A/N: For chronology's sake, this is about three weeks to a month after the first chapter.
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"Deimos!"
The techie, having tried to ignore his partner for the past thirty seconds, finally called back,
"Whaaaaaat?"
"How many times have I told you to throw the carton out when there is no milk left?" Deimos sighed and paused his game.
"Thirty-seven, not including this time." Sanford entered the room, his hazel-brown eyes containing the extent of his fury.
"I thought you'd be mature enough after three missions to realize this isn't a free ride," he growled.
"I understand that. I thought you'd be perceptive enough after three missions to realize that I am easily distracted."
"That's besides the point! We have to work together, Deimos. On missions and at home." Deimos snapped his laptop shut and stormed out the front door grumbling something that sounded like, "I don't need this." Sanford sighed and ran his hands over his scalp.
"Fuck, I'm dealing with a child," he whispered. And he had reason to be frustrated. Every time the younger didn't want to deal with something he left, going Who-Knows-Where and staying there for about a half an hour to an hour before returning. Sanford shook his head and plopped himself down onto the worn blue couch. Curious, he lifted the laptop monitor to see what Deimos had been playing. Call of Duty. Sanford scoffed.
"Why am I not surprised?" he mumbled.
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"Location 187-B. Target engaged. Approximately six-" The transmission was interrupted when Sanford tossed a hand grenade over the crates. "Uh, scratch that last part," Deimos said into the headset, "Moving on to lower level."
"Do not draw too much attention," the voice on the other end instructed, "Disengage the target."
"Understood. Disconnecting." The techie clicked off the connection and cautiously poked his head out from behind his crate. Seeing that the grenade had taken out all of the grunts he turned back to Sanford.
"We good?" he asked. The medic nodded.
"Don't kick in doors anymore, okay?" Deimos rolled his eyes.
"Don't throw grenades anymore, okay?" he shot back rather childishly. The two double-tapped their enemies and left the room. The hallway was void of any activity...a stroke of luck for the mercenaries. The mission was simple enough on paper: Disengage Sheriff's communication tower B. Tower A had been disengaged by the veteran Hank Wimbleton about a week earlier and now, as a test to gauge Sanford and Deimos' team skills, they had been assigned to the second one. Deimos had seemed oddly excited by this particular mission in comparison to the previous three. He wouldn't stop talking about it until they reached their destination, much to Sanford's irritation. The older merc couldn't understand what made this mission so damn special to his hyperactive partner. For the time being he set the thought aside but the way Deimos had been acting was...strange to say the least. He was being more reckless than usual, taking risks that could very easily have killed them both. Sanford was beginning to worry about the kid's sanity. He'd heard stories of young recruits who couldn't take the pressure and experienced complete breakdowns. The way Sanford perceived Deimos was that he'd had a safe childhood and looked at this occupation as a sort of living video game. In a small way it was but unless the Higher Powers thought you were important, you stayed dead. Barnaby was expendable.
Sanford shook that thought out of his head as he and Deimos continued to the power source on the underground level of the building. He wouldn't let the same fate take Deimos, no matter how obnoxious he was.
"How many of them are in there?" Sanford asked as they paused for a moment outside the door to the power source. Deimos pulled a small scanner from his backpack, a tool that contained the technology that later created the Sheriff Tracker, the most advanced handheld system the Agency Against the Sheriff could have hoped for in this tyrannical era.
"Should be about seven of 'em," Deimos said once the scan of the door had registered, "I'll go in first." Before Sanford had a chance to argue, the young techie kicked in the door, disregarding his partner's warning not five minutes earlier. He ran in full speed, firing ill-aimed shots at the approximately seven men in the room. Sanford chased after him, his pulse racing. What the hell is he thinking? But Deimos was a better shot than he gave him credit for. In less than a minute, everyone was dead. Deimos turned to face his partner, a proud grin on his face.
"You worry too much, Sanf-" While he was talking, an unexpected eighth stood from behind a large switchboard in the far corner, aiming his pistol directly at Deimos' head. Sanford acted quickly, knocking his partner to the floor and throwing a knife at the gunman, catching him in the throat. The two sat for a moment to catch their breath. Sanford spoke, rather, yelled first.
"What the fuck, Deimos?" he shouted, pushing himself to his feet, "You never let your guard down! Never!" Deimos stood a little shakily but his voice was defiant.
"He was NOT there before, okay? The scanner said seven guys."
"The scanner is not the problem! Because of you, they might have called for reinforcements. Did you ever think of THAT?" Deimos stared off to the side, his green eyes far-focused in thought. Sanford sighed and went to retrieve his knife. As he ripped it from the corpse he noticed something different about the way it was dressed. Most grunts who worked for the Sheriff wore grey t-shirts and khakis. This guy was in a suit. As he contemplated this predicament, Sanford called back to Deimos,
"Check the database. If they sent for help, try to override it. When you're done, call HQ. We've got a problem." Deimos set to work on the computers immediately and silently. Sanford glanced over at his partner in confusion. Usually the kid would have some sort of response, especially after a fight. But now he wouldn't say a word. Make that two problems, Sanford thought grimly.
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Sanford entered the bunker first, fuming until Deimos closed the door. The medic turned on the techie, red-faced with anger.
"What the hell happened back there? Were you trying to kill us or have you gone completely insane?" Deimos stayed silent by the door, his bangs hiding his eyes. Sanford had taken up pacing, gesticulating wildly as he shouted. "This was the simplest of missions and you had to go and screw it over. This isn't a fucking game, Deimos. You could have gotten us killed!"
"I know!" The sudden response startled Sanford. The kid hadn't said a word since the control room but that was hours ago. He bit down on his lower lip, clenching his fists. Is he going to...? Deimos shook his head repeatedly, fumbling for the door handle behind him.
"I-I can't..." he mumbled before ducking out and slamming the door behind him.
"Deimos!" But he was already gone. Sanford groaned and rubbed his calloused hands over his face. What am I going to do with him? he wondered.
It had been about ten minutes since Deimos left. Sanford's nerves weren't getting any better from the conversation (if you could call it that) cut short so he decided a good run was in order. Maybe when he'd gotten back the techie would be there and calmed down enough to discuss what made him lose control on the mission. But, as always, the kid was full of surprises. Sanford opened the door to find Deimos sitting on the step hugging his knees.
"Don't tell me this is where you go all the time," the older said with exasperation and slight disbelief.
"Yeah," Deimos responded, his voice oddly wispy. Sanford sighed and sat down next to him, resting his elbows on his knees.
"So are you gonna tell me what happened?" The younger eyed him suspiciously from the side. "I won't yell." Deimos shook his head and reached into his pocket. Sanford was slightly surprised to see him put a cigarette in his mouth and light it.
"You smoke?" he asked. Deimos exhaled slowly, a thin cloud of smoke forming around his head.
"Yeah. You didn't know?"
"Never noticed." Deimos laughed humorlessly.
"I do two packs a day, man. Some observational skills you got." Sanford studied his partner for a moment, his voice lowering slightly.
"They'll kill you, y'know." The techie shrugged.
"As if I weren't already living a high risk lifestyle," he said, "I don't really care. Helps keep me sane, I stick with it." It was then Sanford came to a revelation. Deimos was really just a kid. He couldn't handle the stress this occupation overflowed with. He felt alone.
"Listen," the medic said, rubbing his temple, "I know we're not exactly friends but we need to communicate. If we don't we'll die a whole lot sooner."
"I know." Though he wouldn't admit it to him, Sanford appreciated the fact that when Deimos said "I know" he meant it, unlike more than half of his age demographic.
"So tell me. What was going on in that tower?" The kid sighed, tapping the end of his cigarette to knock off the ash buildup.
"I was so...excited," he began, his voice softer and more thoughtful than Sanford had ever heard it, "I was taking on the rest of what Hank Wimbleton started. Ever since I was transferred to Nevada he's been sorta my idol. He's been fighting the Sheriff since before the Agency was formed. I thought...now...now was the time I could prove myself. I could be in leagues with him. I guess I got a little crazy. I just wanted...I just wanted to show you that I could handle it. I wanted to be like Hank Wimbleton. I wanted to be..." He mumbled the rest of it so Sanford couldn't hear. The latter man leaned forward, cocking his head to one side.
"Sorry?" Deimos tossed his cigarette into the dirt and tilted his head back slightly, closing his eyes.
"I wanted to be like you," he repeated more clearly. Where Sanford should have felt confused or even flattered he simply felt sad. Now he understood why his partner always left when they got into fights. Deimos had always looked up to Sanford as a role model and here Sanford was, always treating him like an immature brat. Deimos smiled wryly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. In the brief moment they were visible, Sanford noticed with a hollow horror that he had recently been crying. Damn...he thought, pressing a hand lightly to his mouth, I really ought to give him more credit.
"You're not laughing," Deimos noted, "I guess that's a good sign."
"I'm sorry. I just always saw you as some idiot troublemaker...until now..."
"Say no more; I get it. We've got a communication issue that needs fixing. It's both our fault." Sanford reached out and gripped his partner's shoulder.
"This is a good start though," he said reassuringly, "It always starts a little rocky but we'll pull through it."
"How many partners have you had?"
"Just one. He...died about two months ago."
"That bites, bro." Despite himself, Sanford let out a small chuckle.
"Yeah...It really does," he said thoughtfully.
"Let's make sure neither one of us snuffs it, 'kay?" Sanford looked up. Deimos was grinning at him, back to his old, cheery self. His right hand jutted out towards his partner who shook it with enthusiasm.
"Amen to that." It seemed, Sanford considered, that this wouldn't be as horrible as he thought.
"Now about those rules of yours..."
"Don't even think about it." Well, there was still that.
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A/N: OH MY GOD I THOUGHT I'D NEVER FINISH THAT CHAPTER. I had that scene on the front step replaying in my head for like three months. It was driving me INSANE. Now I'm sitting here at 2 AM watching all the Madness flashes again because I OBVIOUSLY NEED MORE OF IT. XD Reviews help me~.