Okay, so this chapter didn't exactly go to plan...but I do like where it ends, even though it IS a little short. Next chapter will be a mission, with action and blood and maybe even an explosion.
In other news, I GOT MY LAPTOP BACK! Two months of getting fixed...and now I can play Plants vs Zombies again when I'm stuck. That always used to help...mmm. Brains. :D
Thanks to theonewhowrotetatertots for putting up with my emails and helping me figure out the mission...and for introducing me to Nomad's song :P, blackrosewitch1996 (I didn't forget it this time!) for pestering me to keep writing, and to Captain Rocket for letting me steal an idea for another fic :D ...I'd been wondering how to get it started for a looooong time.
And thanks to everyone who reviews! They make my day! I try to get back to everyone, but sometimes I forget...
ANYway, on with the show! (Mission, next chapter - promise!)
Hawk may as well have punched her in the gut. That was what it felt like - his words left her reeling, the wind sucked from her lungs. Her throat tightened up; she couldn't catch her breath.
The general half-rose from his seat, the carefully blank look replaced - briefly - with one of concern. "Nomad -"
She waved him down. "I - I'm fine," she said, a little more sharply than she'd intended. "I…he…" Nomad took a deep breath. She had to get it together. She didn't want Hawk to see just how much the news had affected her.
She was a Joe; she had to be better than this.
"Here."
For the first time, Nomad noticed the coffee mug on the desk. Hawk slid it across to her; it was filled with water. The man had been prepared.
She bought herself some time by sipping slowly, holding the mug in both hands - she was shaking so much she was afraid she might drop it. She looked anywhere but at the general. He waited patiently; Nomad could feel his sharp eyes on her.
"Hawk…how? When?" she asked when she finally trusted her voice not to catch.
The general opened the manila folder on the desk in front of him and flipped through the several pages in it. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for. He slid a glossy piece of paper out and spun it around for Nomad to see.
She craned forward to peer at the black and white still capture from a surveillance camera. Three men were walking down the middle of a hallway with closed doors on either side. Nomad had never been to Fort Leavenworth, but she recognised a prison when she saw one.
And there he was, between the two others - towering over them, wearing prison coveralls with the top half loose and the sleeves tied around his waist. The white t-shirt he wore stretched tight over his massive chest. He wore prison cuffs; his hands were held so that none of the real guards would notice, but from the elevated angle of the camera, Nomad could tell that the cuffs were only loosely fastened.
She would never forget that face. It was seared into her memory: that man had featured in her nightmares for the best part of a year.
Prison didn't seem to have affected Goldilocks at all. Some men didn't do so well - they lost weight, didn't sleep. Nomad had heard stories about what happened to some people in prison, and the odd code of honour that the inmates seemed to live by. Goldilocks had murdered his own soldiers and gone MIA. That wouldn't have gone down too well with some of the other ex-soldiers in Leavenworth.
Nomad didn't know what she'd expected, but he looked exactly the same as he did when she'd last seen him, outside the Pentagon after the court case.
He shouldn't have even been in Leavenworth in the first place, but he'd bought his way out of a lethal injection. Or at least, that's what Archer suspected.
Nomad tore her eyes from the black and white image of the man who'd cut her up and turned her attention to the smaller man on Goldilocks' left side, holding onto his elbow. He was wearing the uniform of a Leavenworth guard rather than that of a Crimson Guardsman, but she recognised him, too. She tried - unsuccessfully - to repress the shiver that rolled down her spine. "Sir…that's Andy."
The general looked at her sharply. "Are you certain?"
Nomad returned the look and tried hard to keep the dry tone from her voice. "I'm certain."
Hawk reached over and tapped the third man in the still. "Do you recognise this one?"
Nomad glanced at the picture again. While the image was perfectly clear everywhere else, the third man - on Goldilocks' right side - was fuzzy, and his head was tilted down.
She shook her head. "No. Sir, why's he all blurry when the rest of -"
"You noticed," Hawk said, nodding. "It's Zartan. His holographic devices don't fool cameras as easily as they fool eyes."
"Zartan?" Nomad raised the picture closer to her eyes, squinting, as if the image would suddenly become clear. Of course, it didn't work.
She'd come across Zartan once, but not personally. He'd shot Jeckle in the gut on her first mission as a Joe, and killed Jeckle's best friend, Heckle, also on her first op.
Cobra.
Goddamn it.
Nomad threw the photo down in disgust and slammed herself back into the chair. Now that the initial shock was beginning to wear off, she felt her temper starting to bubble up. So Cobra had sprung Goldilocks from prison. The fucking son of a bitch was out. How the hell did he keep managing to weasel his way out of things?
And why would Cobra want him, anyway? There were enough disgruntled, disillusioned, jaded soldiers out there without having to risk busting them out of a maximum security facility. So why -
Her eyes flicked to the photo again, and she noticed something else. Snatching it up, she stared at the timestamp in the bottom corner. "Hawk," she said, not quite able to keep her voice from shaking, "this is dated only a couple of days after the Cobra Island op. The day I was debriefed."
The general nodded warily. "Yes. That's the day he was broken out."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Hawk's voice remained quiet, but his tone grew stern. "We - the medical team and I - thought it best not to tell you until you were fully recovered."
"Sir, all respect to your rank, but I should've been told -"
Hawk sat up straighter and eyed her. "It sounds like you're questioning not only my judgment, but Psyche Out and Doc's, as well." His tone made it clear that he wasn't impressed - Nomad was very close to getting herself into trouble again.
"No, sir, I'm not questioning anyone," she said quickly. "But…why'd you wait so long to tell me?"
"You were recovering from major trauma. Both Psyche Out and Doc advised against putting any undue stress on you."
Nomad pressed a hand to her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. "Okay. Okay. I get that, sir, but -"
Hawk narrowed his eyes and he leaned forward, the decorations on his chest clinking softly. "That's enough," he stated.
Nomad almost snapped. She was so close to it; her temper was getting the better of her. She wanted to…well, she wanted to yell at Hawk.
That was not a good idea. Nomad mentally shook herself and made a conscious effort to unclench her fists.
Obviously, she didn't hide it well enough. Hawk pointed at her warningly. "I want to make myself clear, Nomad," he said. "We will not be focusing on recapturing Goldilocks. At the moment, we have bigger things to worry about."
Nomad closed her eyes for a moment. Of course they had bigger things to worry about. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. The neurotoxin missiles?"
"That's right. We have just under two months before the missiles are supposed to be ready, and we still don't know where they're being produced or even if Cobra has all the components yet." Hawk met her gaze. "I need all my soldiers focused," he added pointedly. "I don't want to have to do it, but if you don't think you can deal with this, I will restrict you to duty in the Pit."
Nomad took a deep breath. Well…it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it. What was done was done. The only thing she could hope for was that maybe, if the Joes came across Goldilocks in a battle, he wouldn't survive. Or he was at least captured and went back to prison. And the only way that she could possibly have a hand in either of those options was if she was out in the field with the rest of the Joes. "Sir, there won't be any problems," she stated.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, general."
He didn't appear to be convinced.
"Sir, you have my word as a Joe," she added quietly. "He broke me once. I'm not gonna let him do it again. Cobra, either. It's just…I wasn't expecting it, that's all."
Hawk leaned back in his chair. He studied her for a long time. "Alright. I'll trust your judgment," he said finally. "But there'll be no warnings, Nomad. You do anything stupid, you're suspended. Have I made myself clear?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good."
"Uh…sir?" Nomad asked hesitantly, pressing her luck.
He looked up.
She gestured to the photo on the desk - it was crumpled. She must've scrunched it in her fist at some point without realising it. "I don't suppose I'd be allowed to read that -"
"You know all you need to know for now," Hawk told her, and with that, the conversation was over.
"Right. Thank you, sir," she said, heading for the door.
Hawk didn't answer. She cast one last quick glance over her shoulder at him - he was reading the file himself, now.
Nomad closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment. Then, she headed for the training room.
She needed to hit something.
Each time her gloved fist smashed into the punching bag, she imagined it was Goldilocks she was laying into
It didn't work. Rather than getting all the pent-up anger out of her system, Nomad felt herself getting more and more frustrated every time she hit punching bag. The other Joes in the room were giving her a wide berth - not even Cross Country had come up to talk to her, and he always said hello if he saw her.
Probably just as well he didn't. She would've bitten his head off.
"Thought I might find you in here."
Nomad swiped at the rivulets of sweat trickling down her face and glared around at Psyche Out. "Think of something else I might wanna know?" she asked scathingly before she even realised what she was saying. It just came out - she couldn't help it.
Psyche Out stepped back as she rounded on the punching bag again, pummelling it, adding a few vicious knees and kicks in for good measure. "We thought it best -"
"Yeah, you thought it best I was fully recovered before letting me know that the fucker who cut me up escaped from jail with the other fucker who cut me up. Hawk said. Thanks for that, Psyche Out, it makes me feel a whole lot better knowing you're looking out for me."
From the corner of her eye, she saw the psychologist rub a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. It was a bad decision on my part."
Nomad felt a stab of guilt, but in her anger she squashed it. "No shit," she growled.
The psychologist pressed on anyway. "But would it have made any difference if you'd known earlier?"
She turned, ripping the Velcro fastening around her wrists up with her teeth and yanking the gloves off. "No. Yes. I don't know!"
"Look, it's natural to feel -"
"Oh, would you just shut the fuck up?" She flapped her arms impatiently and shoved past the psychologist, ignoring Cross Country, Crankcase, Ripcord, Blowtorch and Barbecue as they averted their eyes, pretending (badly) to not be watching her freak out.
Somewhere - vaguely - she knew she shouldn't be yelling at Psyche Out. He was only doing his job, and he'd only been thinking of her wellbeing. But…she was so angry. Goldilocks was free, after everything he'd done, and this time there was nothing she could do about it. At least before, she'd been able to get him court-martialled.
"Nomad. Nomad!" The shrink hurried after her. "Wait. I understand that you're upset -"
"Upset doesn't even begin to cover it," she muttered.
"Why don't you come and sit down with me?" Psyche Out suggested. "Come on, let's go to the mess hall, we can -"
"So everyone can wonder why I'm -" Nomad broke off, a sudden thought striking her. "Who else knows?"
Psyche Out held his hands up, placating. "Nomad -"
"Does Lowlight know?"
"Let's just talk -"
Nomad looked hard at the shrink, then strode away down the corridor, heading for the firing range.
Lowlight was standing by the trenches in his familiar dusky grey uniform, his sniper rifle slung over his back and his curly blonde hair sticking out from beneath his beanie. Every now and then, he pressed a button on a small remote, and somewhere in the distance, a man-shaped target would pop up. A few seconds later, the target would flip itself down again as several paintball rounds splattered against it.
Nomad stalked right up to the sniper. "Did you know?"
He didn't turn his attention away from the Joes in the trenches. "Know what?" he asked.
Nomad didn't even know if he looked at her - his red goggles were covering his eyes. Usually, there was something about those goggles that turned her on.
Not today. She scowled. "That -" Say it. Say his goddamn name. "That…Goldilocks…escaped Leavenworth."
The sniper turned to face her, opening his mouth, but he didn't answer straight away - which told her all she needed to know. "You bastard," she spat. "You did, didn't you?"
It felt like a muscle in her chest pulled. Lowlight had known, and he hadn't told her. All that week -
"Nomad -"
She spun around to stalk back to the garage, but Lowlight's hand clamped around her wrist before she took two steps. "Let go," she snarled, rounding on him and trying to yank free.
To his credit, the sniper immediately released her. "Nomad, I didn't want -" Lowlight started.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" she demanded.
"Uh oh." Gung Ho's head popped up over the edge of the trench, followed by Roadblock's. If she hadn't been so angry, Nomad would've laughed - the awkward looks on the big guys' faces were priceless.
Hell, she hadn't been this mad for a long time…but despite her foul mood, Nomad knew it wasn't because Goldilocks had escaped: it was because nobody had told her before now. She could understand them not wanting to tell her when she was stuck in the infirmary, but what about when she was on leave? How could Lowlight not have told her? How could he spend a whole week alone with her and not fucking think to tell her?
Did Nomad feel a little…betrayed?
Yeah. That was it. She felt betrayed.
The sniper reached for her again. She smacked his hand away furiously.
"Nomad, I wanted -" he tried again.
"You wanted what?" she hissed. "You had a whole week with me, and you didn't say a goddamn thing. What am I, Lowlight, just a good fuck? Is that all you wanted when you showed up?"
She heard Gung Ho draw in a breath, saw both him and Roadblock cringe.
There was a sharp edge to Lowlight's voice when he spoke next. "For god's sake -"
Right now, Nomad didn't care. She turned away and headed for Garage 2 - where she saw Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll both hurry back inside to pretend they hadn't been watching.
"Nomad. Nomad!"
She heard a quick scuffle behind her. She didn't glance back, but she heard Gung Ho say quietly, "Let 'er go, man. Give 'er time to cool off. She just needs to get it out."
Gung Ho was right - she needed to get it all out. All the anger, the frustration - and if she was really honest with herself, there was a little bit of fear in there, too.
What would happen if she came across Goldilocks on a mission? What would she do?
…What would he do?
"Nomad."
She snapped her eyes open to see Storm Shadow frowning at her. He was sitting across from her, mirroring her position; sitting cross-legged, his hands resting lightly on his knees. "What?"
"You're thinking. Stop it." He paused before adding, deadpan, "It shouldn't be too hard for you."
She scowled. Even when he was trying to be helpful, he managed to throw a few insults in. Still, she closed her eyes again, took a deep breath, and tried to sit still.
She wasn't sure she liked closing her eyes with Storm Shadow sitting only a metre away.
"Nomad. Stop. Fidgeting."
"Sorry."
After completely freaking out at Lowlight - which Nomad already regretted doing - she'd headed back to the training room, keeping an eye open for Psyche Out. She didn't want to talk to anybody; all she wanted to do was work out until she was too tired to do anything but stumble back to her room and collapse on her bed in a sweaty, aching heap.
Of course, things were never that easy in the Pit. Storm Shadow had been in the training room, and as she'd passed him he'd given her a knowing, almost compassionate look.
She'd strapped her gloves on and began bashing up the punching bag again, trying to forget everything for at least a few minutes. Working up a sweat felt good.
Then, without warning, somebody tapped her on the shoulder.
She automatically spun, throwing a punch. She hadn't meant to, but she was distracted.
Luckily, it was only Stormy, and he deflected the punch easily. "Be nice," he'd said. Then he'd looked at her thoughtfully. "Hate to tell you, but I don't think the punching bag's working. Why don't you try something different?"
Well…it wasn't like she had anything better to do. So here she was, sitting opposite the smart-assed ninja in the empty, dimly lit dojo, attempting to meditate.
It wasn't working very well. She couldn't clear her mind, no matter how much 'pure, white light' Storm Shadow said to envision.
"This isn't working, either," she complained impatiently, opening her eyes and sprawling back onto the mats.
Storm Shadow sighed. "Have you thought that maybe it's not working because you keep saying it's not working? Close your mouth, stop talking, and clear your mind."
"I can't."
The ninja opened his dark eyes and looked at her. "Can't is not a Joe word," he pointed out.
"I thought that was a Ranger saying." Nomad rolled to her feet.
"That's 'surrender'," Storm said. "Then again, if we're going by Beachhead standards, a lot of words aren't Ranger words."
Despite herself, Nomad chuckled. "Yeah, well…sorry, Stormy, but I don't think meditating's my thing. I'll stick to the punching bag."
"If you say so." Storm paused, tilting his head to one side slightly. "Hmph. Duke's coming."
Nomad raised an eyebrow. "I hate it when you do that," she said amiably.
"Jealous?"
"Oh, sure."
The door opened and the top sergeant stuck his blonde head in the door. "Nomad, I want you in my office in five minutes."
Nomad looked at him questioningly. "Why?" she asked without thinking.
Duke narrowed his eyes at her.
"Right. On my way."
Duke didn't bother shutting the door behind him. As Nomad crossed the dojo, Storm bounced effortlessly to his feet and followed. "Nomad."
"Yeah?" She ducked aside automatically as Storm raised his hand, then blushed and grinned bashfully as all he did was pat the top of her head.
Storm Shadow rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not the only one who thinks this, but if I ever see him…" His voice trailed off, but the dangerous glint in his eyes said it all.
Nomad felt a rush of gratitude for the ninja. Sure, he was a smartass, and yes, he did his best to piss her off whenever he could…but he had saved her life on many occasions. "Thanks, Stormy."
"You better get to Duke's office."
Nomad reread the mission briefing, raising her eyebrows. "Wait a second," she said, sitting back in her chair and glancing at Duke. "You want us to pose as Secret Service? To guard the President?"
In the seat beside her, Beachhead slapped his own documents down on the desktop. "That's what it says, don't it?" he asked impatiently. "Duke, are we gonna hafta wear monkey suits?"
Duke cracked a rare grin. "Yes, you are," he said firmly. "You'll have to go pick them up when we're done here."
Beachhead cursed under his breath. "Ah hate wearin' suits."
Nomad raised a hand, earning herself an exasperated look from the hulking Ranger beside her. "Why us?" she asked. "No, I don't mean me and Beach…why Joes? Aren't his own guards enough?"
Duke shrugged. "The big boss requested us. What else is there to say?"
Beachhead grinned and nudged Nomad. "Ah guess we're just that damn good."
They were shipping out early the next morning. Hawk was already gone: he was honchoing this op. He was going to meet them at - of all places - the White House itself. Apparently, he didn't trust either of them to be alone with the President.
Probably a wise move on his part. Nomad was somewhat notorious in the Pit for butting heads with authority figures. And Beach…well, Beach was Beach.
Although Nomad was pretty sure both of them would hold their tongues in the presence of POTUS himself. Neither of them were that stupid.
It was - supposedly - going to be a short, simple job. The President was to make a few appearances and speeches in public, go to a few meetings, and he wanted - or his advisors had wanted - some extra security, just in case.
Of course, as Psyche Out had told her once, sometimes the 'simple' missions were the ones that fucked up the most.
Nomad checked the gear spread out on her bed again. She had her small earbud-style radio headset; her gun in its shoulder holster (unfortunately, it was only a small handgun - assault rifles were a little too obvious for this op), her silver ninja knife in the sheath she could fasten around her wrist, plus a pair of even smaller guns that she could strap to her ankles.
And, of course, the dreaded suit.
Beachhead was right. Suits were bad. Nomad had already been to the indoor firing range, just off the training room, for some practice - she found the tailored shirt and jacket uncomfortable. It didn't hinder her movements - she could move just as well in the suit as she could in her BDUs - it just felt weird.
Oh well. If she had to - and hopefully she wouldn't - she could just ditch the jacket and cut the sleeves off the shirt. At least she didn't have to wear a skirt.
Nomad glanced at her watch and sighed, sinking down onto the bed. She needed something to do; it was just past midnight, and of course she wasn't tired yet. She needed something to keep her mind off -
No. She wasn't thinking about that. It was going to be a bad enough night already; Nomad knew she wasn't going to sleep well.
Well…there was one more thing she had to do before she shipped out. She wasn't looking forward to it, but she had to.
Just in case.
The only light in the rec room was a soft bluish glow that came from the TV. The volume was turned down so low Nomad could barely hear it.
Of course Lowlight was in here. Thanks to her, his day had been probably been pretty crappy, too.
God, she was such a selfish bitch.
The sniper was lying on the saggy, well-worn couch. His feet were sticking out over one arm - it was only a two-seater sofa, too short for anyone to stretch out on completely (although tiny Jeckle came close).
Nomad tiptoed across the room leaned over the back of the couch, peering down at the sniper. One arm was behind his head, the other hung off the side. His eyes were closed. Nomad smiled to herself, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his face. He looked so sweet when he was asleep…
Oh well. If Lowlight was asleep, she wasn't going to wake him up. Like her, the sniper needed any sleep he could manage to get.
Nomad puffed her cheeks out before heaving a quiet sigh and turning her attention the TV. She recognised the movie straight away; she grinned as the kids on the inflatable yellow banana boat started screaming when the giant, incredibly fake-looking shark attacked.
Great movie. It was one of her favourites. She wondered if she'd disturb the sniper if she sat in front of the couch to watch.
Nomad looked down again to try and gauge how deeply asleep Lowlight was - only to find him looking back at her. She jumped, startled. "I - I thought you were asleep."
"Just resting my eyes," he corrected coolly.
He was angry with her. Nomad didn't blame him; he had every reason to be angry, after what she'd said. "I…didn't mean to wake you up."
Lowlight peered at her and, as usual, saw right through her. "Whatever you want to say, just say it."
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other nervously. How could Lowlight know her so well? With one look at her, he could figure her out - even when she tried to hide how she was feeling. He might not know exactly what she was thinking…but he always knew when something was on her mind.
Lowlight sat up, hooking his arm over the back of the couch. "Well?" he prompted.
Nomad leaned her elbows on the sofa too, lacing her hands together and staring intently at them so she didn't have to meet his eyes. She knew that he knew what was coming - and they both knew he deserved it.
It didn't make it any easier. She'd never liked admitting she was wrong; she'd always been stubborn like that. "I'm…sorry for going psycho at you before."
Lowlight nodded, but said nothing, apparently waiting for more.
It came without her even thinking about it. "It's just…I thought that everything with…him. Goldilocks - I thought it was finished. I mean, at least for another few years, you know?"
For a long time, he scrutinised her, his blue eyes boring into hers. Then he patted the cushion beside him.
Nomad wandered around the couch and sat warily on the edge. Why wasn't he saying anything?
Lowlight pulled her close, pressing her head to his chest as he stroked her hair reassuringly. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted finally.
"I know," she said. "Hawk said -"
"That's not the reason," Lowlight interrupted. "I couldn't tell you because I didn't want to see you upset. I've never seen you as happy as you were that week. I wasn't gonna be the one who brought you down."
Great. Now she felt even worse. "Coop, what I said was -"
Lowlight shook his head. "You just found out the bastard who tortured you escaped from prison. If that's not a good enough excuse to be upset, I don't know what is."
"But I was -"
"Forget it," he said gently.
And that was it. Discussion over. Nomad closed her eyes and gratefully relaxed against the sniper. "I ship out in a few hours. Me and Beach have a President to bodyguard. I just…I wanted to make sure we were good before I go. Just in case."
"We're good," Lowlight assured her. He shifted beneath her, getting comfortable. "There's a marathon on," he said. "Three more giant fake shark movies, all of them bad."
"Oh. You want me to keep you company in case you get scared?" she asked, tickling his ribs.
The sniper's chest shook as he chuckled quietly. "Sure."
Nomad smiled. Again, she knew what he knew: it was Nomad who needed Lowlight, not the other way around.
"Nomad?"
"Yeah?"
"I…"
She waited, but when the sniper uncharacteristically didn't go on, she tilted her head. "You what?" she prompted.
For a moment, it seemed like the sniper was debating something with himself. "Never mind," he said eventually. "Don't worry."
It wasn't like Lowlight to back away from saying something. Nomad gave him a look, but figured the least she could do was let it drop. "Okay."
