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 Ten:
It was official, then. Dexter Grif's life had completely turned to shit.
Not that it had ever been great, mind you. Actually, he fairly certain some people would undoubtedly look at his life up until this point and called it "crappy." However, he had never cared to dwell on it much, so fuck them.
At least he'd had "little things" to help keep him going. His sister was generally safe through no effort on her part given her excessive partying. He could also eat all the time and even had a couple vices like drinking or smoking.
…Never on duty though: you only make that mistake about twenty times when Sarge is your commanding officer and Franklin Delano Donut is in your squad. Sarge proved true to his word on shooting Grif in the foot whenever he so much as smelled smoke or booze while the orange-armored soldier was on duty. The sad thing was that that wasn't even nearly as bad as Donut's lecturing about the perils of "gateway drugs." The lightish-red soldier even somehow managed to tape anti-drug pamphlets on the inside of Grif's helmet whenever he put it down for a moment.
Grif could usually nap a good chunk of the day still too. Another "little thing" plus.
So, given the general state of things as they tended to be in the Slums, he usually didn't have much reason to complain. Especially now, considering the stalemate situation the fighting had been in for the past few months.
Sure, Sarge was as insane as ever and Donut's perkiness and oddball comments could sometimes make Grif want to pull his hair out, but he'd gotten pretty used to them by now.
It had been a little over a year since the last major offensive by Above Ground into the mining tunnels. A little over a year since he'd last seen Simmons, though Grif tried not to think of it like that. Best to remember it as a little over a year since the damn nerd had put a gun to his head. But, any residual anger in the wake of that incident had been replaced with acceptance and an odd sense of sadness at how things had gone down then. So he preferred not thinking about it at all anymore, if he could.
In a way, despite how crappy things turned with Simmons on that day, Grif supposed he should be grateful there hadn't been any other major attacks on the Resistance or the Slums in general afterwards. It didn't mean they were in the clear or anything, far from it, but at least they had a pretty good respite from complete and utter annihilation for the time being. They'd been in a desperate need for the chance to lick their wounds, after all.
No, that part was pretty good. One would expect that that would mean Grif would have all the time in the world to devote to his favorite past time of doing absolutely nothing.
His mind right now, however, was choosing to be a major pain in the ass and was denying him the sweet succor of napping. On what was his first break in hours no less.
Again, probably wouldn't seem like a big deal to most people, but Dexter Grif was a habitual napper. Not getting a certain amount of time devoted to laziness generally made him very cranky. Tucker had once said he was like a preschooler that way, to which Grif promptly told him to fuck off.
Grif knew exactly why his mind refused to let him sleep too.
In fact, he was hiding out in one of the weapons supply rooms to avoid having to interact with said reason at all. Just like he had been doing for the past couple of weeks.
He'd show her, all right! He could fume just as well as any teenage girl (or Donut) when he was upset over something!
…He was fairly certain there was something off about that train of thought if he dwelled on it for too long, but it didn't really matter given the point he was trying to make. Grif was pretty sure that was still fucking valid, regardless.
The door whished open and he glanced up at the two young men who entered. They were only two or three years younger than Kai, actually. …Kids, really.
"Captain Grif?" one of them, the scrawnier of the two in tan armor with yellow trim, held out a box of confiscated snack cakes, "We got you your snack, sir."
"Thanks, Matthews." He wondered if he would even be able to eat it due to his lack of appetite these days. He figured he'd try to make the effort since the two had gone to the trouble of procuring dinner for him. …Well, it had probably most likely just been Matthews.
It would be rude to not at least attempt to eat the whole box and, while Grif could be an impolite asshole most of the time, eating protocol was something he took very seriously. Not table manners because they were just pointless and kept someone from eating more, but the important stuff like making sure you ate what you were given if someone tried to get you your favorite food. Without those types of niceties, civilized life would surely devolve into anarchy.
Matthews took a few tentative steps forward then as Grif was debating his eating conundrum and handed him the box. He quickly stepped back as if being in the senior officer's mere presence would scald him somehow. Never mind how lax most people were about protocol given that the Resistance wasn't exactly a proper military set-up.
This caused the other young man with him in similar tan armor but with orange trim to scoff, "There's no need to act that scared of Captain Grif, Matthews." He chided, only slightly under his breath, "Unless you're afraid he'd bite your arm off along with the food. Which might happen."
The auburn-haired fighter looked horrified at the comment, glancing from his teammate to the older man to gauge his reaction and back again, "B—Bitters!" he exclaimed, warningly.
Lieutenant Bitters shrugged uncaringly, indifference plastered all over his face, "What? You know it's true. We've seen him in the mess hall, for fuck's sake!"
"But still…!"
Grif shrugged nonchalantly before Matthews hyperventilated anymore as Bitters continued not really caring one way or the other. Truthfully, he kind of liked that aspect of Bitters: made him seem rather maverick-like in a way, which was fine by him.
"Eh, I don't really care one way or the other so don't bother getting offended on my account, Matthews." He paused, face scrunched up in momentary reminiscence, "Besides, Bitters probably isn't entirely wrong there. I think I did maybe bite someone on the arm once for getting in the way of food."
"…Told you."
Matthews ignored the other lieutenant, looking shocked at the revelation, "Really?"
"It was only Tucker. In hindsight, he should have known by then not to put his hands anywhere near my doughnuts."
Doughnuts were not something to be taken lightly, after all. They only ever had them on rare occasions since they weren't considered a major component of healthy eating. He had severe issues with that, but no one ever took him seriously when he complained. So, when doughnuts were made in the mess hall, it was safe to say that being around Grif could be kind of brutal.
Matthews tried processing this news and Grif almost felt bad for him. The poor kid looked like his head was about to explode, his eyes wide behind his glasses as Bitters sighed, "Can we go then?"
Oh, shit. Were they that hard up on protocol somehow that they thought he needed to excuse them for a favor?
Grif frowned, wondering if that somehow counted as an abuse of power on his end. It's not like he'd ordered them to do anything.
Ranks in the Resistance were more lax in general and just served more or less as a distinction between senior members and newcomers. Not that many people took them seriously, much to the chagrin of a few of the old military diehards like Sarge.
Some Resistance fighters, like the Freelancers or Felix, didn't even have ranks to begin with. Grif supposed being highly trained agents from a secret Above Ground military program or being a gun-for-hire counted were their own special ranks of sorts, if one was trying to be super technical.
Grif really wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he and several of the other Resistance fighters got promoted to "Captain" simply because they had survived longer than others had. But, so long as he didn't have to change his ways too much he supposed he could deal with it.
But, looking at Matthews fidgeting as he was, he knew he'd probably picked to ask them because Matthews would do anything to please a superior. The kid definitely had the makings of a fine kiss-ass already. Bitters kind of just tagged along with him a lot of the time since the two had joined together and he generally had nothing better to do when not on duty.
In honesty, being around the two younger soldiers for extended periods of time made Grif feel slightly uncomfortable. Particularly Matthews.
He almost called him "Simmons" once or twice. That was not only awkward but kind of brought up all of those unresolved feelings and memories he was trying to squash. So, unless Grif had a favor he couldn't be bothered with doing himself, he generally avoided the younger soldier or tried belittling him in an attempt to get Matthews to leave him alone.
Bitters, well, he generally liked Bitters. Usually. The younger man with brown hair dyed all sorts of odd colors in a haphazard fashion had a nonchalance and apathetic air about him that Grif could easily respect in a lot of ways. Though sometimes it could be a bit much even for him when out on patrol, which he would never admit to out loud because he didn't want to start sounding like Sarge whenever Grif did something like forget to bring the extra ammo.
In a way, he thought it was kind of odd how the two younger soldiers were always together given how different they were.
He actually mentioned that once to Tucker even. His friend had only stared at him with a blank look on his face before shaking his head sadly as if Grif had just said one of the stupidest things in the world. Which had sort of annoyed him since he didn't get what the implication there was.
Matthews and Bitters were just two of several young recruits who had joined the Resistance recently. Since the fighting had been pretty constant up until a few months ago, a lot of younger Slums residents had gotten fed up with how things were and had signed up. Several of them had known people who were Resistance fighters already or had lost people they cared about in either the Level One massacre or in subsequent skirmishes.
It was still not quite certain what would happen with this youngest generation of fighters though, especially after one rather tragic altercation with Above Ground during what had been meant to be a routine patrol that left two of them dead. It was the last really big fight that had occurred before Above Ground activity had become minimalistic in the mines. So, at the moment, the orders and training for the rookie soldiers tended to be standard target practice drills and fetch quests for the more experienced ones.
Grif would be lying if he said he didn't take advantage of that sometimes, but hey! In his defense, he'd be just as okay with them telling him to "fuck off" if they really thought he was being a douche. Actually, he'd felt kind of proud when Bitters had called him lazy to his face once. In a weird sort of way, of course.
Besides, one of the younger ranks usually told him "You suck!" on a daily basis, so Grif was used to that sort of thing more than admiration or actual respect. That particular new recruit was largely responsible for his lack of ability to nap now, which he was decidedly not as cool with.
Just as he was about to tell Matthews and Bitters that it was perfectly fine by him if they went back to whatever they'd been doing, the door opened again from behind them and someone he'd decidedly not asked to do him any favors stepped inside.
"Dude, did you seriously get the lieutenants to sneak you food again?" Tucker's tone had an oddly amused not of exasperation in it.
"You guys can leave." He figured it was best to dismiss the two younger recruits now before Tucker really undermined whatever miniscule amount of superiority over them he still had.
"Right. We should be on our way to do…something." Bitters glanced hopefully at his teammate for confirmation about whatever that "something" was, though he really didn't seem too concerned over having forgotten it.
"We have lunch now and then we have to check the grenades supply."
"Wasn't that Captain Caboose's job?" Bitters didn't seem too enthralled with the idea.
"Not anymore." Tucker shuddered behind them, "He thought using them for sports was a great idea."
"Liveliest game of dodge ball we've ever seen." Grif joked.
"Yeah, seeing Donut have to use the fire extinguisher on Palomo was awesome." Tucker definitely was becoming a pro at delivering sarcastic lines.
"And hearing him go on about having a guys' only wet t-shirt contest afterwards wasn't the greatest thing either." He agreed.
"So no removing the pins or throwing them." Bitters looked bored. To be fair, that was pretty common knowledge to most people even if they hadn't been around grenades before: "Got it."
The two left then with Bitters giving a slight incline of his head towards both Grif and Tucker, while Matthews attempted an awkward salute before shuffling after his teammate.
Tucker waited until they were both gone before turning to Grif, annoyance clearly plastered on his face.
"You have got to stop hiding, fatass."
Grif didn't look at Tucker as he opened the bag to one of the snack cakes, practically inhaling the desert moments later.
"I'm not hiding." He replied sullenly the second he swallowed, not bothering to pay attention to the disgusted look on his friend's face.
"Really?" Lavernius Tucker looked disbelievingly at him, "So you aren't sulking in here just because she's out in the mess hall right now?"
Grif glanced at him then, which probably was all of the confirmation the teal soldier needed that he was indeed on the right track with this line of conversation.
Tucker sighed, "It's been…what?" a thoughtful look went into his brown eyes as he tried to determine the amount of time that had passed, "Two months? You need to at least try to talk to her."
"There's nothing else to say." His expression clouded over, "She didn't listen to me then either."
"Yeah, because she's stubborn as fuck! Just like you."
Grif said nothing, suddenly finding the floor fascinating.
His friend sighed again, "Look, I know you're angry with her. But, if you two don't start talking again and something happens think about just how even more shitty you're going to feel then."
Grif took in a deep breath. On the one hand, he knew Tucker was right. But, on the other hand, the childish side of him that still probably had way more sway than it should wanted to scream out "But she started it!" instead.
Tucker seemed to sense the inner debate going on inside his head and decided an alternate approach was needed.
"All right, how about this?" he folded his arms over his chest thoughtfully, "You either go and talk to her right now or I will tell Bitters, Matthews, and all of the other lieutenants that the medics are putting you on a strictly enforced diet and helping you break that will count as insubordination."
Grif looked up at him then, horrified at the prospect, "You wouldn't."
"Just try me, fatass." He had a smug expression on his face, "The two of you need to sort this out."
"You suck!"
A grin, "That's what she said just the other night, bow-chicka-bow—OW!"
Tucker rubbed his head where Grif had punched him, but a knowing smirk was still apparent in his expression.
"If you still get annoyed by stuff like that, then it's time to patch things up. Don't you think?"
Grif was already at the door, the box of snack cakes under one arm.
"Oh, shove it, Tucker."
"And that's another thing she—"
Perhaps fortunately for Tucker, the door closed on him before Grif heard the last little bit of his joke as the tan fighter reluctantly trudged towards the mess hall.
The mess hall was crowded this time of day as the newer recruits usually had the same assigned off-duty time. Plus, many of the other Resistance fighters who had only just completed their assignments were heading there to get something to eat in the small timeframe they all had to relax.
In a way, Grif supposed it was nice having there be an actual crowd in the common areas of the base for a change. When he and Tucker had first joined, the Resistance had been hurting for new members. The mess hall had always been depressingly empty with only two or three people in it at a time and most of the chairs vacant.
It had even been more so at the end of the Above Ground siege that had been the last time he'd seen Simmons. The mess hall became a silent, grim reminder of what they'd lost even after the base had been moved to a different location in the mines.
The number of new soldiers and the odd halt of fatal skirmishes they'd been having recently had definitely caused the atmosphere to change somewhat for the better.
Apparently, Bitters and Matthews had found their way back to the mess hall after helping Grif out. He could make the two of them out sitting at a table off to the left with a darker skinned young recruit in tan and aqua-colored armor.
His name was Palomo, an enthusiastic although not always there kid who seemed to idolize Tucker. Tucker wasn't too keen on Palomo's fanboy tendencies, which Grif couldn't help but snicker at it despite the head-scratching he often did in regards to Matthews' desire to suck up to him.
Seriously, there were way better people in the Resistance for the lieutenants to be hero worshipping. Practically anyone, really.
They did have actual former Freelancers in their ranks after all. Also, despite coming across as a pompous ass at times, Felix was certainly worth whatever it was Kimball was paying him to stick around.
Compared to them, Grif and Tucker were just a couple of ordinary schmucks.
North had once suggested when it had been brought up that perhaps some of the lieutenants idolized the older Resistance fighters who had come from the Slums because they had something akin to common ground with them. They had come from the same crappy situations. Well, that was Grif's wording more than North's: he probably used something along the lines of "bleak" instead. The Slums residents had joined the good fight and had somehow stayed alive against overwhelming odds. That sort of thing made the newcomers to the Resistance hopeful and helped to boost morale.
Grif supposed he was right. North usually was when it came to reading people. Though he still questioned the younger fighters' judgment on picking someone like himself to look up to all the same. Tucker he could understand a bit more, truthfully. He'd never say it to his face though because Tucker would probably mock him for it, but Tucker was actually a pretty decent fighter and very determined when he put his mind to something.
Sitting nearby Matthews, Bitters, and Palomo at another table was the person Tucker was now not-so-subtlety shoving him in the shoulder to get him to approach.
Grif glared at his friend in an obvious sign that he also saw them. Tucker just grinned and gave one final, hard push on the chubbier man for good measure to keep him moving.
"No way!" a voice with an obvious lisp to it gasped out as they approached the group, "What did you do next?"
Kaikaina Grif grinned, apparently in the midst of retelling one of her infamous escapades which Grif tried very hard to ignore usually to keep his brain from turning to mush, "Well, I had both of my legs up above my head by that point and—"
She stopped in mid-sentence as she noticed their approach, dark eyes narrowing pointedly at Grif as her jaw clenched, "What the fuck do you want, asshole?"
Well, he didn't have to bother asking if she was still mad at him then. One mystery solved.
"Hey, Kai." He managed to mumble out instead of yelling like he had the last time they'd talked, "Got a minute?"
"I don't know." She flicked the gloved fingers of her left hand disinterestedly, choosing to not look at him at all anymore, "Are you going to start shouting again?"
He felt a surge of annoyance and a very sudden need to defend himself, "You're the one who joined without fucking telling me!"
"Because you wouldn't have let me join if I'd asked, assface!" Kai's exclamation was immediately followed by her jumping up from her seat at the table.
The two siblings' confrontation had caused all conversation in the immediate area to fall silent.
The two lieutenants who had been sitting with Kai fidgeted nervously in their seats at the exchange.
"Um, sh—should we leave?" the girl with the lisp due to still having a retainer whispered unsurely to her friend nearby. Her name was Katie Jensen, a rather awkward and somewhat clumsy girl with an odd knack for machine repair and knowing all sorts of biology facts. Freckles dotted a surprisingly tan face framed by two short brown pigtails.
Truthfully, it wouldn't have shocked Grif to find out she'd perhaps lied about how old she was in order to get Kimball's permission to join. He never voiced those suspicions out loud since he assumed Kimball would have already known and Jensen probably had her own reasons for wanting to do so even if that was the case. Yes, he was also aware that made him a pretty big hypocrite in regards to his thoughts on Kai joining, but fuck it! He'd joined to avoid Kai having to do anything like that in the first place!
He probably paid more attention to Jensen simply because her tan armor happened to have maroon trim and sometimes, as with Matthews, she almost reminded him of Simmons when he'd first met him. Which, again, he definitely did not want to dwell on right now.
The other lieutenant, an attractive girl with blond hair, glanced at the two siblings with a frown. Grif had actually forgotten her name, although he knew she liked playing volleyball as several male and even some female fighters commented on it. He assumed it would be rude to ask for her name again months after she joined. He kind of hoped someone would say it in front of him again so he wouldn't appear so lazy and forgetful.
Grif had started referring to her as Volleyball in his head, which he assumed was slightly better at least than referring to her as "Pinky" due to the trim of her armor. Also, it helped to avoid any confusion with Sarge's nickname for Donut.
"Maybe we should go see if Captain Donut and Smith need help finding Caboose." She said at length, glancing over to Kai, "Unless you want us to stay?"
Kai was still glaring at her older brother, but she turned momentarily to smile at her two new friends and waved them off, "Nah, you can get going. I'll see you guys in a few."
Volleyball nodded, tugging a still worried-looking Jensen along behind her.
"All right, so now that you're both here it is time to get your shit together, right?" Tucker asked hopefully, "This whole not talking to each other thing has gone on way too long!"
"Shut up, Tucker!" both siblings turned on him in unison.
The dark skinned man grinned and held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, "Oh, come on! You guys both want to get this over with too, don't you?"
"…I guess." Grif mumbled, not looking at either his oldest friend or his little sister.
"Didn't want it to be an issue in the first place." Kai grumbled as well, an almost embarrassed blush forming on her face. Given the sort of things Kai usually said or did without any hesitancy, her blushing was a pretty rare sight.
Grif looked at her then sharply, "So why'd you join then if you knew how I would react?"
"Because!" he was surprised by the raw look of hurt on Kai's face following that one simple word.
Instead of elaborating any further she sat down at the table once again, looking at its surface instead of at him. She was frowning, the troubled expression darkening her eyes. It brought to his mind the times when she had been a little girl and had tried not to tell him when something was bothering her. A child's attempt at appearing "brave" in order to not trouble an older sibling they knew already had a lot on their plate.
Grif sat down across from her, his own expression softening at the nostalgia he'd just experienced. He was only dimly aware of the fact that, since they no longer seemed to be trying to kill each other, Tucker had moved away to give them some privacy.
"Hey, talk to me, Kai." He coaxed gently, figuring it best to approach this new turn of events similarly to how he had when they were younger.
She took in a shaky breath, her yellow armor still looking far too large for her in his eyes.
"I joined because you did." She finally managed to get out, glancing up after a few more seconds had passed to gauge his reaction tentatively.
"But why?" he was frustrated as all fuck still, but he managed not to yell this time, "Kai, this is a real war. You could get fucking killed!"
"So could you!" she shot back quickly, "Then what would I do? I'd miss you, Dex!"
There were tears forming in her eyes and Grif sighed. He almost felt like an asshole for having been so pissed off at her joining behind his back that he'd waited so long to have this conversation.
"Kai, I only joined so I could protect you." He gave a small shake of his head, "You being here kind of defeats that."
"So? At least we're here together and I'm not at home worrying all by myself." She sniffled, "Besides, I'm old enough now that I don't need you being the boss of me all the time."
He so wanted to argue, especially given how she'd hardly listened to him when they were younger anyways, but he decided to let her continue instead.
"Now I can protect you too!"
"Uh-huh." He looked at her skeptically, "What are your thoughts on guns again?"
"Ew, they're gross!" Kai said her usual response to that question.
"Wow, I feel safer already."
"But that doesn't mean I can't use them if I have to." She figured out what he'd been getting at pretty quickly with that sarcastic remark. Her tone took on a challenging note, "I'm getting better at target practice."
He sighed, trying to come up with some kind of argument that wouldn't make him sound like a hypocrite and failing miserably at it.
Kai watched her older brother's face as he had his internal debate, watery eyes pleading.
"Come on, Dex, please?" she begged, "I have just as much reason to be here as you or Tucker or any of the other lieutenants do."
Damn, since when did his little sister actually start applying logic? He looked at her in slight awe at having heard it from her. It seemed as if she had been maturing without him having noticed.
"No matter what I say, you're going to stay anyways. Right?" he asked, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Fuck yeah!" the younger woman grinned, "If you tried to make me leave still I'd just hate you forever."
"Dumb brat." He couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his face though at her very Kai-like response.
"Dumb asshole." Kai was smiling too, their insults lacking any bite and having the same usual warmth their heart-to-hearts after bickering always contained.
The Grif siblings definitely had their own style when it came to warm and fuzzy moments.
He let out a sigh of relief, "Well, I suppose I'm glad we settled this then."
"Yeah, being mad at you for so long kind of sucked." She agreed.
"Tell me about it. I couldn't even nap when I had napping time and I actually had to force myself to eat all of my food." He shuddered at the memory, a dark cloud looming over his features at the horrific recollection, "It was torture."
She nodded sympathetically, "Yeah, I know what you mean. You're in a really bad way when you have to force yourself to enjoy a threesome."
"Yeah…" Grif paused, his mind suddenly focusing on the last part of what his little sister had just said, "Wait, what?"
Kai grinned and stuck out her tongue at him instead of elaborating further. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, not really sure if he even wanted to know more details than that. Probably not.
It looked like they were back on the same page now, even if Grif still wasn't all that thrilled with Kai having enlisted in the Resistance. However, he knew ultimately he'd be thankful for this talk in the long run as Tucker had said. Hopefully his friend wouldn't be too smug over being right this time given the situation.
He had forgotten how exhausting talking to Kai could sometimes be for him mentally though.
"I hope you'll make the right decision."
The communication flickered off-screen after the last sentence faded, as abrupt as the overall perfunctory tone of the message was in general.
Kimball sighed, drumming her fingers on the surface of the desk she was currently leaving over. There was a frown on her face and her dark eyebrows knitted in thought. She was still unsure what to make of the message despite having listened to it multiple times now.
"Man, even when he's extending an offer for peace talks that Chairman Hargrove guy is still a dick, huh?" Felix asked from directly in front of her.
He had been standing in the doorway to her makeshift office for the better part of fifteen minutes while she had been listening to the message. If the leader of the Resistance and his current employer was at all startled by him having caught her unawares, she hid it well. Then again, very little seemed to rattle Vanessa Kimball beyond occasionally getting a bit frustrated at some of the more questionable antics of the Resistance fighters.
She glanced up at him and he gave a slight wave in greeting before sauntering in.
"Thought you should know there's a few more weapons in storage now and a couple of armor pieces you might want to spread amongst the troops." He frowned a bit, "One or two of the energy rifles need to be repaired though."
She nodded, "If they can't be fixed we can scrap them for parts later for weapons that could still feasibly be used." She had a distant look in her eyes, but was still focused enough to add, "Good job as always, Felix."
"I aim to please so long as the pay is good." He grinned, then turned his attention to what she had been listening to earlier, "So that was the Council's oh-so-gracious offer for diplomatic relations that the Freelancers and Sarge have been blabbing on about?"
Another nod.
"It came through the secure channels right before you left for your last procurement mission." She assessed him thoughtfully, "What do you think about it?"
"You mean beyond the obvious 'the Council can't be trusted as far as they can be thrown and they clearly have some kind of angle' that I know you are thinking as well?"
She nodded once more and he shrugged his shoulders, "Nothing much, really." He regarded her carefully when she said nothing, a slight frown on his face: "Have you made a decision?"
Kimball wasn't dumb. The whole thing obviously smelled fishy. Hell, one of the previous leaders of the Resistance before her had been killed at supposed "peace talks." Felix imagined her first impulse had been to hit the damn delete button the second the message came through.
But, with her body language now…
"How many times have you replayed it?" he asked, tone going serious.
"Enough to know that it isn't so much a request for negotiations as it is an ultimatum." She stared at the blank terminal screen, expression clouded, "You heard the implication too, didn't you? So did Tex and the others. Even Sarge heard it."
Yeah, it was a pretty blatant threat if a guy whose touch on reality was so very often debatable could tell it was there.
"This 'reprieve' we've had recently from heavy fighting is merely because Above Ground troops are being positioned elsewhere beyond the bulkheads blocking access to the surface. They're in numbers that would be catastrophic if Above Ground were to decide to go past those checkpoints and attack the Slums." She summarized the content of the message even though he'd listened in on it, as if repeating it out loud would help her visualize the situation: "But, allowing a delegation to come down could avoid that."
"So they're forcing peace talks by threatening an entire settlement and leaving it all in your hands?" He smiled grimly, "Mighty gracious of them."
"Which means there is some goal they're trying to accomplish and the fighting was somehow hindering it."
It was his turn to nod now, "More than likely."
People never really surprised Felix with how far they'd go to get what they wanted. Way of the world, it seemed.
"They must be desperate though, to so limit themselves and risk Council members." She frowned, "Or they're trying to lull us into a sense of complacency even as they force our hand."
Felix sighed, already starting to tell where her train of thought was headed, "You don't have much of a choice, do you? They're threatening to raze more of the Slums to the ground if this is refused."
"There's also the slim chance that something good could actually come from this temporary truce if nothing else." Kimball sighed, "Though I doubt it."
Good. At least it seemed like everyone would be looking at this rationally for the moment if Kimball was approaching the whole thing with a wary mind. Felix was already running damage control costs in his head.
Kimball moved past him, "I'm going to arrange a meeting with everyone available. We have a lot to prepare for and—"
Felix cut her off, "I'm going to need double the pay for this. Maybe triple."
She stared at him blankly. The mercenary wondered if she was annoyed enough to fire his ass on the spot for his remark, "…For staying at base and doing exactly what you've been doing?" she asked incredulously, "Felix, you've been a great asset this last year but we can't just—"
"Not for that." He grinned at the confused look on her face. For the entirety of the friendly business associate/comrade-in-arms relationship they'd developed since she'd hired him, Felix catching Kimball off-guard rarely happened: "I'll be going to the negotiations. That's a bit of an added risk, so I'll need some extra compensation. Whatever's doable, of course."
"Why?" she was curious. Most likely she probably hadn't expected him to volunteer for such a potentially dangerous assignment even with extra pay.
A shrug was his initial response. Felix started tossing his combat knife in the air. It was an action he did whenever he needed something to do with his hands and he was bored or wanted to look nonchalant.
"You're going to need a bodyguard who actually knows what the hell they're doing during this little conference since you'll be understandably distracted." Felix said, his tone deadly serious despite the general indifference he was managing to convey through his body language, "Fortunately for you, I happen to be a fucking awesome one."
The atmosphere in the tunnel was thick and heavy. It was quite a world of difference from how the weekly routine meetings normally went. What with the betting pool in regards to when a certain orange soldier would fall asleep or when his C.O. would threaten to shoot him for it and all.
Considering how this meeting was also happening in the middle of the day as well instead of earlier, it most likely meant that something really serious was probably going down.
Fucking perfect.
Grif let out a long suffering sigh.
It figured that the respite they'd been having recently wouldn't last.
In the end, it was probably a good thing that Tucker had finally had enough of the drama involving his two oldest friends and helped get it resolved when he had. Tucker had been right about one thing: it would have definitely sucked major balls if something had happened to either sibling while they weren't talking to one another.
"Hey."
Speaking of his teal armored friend, Grif gave a slight nod of his head in greeting when he sidled up to him. Tucker looked around at the large space that served as the meeting room with mild interest.
Since the meeting had been called so quickly, not as many soldiers were in attendance. Beyond the rest of Sarge's Red Team and most of Tucker's "Blue" Team, Grif only saw a few of the other more seasoned Resistance fighter squads mulling about.
How Tucker's "Blue" Team got that name when there were technically only four members and only two of them wore any shade of blue was beyond him. One of their members was actually a giant killer robot and their newest member was a soldier he still wasn't sure he could trust dressed entirely in brown.
Also? It was sort of just scary to think that Caboose counted as a senior member of anything involving actual combat.
"Any idea what's going on?" Grif asked. He noticed that all of the lieutenants, including Kai, seemed to be in attendance too.
His sister gave them both an enthusiastic wave from where she was standing with Jensen, and Volleyball…and Donut, apparently. The pink wearing soldier was also waving at both of them eagerly.
Grif gave a small, less enthused wave back. Tucker did the same with an overly suggestive wink at the three girls, pointedly ignoring his friend's "I will murder you in your sleep" glare with a mischievous grin on his face.
Tucker's mood became less cheerful when he finally noticed the shorter brunette standing in their midst in all brown armor as well.
"Oh, great. She's here too."
'She' being the fourth and newest official member of Blue Team. Connecticut.
C.T. was a former Freelancer just like Tex and the others. Unlike the trio who had defected before her, who flitted through squads whenever it was necessary or worked on their own more or less, C.T.'s skills in reconnaissance and support meant she needed to be a more permanent member of one team. In the end it was decided that it would be Tucker's "Blue" team. Kimball thought that they could use the extra member since they were being utilized more in missions due not only to Freckles, but also Tucker's continued improvements in regards to his sword skills.
In a way, Grif could understand Tucker's apprehension towards her being a member of his team. C.T. worked well on the missions, certainly, but no one ever hid the fact that she'd been an undercover informant for Tex who had ties to the Insurrection. Rather personal ties, if the rumors about her were true.
A lot of people weren't willing to trust her because of her Above Ground connection alone. Unlike York, Tex, and North, the former Freelancer had stayed behind with Above Ground longer. Knowing C.T. had done so for spying made a lot of the Resistance fighters with axes to grind less trusting of her intentions than the other former freelancers, unfortunately. Adding in her past affiliation with a rebel group that was largely to blame for one of the most brutal massacres in recent Slums history and, well, there was a potential massive powder keg just waiting to explode.
Given what had happened to his mother, it seemed like Tucker still wasn't quite sure how to approach his newest teammate. Hell, he hadn't even tried hitting on C.T. yet. For Tucker that was definitely a sign that he had conflicting inner turmoil concerning her.
In all honesty, Grif wasn't quite sure what to make of her either.
It bothered him slightly that she and Kai seemed to get along so well, although that was more probably his protective big brother instincts at play. He had no idea if Kai knew about C.T.'s Insurrection ties and how that equated in her mind to what had happened to Tucker's mom. He certainly wasn't too keen on Kai or any of the other lieutenants, as the younger recruits didn't seem as against the former Freelancer as the older Resistance fighters were, getting dragged into bullshit by dumbasses wanting retaliation against C.T. or something equally moronic.
…He also knew C.T. had helped to save his life during the hostage situation and that she somehow knew Simmons.
So, yes, very awkward all things considered.
As they made their way over to the small group, a few other familiar faces also headed in that direction. He noticed Caboose, smiling brightly as always, with Lieutenants Smith, Bitters, Matthews, and Private Palomo trailing behind him. Even Lopez had drifted over, though it didn't seem as if he was particularly looking to socialize. More than likely the robot was probably hoping being in Grif's direct vicinity would lessen any chance of Sarge trying to interact with him later.
"I don't think I would have believed that if I hadn't just seen it." Bitters' normally rather apathetic voice had a slight tinge of awe to it this time.
"I know, right?" Palomo's enthusiasm was practically radiating off of him in waves. He had a grin plastered on his face, "I told you I was telling the truth!"
The next to respond was John Smith, who was by far the oldest of the new recruits. He was even older than Grif and Tucker, though Grif wasn't sure yet by how much. Smith looked rather surprised by whatever topic they were discussing, "I'm not sure why you are making a big deal over this. Captain Caboose's training regimen is unorthodox, yes, but it is highly effective."
Matthews made a high-pitched squeak in the back of his throat, "T—training?"
Bitters stared at the larger man incredulously, "That is some of the most fucked up training I have ever seen."
"What kind of training are you talking about here?" Tucker cut in at this point, looking at Caboose pointedly after hearing his friend's name mentioned, "If you were playing dodge ball with the grenades again, Caboose, I really don't want to be around here when the medics start chasing you."
"Oh, do I need to get the fire extinguisher again or the hose?" Donut perked up even more after overhearing the exchange, "Come on, guys! Who needs to get wet?"
"Sounds like somebody's going to have a good time!" Kai chimed in, causing her brother to groan inwardly.
"A veces realmente me gustaría poder girar mi audición de forma automática." {"Sometimes I really do wish I could turn my hearing off automatically."}
"See? Even Lopez is excited!" the lightish-red soldier exclaimed.
Grif was pretty sure he saw Lopez slump his mechanical shoulders in response to Donut's comment.
"¿Por qué me molesto en venir aquí?" {"Why did I even bother coming over here?"}
Palomo's dark face paled slightly, remembering the last dodge ball game Caboose had orchestrated. He was quick to direct attention back to Tucker's question.
"Oh! Um, it wasn't dodge ball this time, Captain Tucker." He explained quickly, "Smith has been asking Captain Caboose for extra training."
Tucker raised his eyebrow, glancing over at his teammate again and then at Smith in disbelief, "Seriously?" he asked.
Smith nodded, "Yes, sir."
"Really?" he asked again, looking over towards the younger man in blue armor, "Caboose?"
"I am very good at teaching." Caboose supplied helpfully, "Remember when I taught Palomo what to do in a fire?"
"Yeah, because you accidentally set him on fire!" Tucker reminded him.
Caboose turned to Palomo then, a very serious expression crossing over his features, "Always be sure to stop, drop, and roll."
"Well, you know, Captain Tucker, you always do hear about that in school. But thanks to Captain Caboose I got to apply it in real life for the first time." Palomo grinned, eyes shining optimistically, "So that was actually kind of helpful in a way."
"You're very welcome."
Tucker groaned, ignoring Caboose's remark, "Shut the fuck up, Palomo."
"Yes, sir!" he was still beaming though, "Next time I'll be even more prepared."
His superior didn't even bother responding, instead turning his attention again to Caboose and Smith, "Okay, then. So about this special training?"
Caboose hummed cheerfully, "It's very special."
"Smith stands in front of Caboose's robot dog and he shoots at him!" Palomo blurted out excitedly, unable to hold it in any longer.
"What the fuck, Caboose?" Tucker rounded on him incredulously.
"Oh, it's just a game. Like tag." Caboose said, "But with bullets."
"I suggested the new training regiment, sir, when Captain Caboose mentioned that Freckles was getting bored shooting at rocks." Smith spoke up then, in defense of the younger blond-haired man, "It's imperative for us to know that the assault droid is in proper working order. Besides, Captain Caboose is correct: tag is an excellent way to sharpen your reflexes."
"Yeah, only usually you're not getting shot at when playing tag!" Tucker looked as though he wanted to hit his head repeatedly on something.
"The added adrenaline rush also helps to simulate battle situations when you be under heavy fire." Smith said, his voice even and reasonable despite how bizarre the words he was saying were.
"Because you are under heavy fire!" Tucker's tone was beyond exasperated.
"Which makes the experience all the more rewarding when you succeed." Smith said proudly, "Captain Caboose is a tactical genius when it comes to properly motivating people."
"Smith is very fast." Caboose said, almost sounding proud, "Even Freckles says so."
"Thank you, Captain Caboose." Smith looked incredibly touched by the remark. The older man sounded almost as if he was going to cry when he was expressing his gratitude.
Tucker blinked, taking in a deep breath, "I have no words to say." He muttered, "Literally none."
"It was actually pretty impressive." Bitters piped up, both Matthews and Palomo nodding enthusiastically in agreement.
"We should all try it sometime!" Caboose exclaimed, "It'll be fun. Like a party!"
"I'm sure the eventual trip to the infirmary will be a real blast for everyone." Tucker rolled his eyes and after a few moments of contemplation, seemed to figure out what he was going to say, "Smith, no more acting as moving target practice for Freckles. Kimball would be really fucking pissed if she found out Freckles shot someone."
"Understood, sir." He sounded somewhat disappointed, but nodded his head in agreement nonetheless.
"Caboose, why don't you try taking Freckles out on more walks? Dogs need exercise, right?" he looked thoughtfully at the lieutenants clustered around them, "Maybe take a few of these guys out on patrol with you both too. Smith obviously has good reflexes that he needs to hone more if he can dodge Freckles' aim. It'll be a potentially less lethal way to train for everyone."
Caboose nodded and grinned, apparently rather liking the idea, "We can do that. Right, Smith?"
"Of course, sir!" Smith saluted both Captains.
Grif smirked from behind his friend, "Wow, you actually sounded something like a leader there."
Tucker turned around then, relief obvious in his eyes at having put a stop to a very obvious accident waiting to happen. He stuck out his tongue juvenilely, "Oh, fuck off. I was just worried that if Kimball found out about that she'd somehow blame me."
"Well, you were the one who told Caboose that he could throw a dodge ball game that one time."
"Dude, I didn't know he meant with live grenades!" he sighed, shaking his head as if to ward off the memories of that embarrassing incident.
"So no hose, then?" Donut frowned in disappointment, "That's a shame."
"You could always get Caboose to help you in the kitchen again, if you want." Grif offered as an alternative, deciding to have fun at his younger teammate's expense, "Doesn't that usually involve some kind of fire?"
Donut's expression became slightly horrified as he managed to squeak out: "An explosion, more like." His fingers went instinctively to his blond eyebrows, which had fortunately grown back from Caboose's last attempt to "help" cook.
"Yeah, cooking is fun." Caboose nodded his head in a thoughtful fashion, "But I'm not allowed near the stove. Or the oven."
"Un movimiento inteligente." {"Smart move."}
"Or butter knives. Or spatulas." Caboose nodded his head with each kitchen instrument he listed off, "Cooking is mostly a spectator sport. Isn't that right, Sergeant Biscuit?"
Donut nodded, looking slightly guilty at having fibbed to Caboose about being banned from using the kitchen appliances after the eyebrow incident, "That's right, Caboose."
"Never mind, Smith. On second thought you could just trying baking something with Caboose if you need more special training." Tucker piped up, "Might be even more reflex-intensive than walking Freckles would be."
"Smith is a good cook though!" Caboose exclaimed proudly, "He makes me cookies all the time!"
"Really?" Grif looked at the larger man in surprise, several of the others doing the same. Given his muscular build and stature, it seemed odd to picture him baking cookies.
Smith blushed slightly, the expression looking somewhat bizarre with his could-be-rather-intimidating outer appearance, "It was a pastime I learned from my wife." He said in way of explanation.
There was a pointedly sad look in his eyes at the mention of his wife, though Smith blocked it out quickly and no one chose to comment on it.
They all had their reasons to be there, after all.
"He lets me watch too. He and Commander Bisquick let me crack eggs sometimes."
"Easier to get the shells out later than to stop a fire." Donut whispered to Grif conspiratorially.
"Yes, Captain Caboose can be quite enthusiastic when it comes to cooking." Smith seemed to be trying to be quite polite with his word choice, "The lesson in fire safety was very informative."
That was an even nicer way of saying Caboose had almost set the base on fire again than Donut's word dance around the topic could be.
"Stop, drop, and roll." Caboose murmured.
"Exactly, sir!"
"Hey, that sort of sounds like me when I'm in the kitchen!" Palomo spoke up then, the easygoing grin back on his face, "Remember when I tried making a sandwich that one time, Bitters? It was kind of funny! Once the bleeding stopped, of course."
His friend groaned, running a hand through his dyed hair, "Shut the fuck up, Palomo." He muttered, taking a page from Tucker's book.
"You guys sure are lively." C.T. commented. She spoke more to Tucker, Grif, and the two other Red Team members since Palomo's earlier remark had caused the lieutenants and Caboose to begin talking amongst themselves about various kitchen horror stories.
Tucker shrugged, his expression turning decidedly neutral in her presence, "You know us. We live to entertain."
Silence lingered after that for a few uncomfortable seconds and Donut glanced between the two uneasy teammates with a worried expression: "So, any idea what the meeting is about?" he tried asking to break the ice, tone high-pitched but somehow managing to convey a conversational air at the same time.
"Ni una puta idea. Sólo estoy aquí para esconderse de ese viejo senil." {"Not a fucking clue. I'm just here to hide from that senile old man."}
Lopez muttered something in Spanish, but it was ignored by everyone else since his "translator" Donut was waiting to see if the two Blue Team members would say anything instead. They didn't, though both glanced at the other as if to see if either of them would say something.
"Did your other Freelancer buddies fill you in on what was going on?" Grif had noticed the lack of Tex, York, and North in the meeting area and figured if they had known anything C.T. was probably their best bet to get information from.
She frowned and shook her head, "Haven't seen them recently." She told them, "They went out on a scouting patrol earlier. Didn't look too happy about it."
"Well, yeah, but when does Tex ever look happy?" Tucker countered, only partially joking. Even when she smirked, there was usually a very harsh light in Agent Texas' eyes.
C.T. smiled slightly, the mood between the two of them thankfully at least seeming to cool off a bit as the exchange progressed. There was a worried look in her eyes all the same though: "True, but Kimball hasn't left her office all day either. I think something's up."
"Of course it is!" a gruff voice said from behind them, "This whole thing is mighty suspicious if you ask me."
Sarge was standing there, with both Kimball and Felix stepping to the room moments after him. It seemed as if the three of them had met out in the corridor and decided to enter together.
The mercenary gave a small wave in the group's direction before going off to the side away from them to toss a knife into the air. His body language was dismissive even when Felix periodically glanced over at them as if to gauge their reactions to whatever was going to be said next.
"Your opinion is noted, Sarge." Kimball told him, a sigh escaping from her lips, "And most likely accurate, besides."
The older man scoffed, "But you're not going to change your mind, are you?"
She smiled weakly, brown eyes apologetic, "Afraid not."
Before any of them could begin to ask what they were talking about from what seemed to be a conversation that clearly had started earlier that day, Kimball turned to the people gathered in the meeting space.
Her voice became louder with what she said next, filling the entire area, "Thank you for coming on such short notice, everyone. Some might know this already, but we just received a communication from the Council about holding a negotiations session in the Slums."
She frowned, "More like an ultimatum, really."
Whispers around the room followed, with several soldiers turning to share questioning glances at one another. Grif caught C.T.'s eyes briefly, but she looked just as dumbfounded as any of them. She gave a slight shake of her head to indicate that this was the first time she was hearing this news.
"And by ultimatum, you mean…?" Grif finally spoke up.
Kimball's lips pursed into a thin line at the question he had allowed to trail off, "They are threatening to raze more of the Slums if we do not agree to the meetings."
Tucker whistled then, "So I guess telling them to 'fuck off' is off the table?"
A grim smile made its way onto Kimball's face, "Unfortunately so."
"So, we're going to have to attend these peace talks which may or may not be a trap?" Tucker frowned, "Really fucking diplomatic of them."
The Resistance leader regarded him carefully, "Only I have to attend the talks, really. That was the main stipulation. Anyone else is optional."
"Right, because letting you get shot would do wonders for us." Grif put in.
"We don't have much choice." She glanced at Felix then, "Felix has offered to be my bodyguard for the duration of the event."
He cut in then, smugly, "For a modest fee, mind you."
Sarge mumbled something about the steel and orange merc bleeding them dry, but managed to somehow contain his overall annoyance to mostly bristling to himself about it. It was a surprising amount of self-control on his part. Grif was almost impressed.
"…That's also why I called this meeting as well." Kimball continued, "I'm not going to be forcing anyone to do so due to the potential risks involved, but it may be necessary to have soldiers on hand during the delegation in case things get complicated." She frowned after that word choice, "They want the meeting to be on Level One, which means civilians will be close by."
"So you need some people to make sure they're on their best behavior too." C.T. finished for her.
Kimball nodded, "I'm going to be talking to some of the people who are on patrol about it later as well, but I am hoping for some assistance from Blue Team and Red Team in particular given both of your team schedules at the moment. Especially since Sarge won't be attending."
"Really?" Donut looked at his commanding officer in surprise, "Why not, Sarge?"
"Could you imagine him at a peace talk, Donut?" Grif asked before Sarge could even respond, "Even at a fake one like this one, he'd be spewing death threats."
Sarge harrumphed at that, "Of course I would be, dirt bag! The only diplomatic gesture I believe in is a swift boot to the ass!"
"…My point exactly."
"Besides, Sarge is going to be busy with a new assignment." Kimball cut in before Sarge ranted more at his chubby subordinate, "It's one I've been debating about ever since Lieutenants Rogers and Cunningham were killed."
"Right. Rogers…and Jason." There was an obvious sharp edge of grief in Palomo's voice when he spoke up shakily then, and the dark skinned young man looked down quickly. Both Kai and Donut patted his shoulders consolingly.
Rogers and Cunningham had been two other new recruits who had been assigned as roommates to Palomo or something if Grif was recalling things correctly. They'd been the two killed in action during the last real skirmish they'd had with Above Ground. It was around the same time that Kai had enlisted, which was one of the reasons why he had been so pissed at her for it initially.
Kimball shot Palomo a sympathetic look before continuing, "The lieutenants are not as experienced and need more training in general. It seems like this would be a good opportunity to have them get some proper combat training from a highly experienced and capable soldier."
"Yet you're picking Sarge." Grif noted sarcastically.
Anger flashed in the older man's eyes, "Damn straight she's picking me!" he said, oddly defensive all of a sudden despite how that was usually par the course for their back and forth bantering.
Kimball said in way of explanation and to prevent any kind of altercation, "Sarge had actually been in charge of training beginning soldiers during his days of military service in Above Ground."
An almost pained grimace crossed over Sarge's features at the comment, but the man in red pushed past it moments later. He refused to acknowledge any of the questioning looks his subordinates or the other soldiers gave him.
"I prefer fighting myself these days, but I'll take whipping these new recruits into shape over talking about feelings over a table with the enemy any day." He grinned, "Besides, I bet by the time I'm done training them they'll be infinitely superior to you in every way, Grif."
Grif sighed at that, knowing he probably walked into that one by his earlier comment.
And, giving Sarge a few moments…
"Not that it would take much to be superior to you in every way, mind you. I'm pretty sure most anything could be." He shrugged, "A pony, for instance."
There it was.
"If we get a pony for real this time we should put ribbons in its hair." Caboose spoke up, having been silent before given the more serious tone of the conversation, "And feed it carrots. I think they like carrots."
On the plus side though, if Sarge was going to be busy training the newcomers then that meant he'd have more leisure time, so…
"And since I won't be around to give you orders for a while and to further humiliate you on a daily basis, I'm ordering you to volunteer for these peace talk thingies." Sarge said, his tone decisive.
Oh, fuck it.
"Why should I do that?" Grif asked incredulously.
"Because I refuse to allow you to spend any more time lollygagging around here and being more of a pain in my ass than you usually are." He said bluntly, "And besides…"
Sarge looked surprisingly serious as he continued, "Just because Kimball is assigning me elsewhere doesn't mean I want her going without any Red Team representation. You're large enough that you can at least take a bullet or two for the war effort as a worthwhile contribution."
Grif was annoyed by the insult, though oddly surprised that Sarge would single him out for anything that he seemed that troubled by. Even if it was for the typical reasoning of that Grif could be used as a human shield if the need arose. That shock had him nodding his head slightly before he could really dwell on what he was doing.
"Count me in too, Sarge!" Donut said brightly.
"¿Puedo ir también? No he tenido vacaciones desde que me construiste. Esto es lo suficientemente cerca." {"Can I go too? I haven't had a vacation since you built me. This is close enough."}
"Thank you, Donut." he paused, regarding Grif oddly and managing to get out only slightly forced, "Dirt bag."
He turned to the robot member of their team who had also spoken up after his awkward thanks, "Lopez, I'm going to need you to run double-time between here and the talks to keep me informed."
"Pero usted ni siquiera sabe qué coño estoy diciendo!" {"But you don't even know what the fuck I'm saying!"}
Lopez sounded frustrated, but it was hard to tell for certain given the electronic quality of his voice. Sarge seemed to consider that an agreement regardless, beaming proudly at his creation.
"Thank you." Kimball seemed genuinely touched by the sentiment.
Grif wondered if it had taken her awhile to even remotely convince Sarge this was for the best. He did seem oddly attached to her, for some reason that neither had ever explained before.
Tucker exchanged glances with his two present teammates, the teal armored fighter clearing his throat moments later.
"Can't really let the team with the crazy old military guy and the fatass upstage us, huh?" he joked, ignoring the grumble from Sarge that got and the extended middle finger in his general direction from his childhood friend, "You can count us in too."
"Are you sure?" Kimball looked touched again, but rather concerned as well. Her gaze fell on C.T. in particular, "You may run into some familiar faces."
C.T.'s expression was schooled into a rather determined one, "I made my choice awhile ago." She said pointedly, "I was going to have to face the consequences eventually. Might as well be sooner rather than later."
Briefly, Grif wondered what the odds were of seeing a certain red-headed Above Ground soldier there given Kimball's comment. Probably not very high, all things considered. He was honestly not sure if he was more relieved or disappointed by that realization.
Tucker, though, surprised him by grinning and responding to Kimball's remark to C.T., "I'm kind of hoping we'll run into some familiar faces, actually." His friend's hand clenched and unclenched at his side for added emphasis, "Oh, man, payback is going to be a bitch!"
Richard "Dick" Simmons was a pretty high-strung, nervous individual most of the time. Getting any sort of attention focused on him often caused him to become a blushing, stuttering wreck.
It had been the main reason why his mother had doted on him so much. It was the main reason his father had always been so disappointed in him.
Beyond perhaps the situations where he'd been forced to interact with his father or when he'd panicked involving Grif so many months before, every other awkward, bumbling interaction in his life paled in comparison to his brain simply refusing to work at the sight of Agent Carolina standing in the open doorway of his house.
"Private Simmons." She greeted him as if they were in a mission briefing at the Mother of Invention and not off-base. As if this was a normal occurrence. It wasn't normal at all. He didn't even think that anyone bothered knowing where his place of residence was.
"Um…"
She raised a red eyebrow slightly, looking rather annoyed at his ineffectual response: "May I come in?"
He nodded, mutely, stepping out of the way and letting her inside.
She glanced at the décor briefly. Most of the furniture were things his mother had picked out over the years. They weren't really his taste since they were a bit more on the classic, elegant side of the spectrum. They were also certainly not his father's taste either, but after her death Simmons couldn't bring himself to put any of them away in storage. Besides, his father had never been invested enough in the house in general to redecorate.
A person would probably have to be there for more than five minutes at a time for that, after all. Simmons tried to quash the sudden bitterness that rose in his chest at the thought.
"I'm sorry to stop by when you have a day left of personal leave."
More like forced vacation time. Simmons hadn't really wanted to take any time off. But, he had known his father was no longer bothering to come home at all anymore and he couldn't think of the house his mother had invested so much time in decorating getting dusty and disused. So, when Doc found out about how many days of leave Simmons had been sitting on, he pushed himself to finally agree to head back for a while. Just in order to clean and make sure everything was still working at the house.
It always hurt, coming back here after having been away for so long. The pain still felt fresh, but it was easier to cope with it knowing that he wouldn't be running into his dad.
He supposed that was one thing to be thankful for in regards to the Council being busy, though he wished that the reason they were so busy wasn't because of the Slums.
…Because that just made him think of Grif, Kai, and the Resistance fighters which just made things hurt even more.
A year had passed and things still hadn't fucking changed.
It was enough to get someone who just wanted the fighting to be over frustrated beyond belief.
Carolina sat down at the dining room table before he had any chance of formulating a coherent response to her comment. She regarded Simmons expectantly.
He took the hint and quickly sat as well, facing her.
"There have been some new orders. High priority." She stated simply, continuing from her earlier comment, "I thought it would be best to inform you of them before you come back."
He stared at her questioningly, finally managing to squeak out, "O—orders?"
She frowned, "The Council has been busy, especially Chairman Hargrove. There's going to be a peace delegation heading to the Slums soon." She shrugged, "A few Council representatives and some bodyguards."
"Oh." He blinked, her words registering mere seconds later, "That—that's good, right?" he asked hopefully, "I mean, if talks are happening then maybe—"
Maybe Grif and the others living down there would be all right after all. Maybe he wouldn't have nightmares of their last reunion going even worse than it had in reality anymore: seeing Grif getting killed because of what he'd done, waking up screaming and crying more times than he'd like to admit.
"I suppose it could be plausible." She smiled bitterly, green eyes sharp, "I doubt it is so simple though."
"Oh." His shoulders slumped, dejectedly.
Right, because the Council had reasons for doing anything. Those reasons were rarely positive when it concerned the mining colony beneath the city.
"Your team will be pulling guard duty for part of the exchange." Carolina got to the point quickly after that, not letting him get down in the dumps for too long: "I have already informed the others."
"U—us?" he blinked, surprised, "Isn't...isn't there someone more qualified for that sort of thing? Anyone?"
The thought of Leonard Church at a diplomatic event was kind of…unsettling, to say the least.
"I've gotten Church's promise to be on his best behavior." She seemed adept at reading his mind, or more likely Simmons was just way too open with his expressions, "Besides, the guards aren't meant to speak during the proceedings at all."
She tapped her finger on the table in thought, "I am also going. As is Agent Washington."
Shit, they all had better be on their best behavior then. Carolina could be incredibly scary when angered. He knew that much just from hearing others speaking on the subject.
Although her statement did have him thinking of something else too, and before he could stop himself he blurted out: "What about the other Freelancers?"
She glanced at him, apparently more impressed that he had asked a question on his own for once than for him perhaps overstepping his bounds.
"They won't be attending." Her face darkened momentarily, "At least not in any official capacity."
Her stiffened body language basically warned him that was as much as he should attempt asking at all on the subject.
He swallowed nervously, "Yes, I—I'll be ready, then."
"Good."
As she stood up, he noticed that small green flicker at her shoulder again for a moment. He'd seen it a few times on occasion, always hovering above her shoulder before disappearing completely. Recently, it seemed like he'd been seeing it with more frequency, but never definitively enough to make out what it was. A trick of the light, maybe? Although that wouldn't explain why Simmons was seeing it in his house when the lighting here was very different from the Mother of Invention's or why it was only ever around Carolina's shoulder.
Simmons stared at the empty space it had previously occupied, hoping that it would somehow reappear.
Carolina noticed the concentrated look on his face, directed at the spot just above her shoulder. She frowned slightly, her narrowed gaze focusing on Simmons' red augmented eye.
"It's a shame that the cybernetic project was cancelled." She said suddenly, breaking his focus.
He blinked, embarrassed for being so out of it and so obviously caught doing something stupid. His face was starting to burn again, right up to underneath his synthetic skin plates.
"It was supposed to help replace Project Freelancer once all of the problems in that program started cropping up, but never took off." She said.
Right, because the cybernetic augmentations could only improve so much. Ability also came into play.
Soldiers like himself, who had only marginally improved after the enhancements, were considered failures since they didn't show any drastic changes.
He remembered the look of disbelief on his father's face when he'd seen Simmons' mediocre results after the surgery. It had probably been his last chance to get his father to be proud of him and it hadn't happened. He'd lost a lot, for a childish notion and a horrible moment of weakness in the wake of a whole lot of grief.
Carolina continued: "But I think they may have been premature, especially with the vision specs."
Simmons blinked again, his heart frozen in his chest at the commanding officer of the Freelancers suddenly looming over him with an assessing look.
"Er…"
"Have you seen anything else out of the ordinary around other people, Private Simmons?" she asked, her tone deceptively casual.
Shit, so there was something there and he wasn't just imagining it? He wanted to ask what it was out of curiosity, but was kind of afraid to do so. Freelancer secrets were very heavy, very dangerous ones.
"With teammates, perhaps?"
He frowned in thought at her odd question, though it was obvious she was asking seriously.
He decided to be honest, "Sh—Sheila, because she is a robot. Electronics have a haze around them." He explained, "Otherwise…"
Sometimes he saw those types of things with certain people. Church mostly. He remembered it with Tex too, oddly enough, but like hell was he going to mention her to Carolina given their history! He was fairly certain that those times had to be malfunctions. Other people didn't have the same kind of glowing field that robots and other electronics had when he looked at them through his cybernetic eye, after all.
"N—not unless it needs repairing." He finished truthfully, since he always did equate the issue with Church as something minor he probably should get fixed at some point.
If she was expecting a different response she didn't let him know it. Instead, she regarded him thoughtfully for a few more moments before nodding. The gesture was more to herself than in response to what he had said.
"I see." She moved away then, giving him a much needed chance to breathe, "Be sure to let me know if that ever changes."
He was again curious to know what exactly she meant by that, but deemed it best not to ask given her reaction just then to him having seen…whatever that was he'd seen.
Instead, he nodded shakily in understanding.
"Your father works for the Council now, doesn't he?" Carolina asked as they made their way to door. Perhaps she felt that she needed to go into a slightly less heavy conversation topic after what had happened given his nervousness now. She seemed genuinely curious about this question than extremely invested in the answer, "He never mentioned the peace talks?"
He winced involuntarily, "We don't…" he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, "We don't talk much."
She said nothing for a long while after that.
Pausing at the door, she turned to him, "Family can be like that." She finally said, and there was an odd look in her eyes at the comment, "Just keep focused on what you're doing instead."
That almost sounded like advice. From Carolina, of all people! He stood there, not really sure he had heard her correctly.
"We will have a proper mission briefing tomorrow." She carried on as if it hadn't happened, "Be prepared."
"Y—yes, Agent Carolina."
The door closed quickly behind her.
As soon as she was out of sight, his mind started to process what he'd learned. The Council was arranging peace talks in the Slums. His team would be going there as guards and escorts. Which meant that maybe things weren't as hopeless as he'd thought.
Maybe there could be peace eventually.
Maybe everyone in the Slums would be safe. Including Grif.
…If he was still alive, Simmons thought, and then he instantly hated himself for it.
Thinking like that did nothing but make things worse.
Grif had to be alive still. If he wasn't, then…
He took a deep breath to smother down the all-too familiar surge of panic and grief he felt whenever his thoughts went down that road. The deep breath he took whenever he woke up screaming from nightmares he couldn't prevent from recurring.
He knew he worried way too much on things he had no control over. It had always been that way when his thoughts concerned Grif, even right after they'd just met for the first time.
Dwelling on it certainly didn't help matters.
At the exact moment that he was mentally berating himself, a message beeped on the computer terminal by the side of the door.
He absentmindedly clicked it on, not bothering to look at the sender's name.
"FOR THE LOVE OF— DOC, I DON'T CARE!" Church's voice was shouting in exasperation through the terminal, "JUST FUCKING PICK ONE!"
"Church, it's important to pick as unobtrusive a travel bag as possible to avoid upsetting anyone. First impressions shouldn't be used to judge others, but they are still important."
It looked like Doc and Church were standing in the middle of the barracks, looking over an assortment of luggage pieces on the floor. The goateed man clearly seemed to be struggling with the temptation to rip his hair out in frustration while Doc simply gazed down at the luggage choices indecisively.
Suddenly, Church glanced up and turned to the camera, scowling before his blue eyes widened in shock.
"Sheila, you're filming this, aren't you?" he asked in disbelief, embarrassment making its way across his face.
Her gunmetal green and gray hand flitted into view, "I assumed Private Simmons would like to see a travel documentary to alleviate boredom."
"Simmons?" Church was looking at her blankly.
Ah, she was filming through her optics. They couldn't see him like they would have been able to if they were communicating in real time through two terminals.
"H—hey, guys." He said weakly, his voice translating through Sheila's helmet to their ears.
"Hey, Simmons!" Doc waved cheerfully, "So I guess you've heard the news, then?"
"Yeah, I've heard."
Church ran up to the camera then and probably looked odd doing so, considering he had to get up in the robot's face in order to be as close as he appeared to be now. He looked extremely peeved off, "You better get your ass back here soon, nerd, or we're going to be missing one medic when the mission starts!"
The purple armored medic in question shook his head sadly towards their team leader's direction, "You know, Church, generally when someone is trying to help you organize and pack for a trip the polite thing to do is to say thank you."
That comment resulted in a stream of fast-paced expletives so lengthy in duration that Simmons was fairly certain Church had repeated several of the curse words and phrases at least a few times.
The red-head smiled slightly at the exchange between Doc and Church, though he knew the others couldn't see it.
It probably was for the best that the guards weren't supposed to speak up during diplomatic proceedings, all things considered.
Author's Notes: I apologize for how long this chapter took to finish, as I kind of think I had burned myself out a little with rushing on the last three.
Anyways, not quite as happy with how this chapter turned out in general but I usually tend to feel that way whenever I write these types of "set-up" chapters so that might just be me more than anything. XD
So, this chapter is the start of a new time-skip and I went ahead and introduced a few new characters into the fic: the lieutenants from RvB Season 12. I'd been debating about whether to include them or not, but I sort of got a few ideas on how to incorporate them into the story so I decided I'd give it a try! Hopefully I did okay with writing them and everything. Basically they will just be more secondary/support characters in this story (and, yes, there will be some implied Bitters X Matthews too since in my head I kind of refer to them as "Little Grif" and "Little Simmons" XD).
I will be explaining about how C.T. became a Resistance member later on in the story too, so no worries (I can't give everything away just yet!). :) Oh, and Kaikaina is back and just as fun to write for as I remember her being from the earlier chapters! Have no fear, the other characters who didn't show up in this chapter will definitely have moments in upcoming ones! For some reason, Felix was the only character with a POV other than Grif and Simmons in this chapter. Odd how that happened. XD
Next chapter will have a whole lot of stuff happening and reunions all around! :D I have a ton of ideas for what will happen in the next couple of chapters, so hopefully they won't take too long to write. :)
Thank you for reading!