Tex/Sarge. It's my guilty pleasure pairing. Don't judge me.


my heart is free the safeties are released

She came over looking for fights or food or a relief from whatever kind of boredom could rust out that metal skull. Grif was too fat and Simmons too skinny and Donut too pink, and she was reassured that when Sarge fought her off he would at least not scream like a woman. Tex raged into Red Base looking to start some war and Sarge put up the best fight even if he wouldn't strike a girl. Even still she got him under the chin and raked his back against the wall, with the Reds yelling in the distance things intended to sound like they were helping their team but they weren't, really, just leaving their leader lonely in the silver halls. Sarge shoved and writhed and heaved toward his shotgun on the floor a body length away but Tex pressed a forearm against his chest and held him there, not ready for the fight to be over, curious.

The heavy helmeted head of her enemy nodded against her shoulder. "Hmm."

She shook him. "You got somethin' to say?"

He muttered again but she couldn't make the words out this time because he was curling against her, pulling her head down to his chest like a wrestler trying to get a lock. She wrenched backwards but with a sudden tearing sound she realized he had taken part of her with him. He'd had his hands knuckle-deep in her bicep for a few seconds, long enough to pop a plate and get at red and blue wires (team-colored, war-colored, bomb-might-explode-or-not-colored) underneath. Her arm sparked and went limp. She pushed him away, just succeeded in rattling him against the wall again and ending up, for a moment, crabbing away on the floor like a scared child. She got her feet under her instantly. Tex had never been a scared child and the pose did not come naturally to her.

Sarge coughed, his voice bubbling with the strain of the fight. He brushed his hands together, dislodging imaginary dust. "I said, hmm. You're an older model."