Red vs Blue and related characters © Rooster Teeth
story © RenaRoo
Divided
Chapter Twenty-Six: Home
She took a steady breath and dug her fingers into the armor plating of Captain Grif's arm. It was one of the rare times since the war had begun that Emily could truly feel fear in her heart.
Standing tall against Locus was simple enough. In a way she understood the man who played her army and friends like a violin. The distance and gruffness wasn't unlike the distance she used herself. It was necessary in war. She could even understand never coming back from it.
But Felix wasn't just someone she had interacted little with outside of hearing the whisper of his name among her most injured patients. He was completely unpredictable.
He was genuinely something else in a way that Locus never achieved in all of the good doctor's observations.
Without remorse, without anything other than genuine anger, Felix approached them, heavily leading on his uninjured leg. The slimy confidence and sarcastic air had evaporated.
And his yellow tinted visor was locked on Dexter Grif.
"I will make you squeal," Felix said darkly, voice oddly devoid of humor. "You're going to bleed like a stuck pig."
Even nearly collapsing them both to the floor, Grif managed to bristle in Doctor Grey's hold. He sputtered before responding, "Hey, if I didn't know better, I'd say that was a fat joke."
Grey glared at him. "Captain Grif!" she cried out. "Are you egging on the mercenary trying to kill us!?"
"I don't deal well with death scenarios," he said flatly. "And I figure I might as well go out the way I lived: pissing off other soldiers and being flat on my ass."
That got a demented chuckle from the merc as he came to a stop, head rolling back to look almost down his nose at the two of them. He even dropped his shield - Grey immediately couldn't help but think he was toying with them again.
Her eyes narrowed. She didn't like when people were unpredictable.
"Die like you lived, you say?" Felix laughed. "You know, I can almost kind of respect that, Grif."
The way Grif almost curled back at the comment was comical. "Please don't. I've gone a long time without respect from a lot better people."
"Heh," Felix continued, holstering his gun and reaching for a knife instead. "Better people, huh? Would those 'better people' happen to include your poor, dearly departed Sarge?"
Almost as if a switch had been flipped, Grif went rigid and cold. He even somehow found footing enough to take some of his weight off Grey's shoulders. He was staring at Felix as if the man was a worm.
"You don't get to talk about him," Grif said firmly, as if it was a true unwritten law.
"I think I can do whatever I want, Captain Grif," Felix sneered. "Because you can't stop me. Now, can you?"
There was a breath and Grey began to think as fast as she could for some way to turn the situation on its head when, without warning, Grif eased up again, almost relaxed.
"I don't know about that. How's your knee, asshole?"
Blinking a few times, Grey tried to process whatever the hell it was Grif was trying to do and then looked up to the ceiling. She wondered if prayer was any good after all the cadavers she ran bizarre experiments on and assumed it probably wasn't.
"You know what, you're one mouthy motherfucker whose tongue is going to come out first-" Felix began in a sinister growl before there was another shake to the building's core.
Unable to keep both herself and Grif upright with the force of the quaking, Emily found herself fumbling into the wall and squished slightly by Grif's own inability to keep balanced.
She hoped, for a moment, that Felix had become unsteady himself with that injury, but was met once more with disappointment. There was a pulsation beneath his boots - a grav lock perhaps - that kept the merc where he was. But that bleeding, busted knee was fully buckled and in a defensive maneuver, Felix had drawn his shield up just in case.
Grey narrowed her eyes. She didn't like when she wasn't one step ahead.
"Alright, you know what, for once Locus is right: this has been drawn out long enough," Felix sighed. He pushed himself up with seemingly little effort - but Emily Grey was not considered a fantastic doctor for nothing, he was weakened. "I'm done talking."
"Fuck, and I was going to get you to tell us how you stole lunch money all the way back to kindergarten," Grif grouched back.
Felix took a step forward saying, "Goodbye, Captain Grif-"
There was suddenly a very loud, verbose BOOM right down the hall, shaking the building even more than the outside bombings had. It knocked Grey and Grif both to the floor in surprise, blinding the hall with a florescent orange light. Felix, for his part, immediately dropped down into a defense, knife out and ready, body whipped around toward the end of the hall without turning his back completely on Grey and Grif.
"What the fuck was that!?" he demanded from really no one.
"Dunno, but I like its timing," Grif muttered out of the side of his mouth toward Grey. "Convenient."
There were feet - lots of them - and immediately Felix's entire body changed. Even with his shaking limb, he was easily one of the most alert and active soldiers Grey had ever seen, and he hadn't even really moved yet.
"What the hell's going on?" Grey voiced just before the noises from around the corner reached them and they saw would only described as a bunch of ghosts.
"What the fuck? You're dead!" Felix snarled.
"Far from it, Dirtbag!"
Even seeing with her own two eyes was hardly enough to fully contain Emily. She stared at the figures before them with utter awe. In particular, she stared at the red armored colonel she had shed her first tears in years over.
Realizing that she wasn't alone in shock, she turned slightly to gauge Grif's reaction to the unveiling.
What she got seemed to be something similar to an old computer trying to reboot.
"Felix! You fucking douchebag - I should've known that if there was shit going down you were the one passing it!" Tucker snapped, brandishing his sword.
Grey tried to see past the stars in her own eyes, counting the heads of everyone - not just Sarge and Tucker but Agent Washington, some News, a Fed soldier - it wasn't a lot but it was more than Felix was ever expecting given by the way he was beginning to arch back like a cat.
"How did you get here? How did any of you-" Felix looked back and forth down the line. "You're. This isn't right. It's not making any sense. We're fucking ending this planet today. None of you are supposed. to. be. here!"
"Well, we are," Wash snapped back, weapon raised and targeted. "And you're going to have hell to pay when we're done, Felix. You. Locus. The Chairman. Everyone involved with this heinous war."
Felix's head was shaking - whether or not he even heard the things Washington was saying was up to debate. He backed up more before reaching a room door. He looked back at Grey and Grif, sending a final chill down the doctor's spine, before lifting his shield and bailing through the door just as Wash yelled and the entire crew began shooting after him.
"Oh, no you don't, you bastard!" Tucker roared before tearing after him.
"Tucker! Wait! Together!" Wash yelled as he burst after.
Doctor Grey was still stunned as she watched the parties take off after Felix - the Chorus soldiers strangely moving together as a single unit following after Washington and Tucker despite clashing colors - and so she stayed on the ground, arm still secured around Grif who was as good as a boulder by that point.
It was when she finally fully looked at the man before them and watched his approach to them. He tilted his head, slung a gun over his shoulder and said, almost amazed, "That's my shotgun! I was looking for that."
Grif shook violently before trying very hard, and failing, to make it to his feet. "You- you're dead! I saw you get killed, get vaporized-" he was hardly coherent, Emily could almost swear that she could hear his jaw drop to the base of his helmet between each breath.
"Colonel?" Doctor Grey asked, taking the hand the officer offered her and pulling herself up. "I... I don't understand. I just. I'm having such a hard time believing you're alive. How..."
"It's the damndest thing!" he howled. "Turns out, ancient alien doohickeys aren't good for shit. Unless it's shit you need to get rid of - those lasers? Fake lasers! They don't vaporize on contact, they're just extensions of Grif's stupid, useless Future Cubes that send you to some garage from Hell at the center of the planet where a charmingly Red looking alien computer stores everything away until trash day." He looked around the building. "Speaking of trash come early, are there more of them mercenaries? I can't let the Blues take all the fun-"
Before the colonel could even finish, Grif had finally found his footing on his good leg and ferociously grabbed the older man's shoulders before whipping him around to face the orange soldier. He was shaking from head to toe.
"You were dead," Grif said angrily.
Sarge let out a prolonged sigh. "Grif! Were you not listening to a word I said? I wasn't dead! I was thrown into an alien garbage disposal and left to be forgotten. Oh, right. Doc says hi, by the way. I normally would elect not to spread that sort of information, but let's just say lately I'd rather not cross him. Two words: Doco Locos."
"Cut the crap, Sarge!" Grif's voice reaches breaking volumes, but his glare at his commanding officer doesn't even begin to waver. "I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. You were fucking dead and I... I saw it happen. I saw you dying. Sarge. You were dead."
The two looked at each other with such intensity Doctor Grey began to feel her own heart stepping up in rhythm, before Sarge rotated his head slightly.
"Did that mouthy merc hit your head?" he asked almost in a baffled tone. "You're repeating yourself like a kindergartener asking for a potty break. You can't expect what you're saying to be more true just because you keep repeating it, Grif! That's not how the real world works! I wasn't dead. I was transported."
"But you were dead to me! It was real for me!" Grif screamed back. "Goddamn, Sarge! I... I watched you die. I saw you and-and I couldn't do anything about it. You died. Sarge... I... I," almost as if each word lost steam, the orange soldier began shaking, his head lowering until he was resting against the colonel's chest, his whole body trembling. "You stupid bastard, you... you have no idea, do you? You don't have the first fucking clue what it was like. I'm..."
There was a heavy breath through Grif's filters before any further words were lost in released sob.
If possible, Sarge went more rigid, looking down at Grif completely baffled.
"What is the meaning of this!? Did you get your brains scrambled? Did you watch one of mine and Donut's shows?" Sarge was asking, sounding more than a bit hysterical himself. If Grey didn't know better, she would have described his tone almost as scared.
"God, just shut up, Sarge," Grif muttered before wrapping his arms around the other man's shoulders. "You can be such a son of a bitch, just let me have this moment."
Sarge fidgeted before awkwardly patting Grif's back with a resigned sigh of his own. "Oh, fine," the old man grumbled. "Just for the sake of the moment, I won't mention my heaping disappointment that you were at the capital rather than Lopez and Donut."
"And the moment's lost." Grif released a sigh of aggravation before letting up on the hug, stumbling a bit when his knee began to buckle, but he was supported by none other than Sarge's hand. He looked at Sarge for a moment before lowering his head shakily again. He didn't resist the help as Sarge lowered him back down to the ground.
"Where is Donut and Lopez?" Grif offered after a few moments of sobering up.
"Don't know," Sarge admitted freely. "You would think here at the capital, but I've been hanging around Agent Washington and his Blues and he's been fairly suspicious about the whole deal."
Grif ruffled. "What? Did he say anything about them?"
"No, just being cryptic."
"Figures."
"Speaking of Agent Washington," Doctor Grey pressed into the conversation, stepping up to the Reds, "I'm going to go after them. If they need to cut off the mercenary responsible for the deaths of millions including my closest friends, well... who better to have on their side than someone with a photographic memory of the city layout?"
Swallowing a bit, Grey stepped closer to Sarge. "I... I see you have another weapon for now. Would... it be alright if I continued to hold onto your shotgun? Just a while longer?"
Sarge immediately puffed up, his shoulders growing stiffer even as he reached up to rub at his neck.
"Ha, well," Sarge mumbled. "Let's just say, Doctor Grey, you can handle my gun any time you want."
Reaching out, Grey gently laid her hand on his chest, feeling warm even inside her helmet. "I... thank you, Colonel Sarge. I will do that."
From the ground, Grif laid back against a wall and rubbed his face. "Jesus Christ."
"Get on outta here, li'l lady," Sarge encouraged. "I'm gonna commence with Operation: Find Pretty Boy and El Mistero Roboto here while Grif takes up space and continues to avoid assisting the mission."
"That," Doctor Grey responded before pumping the shotgun, "sounds like a plan."
He needed to get to the drop site.
That was the most important factor. He didn't have a cube, Locus was too certain that after their stunt the people of Chorus, and more importantly that damned Freelancer AI, would have been able to figure out how to manipulate coordinates in the same way they had. All he had was Locus' plan to kill Doyle, fuck up the city, meet at the drop site and let the capital burn behind them.
Mission done.
If he elaborated too much on that plan, spent too much time on Doyle, it was only because Felix believed in enjoying his job. And because he knew, for a fact, that everything else was as good as gold and timely when he made the decision.
At the time, it was.
Doyle hadn't been nearly as much fun as he should have been but, well, Chorus had already proven to be a planet of minor disappointments throughout the last several months.
And because of that, and because of that damn Fed doctor, he wasn't able to off Grif or stand truly against the rest of the Freelancers who arrived.
The dead Freelancers and MIA Freelancers that Felix's men should have already taken care of. It wasn't his fault. These soldiers Locus had hand picked were obviously useless.
Keeping the shield up was a major drain on energy, but having already been shot twice, Felix figured he might as well have it generated until he reached to roof of the Command building.
When he barely missed another spray of fire from the oh, so quick Agent Washington, his decision felt even more justified.
"Stop running, asshole!" Tucker snarled before leaping up the stairwell they were currently on.
Felix turned, lowered the shield, held his hands against the railing, and managed a mule kick to Tucker's chest with his good leg before dropping slightly, his bleeding knee being completely useless for what he needed.
Tucker smacked into Washington, taking the rifle touting Freelancer temporarily out of Felix's concerns. The rest of their ragtag squad was too far behind to fully consider.
He gritted his teeth and pressed through the pain of his leg, tearing onto the stairs and bounding for the rooftop.
There was still time for the rendezvous. He could feel it.
Locus was his partner for a reason. They might not like each other, but there was only one person in the galaxy Felix would have dared to trust.
With a quick turnabout on the staircase, Felix again avoided gunfire and assessed the Freelancer and his Sim Trooper pet were back and at'em.
His final goal in sight, Felix bothered to grow a manic grin and rapidly turned back on his would-be assailants. He let out a low laugh at their expense.
"You know, I gotta say, being taken out at the hands of a few deadmen would've almost been worth being bested again," Felix told them, leading to the door. "Almost. But the fact is, even shot in the back, even fucking hobbled, I can still prove just how much better I am. And that's all the satisfaction in the world to me right now. So, without further ado, goodbye, cocksuckers. I'll see to it you burn in hell another day."
He rushed through the escape door, blinked through the adjustment to the outside light and found...
A doctor with a shotgun on the otherside.
"For science!" she screeched before blasting the shotgun again.
"The fuck-" Felix roared before barely getting his shield up. With the drained power he couldn't resist the kickback, however, and found himself doubling back into the stairwell, projected hard into someone's armored chest.
He heard the crunch of his own armor more than he felt it at first. Felix gnashed his teeth and allowed a bit of a gasp before dropping his front shield completely. It really didn't do anything other than assure him that the blue glow was the prongs of a sword sticking through his chest plate rather than the Freelancer tech.
"Hey, Felix," Tucker hissed into his ear. "Who's the fucking soldier now?"
Furious, Felix threw what was left of his strength into his elbow, making contact right on the chin of Tucker's helmet and pushing them both apart.
Stumbling forward, Felix's leg finally gave out for the last time, sending him careening into the paved roof. He took the hit harder than any time he could remember falling before, his eyes felt like they were swimming.
The burn of the stab wound was irritating him, but no sooner had he realized it than he heard a flicker of energy and then the sword disappeared into its hilt, falling harmlessly to the ground. Felix heaved, already feeling the drowning of his lungs.
It was when he heard the cocking of a rifle by his head that he finally let out a true, painful laugh. His hands clenched into fists against the roofing.
"I think... the gun is... excessive, Wash," he said with a meaningful glare sent the Freelancer's way.
Washington didn't so much as move, even as the sounds of gathering Chorus soldiers surrounded them. "I think it's just fine," the agent said crisply. Then, even darker, he asked, "Where's Locus?"
Felix actually took pause. He considered the question, considered how it was the first thing on his own mind at that moment, and allowed himself to flatten out more on the pavement. There was a gurgling from his own breathing he decided it was better not to place. After all, where the fuck was Locus? That was the real concern.
Not there.
Not at rendezvous.
Not like Locus at all.
"I don't... know..." Felix sneered, feeling a wave of anger running through himself that he hadn't felt in years, maybe not since the War. "But... he better hope... I never find out..."
Locus always acted so disappointed, but Felix had never cared until just then. He'd never had a reason to know what that bitter disappointment felt like until just then.
"'For Science'? Really?" Tucker asked Doctor Grey as he grabbed his sword, hesitating just long enough to truly glare at Felix before getting back up.
"These one-liners are not so easy!" she declared.
"How did you get up here so quick?" one of the out-of-breath soldiers from the stairs asked. "You were behind us-"
"Oh, that's easy," Doctor Grey responded. "There's a fire escape. Heads right from one of the floor windows to the roof. Then all I had to do was lay in wait. Ha! Not that it would matter. There's nowhere to go from the top of this building. What a terrible place to get oneself caught!"
Washington shifted, however so slightly. Then, in a voice that was almost pitying, he said, "You really did think you were going to be rescued up here, didn't you?"
"Fuck. You," Felix growled.
The Freelancer watched him for a few moments more before jerking his head toward the Chorus soldiers. "The three of you need to go find anyone in the city who needs assistance after these attacks and bombings. Get on it. Tucker and I will contain everyone's least favorite mercenary. He's not going anywhere."
"The hell I'm not-"
Without warning, Tucker came in with a solid kick to Felix's head and everything went dark.
They were still pinned down, but with only two injuries, Andersmith was feeling confident in his squad. There were no major casualties, and they'd even gone so far as to have gained some more soldiers who had been keeping under cover after the pirates' invasion.
If ever there was a chance for victory, it was right then.
He looked toward the exit they'd slowly been inching their way toward since Captain Grif's last radioed command. It was so close.
And yet the fire from overhead continued to keep them locked down in position. There was simply no angle from which the higher ground opponents weren't going to be able to pick them off with any maneuver the lieutenant tried.
Taking a swearing breath, Andersmith hunkered back down and looked down the line of his squad as they alternated between tending to the wounded and returning fire however uselessly.
"Is there any reprieve in sight?" Andersmith asked, already knowing the answer.
"Not unless the other side runs out of bullets," one of the News reported before dropping down completely. "Cover me, I'm reloading."
Without any hesitation, a Fed soldier took her place and returned fire swiftly.
"How are we on ammunition?" Andersmith asked seriously.
"Good news or bad news?" another soldier spoke up, holding his bleeding shoulder. "Because the bad news is, we're not doing good. And the good news is 'at least we haven't ran out yet.'"
"If nothing else, I appreciate the honesty," Andersmith sighed just as there were four shots out of pattern. He blinked, waited, and joined his soldiers in looking at each other when it became obvious that there wasn't anymore fire raining down on them.
"What the hell..." the New beside Andersmith began before he shushed her and the others.
No one dared to move a muscle as Andersmith leaned in closer to the broken wall they had been using and slowly began to peer around it.
He narrowed his eyes, scouring the rooftops where the pirates had just been standing. Even from the distance he could make out three figures, but they were par too short and lean - at least two of them, anyway - to truly be the Charon mercs they'd been exchanging fire with.
Then, steadily enough, one of the shorter figures raised a rifle up in one arm and waved, yelling something that was incoherent with their current distance apart.
Still, Andersmith could recognize one of his squad's voice anywhere.
"I'll be damned," Andersmith breathed with incredible relief, a smile broadening beneath his helmet.
To the shock and horror of his troops, Andersmith stood up as well and held up his own rifle. There was an instant of shared relief when the lieutenant was decidedly not gunned down by an enemy in front of the soldiers who had been listening to him.
"OH MY GOD IT'S ANDERSMITH!" Palomo's voice carried the distance and immediately the three figures on the rooftop vanished.
"What's going on, Sir?" one of the soldiers asked worriedly.
Andersmith, for the life of him, could not lose that happy smile on his face even as he looked to the very serious and war-hardened Chorus soldiers that looked back at him. He couldn't spare his own beaming.
"To put things simply," he responded cheerfully, "I couldn't tell you for sure other than most likely good things."
They all looked together at the sound of boots running across the pavement, but it still wasn't nearly enough time for the giant New lieutenant to fully brace himself for impact as Jensen and Palomo tackled him together, both so out of shape it was a wonder they were breathing at all even as they all collapsed to the ground.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so happy you're alive!" Jensen cried, squeezing Andersmith's waist with everything in her.
"I can't believe you're here! That you're okay!" Palomo sniffed into Andersmith's shoulder.
"I am all these things," Andersmith assured them affectionately, going so far as to use the arm not in Jensen's vice grip to pat them both on the heads. "And you're embarrassing me in front of my soldiers."
"Sorry," both young lieutenants spat out as they jumped to their feet.
Slowly rising, Andersmith assessed his two comrades, feeling more relieved by the second to see them both more than alright.
"You... replaced us with a new squad?" Palomo asked shiftily, looking to the line of News and Feds alike.
"These are some of the other survivors of Bravo," Andersmith explained. "I was leading them in our crash and run on the capital."
"Look at you, moving up in the world," Jensen snorted.
Andersmith frowned, still trying to put all the pieces together. "Are more people converging on the capital? Does Captain Grif and Doctor Grey know about this? I can't imagine that our abortion is still necessary if there's more people now-"
"I think it's going to be safe in Armonia now," a Fed Andersmith had hardly noticed behind his friends spoke up, stepping closer to them. "We assisted Agent Washington and Captain Tucker in a mercenary's capture, and secured your Captain and the doctor. Our objectives now are to clear the city of other pirates."
For a moment, Andersmith considered addressing the soldier directly, but he thought better of it. He looked to Palomo and Jensen curiously instead.
"That's Golov," Palomo said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "He grows on you."
"Ah," Andersmith responded before raising his eyebrows. "You were with Agent Washington and your captain? What about Bitters?"
"Bitters didn't land with us," Jensen said quickly, her voice seeming to lean on this being a good thing. and so Andersmith chose better than to question it.
"We're also with Colonel Sarge," Palomo continued. "And we landed with Captain Caboose."
Immediately, Andersmith felt his heart lifted by the news. "Captain Caboose? How is he!?"
The three newcomers looked at each other before returning their attention to Andersmith.
"Um. Injured, but he might be alright after a while. We didn't bring him with us," Jensen explained gently. "Don't worry, Andersmith. I'm sure he'd just talk about what a good job you were doing if he was here."
Appreciatively, Andersmith smiled at her and nodded. "Thank you," he said sincerely before looking around the entire group. "Now. Let's take back Armonia."
Grif felt a certain numbness to everything after seeing Sarge alive and well again. But it wasn't like before - he felt relieved. And conflicted.
He pondered the merits of pounding his commanding officer's face in the moment the man walked up to him again, but he also wondered if it'd be worthwhile trying to hold him and make sure he never stupidly stormed out in enemy fire again.
The only overpowering feeling at the moment, really, was the residual embarrassment he was still feeling deep down. He rubbed at his face and groaned.
"Oh god," he breathed into his helmet. "I cried in front of Sarge."
He had just begun feeling a bit woozy and wondering if he was really that embarrassed by the affair when Doctor Grey came running up to him from the opposite direction she had left from. Grif had spent enough time in Blood Gulch to never question such things, so he just watched her expectantly as she approached.
"Everything's good! Wow, what a team we all make," Grey was laughing as she rushed over to Grif, flung the beloved shotgun over her shoulder, and immediately got on her knees next to Grif. "While Agent Washington and Captain Tucker take care of our friendly new prisoner, I figured I'd get you some much needed medical treatment.
"Oh, right," Grif said, looking down to his knee. "Blood loss. That can explain everything. Thank christ. I thought I was growing, like, emotions and shit. I'm just dying."
"And that's better than emotions?" Grey asked as she carefully removed his shinguard.
"Much better," Grif said assuredly.
The doctor studied his face for a moment before returning to his leg. "Absolutely fascinating."
"We try to be," Grif replied easily. He flinched and seethed as she forced his leg to straighten and slowly ran her hands down the shape of his shin. "Jesus, woman!"
"I have to assess how deep the damage goes," she said, though not without sympathy. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I think you'll have to have a new kneecap."
"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before," he grumped just before a loud crash and the firing of a gun sounded just down the hall. Grif jumped with Doctor Grey, immediately recoiling around his injured leg as a result. "Ah, god, it hurts!"
Grey, uncharacteristically, was not paying attention. Her eyes were wide as she reached for the shotgun on her back. "No one should be on this floor but us and-"
"GODDAMN!" the unmistakable voice of Sarge roared. "I'M GONNA KILL HIM. THEM. ALL OF THEM!"
"What is he..." Grey, baffled, turned to look at Grif.
Grif just shook his head. "I have no idea. He's been alive for half an hour and I'm about to strangle him, though. He has an impeccable record," he grunted in return. "All I know is he was looking for Donut and Lopez- oh. Oh fuck." He looked, eyes wide, down the hall as Sarge marched forward, shoulders forward, anger radiating from him.
There was a heavily damaged light red helmet under his arm.
For a moment, Grif couldn't even fully process what he was staring at. He took a long breath and shifted back against the wall.
Doctor Grey's hand moved up toward her mouth. "Oh, no," she whispered under her breath.
"What is that?" Grif asked dumbly. He couldn't even joke around, he was just staring at it in confusion. Why did Sarge have it. What did it mean.
As far as losing members of Red Team, Grif's emotional capacity had very well reached its fill the day before. He wasn't sure how Blue Team went through this shit all the time.
When Sarge still hadn't said anything in response, Grif threw up his hands dramatically and shook his head. "Fuck it. I don't believe it. I don't believe a word of it until I see a goddamn body."
"Grif," Doctor Grey warned, her face still locked on Sarge.
She and Grif both looked to the hall as Wasington came charging in, gun readied, but Sarge was standing stock still, like he was trying to derive some sort of answer from the defaced helmet.
"What's going on!? I heard shooting-" Wash paused, though, when Sarge finally turned to face them. Wash's body did a full body fidget. "Oh."
Sarge's grip on the shotgun he brought was a little too familiar for Grif's tastes. He leaned forward. "Sarge-"
"You!" Sarge snapped. "You were given the opportunity from fate itself to command warriors of only the highest caliber: beautiful, gorgeous Red Army soldiers, trained and perfected by the greatest leader the Red Army had ever known! You were to lead them to victory! Or death. Either would have been acceptable. But you! You, Agent Washington, were given my boys and traitorously, horribly, terribly chose to abandon them! And because of that, we've come all this way just to find them dead!?"
Wash stared at him for a moment, then to Grif and Doctor Grey.
"I think we should try to look at this all calmly, Colonel," Doctor Grey said softly.
"Really?" Sarge growled, lifting his gun's aim higher. "Because I wasn't thinking anything close to that!"
As Wash continued to stare at him, Grif clenched his fists and hit them against the floor. "I don't know what the fuck you think I'm going to do, Wash. I'm kinda pissed off at the moment, too!" he snapped off at the Freelancer.
Sighing, Washington reached up to his face as if to rub his eyes and groaned. "Oh, fuck me," he sighed before looking to Sarge dead on. "Sarge, you have every right to be angry with me... but it's not because I left your men behind."
"That's what we like to call... horseshit, Agent Washington!" Sarge responded.
"No, it's not, this is the truth," Wash returned just as evenly. "First off, that helmet doesn't mean anything. When the transporter cubes exploded, those of us who were still in Armonia got caught in that. Donut took debris to the face and was slightly burned, but very little of it got past his armor. His helmet was the biggest casualty. We made him pick out another helmet since that one was wrecked."
Finally able to breathe again for the first time since Sarge walked down the hall with Donut's helmet, Grif let his head connect with the wall behind him. "I knew it," he sighed. "No body, no death. Grif rules."
Sarge was relentless, though. "If that's true, then where are they?"
Washington took a breath and shook his head. "Not in Armonia."
"Not in Armonia?" Grif had to interject. "Okay, now you're losing my support again. How the fuck do you know that?"
"Because," the Freelancer said, locked on Sarge. "They came with me when we started toward Crash Site Bravo. They insisted, I knew that having more support was going to be useful."
Grif narrowed his eyes. Bravo had been where they were at. If Donut and Lopez had been en route for them while they had started toward Armonia with a whole battalion, there was no explanation for why they didn't run into each other.
Before he could even start to mention any of that, though, Sarge stiffened.
"You ran into the green-eyed mercenary monster," Sarge said slowly.
"We did," Wash responded darkly.
"He was good enough to vaporize you," Sarge continued.
"Yes."
Sarge's body quivered. "You've known they were with Locus the entire time, and you didn't tell me so we wouldn't stray from your goddamn plans," he ground out.
Grif looked at Wash in shock. "You did?"
Lowering his head and taking a breath, Wash nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"You're such a douchebag," Grif barely got out before Sarge moved.
The colonel moved with speed and agility that Grif honestly hadn't seen in over thirteen years of knowing his C.O., and he definitely decked Washington with more power than either Grif or the hapless Freelancer could have been expecting.
Wash didn't trip over himself with the hit, but he stumbled back and barely had time to recover and duck from the next swing.
"Calm down, I had reasons for this," Washington was attempting to no avail.
"I trusted you!" Sarge bellowed. "You're a goddamn Blue and I trusted you! You and your deceitful, lusting yellow stripes tricked me. You made me believe too many times that there was room for Red Team in your heart, but you'll always be a heartless Blue!"
Doctor Grey whirled around on Grif. "What is everyone talking about!?"
"No one knows, it doesn't matter," Grif snarled, looking at Wash. "It doesn't matter because the point is Wash is a fucking asshole!"
Having dodged what seemed like the fifth swing from Sarge, Wash stood firmly on his ground, caught Sarge's arm in the last down swing, and pivoted both of their momentum to the ground, twisting Sarge's arm behind his back even before he hit the ground.
Wash sat on the colonel's back, twisting down on the arm. "That is enough!" he yelled finally. "You're right! I'm a major asshole. I'm the biggest asshole on this planet right now who didn't try to commit genocide. But I had reasons for this, and I don't regret them. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Donut and Lopez."
Sarge was still resisting, still seething. "Funny how sorry didn't lead you to helping me get to my men when I needed them, meanwhile we went through all that hullabaloo for Caboose earlier!"
"What's wrong with Caboose?" Doctor Grey demanded.
"He was shot. Bad," Wash explained.
Grif couldn't accept further bad news. He just stared at Washington in betrayal instead. "Tell me, Wash," Grif said lowly. "If Locus vaporized you, just what the fuck did he do to Donut and Lopez!?"
The Freelancer kept his head down. "I don't know... but... I'd say their treatment depended on whether or not they could keep from mouthing off to him."
Unable to do much else, Grif smacked his face. "Ah, fuck."
Spending enough time with Donut over the years to say they truly knew their lightish red friend made it very clear to Grif that this wasn't probably a good indication of Donut's survival. And judging by the way Sarge was still furiously attempting to buck their Freelancer friend probably said enough about his take on the situation as well.
Finally, Wash seemed to ease up on Sarge, giving the man enough room to look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sarge," Wash said clearly. "Believe me, you have no idea just how sorry I am that Donut got caught in the situation at all."
"You make it sound like you think he's as good as dead!" Sarge growled.
Grif had to agree, turning a sour eye on Wash. "Yeah, for fuck's sake, give us some room to hope! Even if the idea of Donut shutting up for his own good goes against everything we know about him."
Wash tensed. "It... was Locus..."
"Yes, but Donut also had Lopez with him!" Sarge countered.
"Yeah, and Lopez doesn't shut up, but at least we can't understand him to be offended," Grif nodded.
"Actually, Locus is bilingual," Wash responded cagily.
"He is?" Grif asked, his eyebrows working their ways to his hairline. "Aw, well fuck. They're screwed."
"You all are far too negative!" Doctor Grey finally cried out, stepping between their groups. Grif could sense a fire in her eyes even from behind her helmet. "Do you not understand what a fantastic opportunity is set before us? We have a chance to believe that we can bring all these men back to us! Alive! Sarge is right, we can't discount Donut and Lopez. Even if Agent Washington led them to the very capable and murderous hands of one of the most vile creatures to have come and commit genocide on our planet."
"Wow. Thank you, Doctor Grey," Wash said so sardonically Grif almost wondered if he was taking lessons from Church.
Ignoring him, Doctor Grey continued, "We just took down Locus' partner. We're working on reclaiming he city. We know that General Kimball, Agent Carolina, and Captain Simmons have a group of soldiers on their way back. I say we work on opening communications with them, regrouping ourselves, and utilize our currently bleeding out merc for, well, bleeding out some information on Charon Industries' little brigade circling the planet currently."
"I doubt Felix will be helpful to us," Wash said flatly.
Sarge, finally fully released, stood up, smacking Wash's hands away from him. But he didn't attack. He just glared and looked to Doctor Grey. "Can I kill 'im then?"
Doctor Grey crossed her arms. "It's an idea. One I'd love to entertain or help with, but we might need him. And I'm sure the people of Chorus would be more happy with having a say in his execution."
That seemed to deflate Sarge. "But. Cold blood-"
"Sarge, let's just focus on getting a hold of Simmons," Grif proffered. "Also: someone pick me up off the goddamn floor." He glared as Washington stepped up, stopping the black-and-yellow Freelancer in his tracks. "Preferably someone who hasn't tried to kill me or my friends before."
It was almost too satisfying to see the recoil of the ex-special ops as Doctor Grey began to help Grif off the floor.
He knew Sarge and Grif could have used some more time together and let that justify leaving them with Doctor Grey in the radio room just as much as his need to make sure everything was still good with Tucker in the hold. Even if, deep down, it didn't take a genius to know that he was also avoiding the righteous anger aimed at him.
"Agent Washington?" Doctor Grey's voice radioed to his helmet as he made his way toward the hold.
"Yes?" he asked stiffly. "Everything alright?"
"Yes, very good," she continued, immediately turning to a much chipper tone. "I just thought you'd want to hear we're getting news from the troops Captain Grif and I set out on he city. It seems everyone's clearing up Charon's resistance and are taking the various posts themselves."
Washington took a deep breath of relief and nodded, though no one could have seen it. "Yes, I'm glad you let me know," he finally answered.
"I'm going to keep trying to contact General Kimball and Agent Carolina now! It seems like there was a link with the AI unit, but it's been broken off for hours now. I haven't been able to revive it."
That seemed odd to Washington - Epsilon certainly was in contact with them before he, Donut, and Lopez left Armonia. But he supposed that even then the AI sounded strained.
"I'm sure it's nothing," he said firmly. "They might have just limited their resources after getting on the move."
"Sounds legitimate to me! Okay, I'll radio back in a few!"
The radio siphoned off and Wash looked up to see he'd very much arrived on spot. Cautiously, he entered he hold and was relieved to see Tucker not only still alert and on guard, but Felix completely out and in the grav cell without equipment.
"You got his armor off?" Wash asked as he neared Tucker.
"Not like I don't have experience taking off suits," Tucker responded, twirling the hilt of his sword between his fingers. He turned to Wash with what was obviously a wicked grin. "Bow-chicka-bow-wow."
Wash huffed, hoping to cover his own smile. "Been a while since I heard that."
"Yeah, me, too," Tucker sighed. "I was so concentrated on how much things were sucking that I didn't have time for them."
"You were putting other priorities first," Wash summarized softly. "I'm proud."
"Don't be, I hated it," Tucker groaned. He paused almost thoughtfully before turning his head back to Wash. "Uh, not that I'm overly concerned or anything. But do you think we could have Doctor Grey zapped to Caboose so he has someone with, y'know, a better track record taking care of him? Or zap him here-"
"We don't have access to a temple or transporter right now," Wash responded. "And while we're fairly sure of how the lasers work, I don't feel the pressing need to try it out on our one medical professional worth a damn. Especially when she's the closest thing to a leader the Federal Army currently has." He paused. "But your second idea's good. We could radio Doc and Caboose and have them brought here to us."
"Great," Tucker replied just before Wash's radio sounded off again.
"Hold on a second, Tucker," Wash said before switching on the radio. "Okay, go ahead Doctor Grey."
"Agent Washington!" Sarge bellowed.
"Sarge," Wash sighed, ignoring how Tucker shook his head in disapproval.
"Your fellow heartless Semi-Blue has an outrageously spectacular idea!" Sarge cried out.
"Carolina?" Wash asked. "What kind of plan?"
"Don't know, don't care," Sarge huffed. "She's bringing a Pelican to the capital and wants you to go with her to the big battle cruiser in the sky. Kick some ass. Take some names. Kick in heads. And some teeth. And rescue everyone who's on the ship!"
Wash blinked. "On the ship? Like who?"
"She didn't quite say, but I have my ideas. And they include members of the glorious Red Team you've attempted to disassemble! So that means I'm a goin'. Question is, Blue, are you?"
Tucker glared at Wash. "What's he saying?"
Taking a deep breath, Wash looked from Tucker to Felix then back. "Tucker, do you have this if I leave?"
"What? We just got back! What about Caboose and-"
"Tell Doctor Grey, she'll radio Doc and Caboose, have them here, and she can take care of it. Do you have everything else?" Wash stressed.
The captain hesitated, but slowly he brandished his blade. "Yeah. I do."
"Okay," Wash responded before sighing. "Sarge, meet me on the roof. We're going."