Disclaimer: I don't own GI Joe, Hasbro, or any related properties. This story is purely for fun.

This is an AU inspired by the Larry Hama comic book run, but may pull ideas from other GI Joe timelines/universes, so it won't exactly fit into the original comic book run. Doc and other deceased Joes are still alive in the story.

Timewise, this story does take place after Cobra Island was created and becomes a sovereign nation. While the original storyline took place in the 1980s/early 1990s, I have tried to write this story in such a way that the timeline is more vague. I have tried to avoid mentioning contemporary technology or pop culture, like the internet, when possible, so that you can choose to imagine this story taking place anywhere in the late 1980s to early 2000s.

I am working about three chapters ahead in this story, in order to avoid any potential issues with timely updates.

Potential trigger warnings: Due to the nature of Psyche Out's work as a therapist/counselor, this story does deal with mental health issues such as trauma, depression, and anxiety. Included in the story is Psyche Out's struggles to navigate problems like Don't Ask Don't Tell (DADT), especially when trying to help closeted LGBT Joes who may be struggling with mental health issues related to DADT.

Chasing Gold

Chapter 1

"This is your morning edition of CNN. I'm Rhonda Martinez with my co-host, Bill Porter. In today's news, minor protests in Lausanne, Switzerland today outside of the IOC headquarters. The International Olympic Committee has been deliberating over the petition by Cobra Island, a new sovereign nation in the Gulf of Mexico, to be allowed to become a member of the Summer and Winter Olympics. The IOC is expected to announce their official decision this week. If granted membership, Cobra Island would be able to start sending athletes to..."

"Ugh, are you listening to this, Top?" Mainframe swiveled in his chair to eye the blonde first sergeant, who was also in the monitor room with him. Duke tapped a finger as he contemplated whether or not it was too early in the day to already need Advil.

"Yeah, I'm listening," Duke replied. "That's not exactly how I wanted to start my morning out. Let's hope the IOC says no."

"And if they say yes?" Mainframe asked. "What're we going to do about it?"

"I don't know yet," Duke admitted. "But we'll think of something. We always do."

A lone bicyclist pedaled through the desert. No cars passed him and in fact, not a single horn could be heard. The only signs of human presence were the electric lines in the distance and an abandoned farmstead behind him.

Low mountain ranges framed the desert, which stretched as far as the eye could see. A few wispy clouds floated overhead and the sun was already bright and hot for nine in the morning. It would be scorching in just another hour or so.

There were few towns and gas stations in this part of Utah, which was why GI Joe had chosen to build the latest Pit here. Many of the roads were not well maintained and the road that Psyche Out was currently cycling on was a dirt road filled with ruts.

He had packed extra water and had been very careful to watch the time and the sun, since there wasn't much traffic out here if he ran into trouble. However, it was time to head back to the small town that was about 30 miles from the Pit. The wheels crunched over dirt and rocks as he reluctantly turned the bicycle around and headed back into town.

Psyche Out rode by a patch of desert sage and the occasional cactus. His eyes periodically swept the area for rattlesnakes, who had pretty much claimed the entire desert as theirs. It was a lonely place, but he enjoyed the solitude and a chance to be outside by himself and away from the bustle of the hidden GI Joe base.

Cycling always gave him a sense of freedom. Whenever he needed to clear his head, taking his bike out for a spin and feeling the wind in his face always did the job.

He'd ridden for hours as a teenager and young adult. The psychoanalytical part of him would point out that he'd often been riding from something, but that wasn't something he wanted to touch on today. He just wanted to enjoy the ride.

Psyche Out maneuvered around a giant hole in the road. He missed cycling. He'd ridden for the UC Berkeley Cycling Team when he was in college and had gone on to compete for several major races before joining the Army. It had been a passion just as strong as his intellectual curiosity, though the latter had eventually won out in the end.

"I've still got time," he muttered, keeping an eye on the rising sun. Psyche Out took his time cycling back into town. He kept at a leisurely pace and enjoyed the ride. Who knew when he'd manage to take his bike out again?

Duke and Hawk did let him ride out near the base, but his busy schedule was making it more and more difficult to take his bike out. The current Pit was camouflaged by a few simple buildings above it. Hawk seemed to think that a normal thing like someone riding a bike was further camouflage for the hidden base. That was another reason they let Psyche Out hitch a ride to one of the nearest towns whenever he wanted to ride someplace else on his day off. It just added to the idea that a cyclist lived in the area and that there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

"Huh."

He paused for a moment in interest when he approached a broken windmill and a crumbling brick wall, as well as the caved-in remains of what appeared to be an old dugout home. Sometimes he found interesting bits of history when he rode his bike.

Psyche Out took another swig of water, splashed some on his face, and continued on.

The bike eventually hit a paved road as he neared a reservation. In another forty minutes, Psyche Out passed the "Welcome to Abbeyville, population 2300," sign. He cruised to a halt at a stop sign and looked for a familiar set of golden arches. The town was small, but was large enough to host a grand total of three restaurants: McDonalds, Waffle House, and a small, local diner.

The restaurants attracted much of their business from people passing through Abbeyville, since there wasn't much in the way of pit stops through the desert. It made a perfect break for off duty Joes.

He found Chuckles sitting at a small table outside of McDonalds. His roommate had chosen a hot pink and neon blue Hawaiian shirt today. The damn thing was an eyesore.

"How was the ride?" Chuckles asked. He was one of the few who understood how much he craved the rare cycling rides. Psyche Out hopped off the bike and kicked out the small stand. He took the offered water bottle from Chuckles and guzzled it for a few moments. He still had some water left, but the new water was nice and cold. He spritzed some water on the back of his neck.

"Not long enough," Psyche Out sighed. He took another long drink. "But I'm glad I could get out and ride today. Sure you don't want to ride with me sometime?"

"Right, spend my day off...where I don't have to do PT...riding 40 miles in the desert," Chuckles grinned, shaking his head. "Or however much you did. Besides, I'm not keeping up with a guy who competed in the Olympics."

"I didn't really do that well at the Olympics," Psyche Out pointed out, taking off his helmet. He ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair.

"So? You still qualified to compete and were around in the middle, right?"

"Top third, actually," Psyche Out corrected. "I was 39th place out of 130," he added. Not terrible for his first and only Olympics. He'd been in the top 50 at least, but he still wished he'd done better.

"See?" His teammate asked. "And weren't you recovering from a knee injury at the time? Don't be so hard on yourself. Most people can't say they competed in the Olympics."

"Yeah…" Psyche Out said slowly. He sometimes wondered how he'd fare now. He was older, but was still in significantly better physical condition than when he'd competed as a younger man, thanks to the Joes' physical training.

"I need to pop into Mickey D's to use the restroom and get some food. Do you want anything?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm good," Chuckles answered, holding up a cup of coffee. "I'll watch your bike."

Psyche rejoined him shortly with a coffee and two egg McMuffin sandwiches. He quickly wolfed them down while Chuckles sipped his coffee and struck up a conversation with an elderly couple. The more gregarious of the two Joes, Chuckles soon had the pair laughing and smiling.

"Such a nice, young man," the woman smiled. "You two take care of yourselves and enjoy Utah."

"You just make friends everywhere you go," Psyche Out smiled after the couple left. They had both been Joes for nearly two years at this point, but Chuckles had enmeshed himself into the social fabric of GI Joe rather easily. Psyche Out, on the other hand, was still having a harder time with it.

"It's a talent," Chuckles grinned. He swished around the nearly empty paper cup. "I probably shouldn't get more coffee. The coffee we have on base is better."

"If you want really good coffee, hit Lifeline up," Psyche Out told him. "Unlike Scarlett, he'll share. Scarlett just hoards her special coffee."

"Oh yeah?" Chuckles thought it over. "Isn't he out on a mission though? I'm not going through his stash without his permission."

"He keeps some of it out in the copy room in the back of the infirmary, where they keep the coffee pot and the water dispenser," Psyche Out revealed. "Lifeline keeps the coffee he doesn't want to share locked up in his office, but he usually leaves a bag out in the coffee area for anyone to use."

Chuckles sipped on his coffee and considered that.

"Honestly, he won't mind," Psyche Out told him. "Lifeline's a coffee snob anyway. I think he got that way because he worked as a barista to help pay his way through paramedic school. You might have to grind it though. He keeps a grinder by the coffee pot, because he prefers to grind it himself instead of buying pre-ground coffee."

"Well, I'm sold," Chuckles answered, draining the rest of his coffee. "Show me the secret medic stash when we get back."

Psyche Out checked his watch and fiddled a few moments with the sandwich wrappers. He'd been hoping to clear his head during the ride, but found he was still a little uneasy.

"What's the matter?" the other man asked him.

Psyche Out bit his lip, since he really wanted to vent, but he finally shook his head.

"I can't really talk about it right now because of patient confidentiality," he finally answered. Two greenshirts had failed their psyche evaluations yesterday. Psyche Out had been against both men joining in the first place, but Beach Head had wanted to give them a chance.

One of the men in particular had shown worrying signs of aggression and a disregard for some of their teammates since they'd first started training with the Greenshirts. Beach Head was well aware of the issues, but had been hoping the two men would shape up, but they hadn't.

"Beach Head and I had some…disagreements…about some greenshirts he took on," Psyche Out told him. He figured vague information was fine, as long as he didn't give any details. "He went against my recommendations and that ended up causing problems."

Chuckles listened silently while Psyche Out gave him a general rundown. The other man finally shook his head and crumpled his coffee cup.

"You did your job, Ken," he said, using Psyche Out's real name. "If there are problems because Beach Head didn't listen to you, that's not on you."

"I know," Psyche Out sighed. "I already submitted my report yesterday before I went off duty. Beach was just so…hopeful." The greenshirts more than met all of the physical standards. It was just the psychological concerns that have kept him from recommending that the two men be promoted to full Joes.

"That's Beach's problem, not yours," Chuckles told him. "It's up to him to deal with it. That's why he's a sergeant major."

Psyche Out knew that the other man was right, but that didn't mean he still wasn't upset by the situation. He'd been right about the two men being problems, the warning signs had been there immediately after all, but Beach Head had still ignored him.

He wondered cynically why he was even required to do psych evaluations, if the results were ignored when they weren't liked. Beach Head couldn't ignore the newest evals though.

"Do you have another mission coming up soon?" Psyche Out asked, changing the subject. It was rare for the other man to be able to take a break off base. Chuckles seemed more than happy to do nothing on his day off, other than sit in the sun and drink coffee.

"Thursday or Friday, for what's supposed to be a short mission," Chuckles answered, making air quotations with his fingers. "But you know, Murphy's Law. I have four weeks of leave coming up after that, so I'm going home to see my folks."

"Your parents will be happy to see you," Psyche Out said. Chuckles seemed to have fairly healthy family relationships waiting for him.

"Yeah, my mom just about cried when I told her that I was finally coming home to visit," he said. "Apparently my Aunt Millie decided to come visit since I'll be home." He looked over at Psyche Out for a moment. "You know, you're welcome to come with me on leave sometime. I know you and your mom don't get along that well."

"Thanks," Psyche Out replied. "I'll take you up on that sometime. I'm overdue to see my dad and his partner though." His parents had divorced a few years ago and his mother was still rather salty about his father coming out of the closet. Relations with his mother were strained, to say the least.

His mother also seemed convinced that the only reason he had joined the military was so that he could meet other men. She couldn't conceive of any other reason why her well educated son would choose to put on a uniform.

Of course, she hadn't understood the cycling hobby either, but had been more than happy to brag about her son's accomplishments once he'd started getting good at it.

"She still thinks you're gay?" Chuckles asked, watching him. Psyche Out sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Somehow she thinks there are secret orgies going on in the military barracks."

"Hah!" Chuckles laughed. "Well, if there were secret orgies going on, Beach Head would have sniffed them out by now and stopped them."

"So you're saying there were...and you didn't invite anyone?" Psyche Out asked, raising an eyebrow and using his best, clinical voice. He ruined it a moment later with a snicker.

"What's this about orgies?" a new voice asked. The two men looked up at Clutch, who had just joined them. The mechanic leaned in closer with a leer.

"Come on, spill the beans. I heard orgies," Clutch said.

"My mother thinks that soldiers have secret sex orgies behind the scenes," Psyche Out explained with some exasperation. "And that anyone who joins the military is gay...not to mention that Don't Ask Don't Tell is some kind of front."

"Wow…your mom...is...uh…"

"Delusional? Among other things," Psyche Out replied, rolling his eyes again. "There's a reason we don't talk much."

"Yeah, probably a good thing," Clutch agreed. "Sorry to hear about that though." He pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat next to the two men. He curiously eyed the bike.

"How far did you ride?" he asked.

"About 37 miles," Psyche Out answered. "I would have ridden longer, but it was getting too hot and I needed to get back here."

"Thirty-seven miles!? On your day off? When you don't have to do PT?" Clutch asked. The other man seemed personally insulted by the idea of it. "That's crazy, man."

"That's not that far," Psyche Out replied. "They ride around 145 miles at the Olympics and 2,121 miles at the Tour De France."

"Hell with that," Clutch replied, shaking his head. "Rat and I spent our morning doing what normal people do...nothing!"

"Speaking of which, where's Tunnel Rat?" Chuckles asked. "I thought he was with you?"

"He's coming," Clutch answered. "We ordered food to go for Duke. Top wouldn't forgive us if he found out we went to Waffle House and didn't bring him back anything. Rat's just waiting for them to box it up."

"Duke does have an unhealthy obsession with Waffle House," Psyche Out observed.

"Says the guy who decided that McDonalds was better than Waffle House hashbrowns," Clutch retorted.

"I'd have to leave my bike outside at Waffle House," Psyche Out pointed out. "McDonalds at least has drive thru...plus Chuckles was here to watch my bike for me while I went inside."

"You're worried about someone stealing it in this town?" the mechanic asked. "Didn't you bring a bike lock?"

"I did, but I still didn't want to risk it."

"You're so damn paranoid about your bike," Clutch told him. "If this Pit gets destroyed like the one that was underneath Wadsworth, that thing is going to be toast anyway."

"I know that," Psyche Out replied defensively. "This is an old bike. I'm not stupid enough to have a new one here."

He would have to get a new one eventually though. He'd babied his current bike as long as he could, but there were only so many repairs one could do before it needed to be replaced. His current bike was past its due date, but Psyche Out was too attached to it to throw it away just yet.

It was silly nostalgia, but he'd been through a lot with the bike. It was his last attachment to his pre-GI Joe days.

"There's Rat," Clutch pointed. The Joe, clad in civilian clothing, trotted up with a couple of styrofoam boxes in his hands.

"Hey, sorry," Tunnel Rat apologized. He took a look at Chuckles' shirt and shook his head sadly.

"Aww, jeez, Chuck!" the shorter Joe whined. "That shirt is an insult to fashion!" Chuckles smirked and stretched his arms to show off the Hawaiian shirt even more. Tunnel Rat had already complained about the shirt on the way to Abbeyville, but he still couldn't let the subject go.

"Pretty sure that's why he's wearing it," Psyche Out replied dryly. "He knows it's psychological torture."

"Jinx hid my red and white one," Chuckles complained. "Said she was going to burn it."

"What, so you found a worse one?" Tunnel Rat asked. "Seriously man, my eyes are bleeding just looking at it." Tunnel Rat continued to mock the shirt while Clutch looked at his watch and grimaced.

"Well, time to go," Clutch sighed. "I wish there was more to do in this dinky, little town other than grab a bite to eat."

"Bring a bike?" Psyche Out teased.

"Yeah, no. Not really my thing, unless it was a motorcycle or a car." Clutch considered that. "You know, maybe I could go joy riding out like you've been doing. I just need a different set of wheels."

Clutch climbed into the driver's seat of the parked Humvee that was nearby, while Psyche Out strapped the bicycle in. Cover Girl had graciously installed a bike rack to one of the Humvees for him. He joined the other Joes in the vehicle and they set off for the hidden GI Joe base.

"You think Duke helped pick this spot for the Pit because he wanted to be near a Waffle House?" Tunnel Rat asked.

"Yeah…" Clutch grinned. "No one tell Duke that we're on to him."

They were back at the Pit before long. Tunnel Rat immediately took off towards the monitor room with Duke's surprise Waffle House breakfast while Chuckles sauntered off to go find Lifeline's coffee stash. Psyche Out rolled his bike to an out of the way corner of the Motor Pool, where he had been given permission to store the bicycle. He knew he was lucky that the Joes were so accommodating about it.

What was it that Flint had said? "If we have to hear Rock N Roll practice his guitar, you can keep a bike on base. I might even let you run Rock down with it sometime if his playing gets too obnoxious."

Psyche Out hit the showers and wondered what to do with the rest of his day off. He decided to check out the rec rooms and see if anything interesting was going on. Maybe he'd be lucky and could claim one of the televisions to watch a movie.

The first rec room he tried was only occupied by a few off duty Joes. Low Light and Bazooka had commandeered one of the couches, while Outback sprawled on the floor with several pillows. There was a low murmur of conversation when he came in.

"The shrink's here," Outback whispered. It was barely audible, but Psyche Out still heard it from across the room. The conversation died down and Psyche Out sighed. This happened quite often.

He left and found the other rec room, which was mainly empty, except for Deep Six. The other Joe, who was a known loner, nodded to him once in greeting and returned to reading his book. Psyche Out hesitated a moment and decided against watching TV. He rationalized it as not wanting to bother the other man.

Psyche Out ended up returning to his dorm room. He decided to do some light reading for a while. Chuckles popped briefly into the shared room and arched an eyebrow when he saw him engrossed in a book.

"Are you just going to hide in here the rest of the day?" he asked.

"I wanted to read," Psyche Out told him. "Besides, I might take a nap soon too."

Chuckles shrugged as he fished out a pack of cards. He shoved the cards into a shirt pocket and grabbed a few snacks.

"Well, if you change your mind, a few of us are playing cards down in the rec area," Chuckles told him. "I know you have to keep a professional distance, but it wouldn't hurt you to socialize more often."

"I've tried," Psyche Out thought to himself. Instead, he said, "Thanks. I'm pretty tired though after the ride this morning."

Chuckles seemed to accept that. Psyche Out sighed into the book after his roommate had left. Chuckles was the only one who ever invited him to card games. The last time he'd taken the man up on it, the other Joes had acted awkward around him. It simply hadn't been worth trying it again.

He tossed the book aside and decided just to take a long nap.

Beach Head frowned down at the report from Psyche Out and then sighed. He honestly had been expecting that the two men would probably fail, especially Mueller, but that didn't mean that he still wasn't disappointed.

Nathan Mueller, a Navy Seal, probably would have washed out anyway. The sergeant major had nearly washed the man out the first day for his attitude alone, but had decided to let the Seal have a second chance. Scott Payton, an Army Ranger, might have been fine if Mueller wasn't around. However, the two men had become quick "friends." Beach Head used the word friend loosely, as it seemed like a very toxic relationship.

It wasn't really his business if they were friends or not, but Payton enabled Mueller's behavior, which wasn't the greatest to begin with.

"Payton might have been fine without Mueller," Psyche Out had written. "However, I think we also would have had issues with him down the road. Payton grew up in a very dysfunctional family. That itself, doesn't mean much, since there are several Joes who also did, but Payton is still struggling to overcome that. I think he would have unconsciously latched on to any abusive person and it just happened to be Mueller this time. Payton really needs extensive therapy, but he's been very resistant and is in denial about the fact that he and Mueller have a toxic, co-dependent relationship."

Beach Head chewed on that for a while. Payton had done well to make it into the Rangers and while Beach Head would love to keep on a fellow Ranger, he knew that he couldn't let that potential bias blind him.

Still, if Payton returned to his former unit and went through the necessary therapy, Beach Head was willing to consider giving the man another chance down the road.

Mueller, on the other hand...Beach Head honestly wished he would have just shipped the man back to his unit on the first day. There had admittedly been a few potential warning signs, but the signs hadn't been overt enough for Beach Head to immediately toss him out and the man had come highly qualified. Psyche Out had been concerned from the very beginning that Payton also wasn't fit for duty, but Beach Head had decided to ignore that as well. He'd hoped that with enough discipline, he could straighten both men up.

And of course Psyche Out had been right. Beach Head really needed to apologize to the PsyOps specialist for disregarding his doubts.

"Extensive psychotherapy is honestly what Mueller needs. He has very clear signs of narcissist personality disorder. He's currently a danger to himself, as well his fellow soldiers, regardless of which military unit he is in. I advise against him being returned to active duty in any capacity at this time, until he starts getting treatment for his personality disorder. Mueller has been completely uncooperative with any of my attempts to treat his disorder and is in denial that anything is wrong with him, which is typical with narcissists. The last attempt at treatment, as you probably remember, had resulted in him threatening me."

Mueller's ass had been chewed for that, but that hadn't done anything to change the man's behavior. Well, putting this off any longer wouldn't help anyone. Beach Head had seen first hand how Mueller and Payton's behaviors were negatively affecting their fellow greenshirts, let alone the Joes who'd had to deal with them. Beach Head had made a mistake keeping them on this long, but he was going to rectify that very quickly.

Beach Head sent for the two men and waited. They both arrived quickly and the sergeant major regretted again that they simply hadn't made the cut.

"At ease," he told them. "And have a seat. We're going to discuss the results of your recent evaluations."

The two men exchanged glances, but sat down. Payton seemed to expect what was coming and fidgeted slightly in his seat. Mueller took up the entire space of his chair with an air of overconfidence. Beach Head noted the way that the Ranger unconsciously slid over in his chair in an effort to put some distance between himself and Mueller. Even with just watching their body language, it was obvious that Payton was also suffering from Mueller's presence.

"First of all, I would like to thank you both for your service," Beach Head told them. "You've trained hard physically. However, being on a team isn't all about how well you can fight. A team doesn't work unless you are also mentally and emotionally fit for duty. You two failed the psych evals, so you'll be sent back to..."

"Psyche Out failed us!?" Mueller blurted out. "Just because…"

"There were concerns from the very beginning about you two," Beach Head told them. "I decided to still give you both a chance to shape up and you didn't. You failed to follow through with therapy, the way you treat your fellow soldiers is shit…"

"The therapy was bull!" Mueller shouted. "There's nothing wrong with me! Why the hell…"

"Ah said yer done, Mueller," Beach Head said sharply. "And don't you talk the fuck over me. If you want to stay in the military, period, yer gonna need to cool that attitude way the fuck down and go through psychotherapy. You have narcissist personality disorder. Yeah, it sucks. Ah get it and Ah get that you don't wanna believe it, but that don't change the fact that yer currently unfit for duty."

"You're gonna believe some desk jockey PsyOps guy!?" Mueller seethed. The man's face had deepened into a deep shade of red and a vein was starting to bulge in his forehead. "The shrink doesn't see action like…"

"Psyche Out has seen plenty of action in the field," Beach Head cut over him. The other man would just keep rambling in a tirade if you let him. "And yeah, I believe him. This is his job, Mueller. It ain't pretty, but it's for everyone's good that both you and Payton resolve your psychiatric issues before being allowed to return to the field."

Mueller opened his mouth again, but Payton stepped on the other man's foot and shot him a warning glare. The Seal ground his teeth, but finally didn't say anything else.

"Good, saying nothing is the first fucking sense you've had since this conversation started," Beach Head said. "Ah want you to start packing your things. You'll have your new orders by the time that you leave on Friday. We have a transport heading to Fort Hood on that day anyway. You two pogues will be catching a ride."

Mueller opened his mouth and Beach Head shot him a warning glare. The man thankfully didn't run his mouth again. However, there was a dangerous glint in the man's eyes that Beach Head didn't like. He felt the back of his neck prickle slightly.

"You're dismissed," he told them.

He watched them leave. Beach Head tapped his finger absentmindedly against his desk before picking up the phone.

"Mainframe here. What's up, Beach?"

"Hey Mainframe," Beach Head said. "Keep an eye on Mueller and Payton for me, until they leave on Friday."

"Why, what happened?"

"They both washed out and I didn't like the look in Mueller's eyes when I told him they were both done. Hopefully they're smart enough not to do anything stupid, but just in case."

"Got it, Sergeant Major," Mainframe answered. "You want me to pass the word along?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Beach Head agreed. "I don't put it past them to retaliate. Payton will just follow whatever Mueller comes up with."

"They can't be that stupid."

"You want to bet on that?"

"Nah...I'm not that stupid," the other man replied. "And I already owe money to Dusty for a bet I lost."

"Hah," Beach Head answered. "Anyway, let me know if you see anything suspicious."

"Will do."

Beach Head knew he really owed Psyche Out an apology.

"Are we really going to take this?"

Scott Payton didn't respond immediately to the other man, who had been venting his anger since they had left Beach Head's office. The Army Ranger was disappointed and a bit angry, of course, but another part of him actually felt relieved.

"I really just want to fuck him up, you know?" Mueller seethed, after they had ducked into a latrine. There was no one else in the bathroom and the two men felt safe to talk privately. "For what he did to us."

Here Payton finally felt that he probably should say something.

"Who?" he asked. "Beach Head or Psyche Out?"

"Who do you think?" Mueller asked. "This all happened because of that pansy ass shrink. Beach Head's only kicking us out because of what Psyche Out told him."

"Maybe he had reason to…" Payton said hesitantly, but Mueller talked right over him and didn't seem to have heard.

"We could take him," Mueller said. "Against the two of us, he wouldn't stand a chance. The problem is we'd get caught."

Payton had no desire to beat up another soldier, so he was thankful that Mueller had decided that it wasn't worth it, even if for the wrong reasons. It was too much to hope for though that the Navy Seal would just drop the entire matter.

"Nah, we've gotta think of something else," Mueller added. "There's got to be a better way to get him. What do you think?"

Now that Mueller had asked him directly, Payton knew there was no way he could get out of this. The best he could do was to try and minimize the damage.

"Well...what about that bike of his?" Payton suggested tentatively. "He just took it out yesterday and apparently he's pretty attached to it."

"Not really what I had in mind," Mueller answered, crossing his arms. "If it hurts him though...and we should be able to get rid of it without being caught. Isn't there a scrap metal compactor down by the motor pool?"

Payton pushed down a sickly feeling, but nodded his head. If this was the extent of the damage, then he could just get away from the Pit shortly after that and be done with the entire matter.

"Still, we need to hurt him where it really counts," the Navy Seal continued. "He hurt our careers. We need to hurt him. It's only fair."

"And how exactly do you plan on that?" Payton asked. "Anything we would do would be obvious retaliation. It would have to be believable. It would be better just to stick with the bike…"

"Hell no, I'm taking that faggot down with me…" Mueller trailed off and then pumped a fist into the air. "That's it!"

"What?" Payton asked.

"Oh come on man, you really think Psyche Out is straight, with all that touchy feely therapy talk crap? All we've gotta do is find some evidence and boom, he's out."

"But...we don't have any evidence," Payton pointed out. Mueller only smiled back at him.

"Oh, I'm sure we can come up with something."

Chapter & Story Notes:

I'd like to give a special thanks to Karama9 for being my beta reader.

Psyche Out being a cyclist is completely headcanon and not canon. Any mention of his family is also headcanon and not canon. My interpretation of Psyche Out's mother was inspired by Totenkinderm's portrayal of her in her GI Joe fanfic called "Spite Christmas."

It is canon, however, that Psyche Out had attended UC Berkeley and they do have a competitive cycling team.

Lifeline working as a barista while he went through paramedic school is my own invention.

Abbeyville is a fictional town that I came up with, so it's also not canon with the GI Joe comics.

Greenshirts Mueller and Payton are my OCs and aren't canon characters.

I purposefully decided not to orient this story to a real Olympics, because I wanted the reader to have some flexibility on when they imagined the story taking place. The story does obviously take place when Don't Ask Don't Tell is still in effect, though since this a fictional timeline, the reader is free to imagine DADT possibly being repealed sooner.