Tucker was gone.

I had absolutely no idea where he had run off to. I checked every room in the base twice, and finally gave up. There was no possible way he was in the base. My last resort was to ask the Reds… but I had a feeling that wouldn't get me anywhere.

"Donut," I called as I strode into the Red base a while later. "Donut, where are you?"

"In the kitchen," he answered from the other room. A mouth-watering aroma wafted beneath my nose as I walked into the kitchen. Chicken stir-fry. "What's up?" he asked, cutting up water chestnuts. "I thought you were irritated at me."

"I was, but I need to know where Tucker is."

Donut frowned. "This is the Red base, Ells…"

"Thank you, Holmes," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Okay, you obviously haven't seen him. I'll ask the others."

In the exercise room, Sarge was showing Simmons how much weight he should be lifting, while Grif was trying to covertly sneak some weights off of his exercise machine.

"Eleven!" exclaimed Simmons as I came into the room. He smiled roguishly and lifted his weights, flexing his muscles as he did so. I ignored him.

"Have you guys seen Tucker?" I asked.

"That yellow-bellied Blue?" scoffed Sarge. I could still smell a stale hint of vodka from his direction. "He knows better than to come over these parts." He glanced at Grif and caught him taking off another ten pounds off his exercise machine. "Grif! You lazy pile of turd!"

"I saw him," said Grif, sheepishly placing the ten pounds back on his machine. "He was walking out of the base into the woods."

"The woods?" I gasped. It was dark now. He couldn't seriously be out in the wilderness at night. "Does your armor have some sort of tracking device on it?"

Simmons had begun lifting enormous dumbbells, standing at an angle he knew I could see his biceps. "They do, but they only work if you turn them on. If Tucker doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. You might as well give up."

I sighed. "Whatever. I'll see you guys later."

I turned on my heel and exited without another word. I heard a thud and a howl of pain from behind me, along with sniggers.

"That's what you get for showing off," I heard Grif chuckle.

As I walked back over to the Blue base, I gazed into the woods, then upward. Even with the copious amounts of stars littering the sky, Tucker wouldn't be able to see a thing.

I sighed and trudged to the roof of the Blue base once I reached it. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to see some aqua-colored armor lights darting through the trees.

I made it to the roof and gasped.

"Tucker!"

He sat at the edge of the base, gazing up at the blanket of stars above us.

"What do you want?" He had taken off his helmet and it lay, forgotten, beside him.

"Tucker, I've been looking all over for you," I said. "I thought you'd left."

"Well, I did. But now I'm here." His reply was short and irritated, and he wouldn't look at me. "Now you can leave."

"Oh, come on, won't you hear me out?" I asked. This was ridiculous.

"Fact is, I don't feel like it. Goodbye."

I wasn't going to give up that easily. I walked right up to where he was sitting and plopped down beside him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Church is the one who's supposed to be mad at me, not you."

"Oh, because that makes so much sense," he said sarcastically, avoiding my gaze. I could only see one side of his face, and his angry features were highlighted by the stars as he stared determinedly away from me. "You only punched my face in and let me be completely embarrassed by my own teammate. Wait, scratch that. You didn't let it happen. You wanted it to happen. And you pretty much killed Church in the process. I hope you're happy."

"For your information," I replied frostily. "I just went and had a conversation with Church. And I think he's going to be okay now. He had much more of a right than you do to be upset with me. At least I didn't break your heart!"

"How the hell do you know what you did?" he spat. I frowned slightly, and he clamped his mouth shut. "You—you just can't do stuff like that," he said more quietly, turning his head even farther away from me.

"I—what do you mean?"

He sighed in frustration. "You're so emotional. Like, the second I said that comment, you freaked out. Then, after I told Church it was your fault he thought I was Tex, you got all upset and shit and ran off."

"So what?"

"So—so you ran off to the Reds!"

I stared into the back of his head, which still wouldn't turn to me. Was this seriously all because of the stupid war?

"Listen," I snarled. "I am perfectly in the right to do whatever I want. I'm not a Blue or a Red, remember? So don't go and get all upset if I decide I like the Reds better. Just because you guys are battling doesn't mean I want any part of it."

Tucker sneered up at the stars. "Oh please. Don't give me that crap. I know you ran off to go and cry on Simmons' shoulder."

I burst out laughing. "Simmons? God, I can't get that guy off my freaking case. After that fiasco, I didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. Even Donut wouldn't take my side."

Tucker sat straight up. "You… didn't talk to Simmons?"

"Of course not. He's an idiot."

Tucker's sneer broke into a genuine smile. "You got that right. Especially with that stupid rescue thing he did. I thought he was going break your hand with how hard he was grabbing you."

I jolted upright.

"Rescue?" I asked. "At the bar?"

Tucker gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

He remembered.

I tried to wrap my brain around this concept as a silence ensued. Tucker had tried to rescue me… on purpose. What the hell…?

"Um, okay, how about we make a deal?" I asked, half-smiling and trying to make light of this realization. "How about you forgive me for punching your face in, and you apologize for starting the bar fight?"

The stars glowed on what I could see of Tucker's face as he looked to the sky. I saw the light shine on his strong facial features, touching his messy wisps of hair as well.

"Okay, deal." We shook hands, and he turned his face fully to me for the first time.

"Oh… oh my God!"

A jagged red line of blood ran along Tucker's face. From his cheekbone, it made a curve under his eye and ran to the edge of his nose. The blood had clotted, from what I could see, but the angry gash still burned crimson under the starlight.

What have I done?