We're going into the vents after a Blue?! With all due respect, Sir," Simmons said with a shaky attempt at a salute, "while your dedication to snuffing out Blue plots is admirable, this is sort of their problem."

"I am not going in the vents, alright? Fuck that." Grif was back to dragging the sandwich cookie. "Vents are where spiders live. You guys do what you want, I have a date with an oatmeal creme pie."

"Finally, we're gonna do something?! God, thank you. No offense," Sister said, "but it gets really boring here. I mean I can only look at the same cute guy every night for so long."

Grif dropped the cookie like it was on fire. "Wait, Kai, you're going with them?!"

"Uh, I'm Blue Team."

"You're wearing yellow! I keep telling you, just be Red Team! Ugh." Grif groaned. "Fine, I'm going too, I guess."

"Alright! A group camping retreat! What a great chance for us all to grow closer to one another in a poorly-lit, private area," Donut said, ignoring the weird look from Simmons.

Church face-helmet-palmed. "Fine, fine! Go with us or don't, Reds, I don't care. But you can't slow us down."

"Wait. Now, if Grif wants to do it, it's got to be a bad idea..." Sarge snapped his fingers. "Aha! You WERE trying to trick us into going with you. I knew it! Tricky Blues, but told ya. Fishing supplies. Can't fool me. You were going to lure us off-base and then take it while we were gone."

"Oh my God, no. No, Sarge, this is not a trick. Just, our teammate is an idiot and he got himself lost and I do not need MORE idiots following us. The entire point is to get him out of the vents because the more of us that are there, the higher the chances of us getting caught!" Church was starting to regret that part about the two teams never managing an actual battle. Shooting Sarge was starting to sound like a satisfying idea.

"So you trick us into following you, and we get caught, thus only revealing the Borrowers aligned with Red Team! In one fell swoop you've used the Beans to eliminate us, laying claim to the Mother of Whatsitcalled for yourself!"

"Things lay, people lie!"

"That's for lying down! Nobody lies claim! Learn your grammar," Sarge barked.

"And I keep telling you, it's the Mother of Freelancer! They say that word all the time! Freelancer this, Freelancer that! And I don't have time for this! Tucker, go grab some twine and...Tucker?"

Only then did Church realize that the general whining, arguing and Donut-ing had come to a full stop while he and Sarge had their shouting match. It was dead silent around them, their teammates frozen in place and staring at something. Sarge seemed to notice the same thing, only to freeze himself and back very slowly away at something behind Church's shoulder.

"...What? Why the hell is everyone so quiet? And when did the lights turn on?"

Oh.

There was only one thing that could honestly spook Sarge into silence, make Simmons shake like that, and frighten even the apparently fearless Lopez and Sister. There was one rule he and his kind absolutely could not break, even at the cost of their own lives. Somehow Church knew exactly what he'd see as he turned around, and that made the dread all the worse.

Two huge brown eyes, lined with lack of sleep, stared down at him as the human crouched right on the floor. The towering form cast a shadow over the entire group, silhouetted by the ghoulish fluorescent glow of the ugly lamp. He lowered his head, squinted in obvious disbelief, and didn't say a word.

Which meant it was Church's job to react. Sure. He could do that. He knew just the thing.

Screaming seemed like a good start.

(Author's notes:
1) Yes, this was partially inspired by The Brick Gulch Chronicles, along with some neat Borrower AUs I've seen around

2) I can't give a schedule on updates, sorry! They'll be sporadic but I do have more planned.

3) Yes, characters who should show up later on are here in altered form because I am taking the timeline and making scrambled eggs.)