AN: Thanks to everyone who helped me figure out what exactly is canon for Baird. You were all very helpful, and I really appreciated it. According to Jacinto's Remnant, Baird enlisted because his dad threatened to take away his inheritance--and that's about all we get. Personally, I feel that having Baird be a genius rich kid with parents who were distant and didn't understand him is WAY too similar to Marcus's story, so I guess I'll be sticking with my alternate universe back story for him. I have a feeling the people in charge of Baird's character development will actually give his past some real thought one day, and they'll probably come up with a more believable scenario, disregarding some of the current canon that doesn't make a lot of sense.

Besides--in my humble opinion, if Baird's dad said 'Enlist or we'll write you out of the will,' Baird would've responded by flipping him the bird and walking out the door. Damon Baird strikes me as the kind of guy who knows exactly how much his skills are worth. He could've easily made his own fortune.


Baird jogged up the steps, the light from his flashlight bobbing up and down. "Let me see it," he said when he reached the top of the staircase, and it was mildly entertaining, watching Marcus and Cole try to suck in their bulk on the narrow stairwell so Damon could get to the locking mechanism.

Dom heard some mild cursing from Baird, but that didn't worry him. As long as Baird cursed to himself and didn't bitch at anyone else, that meant everything was kosher. If they were fucked, he'd tell them so in no uncertain terms. In seconds Baird had Cole holding two flashlights for him, and Marcus kneeling beside him, holding the unrolled canvas tool organizer that he carried everywhere. Maybe it was a testament to his faith in Baird's abilities, but Dom firmly believed they would walk out of that basement in a few minutes. What they would find on the other side--that was more concerning. Someone must've wanted to bury them down here.

Wes lounged at the base of the stairs, shifting from foot to foot, as if waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Dom walked up beside him, still scanning their surroundings with his flashlight. The basement was huge, and Dom had met a few too many terrifying things in the dark to get lazy keeping watch. "Hey, don't worry. Baird talks a lot, but he's solid. He'll get us out."

Wes shrugged one shoulder. "We should've left a guy up there to watch, I guess."

"Marcus probably kept us together because we're not very well armed." Even as he said it, Dom could almost see Wes's fingers itching to run over the trigger guard of a rifle. He definitely could relate to that feeling. "It's rough being a civvie, huh?"

"Man, if it were up to me, I'd still be in," Wes said.

"You and me both, man." It seemed like the thing to say in the moment, but then Dom wondered why Wes had been forced out. A guy his age typically stayed in unless he suffered an injury. Wes appeared spry enough. He started to ask, but aborted at the last second.

Maybe the kid's got flat feet. They'll kick you out for anything these days. Mind your own business.

The question abated to the back of his mind, but Dom had a feeling it would resurface unless he got an answer.

At the top of the stairs there was some quiet commotion and the flashlights all flicked off. Dom's hearing wasn't as good as it used to be--he'd never been very diligent with his hearing protection in firefights--but he could hear Baird's faint whisper as he counted down, and then threw his shoulder against the door, forcing it open and doing a sweep of the area outside with the muzzle of his firearm from a low crouch. Standing over him, Marcus did the same.

"Clear," Marcus called back. "Move fast. We're getting out of here, right now."

Pushing Wes ahead, Dom cleared his holster, keeping the muzzle down and gripping the rail with one hand. The sooner they got outside, the better he would feel. There was no way Dom had survived the war only to die in some hole in the ground, killed by a fellow human being.

Upstairs, they went single file, Marcus taking point. Cole fell back to support Dom at the rear of the line, and they moved out of the main stairwell and into the hallway beyond, taking it one corner at a time, staying a text-book eighteen inches off wall in case anyone started shooting at them. Bullets tended to follow walls. Sticking too close increased the risk of getting hit by a ricochet.

They made it back to the main doors, and Marcus leaned to gaze out the window, looking around.

"They out there?" Baird asked.

"Five of them, with hammerbursts. They're stripping down the trucks. Doesn't look like they're in any hurry, so they probably didn't think we'd get out this quick--if ever."

Baird cursed a blue streak. His truck was his baby. "Shit, man. I told you I should've stayed behind!"

"Why?" Marcus asked, turning those light blue eyes on the blond man behind him. He had his eerie, no-emotion face on. "So they could've caught you sleeping and put a bullet in your head?"

Baird started to open his mouth, and then shut it. Marcus could've left his grumpy ass in the truck, knowing he would eventually doze off. He could be dead now. This didn't seem to be lost on Baird, but it didn't make him any less surly.

"Shit, come on then," he said, turning on his heel and marching straight back into the facility.

"Where you going, baby?" Cole called after his retreating back.

"You assholes don't keep me around for my boyish good looks or my dashing charm, do you?"

Wes glanced at Dom, who shook his head in negation. No, they definitely did not keep Baird around for those reasons.

Marcus blew out a sigh. "Cole, Kendall, go with Baird. We'll humor him--for now," he decided. "Dom, you're with me. We're going to scout around, see if we can flank them. Cole, keep us up to date and..." Marcus sighed. "Shit, if you can, keep him out of trouble."

Dom scoffed. "Good luck," he muttered. Baird was in one of his moods. Usually he was pretty good at self-preservation, but sometimes when he got pissed off he'd charge things without thinking very hard about it.

"No problem, boss man. Come on, kid. Let's go." Cole trotted after Baird, Wes Kendall right behind him.

Marcus motioned with his head. "Come on. There's another exit this way."

Dom followed after his friend. It never failed to surprise him, the way Marcus could take one look at a piece of paper and remember it forever--even complex blue prints. Damn lucky he could, though.


"Where you at, Baird?" Marcus asked, keeping his voice down, one finger on his earpiece. He and Dom were sitting on hard packed earth, their backs pressed against an enormous fallen tree trunk that had come to rest at the very top of a wooded ridge. Their vantage point very conveniently overlooked the driveway and the trucks. They'd made a wide circuit of the Stranded stripping down their vehicles, determining there were no more keeping watch. Currently the five men were considering how to open or move the heavy steel boxes with the words 'Danger, Explosives' on them. They had no idea those boxes were empty today.

"Why don't they just drive off with the trucks?" Dom asked, sliding up just enough to glance over the top of the log. Most of the bark had long ago sluffed off the tree in large sections, like a snakeskin. The smooth cork-colored wood beneath had dried and hardened over the years. Hopefully hardened enough to stop bullets.

Marcus shrugged. "Maybe they figure they're lo-jacked," he said. "Or maybe they're as bad at hot wiring as I am." He tried again to raise Baird on the comm line. It was Cole who finally answered.

"Cole here, boss man," he said.

"Cole, we've confirmed a total of five hostiles. We've flanked to higher ground west of the vehicles, but we're going to need head-on fire to overtake them. Is Baird finished?"

Dom heard what sounded like wood splintering, like a door getting kicked in. Then it sounded like Cole was hustling up a flight of stairs. "We're ready to go, we just gotta get in position."

"Roger that, Cole. What's the plan?"

Cole chuckled. "Oh, you'll see. You two pick your shots and get ready to fire."

Marcus glanced at Dom, who shrugged. Who knew what those two had come up with?

"Wilco. We'll fire on your signal. Fenix out."

"What do you think they've got planned?"

"I don't know, but Baird was pretty hacked off. He gets creative when he's angry." Marcus scanned their choice of targets the same way anyone else would scan a selection of turkeys at the supermarket. "Who do you like?" he asked.

Great, now we're head shopping.

Dom considered his options. The three men crawling on Baird's truck would be easier to hit from the refinery where Cole and Baird were taking cover. Dom and Marcus had a better angle on the two men trying to break into the safe loaded onto the company truck. Regardless of shot difficulty, these Stranded would all die. Every man in Delta could bulls-eye a pimple on a brumak's ass from seventy yards with a snub pistol and twenty year old ammo. It was a matter of choosing one with a forgettable face, so maybe someday Dom wouldn't recognize the bastard in his nightmares.

"I like that guy," Dom finally determined, indicating a short squat guy trying to jam a crowbar into the small crack between the safe door and frame. He wasn't having much luck, and the fact that the sun shone brightly on his bald head made it an inviting target.

"All right, I'll pick off the other one. When they're down, kill anyone left standing."

"Yeah, sure."

"Be careful of branches when you shoot. We aren't going to get a lot of good firing lanes." Marcus was right, of course. Fortunately it was still early spring, and the forest hadn't begun to bloom yet. From their position, it would've been impossible to get a decent line of sight through a full green canopy.

"You guys ready?" Baird asked over the comm.

"What's your field of fire, Baird? We're assuming you'll pick off the assholes on your truck."

"That's the plan. And all of you be warned: the unfortunate bastard who puts a bullet hole in my truck will suffocate in his sleep tonight."

Cole laughed. "How you gonna know who did it, baby?"

"Oh, I'll know. Baird out."

The comm went dead after that.

Dom opened his mouth, and then hesitated. Glancing over, he saw Marcus with a bemused expression on his face. "You're thinking about it, aren't you? You're thinking, just one window... He'll never know it was me."

Marcus seemed to mull it over. "He did give us a ride to work this morning."

"Oh, come on, man. Mentioning it like that; it's like he dared us to do it."

"It was pretty nice, waking up to the smell of eggs, pancakes..." Marcus was toying with him now, playing devil's advocate and tugging on the strings of his conscience. Baird had the equivalent of a BS in pushing Dom's buttons, but Marcus held a Ph.D. in the subject--he just tended to use his powers for good, where Baird used his to annoy.

Dom pointed an accusing finger at him. "Stop making it seem like I'm the only asshole who thinks about doing these terrible things!" he hissed.

"Besides, our drill instructors taught us to how to aim. We should do them proud, right? Seeing as they're all dead..."

"I had Mataki for commando training. She's not dead."

"There's a difference. Mataki wasn't the sort of instructor who made you want her dead," Marcus said dryly.

Dom couldn't argue with that. When he went to boot camp, the lead DI was an insatiable dick. More than one guy in his class would've loved to insert something sharp between his ribs.

"I could just say I missed."

"Yeah, that'd work--if Baird didn't know exactly how good of a shot you are."

"Maybe I'm rusty."

"Roll with that," Marcus advised sagely. "See where it gets you."

"You know I'm not going to do it. I just want you to admit you were thinking about it too!"

"Fine," Marcus did his almost-smile, where the lines faded around his eyes and he managed to look faintly amused. "I was thinking about it too. You happy now?"

Dom smiled at his tiny victory. "Yes, that does make me happy." He would've added that lately--as in, over the past six months to a year--Marcus had seemed more like himself. Like the Marcus he knew before the Slab, and sometimes even before E-day. Flashes of dry humor had begun to appear where before there'd only been sullen gloom and distant brooding. Dom would've mentioned it, but he was afraid if he did, recovering Marcus would vanish again.

For a long time he'd been sure there would be no healing for his friend. Marcus still wouldn't talk about his time in prison, or about Anya. But maybe time was finally sewing shut a few of those old war wounds.

He glanced up once again to check on his target's progress at cracking the safe. Baldy had put down the crow bar and moved on to a more advanced tool--a drill. "Oh, look," Dom said, patronizing. "They're evolving so quickly."

"Yeah, they are. Baird's going to be pissed when he finds his drill bits ground down to nubs."

The comm crackled. "Remember, don't look directly into the light," Baird instructed cryptically.

A loud thud near the compound caught Dom's attention. He averted his eyes just in time, because the concussion thundered like artillery, and the flash that came before it was blinding--like looking directly into the sun at noon, if the distance between the sun and Sera were halved.

The Stranded were knocked stupid for an instant. More than long enough for Dom and Marcus to take aim over the top of the tree trunk and open fire. Dom put two rounds in the chest of his target, squeezing the trigger with the very tip of his index finger so each shot was crisp, like breaking glass.

The man staggered, fumbling to drop the drill and grabbing for the wheel well. He fell onto his ass, his face spattered with his own blood and twisted into an ugly mask of shock and horror. The man glanced up hill, and for a second it seemed his eyes found Dom, meeting his gaze. Without blinking, Dom set his sights on the man's bald temple, applying pressure and allowing the shot to take him by surprise. It really was disturbing, how much easier it was to kill a human than a grub. It was physically easier, but not mentally--not by a long shot.

For one terrible instant, Dom relived every single instance when he'd felt a bullet brush past within inches of him. Any one of them could've taken his life, and yet he'd escaped the war virtually unmarked on the outside.

All other sounds and feelings got shut out while he fired, but after Baldy's brains sprayed out the back of his skull in a fine pink mist, Dom heard Marcus's last shot like cannon fire next to his right ear.

Four targets went down immediately, but the fifth man unaccounted for in their targeting scheme made a dash for it, hitting the tree-line at full-tilt.

"We've lost line of sight on target five," Marcus said into the comm. "You guys got anything?"

"Negative from the roof, boss man. He gone."

"Negative from ground level. Shit, kid, wait! What the fuck are you doing? Get back here!" Baird cursed. "Shit, Fenix. The kid just took off. He's chasing the guy into the woods on foot, unarmed. Don't know what the hell he's thinking."

"Shit," Marcus said, repeating the sentiment. "Damn pain in the ass. All right, Delta. Let's check the men we downed, make sure they're dead. If the kid doesn't come back on his own, we'll go after him then. Understood?"

"Wilco," Baird and Cole responded almost at the same time. The comm went silent once again.

Marcus rose from his crouch, using one hand to lever himself as he hopped over the gigantic tree trunk. Dom followed suit, trying to crunch as softly as possible through the thick bedding of dried leaves on his way down the hill. This was so frustrating. They should've gotten into the trucks and hauled ass out of there. Their fire could've attracted no end of unwanted attention, and without the element of surprise, automatic rifles almost always trumped pistols.

The two of them approached the trucks cautiously, keeping an eye on the men they'd hopefully killed quickly while keeping an ear to their surroundings. Cole and Baird approached from the front in much the same way. As they got closer, the tang of spilled blood floated to them on the breeze. It was such a shame, ruining a beautiful day with bloodshed.

"Man, maybe we should've called out to them first. Might've scared them off," Dom said morosely.

Marcus only shook his head. "We weren't well enough armed to take the chance." Keeping his pistol ready, Marcus hopped onto the back of the truck, straddling the tailgate. "Clear over here," he said, prodding the bodies with his boot.

"Clear over here, except for all my stuff getting tossed," Baird grumbled, bending over to pick up scattered tools and various other items with his free left hand. He threw them into the truck bed in no particular order. Later his OCD would take over and he'd have to organize everything. "Come on, Cole. Help me drag these bodies out."

"Hey, Baird. How the hell did you make a flash-bang that big?" Dom asked.

Damon scoffed. "Explaining would be a waste of breath. Go back to high school and finish the basic chem classes you skipped, Dropout." It wasn't uncommon for Damon to pick at Dom's lack of formal education. Dom was the only one in the group who hadn't finished high school. He'd dropped out willingly at sixteen to enlist and support his new wife and baby. The war robbed Baird of attaining higher education, and from time to time he feigned bitterness.

Dom could just imagine the sort of student Baird would've made. He could imagine Damon falling asleep in the back row. He could also imagine him walking up front and snatching the chalk from some professor, then redrawing all diagrams to perfect correctness while berating everyone in the room, including the professor, for not catching any mistakes sooner. Then, just to throw gas on the fire, he'd finish by pulling his goggles down over his eyes and just staring at the prof, throwing the man off balance first with flawless logic and then with trite absurdity.

"Hey, Damon. If I ever do go back to high school, should I sign you up for charm classes while I'm at it?"

Baird shrugged, picking up some piece of electrical equipment with the guts hanging out by the wires. He shook his head morosely at the loss, and tossed it in with the rest of his stuff. "Charm school," he grumbled. "Shit, why not? We'll call it a date."

"Study partners, huh?"

"Yeah, sure."

Dom chuckled, assisting with the cleanup. "You promise?"

"Fuck it, there's no hope for me," Baird said, tossing a can of WD-40. It bounced on the very top of the tailgate before falling in.

Hammerburst shots rang out in the distance, sending the four of them to scrambling for cover. There was one more shot, screaming, and then silence.

"Do you think they killed Wes?" Dom asked, peering toward the woods around the bumper he'd crouched behind. Marcus was next to him. Baird and Cole were behind the other truck.

"Yes, I think they fucking killed him. Can we get the hell out of here now?" Baird hissed.

"We're not leaving him," Marcus said--although he sounded half tempted. "Check your ammo and grab the rifles off those bodies. We're going to sweep his trail, see if we can find him."

"Damn it. I knew you were going to say that," Baird grumbled, but he'd already slid out the magazine on his pistol, digging in the pouch on his hip for a fresh clip.

Cole had dragged the two bodies off Baird's truck, and leaning over them he whipped out a pocket knife, cutting through the straps on the hammer bursts and quickly freeing them from their former owners. Marcus started to do the same with the other two bodies.

Locked and loaded with automatic weapons, they headed into the woods. Dom fully expected an ambush. They all did, but they formed up, kept to cover and kept their eyes open.

"It'd be nice to have Mataki along," Cole breathed at one point after a large black crow in the trees nearly scared the shit out of all of them.

None of them disagreed. Not even Baird had a snarky comment to share.

The search was anti-climatic. When they got close enough, Wes called out to them. He was laying on his back next to the dead Stranded, a bloody combat knife in his hand--apparently the weapon he'd used to put down his opponent. The combat knife was standard COG issue. Dom didn't remember seeing it on the kid, but such knives could easily be concealed at the waist-line or in a boot.

Wes had been shot at least once in the torso--although it seemed like it had missed his lungs and heart. He definitely looked like he hurt, but he didn't look like he was dying.

"Shit, boy," Cole marveled. "You brought a knife to a gun fight and actually lived. That's gotta be a first." The way Cole said it was not complimentary.

"It's not deep. Just a ricochet," the kid said, his right hand covering the blood stain originating over his left shoulder. The knife fell from his loose fingers. Blood had sprayed over his face and clothing, a light spattering some places and thick lines in others, but that probably came from the Stranded he'd stabbed to death.

"You're damn lucky if that's all it is," Marcus growled, taking a knee beside him, steel flashing in his eyes. "Let me tell you something, Kendall. If you'd pulled that stunt with any other crew, they would've left you here to die."

"I couldn't let him get back and tell his friends about us."

"Who cares if he did?" Marcus asked, laying some much-needed wisdom on the boy. "We would've been long gone before they got back," he said, and held up one index finger. "I have a one fuck-up rule. If you ever put my guys in danger again, I will leave you. Understand?" He threw all the Marcus Fenix gruffness he could muster behind the threat, and it sounded very convincing but Dom saw through it. Marcus wasn't Hoffman. He'd made mistakes that cost lives, and when Hoffman pardoned all the other prisoners in the Slab, only Marcus was left to die--left defenseless in a dark hole in the ground with no hope for escape.

Marcus would never leave a man behind, regardless of stupidity, but the kid seemed to believe it. Wes nodded, his eyes downcast.

That's right, you should be ashamed of yourself, Dom thought.

Dom and Marcus helped Kendall up, and started the slow limp back toward the trucks with Cole taking point. Glancing behind him, Dom saw Baird crouched next to the Stranded body, one elbow on his knee while he examined it intently. That was weird. Usually Baird never gave Stranded the time of day, alive or dead.

"Hey, man. You coming?" Dom called.

Instead of answering, Baird got to his feet, collecting the dead man's hammerburst and all the ammo he had on him. Then he started following after them. He didn't say anything at all, which was even weirder.

Well, maybe he's growing up a little. We've all been out of the killing business for a long time.

"Where we going to take him?" Dom asked, referring to Wes.

Marcus shrugged one shoulder. "Do we not have a former medic for a roommate?"

"We do. However, I think she would tell us to take him to a hospital."

"I would take him to the hospital," Marcus said. "If I wanted him dead..."