Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter Four:
By the time Vanessa Kimball finally exited the training hall with a rambling Doyle still hot on her heels, it was beginning to turn dark outside.
The lights and glow panels situated around the district of Armonia were starting to flicker to life all around them. Currently, they were set on their dimmest settings, sensors detecting the nighttime's progress to readjust the artificial lighting accordingly.
It would be the same throughout the entirety of Chorus too, though Kimball knew she wouldn't have the chance to see so for herself today as her feet, seemingly of their own accord, started heading back in the direction of the governmental headquarters.
As things stood, if Doyle wanted to continue discussing Chorus matters as he currently seemed so keen on doing, as he would never personally seek her out elsewise, she wanted to be on her "home territory."
Kimball wasn't really sure what to make of the fact that she considered the administration and military facilities of Armonia to be more of her "home" than her actual residence. Hell, the reality was she pretty much lived out of her office.
With that thought in mind, it occurred to her that she honestly couldn't even remember the last time she had even seen her house, let alone stepped inside of it for more than a second. It was hard to really consider a space much of a "home" when that was the case.
It certainly didn't help matters that the house, which she had been "given" after the previous leader had been killed in combat and his wife had moved out of to focus on her own business, was a space that held memories of several people she had felt were more capable and suited for her current role than she was even on her best days.
No, that certainly hadn't helped any at all. As driven and dedicated as she was to improving her region, the result of that knowledge never really gave her a desire to step foot in what was technically her own home.
Truthfully, the residential building was larger than any place she had ever lived in before, despite being from all accounts a modestly-sized home compared to the housing of larger and more financially stable regions'. Which, despite her not using it much personally, meant it had some advantages.
Thankfully, the house hadn't become totally wasted space as she was able to assign some of its rooms to someone at least, especially since that particular person had nowhere to go after the deaths of his other batch-siblings. It wasn't terribly surprising she would offer her living residential area to a fellow genetically engineered individual seeking refuge.
Honestly, due to her being one of the only other supply-runners who had both survived and chosen to stay on in the region, Palomo had become something of a constant in Kimball's life at Chorus. She had felt sympathy for the younger man and, given their shared heritage, it only made sense for them to stick together to the point where a few even occasionally mistook them for siblings.
During the turbulent times when Chorus was still desperately trying to recuperate, instead of moving and letting the younger man fend for himself, she opted to keep the home and had allowed him to also move in. After all, what were you supposed to do as just one person with a house that had two levels to it? Even after the residential areas were pretty much up and functioning, Palomo never applied for an apartment of his own at one of the renovated complexes.
Now that she was looking down at her outfit, Kimball noted that even the civilian clothes she was wearing had come from her office. She had an assortment of spare clothes there so that she wouldn't waste time going back and forth from work.
The truth was she hadn't even been sure she was going home tonight either. She'd promised Cass that she would finally take some time off and swing by the bar later to catch up on old times. When she was able to reminisce with her friend, the dark-skinned woman usually just crashed in the apartment that the bartender had above her establishment.
Now, though, it seemed as if she might have to even delay doing that as well. She sighed, tuning in once more to the one-sided conversation at her side, contemplating whether or not she wanted to remain listening to it or if she still wanted to try to just leave.
Interacting with Donald Doyle was often a trying experience for her, to say the least. It had always been that way, ever since the two had somehow ended up becoming the leaders of Chorus following waves after waves of tragic misfortune.
They hardly ever saw eye-to-eye on even the most innocuous of things. She supposed it was something of a miracle that Chorus was doing as well as it was now given that. Still, if he wanted to discuss important matters, she couldn't and wouldn't ignore them.
So, even though she wasn't at all keen on canceling her plans or conversing more with Doyle than was absolutely necessary, Kimball chose to do so anyways. After all, wanting what was best for their region, even if they had very different views on accomplishing and securing it, was one of the only things she could think of that they had in common.
"…So far, things seem to be going swimmingly with our new, ah, associates." Doyle was saying while looking thoughtful, "Their leaders even contacted me with an expressed interest to finalize their staying on as citizens. They even offered to send word to a few outposts and regions that they're on better terms with to help further along diplomatic relations."
She nodded, though the dark-haired woman had the distinct feeling that the list of regions where the mercenaries' name-dropping would potentially hinder relations for Chorus was probably just as large, if not even larger, given the general nature of their profession.
"Likewise, I asked them if it were at all possible to provide a list of areas that would perhaps be less than keen on interacting with them directly." Shockingly, Doyle seemed to be on the same page as her for once, "As they say, better to be safe than sorry."
"Agreed." Kimball thought it was definitely in their best interest to stay on as good of terms as possible with their neighboring regions.
All of the effort put into breathing life back into a nearly-shattered Chorus could be destroyed in less than an instant if a few of the other regions became hostilely motivated towards them.
Doyle apparently saw the frown still furrowing her brows and couldn't keep himself from prying, "You don't seem too pleased by the news."
She shook her head, trying to dispel the unease that had been building up in her system, "No, it's not that. It's good that they've already acclimated so well and are offering even more help." That part was quite true, although she had more to add: "But a part of me is still unsure we correctly handled the situation in the first place."
Doyle sighed, glancing to the side at a building they were passing that served as an office space for their geographical survey team who were already busy upgrading area maps to showcase both where and what had been found during the day's salvage mission for future reference.
"Believe me, I am still as unsure of that myself as you are." He told her quietly, "But we have built up a certain reputation for Chorus. One that would have been severely weakened had we turned away the assistance of able-bodied men and women, especially ones who want to join the citizenry in the future. Mercenaries or no."
"I'm well aware of that!" Kimball snapped back in response, "It's why we agreed to take them in following the endlessly pointless discussion we've already had about this very subject in the first place."
Doyle's green eyes only widened a fraction at Kimball's outburst, an odd look of tired resignation crossing over his features. He finally got out at length, quietly: "I'm not exactly sure what provoked that particular outburst, Miss Kimball, since we've been largely on the same page regarding this matter."
Kimball sighed as she looked over at the man who was eight years her senior, though it was often quite apparent that the thirty-year-old woman had more experience with most military-related endeavors. Sometimes she wondered if he had spent as much of his life sheltered from the fighting as she'd been forced to run straight on into it.
The genetically engineered soldier knew that she at least owed him something of an apology in this instance, but only this one. So, she muttered: "Sorry. I suppose disagreeing with you has become something of a force of habit."
She noticed he looked about to argue that point. A small part of her almost wanted to smile at how predictable their routine was set up that she could tell what would happen next so astutely.
Kimball sighed once more before beating him to the punch, "Can we just not discuss any of our citizenry policies for the moment? We have enough on our plates to deal with without arguing over that anymore."
"That's really only because a certain someone doesn't care to listen to—!"
Doyle smartly cut his muttering off at the warning glare he received from Kimball just then. He coughed nervously, glancing away before hesitatingly looking back at her face and attempting to change subjects entirely, "It…it seems like the training of the younger recruits is also going rather well."
Grateful for the switch to a less volatile topic, Kimball's countenance became a bit friendlier, "Washington stepping in like he did has been immensely helpful." She noted, "Actually, all of the Reds and Blues have been rather unorthodox but surprisingly good mentors."
The blond-haired man nodded in reply, apparently just as eager to keep the conversation going as she was now that they'd landed on one of their rather rare safe topics, "The noncombat training has also been seeing marked improvement now that we have better equipment and more experienced personnel."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully before continuing, "Though the medical department in general still has a rather hefty request list for supplies."
Kimball frowned, "We'll most likely have to get into contact with more regions then."
While the area around Chorus might have caches of alien tech in surprising abundance, medicine and first aid supplies were another matter entirely. Yet, they were definitely a resource that no city could survive long without.
The older man was nodding his head in earnest agreement by this point, "Quite right. I would be glad to set things in motion regarding that matter as quickly as possible," he offered, "Since I tend to handle more of the diplomatic affairs."
Kimball only slightly nodded in response, her expression just then decidedly neutral. Doyle taking on the role of diplomat had been unofficially decided amongst the two of them a while ago. The dark-skinned woman liked to tell herself that it was because, deep down inside, she knew he had a better knack for it. That overall she just lacked the patience for the delicate political maneuverings that often detailed such endeavors.
She did not want to dwell on how it had started because several regions had outright refused to interact with or recognize her as a proper leader due to her specific background.
Whether or not the man standing next to her had ever deduced the reasons why she never argued strongly against him acting as ambassador of sorts for Chorus, she couldn't say. She'd like to believe she kept it tightly under wraps, at least from a face-saving stance.
He certainly seemed oblivious as Doyle remarked, "Though you did do a marvelous job addressing the matter of…ah, Lieutenant Bitters, was it? Given his situation, that was certainly an issue that required delicate handling."
Kimball stared at him incredulously, honestly not sure if he was attempting some poorly crafted joke at her expense or not. When it became obvious given the other leader's hopeful smile that he actually believed what he had just said, she shook her head in disbelief.
"All I ended up doing was pretty much punishing the lieutenant by forcing him to work in a partnership assignment for the foreseeable future, in order to help him value his teammates." She muttered, "Quite frankly, it's probably even more of a punishment for poor Lieutenant Matthews since he drew the short straw."
She'd had Bones already assuring her that she would be checking to make sure the auburn-haired soldier didn't develop any ulcers.
"I'm sure it will end up being a positive learning experience for both of them." Doyle reassured her, "After all, being forced to work together can feel like something of a punishment at first…"
Unfortunately, since he'd turned his head away slightly at the beginning of his speech the full force of the death glare that Kimball was now sending his way was severely diminished, and he continued speaking as if his current companion wasn't willing him to spontaneously burst into flames.
"But, hopefully in the end, the true spirit of teamwork and camaraderie will prevail."
Now, death glare subsiding, she was back to just being reminded of how poorly worded many of the man's motivational speeches were.
Doyle coughed and turned to regard her again, his expression changing from earnest to more serious, "Besides, especially in Lieutenant Bitters' case, his attitude does need to improve if he wishes to continue being a soldier."
Kimball couldn't really argue, having discussed the same thing earlier with Washington herself. She sighed, "I can almost understand his mindset. To a degree." She admitted softly, shaking her head as if to keep her memories below the surface still, "Though my situation was admittedly a bit different from his."
For all of the hardships that she had faced as a supply-runner which were too numerous to count, and too many of which she did not want to dwell on again, they were mild compared to the life of a genetically engineered human aligned with mercenaries during the war.
The serious look Doyle cast her way following that admission was one that looked odd and completely foreign on his features. It was nearly unreadable. Considering how much of an open book the man usually was, that expression was a bit unsettling to Kimball in a way she would not have thought possible beforehand.
For a moment, as he opened his mouth to speak, she almost thought he may have finally worked up the nerve to delve a bit more into her past and satisfy some lingering curiosity he might have about it. Usually, it was a topic he'd avoid mentioning whenever possible.
It was also a topic that Kimball really had no desire to discuss with him of all people. As she tried to think of something to interrupt him with, the lighting beat her to it.
The lights and glow panels flickered all around them. The dark-haired woman could imagine the shielding doing the same as worst case scenarios flooded her mind when the flickering suddenly pitched Armonia and its surrounding districts into darkness for a few sharp seconds before coming back to life as if nothing had happened.
She would have thought she had been seeing things if Doyle didn't look as alarmed as she felt just then. Kimball frowned. She knew that one of their power generators had been on the fritz and had needed some repairs recently. Clearly, that had perhaps been a sign that all of them needed a thorough look-over.
Having absolutely no power would definitely spell disaster for Chorus.
Doyle was thinking along the same lines as he waited a bit to make sure the power was in fact staying on before letting out a nervous breath of air and smiling slightly, "Well, it's good that it seems as though whatever outage that was only temporary, wouldn't you say? Let's hope it is over and done with."
For once, Kimball couldn't help but agree with him.
Simmons had fallen asleep fairly quickly on one of the clinic's cots after Dexter Grif had made him lie down, and the slightly older man stayed at the cyborg's side for a few minutes watching him sleep.
The maroon-wearer's chest only moved marginally when he was in a deep slumber due to his lacking an organic lung system. The intake and outtake of breath from his partly open mouth just as shallow. The first few weeks, months even, after the operation, Grif had always watched Simmons sleep on account of that. Just to reassure himself that the redhead would, in fact, wake up.
He had done so as well following the cybernetic upgrades Simmons had received at Chorus, or on the rare occasions since then whenever he'd actually convinced Simmons to nap with him. It was still hard to pull away from such a vigil now.
But, maybe Simmons had been right about it just being exhaustion considering how quickly he had fallen asleep. Maybe the incident truly hadn't been caused by anything else more serious. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time the dumb nerd had pushed himself too hard when it came to work.
Then again? Grif's frown deepened at the thought as he stared down at Simmons' peaceful, sleeping face while resisting the sudden urge he had to move a red strand of hair that was out of place. The unruly hair was resting on the synthetic skin of the cyborg's face plate.
Grif had made it a point to learn all he could about the side effects and issues that were a result of Simmons' cybernetics following the surgery, often enough without the others being aware he had done so beyond Doctor Grey.
He knew the blackout, for lack of a better term, and this current deep sleep wasn't a normal reaction to exhaustion from Simmons. Grif also knew that it was definitely not a typical side-effect of his enhancements either.
The tan-skinned man sighed, having in that moment decided on a course of action that was probably going to get the snoozing redhead mad at him yet again. But, fuck it! He just couldn't afford the risk.
This time, as he was standing up from the chair he had been sitting in beside Simmons' cot, Grif did in fact reach over to absentmindedly push the strand of hair off of the cyborg's face. The contact with the slightly warm synthetic skin caused an all too familiar tingle throughout his body starting with his fingertips.
The genetically engineered reaction was always more intense with Simmons, even though technically the artificial components of his body shouldn't have any effect at all. Grif didn't want to dwell too much on why that was though.
After that action, he stepped away to begin his search for Doctor Grey. He didn't have to look for her too long, finding the dark-skinned thirty-one-year-old in the kitchen area of the facility. The location only served to remind him that he was a nervous eater, but he rather admirably resisted the urge to run to a cabinet to find some kind of snack just then.
Surprisingly, Doctor Grey was sitting at the kitchen's table in what looked to be a silky two-piece pajama set adorned with a rainbow of colorful flowers that nearly hurt when looked at directly. Her short, cut to ear length black hair was held up in a tiny, messy ponytail. The doctor was currently engrossed in reading something on her data pad, absentmindedly sipping a cup of tea as she did so.
It occurred to Grif just then that, beyond visiting places on medical runs or for her research, he had never really seen her outside of the building much. He always supposed she was like Sarge and pretty much lived here, and the sight of her now pretty much confirmed his suspicions.
The genetically engineered man probably should just be grateful that she was here alone, and that he hadn't walked in on Sarge having her pinned to some various surface. Again. Five times were more than enough to usually have even him knocking now when he had the right presence of mind.
It took her a few seconds to register his presence even after he not-so-subtly coughed, "Working late?"
"Hmm? Oh, this?" She motioned to the pad with a tilt of her head, and he was certain the report on it was heavy and filled with the type of words that would send him into a boredom-induced coma, "No, it's just one of the first theses I ever wrote back when I was twelve. I suppose I was feeling a bit nostalgic."
"You were writing multiple theses when you were twelve?" Grif couldn't help but blurt out.
Fuck. He knew she was crazy smart on top of being just plain crazy, but that was pretty unbelievable.
"On top of helping with research and trying to keep soldiers alive so they could go out and get themselves killed later." Her voice was as chipper as always, but there was a momentary glimpse of sadness in her brown eyes that caught Grif off-guard.
Not that he really should be surprised though. The war had been shitty to all of them. Just as he was about to bring up the reason for this wonderfully uplifting (immense sarcasm intended there) conversation, Doctor Grey beat him to the punch.
"So," She remarked, pushing the powered-down data pad away and regarding him seriously, "Who are you concerned about?"
The slightly older man blinked, "Excuse me?"
Doctor Grey flashed him an amused look, "You only ever personally seek me out if there's a health concern involving two specific people."
She tapped a finger on the table, looking thoughtful, "I don't believe there's anything wrong with Kai since her levels should be good at the moment. Besides, Bones would be there to handle any sudden injury or illness." She smiled at him far too knowingly, "Which leads me to believe that you must be here about Simmons."
Grif gulped and turned his head to the side at the stupid rush of heat that suddenly washed over his face just then, though his reaction pretty much confirmed Doctor Grey's observations.
She thankfully chose not to gloat though despite the momentary flash of triumph that lit up her features, instead quickly falling into her more serious mode, "What's going on, Grif?"
Eccentric as she was, Doctor Emily Grey was a doctor who prioritized her patients when matters were dire enough. Not to mention that Simmons was a recurring patient of hers due to her constant upgrades to his cybernetics to make them more functional and comfortable. Naturally she would get concerned if someone as laidback as Grif was worried enough about something to seek her out.
"Do you remember that weird power disruption we had a little while ago?" He asked her.
The dark-skinned woman nodded, "Even though it only lasted a few seconds, they're so rare that it was a bit curiosity-piquing."
He'd have to take her word on that. Given how what had happened with Simmons had seemed almost tied to said power outage, Grif had found it more terrifying than anything else.
"Right. Well, when it happened I was with Simmons." He ignored the suddenly oddly enthusiastic expression that lit up her face just then to continue, "He…well, it's sort of like he broke. Like he froze, or blacked out…or something."
Grif shrugged his shoulders helplessly, not sure of a better way to describe it as he continued: "He was back to normal pretty much the second it was over though. Well, as close to normal as the nerd usually gets at any rate."
His attempt at a joke was weak, and it did nothing to lessen the worry crawling up inside of him as he recalled once again what had happened.
Doctor Grey sat there, staring far away as she mulled over his words with a very serious expression on her features.
"Simmons said it was likely due to exhaustion and overworking himself like he usually does, but…" He sighed, "I know how he usually gets when he's tired and that's never happened before."
"It isn't a negative side-effect he's ever had due to his cybernetics either." Grey finally cut in.
The orange-wearing man could only nod in response.
"The timing seems far too coincidental as well." She noted, nodding her head, "I think you were right to tell me about this, Grif. I know Simmons sometimes downplays his side-effects."
He smiled wryly, "Yeah, but I have a feeling it's going to bite me in the ass when he finds out."
She smirked, "Would you not have told me if you were really worried about that though?"
Grif didn't respond, but he imagined the answer was probably written on his face more than he'd like. No, he would have still done it. Anything to keep Simmons healthy and here.
"Where is he now?" Doctor Grey was standing up.
"In the clinic. Since he was exhausted, I got him to at least lie down for a bit."
She nodded, "I'll go and look him over then."
He felt a flood of relief wash over him, "Thanks, Doctor Grey."
Simmons would be pissed at him, but at least Grif felt better now.
"You might want to lie low at first." Doctor Grey suggested.
He frowned, "No way. I'm used to him being pissed at me about something."
"But I'd rather get through the exam without a shouting match, however entertaining they may be." She informed him.
Realizing that the genetically engineered man was still going to try arguing with her, she switched tactics, "Besides, I do recall Kai asking around for any spare lube we had earlier."
That did the trick.
Grif's countenance broke into a frown at the latest news of his little sister's antics, "God damn it, Kai!" He swore under his breath before looking seriously back at Grey, "Keep a lookout on him until I get back?"
She nodded, voice serious, "Of course."
Then Grif was gone, racing blindly through the hallways on the search for his dumb-as-all-fuck sister before she could embarrass the family again.
On top of that, he was still worried about Simmons. The dark-haired man knew he'd no doubt not only have to deal with an epic shouting match with Kai when he found her, but that he would also have to deal with Simmons being mad at him for saying anything about the blackout incident at all.
It was times like these when a nap would be the best thing in the world, but there was just no chance of that happening anytime soon. He sighed. Fucking perfect.
But, knowing that at least Simmons would be all right for certain following a check-up from Doctor Grey would make it all worth it. Grif was positive of that.
Junior was tucked into his bed following his night out with his dad and Wash, an army of stuffed animals keeping watch over him. Many of them were gifts that he'd received over the years growing up from his father and his friends.
The young boy still received a new cat plushie every year on his birthday from Wash, an event which the former Freelancer insisted Tucker always help him out with. The younger man always did so because he knew Wash was likely to buy out a whole store, or get an actual cat (or twelve), if left to his own devices.
Tucker watched Junior sleep for a few seconds from the doorway, the boy's markings bathing the room in a soft light. The light used to keep him up at night as a baby, but thankfully his son had gotten used to them by now and even smiled when Tucker fondly called him his little nightlight. The dark-skinned man then closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb his son's well-earned rest.
Wash had already parted ways with them at the apartment complex to get some sleep at his own place. Tucker frowned, his feet subconsciously taking him to his own apartment's backdoor that he then opened, peering out onto the outside grounds to make sure he didn't see a familiar figure in steel and yellow heading out once more.
He'd have to give the blond an earful if he did, especially since he knew that given how much extra work Wash was constantly doing he had to actually be tired.
The genetically engineered soldier and Carolina were no doubt now going to put it upon themselves to take on even more work on account of the whole mercenary situation. Not that Tucker couldn't understand why, of course. Still, his concern permeated through. He really hoped that for his friends' sakes, Wash's in particular, they would be convinced that things were going to be okay in that department soon.
Tucker couldn't make out any familiar shapes in the dim lighting encompassing the building, so it looked as though Wash was in fact resting like he said. He sighed in relief, smiling somewhat to himself.
Likewise, the power seemed to once more be going strong as well, which also gave him some relief. Like they really needed anything else to worry about on top of the everyday shit.
The dark-haired man hadn't been quite sure what to make of the momentary fluctuation before when they'd been out eating, and Wash hadn't either. No doubt the former Freelancer's brain had been jumping to the worst possible scenarios before everything turned back on not a second later.
So, if that was the only time it was ever going to occur? Well, Tucker was more than okay with filing it under "sometimes shit just fucking happens" and going on with his life, especially since it had only lasted for a second and he had a kid whom he did not want to needlessly worry either.
Maybe he'd talk to Sarge, Church, or Simmons later about it for his own peace of mind, but that was about it. Just not in front of Wash or anything. If only because the younger man didn't want to add anymore to the guy's overflowing plate of worry if he could avoid doing so.
"Oh! Hey, Tucker!" A familiar voice called out in greeting, "Getting some fresh air?"
Tucker blinked, surprised to see Donut standing just a few doors down from him. The lightish-red-wearing man's apartment wasn't on this floor, so who was he visiting? For the life of him, he could not put a name to the door at all. Besides…
"Weren't you and Doc tearing it up tonight?"
Donut's smile widened to incredible proportions, "Oh, we did tear it up! We had so much fun we had to call it an early night. I don't think I'll be able to sit for a while without being sore from all the fun we had!"
"Uh-huh." Tucker had to choke down a "TMI, dude." comment since he knew Donut probably didn't mean it the way it had sounded. Maybe.
Besides, given how chipper and eager Donut still looked, he had a feeling it was probably more Doc who had needed a rest from the night's activity. Whatever else someone might want to say about Donut, the dude could out party the best of them.
Tucker was just about to say good night and leave it at that when something curled under the dirty blond's arm caught his attention.
"So, Grif gave you that?" He asked, indicating the familiar plush toy that he had seen his chubby friend pocketing earlier at the ruined farmhouse.
He had thought he'd seen the two of them talking earlier when they'd gotten back. Donut looked down at the dog and nodded, smiling and bringing a finger to his lips.
"Don't tell anyone though, especially Simmons." The younger man told him conspiratorially, "It's supposed to be a surprise."
A surprise how many fucking years in the making now? Tucker wondered just how long it would take for Grif to even share it with the cyborg.
He sighed, "He really needs to just tell the damn nerd already."
"Tell me about it." Apparently his long-suffering mutter had been picked up by Donut, who nodded in agreement with a thoughtful frown, "We say the same thing at our weekly gossip circles."
For a moment, Tucker was tempted to ask if Donut wanted to try to help him hatch another matchmaking scheme, but almost decided against it when he thought back to how the bacon grease in the shower one had played out. Who knew the fat-ass could run that quickly?
They'd need to formulate one over weeks, months, of planning to avoid that kind of mishap. Well, there was no time like the present. Besides, Tucker had actually had fun the few times he had helped Donut repair clothes or toys for Junior in the past. Might be nice to try it out again with Grif's toy. He was just about to offer to help when the door to the mystery apartment opened.
"Hey! Sorry it took so long!" Doc said in way of an apologetic greeting to Donut as he sheepishly held out his sewing kit, "I couldn't find it at first."
"Oh, that's okay! We had so much fun last time I figured that might be the case." Donut grinned, "It gave me the chance to chat a bit with Tucker, so it's all good!"
Wow. Tucker had no idea Doc lived on this floor too.
"What's up, Doc?" He asked, "Did you move here recently?"
A confused look crossed over Doc's bespectacled face, "I've been your neighbor since we got to Chorus, Tucker."
"Are you sure?" Tucker frowned, "Because I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that."
"Pretty sure." Doc still looked confused, and an awkward silence filled the space.
At least until Tucker remembered what Donut had said earlier, "So, Doc helps you fix up the toys that Grif gives you?"
"Yeah!" Donut jumped right in, throwing a conspiratorial grin at his brown-haired friend, "It's our very own secret within a secret! Doc's surprisingly great with poking through fabric!"
Doc blushed a bit at the remark, "I just thought it would be nice to help Donut out, you know? Since he's being nice and helping Grif."
"That's why you're so awesome, Doc!"
Doc was turning a shade of red at the praise that would have made Sarge proud, but Donut was oblivious to it since he turned back to face Tucker.
Tucker smiled, figuring maybe now wasn't the best time to try to figure out matchmaking plans with his friend. Particularly when said friend was possibly currently getting matched up as they spoke.
"Well, I put Junior to bed a while ago so I should check up on him." He said as a way to excuse himself from what should be a private moment between Doc and Donut, "I'll let you guys know if I need anything of Junior's fixed in the future then."
Donut cheerfully saluted, "You can count on us, Tucker!"
"Absolutely!" Doc smiled in agreement, "Good night."
Tucker's door was just closing as Donut stepped into Doc's apartment, an oddly happy thrill emanating from Tucker as he debated calling Wash, Church, or Grif to tell them of this new development. He was totally blaming Grif's "collection" for all of these sentimental feelings.
Only barely reining that urge in, he instead thought back to Doc's apartment and supposed Doc was right about when he had moved in. The dark-skinned man wondered if the mercenaries had gotten their apartment assignments now too, and where they were exactly in the residential district.
He sighed, his giddiness suddenly tempered with a bit of unease even if it wasn't nearly as strong as what Wash or Carolina probably felt about the situation. His increased paranoia? Well, Tucker was totally blaming that all on Wash.
When the bottle of water was shoved in front of his face, Matthews shook his head while feeling as though he were about to puke. He was hugging his knees tightly to his chest on the top of the stairwell where their apartments were located, his sisters and Kai gathered around him.
Andersmith had already left, wanting to check on Caboose and Freckles because there had been a salvage mission earlier in the day. Palomo had been unusually quiet and had just wanted to go to his own place following training. The genetically engineered supply-runner didn't share it with the others before leaving, but it seemed like Bitters' earlier comments had maybe cut him a bit deeper than he cared to admit. Bitters, naturally, had just walked past them to reach his level a floor below their own without saying a word.
Katie clasped a hand onto his shoulder in a comforting gesture, "It's going to be okay, Matthews." She tried gently.
He couldn't bring himself to respond, instead burying his head into his knees. Would it? He was being partnered up on an upcoming team assignment with a guy who seemed to despise him.
He wouldn't dare protest Kimball or anyone else's orders, but the announcement had nearly caused him to faint on the spot. Recalling that just now made him want to puke even more.
"She's right." Volleyball clasped her hand on his other shoulder, "We're all here for you."
"Yeah, we can kick his ass all sorts of ways if he's a jerk!" Kaikaina chimed in, "He won't want to mess with us."
He couldn't help but smile weakly, touched almost to the point of crying, "Thanks, guys."
"That's what family's for, Matthews." Katie smiled and plopped down next to him on the stairs.
"Yep, kicking ass for you when it's needed!" Kai agreed, "My brother always says that."
"Words of wisdom from the mighty Captain Grif himself?" Volleyball, knowing Matthews' adoration of the man, asked while shooting a teasing wink at her adopted brother.
"Words, at any rate." Kai grinned herself right back at the blonde, "But the thought behind them is nice."
"Agreed." Volleyball squeezed Matthews' shoulder again, "So, don't worry about the assignment. Okay? We're here for you. Kai, Andersmith, and Palomo are too."
Matthews nodded slightly, "Thanks." He said again in earnest before adding, "I know General Kimball means well, so I—"
He cut himself off when Antoine Bitters entered the stairwell again. The young man with multi-colored hair looked up at them, focusing on the suddenly still Matthews with a glare. Then he left without saying a word down the steps.
The auburn-haired rookie groaned and once again buried his face in his knees, the urge to puke rising once more. He wanted to be a good teammate to Bitters.
Even more-so, he hoped at some point that they could all be something like friends with the young man in the orange trim. That they could all be as close with him as they already were to one another. But, moments like that did not instill any confidence in him.
Volleyball was trying to tell Matthews to ignore Bitters when the loud, frustrated voice of Dexter Grif interrupted her. The tan, heavyset man was wheezing his way up the stairs while glaring at his little sister.
"God damn it, Kai!" The older man somehow managed to get out in-between struggling breaths, "What is this I hear about you asking around for lube again?"
As the three lieutenants all turned to stare at their friend in confusion following the odd question, she stuck her tongue out at her brother, "Geeze, Dex! Quit being such a killjoy and go have sex with your fucking boyfriend already!"
When Richard Simmons woke up later, he was shocked to see Doctor Grey hovering over him in the chair that Grif had occupied before. Her messy hair and bright floral pajamas not making the sight any less disconcerting.
"Good morning!" She greeted cheerily, all smiles, "Did you sleep well?"
"I…w—well, yes?" It took his brain a few moments to really process what was going on from his groggy state of mind. Her words sunk in eventually though, and he blinked, "It's morning?"
"Early morning, yes." She nodded, her assessing gaze fixed on him, "But you slept the whole way through the night, which must mean you were truly exhausted."
He supposed it did, now that he thought about it. It usually took him forever to fall asleep in places he wasn't too familiar with.
"Sorry for taking up room, Doctor Grey." The redhead pulled his feet over the side of the cot, letting them fall onto the floor softly, "I'll leave and—"
"Though, now that you're rested," Doctor Grey's look had become a lot more serious and she talked as if she hadn't heard Simmons at all, "Do you want to discuss what happened during the power outage?"
Simmons blinked, mouth hanging open agape. How did she…? Then it hit him. Grif!
The fat fuck! Even after he'd given his word that he wouldn't say anything. Simmons was going to give him an earful when he saw him again.
Doctor Grey seemed to be reading his upset facial expressions because she sighed a second later before talking, "Don't be too hard on him, Simmons. Grif only told me about what had happened because he was worried about you."
Before Simmons could respond, a loud yell came from the hallway outside.
"Ow! Will you get the fuck off of me?" A familiarly angry voice shouted, "I keep telling you I'm fucking fine now!"
The door opened to the clinic and Carolina walked in, dragging a still loudly protesting Church with her.
She regarded the two individuals near the cot carefully, barely concealed concern flickering briefly in her green eyes, "So, I take it something happened with Simmons as well?"
"As well?" Doctor Grey sat up straighter in her seat at the question.
Carolina nodded, "Church and I were conversing earlier. The lights flickered, and then he suddenly started screaming about sharp pain coming from his implants."
"It's fine now, sis, so you can lay off with the death grip!" Church tried futilely pulling his arm away from his overprotective big sister.
Doctor Grey shared a look with Simmons, and the unusually serious look he found on her features combined with the cyborg's own growing sense of unease over what they had just heard caused him to visibly shudder.
"I think both of you need to have an examination right away." She stated emphatically, her voice broaching no room for argument.
Author's Notes: The plot thickens! I hope you liked this chapter. It was a really neat one to write up. :D
Not much to say here currently except that I will be starting work on the next chapter soon and I will also be posting my first prequel story for this AU even sooner. Since I have been mentioning ages in this fic, I will post a list of all of the character ages in the main When We Were Soldiers story timeline here, minus the robots and VI or AI characters. This can be used as a reference, as some of the side stories will be prequels:
Hargrove: somewhere in his late 70s
Sarge: 42
Aiden: 40
Donald Doyle: 38
Carolina and Four Seven Niner: 37
Wash and Locus: 36
Felix and Bones: 35
Grif, Tucker, Cass, and Sharkface: 34
Doc: 33
Simmons and Andersmith: 32
Doctor Grey: 31
Kimball: 30
Church and Tex: appear to be somewhere in their 30s
Donut: 28
Caboose: 27
Bitters: 25
Volleyball: 24
Palomo: 23
Kai: 22
Matthews: 21
Jensen: 20
Junior: 10
Thank you very much for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and that you'll like the next chapter too! :)