Disclaimer: I don't own GI Joe, Hasbro, or any related properties. This story is purely for fun.
Chasing Gold
Chapter 2
It was back to work the next day, which was fine. Psyche Out usually preferred to be busy.
His body was sore from being tossed around that morning in hand to hand training by Snake Eyes and Scarlett. The Arashikage cousins were both off base, so it had been Scarlett's turn to manhandle him today.
Psyche Out winced as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He had a few therapy appointments that afternoon, but he usually didn't schedule many therapy sessions on Wednesdays. He usually chose that day to focus on going through the latest Intel and developing new PsyOps missions.
"Did you hear the news yet?" he overheard Leatherneck complain as he walked by with Wet Suit. "Cobra's going to be allowed to compete the Olympics, for fuck's sake. I want to strangle the asshats who decided that."
"Cobra sending athletes and nothing we can do about it," Wetsuit agreed. "The last thing I want to see is a snake standing on that podium with a medal."
Psyche Out silently stirred in creamer and a touch of sugar into his coffee as he thought about that. There had been some talk about what they would do if Cobra was accepted into the Olympics by the IOC, but Hawk had decided to hold off on making any plans until they found out what the official decision was.
Well, now they had something else to worry about. Many countries used the Olympics as a recruiting ground for spies or to flex their soft power to influence their power on the international stage.
Now that the IOC had handed official recognition to Cobra, that gave them official lines of access to athletes, officials, coaches, and spectators, not to mention all of the foreign countries that the future Games would take place in. This was going to be a nightmare.
He sipped on his coffee as he headed toward his office. Lady Jaye waved to him when she saw him from the opposite end of the hall and he waved back. She'd always been one of the friendlier Joes he worked with, while many others didn't quite seem to know how to act around him.
It wasn't that the Joes overall didn't accept his place on the team, but Psyche Out's specialty was psychological warfare and psychiatric therapy. Preventing unnecessary battles by winning hearts and minds or talking about mental trauma weren't exactly areas that soldiers were comfortable with.
"Good morning," Lady Jaye greeted him. "Did you hear the news?"
"About the Olympics? Yeah," Psyche Out grimaced. "Are you still on for your appointment this afternoon?
"Yeah, I've got a few things I want to talk about," she told him. "I ran into the Crimson twins on the last mission and...you know…" Lady Jaye faltered a bit. The two men had sexually harassed her in the past and she'd once been subjected to unwanted touching. She often had nightmares after an encounter with them.
"We'll talk about it," Psyche Out promised. "I hope you got a good swing in at them."
"Oh I did," Lady Jaye grinned. "I kicked Tomax in the balls and of course that brought them both down."
"Good," Psyche Out smiled. "I completely condone violence against the Crimson twins as a necessary part of your therapy."
That got a small laugh out of her. She waved goodbye and let him go. Psyche Out couldn't help feeling sympathetic towards her. The twins harassed all of the female Joes, but they targeted Lady Jaye the most. She'd had more than one upsetting encounter with them and she'd broken down once in the privacy of his office and cried about it.
Anger burned in his stomach as he remembered the tears. He did his best to keep the professional distance that he needed to do his job as a counselor well, but it was difficult. It was a constant balancing act between needing to be distant enough to be a good counselor, but wishing he could be close enough to be a good friend and teammate.
It was no surprise that making close friends in GI Joe had been difficult for that reason. Psyche Out often found himself envious of the easy camaraderie that most of the Joes had found with each other.
Psyche Out unlocked his office and flicked on the light. His office was large, given the counseling work that he also had to do. A small row of filing cabinets lined one end of the room, near his desk for easy access. He had placed a few plants on the cabinets, which didn't require much light. In the corner where he did counseling sessions, Psyche Out had placed two large armchairs and a small sofa. He'd had the walls painted a calming shade of blue, which Storm Shadow seemed to have taken personal offense to for some reason.
He didn't immediately catch the newest prank on him until about half an hour into work. Psyche Out pulled open one of his filing cabinets and stared. Someone had decided to fill the drawer with styrofoam packing peanuts. He opened a second drawer and then a third, only to find more peanuts. Further investigation found that all of the filing cabinet drawers had been packed with the styrofoam peanuts.
Psyche Out hissed in frustration. The prank wasn't malicious, but it was still annoying. A string of pranks had been circulating around the base recently. He'd already been targeted a couple of weeks ago though when someone had decided to saran wrap his office. Someone had decided to prank him again.
He debated whether or not to complain to Duke, but decided against it for now. Duke had bigger issues than to hear from the latest prank victim. The tops had stated they would turn a blind eye to the continuation of the pranks as long as they were kept harmless and didn't interfere with anyone's job.
And since the peanuts didn't interfere with his job, other than being an annoyance to clean up later, Duke probably didn't want to hear about it.
Psyche Out grabbed the folder he wanted and slammed it on his desk with a little more force than he'd intended. A couple of peanuts flew out of the folder. One of his eyes twitched.
He forcibly reminded himself again that other Joes were being targeted. Someone had switched out Scarlett and Lifeline's coffee for decaf, for example. The fallout from that hadn't gone well for anyone and had nearly resulted in Duke banning the pranks all together.
The rest of the morning passed rather quickly. Psyche Out focused his attention on Cobra's recruitment activities in the United States. The terrorist organization was largely targeting small towns in the Midwest and on the east coast. They seemed to be aiming for more middle class, largely Caucasian populations, like Springfield and Broca Beach.
Psyche Out wondered how best to prevent the recruitment drive. Cobra used a slow indoctrination and radicalization process with alarming success. Springfield had been an example of that model. Start small with an innocuous business and build from there.
He sardonically thought that addressing wages, cost of living, education, and racial/gender disparities would go a way towards preventing people from being interested in Cobra, but that's not what the Pentagon wanted to hear. Cobra was predominantly white and all of the Cobra leadership appeared to be white, so they often played to middle class, white communities for their membership and exaggerated fears that were specific to that group.
Cobra of course publicly denied they were racist or extremist and it was true they didn't spout the same racial ideology of groups like the KKK. However, the makeup of Cobra's leadership and their troops spoke for itself.
Psyche Out tapped a pen against the notepad in front of him as he thought it over.
Cobra did, of course, target low-income, minority groups, but they seemed to target those groups mainly for expendable positions, while they targeted middle class, white communities for more leadership roles and financial support.
He was reminded suddenly of the German-American Bund organization in the 1930s. It had been a fascist, pro-Nazi group that had billed itself as pro-American. They'd had a similar model to Cobra's, at least in some ways. The Bund had its own parades, bookstores, and summer camps for youth. They'd had a charismatic leader named Fritz Kuhn, who had loved making speeches and making the Bund out to be victims of the media and the U.S. government, much like Cobra Commander had done.
Psyche Out jotted down a few notes. He wasn't sure if the parallel was worth pursuing, but information was still information.
He nearly forgot about lunch, but a rumble from his stomach made him check his watch. Psyche Out was surprised to see that it was already noon.
Clutch belched loudly as he entered the motor pool. He'd made a beeline towards the mess hall and then quickly wolfed down his food. He really wanted to finish repairing two A.W.E. Strikers before he went off duty today, even if that meant working through part of his lunch hour.
The motor pool was empty when he came back early from lunch. Clutch was fine with that, as that gave him an excuse to blast some music and work without annoying anyone else too much.
He frowned when he heard a distinctive grinding noise of heavy machinery from the back of the motor pool.
"The hell?" he muttered. Clutch put down the pipe wrench that he'd picked up just as the grinding noise had begun. It sounded like someone was running the scrap metal compactor, but only a few Joes were authorized to use that and other than himself, they were currently off base.
He checked the logbook, but no one had signed in to use the compactor. Since the compactor was a dangerous piece of machinery, its usage had to be recorded. Clutch puzzled over this and was about to storm to the back of the motor pool, when his eyes happened to fall on an empty space.
It took him a few moments to wonder why his brain was trying to tell him that something was off, before it clicked. That was where Psyche Out kept his bike.
Clutch knew for a fact though that Psyche Out was currently at lunch, because he had seen the man waiting in line at the mess hall. He picked up the phone and was grateful to find that Mainframe was on duty up in the communications room.
"Hey Mainframe, can you check the security feed and see who's back in the compactor area?" he asked. "Someone's running it without authorization and Psyche Out's bike is also missing. I just saw him in the mess, so he doesn't have it. Could you take a look and see who took it after you check the compactor?"
"Sure, just a sec…" A few moments went by while Clutch waited for an update. He could still hear the compactor grinding away. "Aww fuck, it's the stupid greenies Beach warned me about," Mainframe replied.
"Wait, what?" Clutch asked.
"Beach Head washed a couple of greenies, but didn't say why. He was worried they might do something stupid though before they left the base."
"What the hell are they doing in the compactor area?" Clutch asked. "Can you see what they're doing?"
"I think I see part of a wheel," Mainframe answered. "You don't think it's Psyche's missing bike, do you? Why would they destroy it?"
"Motherfucker," Clutch muttered. "They probably failed some psyche evals if they're targeting Psyche Out. Okay, call Law and probably Beach. I think they're both on base. I'm heading to the compactor to see what's going on."
"Got it. Should I tell Psyche Out yet, you think?"
"I'd get Beach Head and Law first to deal with them," Clutch told him. "Don't bother Psyche Out about it yet and let him finish lunch. We don't even know for sure that it's his bike yet."
"No, it was them," Mainframe told him. "I just looked through the security feed. They looked around to see if anyone else was in the motor pool first, then grabbed the bike and made for the compactor."
"Goddammit," Clutch replied. "He loves that bike and is going to be sick about it. I'd still wait to tell him though. Let Beach or Law make that decision."
He hung up the phone and muttered some profanity as he jogged to the compactor. He passed the latrine and supply room. The compactor squealed a moment with a high-pitched shriek as it processed a difficult piece and then went back to its normal pitch.
The grinding noise continued as he approached the room. A sign outside of the compactor clearly stated "No unauthorized personnel," while another added "Scrap Metal Only. No Flammables, Glass, or Plastic.." A third sign, marked with "CAUTION" in bold letters, stated "Must not be operated without another person present for safety reasons."
Said signage, however, hadn't been enough to deter the two greenshirts that Clutch saw when he entered the room. Two heavy rollers were crushing away at bits of metal, but nothing else could be seen except a small piece of tire.
"Hey!" Clutch shouted, barely managing to be heard over the noise of the compactor. "What the hell are you two doing in here!? Authorized personnel only!"
He had to shout again, because neither man heard him the first time. Clutch wasn't sure who was who, but the two greenshirts both jumped when they finally noticed him. Wishing that he'd brought the wrench, since he wasn't quite sure that he trusted either man, he stalked over to the control panel and turned off the machine. The heavy rollers of the machine slowly came to a halt and the grinding noise gave way to blessed silence.
Well, almost silence...
"What the hell are you two doing in here!?" Clutch snapped, though he knew exactly what they had been doing. "Neither of you are authorized to operate this machine!"
"We…" one man started to say, but the other man talked right over him.
"We were authorized," the second man answered confidently.
"Oh yeah?" Clutch asked. "By who? Because I'm currently the only one on base who can authorize someone else to use this."
This caused some minor stuttering from both men, until the more confident one regained his composure. He puffed himself out to show off his physical size, which didn't impress Clutch in the least. He was reminded of a small rooster trying to make itself large.
"Clutch," Mainframe's voice echoed in the room. The tech specialist was speaking through the intercom system, though he had isolated the message to just the motor pool area. "Beach Head and Law are both on their way. Beach Head said if either of the greenshirts leave the area before he gets there, you're allowed to run them over."
"You hear that?" Clutch told them. "We're going to have a nice chat with the sergeant major. He's probably pretty pissed too if his lunch break got interrupted by this."
"Fuck," one of the men muttered. "I told you we should have done this in the morning."
"I didn't think anyone would be here over lunch," the other man replied.
"Well tough shit," Clutch told them. "Some of us actually have to work over lunch."
It didn't take long for the other Joes to arrive. Beach Head arrived first and was none too pleased to have left his half eaten tray in the mess hall. They heard a bark shortly after as Law arrived with his German Shepherd. Order's ears pricked as he picked up the mood in the compactor area.
"So…" Beach Head drawled slowly. "Ah hear you put Psyche Out's bike through the compactor...which you have zero authorization to use in the first place."
"We didn't put…" one started.
"The fuck you didn't, Payton!" Beach Head snapped. "You think we don't have security cameras in here? Lie to me again and Ah'll feed you to the compactor."
"Clutch, where would the bike pieces have gone?" Law asked. "We have everything on video, but I still need to collect the rest of the evidence."
"There's a bin underneath the compactor," Clutch answered. He cut the power to the machine as an extra precaution, then opened a side door. He pulled out a large, heavy bin that was on wheels. Clutch looked inside and indeed saw the blue fragments of what had once been Psyche Out's bicycle.
"Hey Clutch," Beach Head said. "The sign on the door says scrap metal only, right?"
"Yep," Clutch answered. "Consider that another strike against them," he added, holding up a broken piece of rubber tire.
"For fuck's sake," Beach Head muttered. "You two couldn't just behave yourselves. Mainframe, if you're listening in, please tell Psyche Out to come down here too after he's done eating. These two pogues are gonna apologize to his face."
"Got it," Mainframe answered.
"And while we wait, you're going to explain to me and Law why exactly you thought this was a good idea," Beach Head told them, tapping one of his boots in agitation. "And Ah expect a good explanation."
"Excuse me, Psyche Out, Beach Head wants you down in the motor pool when you're done. He said it's urgent."
Psyche Out put down his fork and looked questioningly up at the greenshirt who had stopped by his table. Madison Zhao was a sniper and part of the same cohort as the two greenshirts who he had failed.
"Why, what happened?" he asked her. She scowled in reply.
"Mueller and Payton," she answered him. "Those two assholes fed your bike to the scrap metal compactor. Sergeant Major and Law are both down there. Apparently Clutch is the one who caught them in the act."
"...What?" Psyche Out asked. He stared at her in shock.
"Yeah, what?" Shipwreck asked. He was sitting nearby with Roadblock. "Those two greenies seriously decided to fuck with your bike? Why?"
"They failed their psych evals," Psyche Out muttered angrily without thinking. He immediately cringed. That was confidential information that he shouldn't have revealed, though it was probably going to become common knowledge anyway once people started asking questions.
"Shit, I shouldn't have said that," he added quickly. "They were probably retaliating though."
"I was wondering why Beach and Law both left," Roadblock said. "Beach looked pretty pissed that he couldn't finish his lunch."
Psyche Out felt a stab of guilt then that Beach Head had to go deal with the situation, even though it was the greenshirts who were at fault. He looked down at his lunch tray, but he was mostly finished anyway. Honestly, he was too angry right now to eat anything else.
"Tell him I'm on my way," he said. The greenshirt nodded and left. Psyche Out chewed on his lip a moment as he glared down at his tray. He resisted a sudden urge to throw the tray at something, or rather, two someones.
"Man, I'm sorry," Shipwreck said. "Go fuck them up."
"I'm seriously tempted," Psyche Out admitted.
"No one would blame you," Roadblock added. "I'd be so pissed if that happened to me. I can't believe a greenshirt actually targeted a Joe though."
"Yeah, me either," he muttered. Psyche Out disposed of the lunch tray and left the mess hall in a hurry. He knew it was only a bike, an old bike at that, but he still felt violated. Mueller and Payton had both gone out of their ways to purposefully target him.
Psyche Out was fairly certain that a greenshirt wouldn't have dared target any other Joe. Even Lifeline, who might be viewed as an easy target, would make a greenshirt think twice about upsetting a man literally in charge of whether or not they survived their battlefield injuries. Most soldiers knew better than to mess with a medic. Lifeline's penchant for being passive aggressive when he was angry was also well known.
It was simply another reminder of how much he was an outlier when it came to the other Joes. His job duties couldn't be glorified. Getting inside people's heads and talking them down wasn't flashy. Psyche Out often felt he was simply tolerated, but not always respected.
These feelings followed him as he made his way up towards the motor pool. He wasn't even sure what he would say at this point when he saw the two greenshirts, but it likely wouldn't be professional.
He headed back to the compactor room once he reached the motor pool and found Beach Head glaring at the two greenshirts, while Law stood nearby with a notepad. Clutch was currently sorting through a large bin on wheels. Order greeted him with a soft woof.
"Your bike's in here," Clutch indicated the heavy bin when he saw the PsyOps specialist. Psyche Out peered into the bin and muttered a 'fuck' when he saw that all that was left were hundreds of fragments. There was no way it could be repaired. Hot anger spread like fire in his stomach. It was stupid, but the bike had been such a part of his life, that seeing it shredded in a trash bin was almost too much to process.
"How much was it worth?" Beach Head asked.
"Well…" Psyche Out struggled to work through the anger a moment, before calming enough to respond clearly and without the profanity laced tirade that he sorely wanted to do instead. "It had sentimental value on top of the monetary value. I rode it at the National Championship and the Summer Olympics in San Diego. Money wise? I paid about $10-12 grand at the time and the bike is seven years old now. Racing bikes don't…"
"Ten to twelve grand?" Mueller snarled. "For a stupid bike!?"
"Racing bikes don't come cheap," Psyche Out said sharply, cutting off the greenshirt. "Regular bikes can't handle the wear and tear of competitive racing. And like I said, that was seven years ago. The current models are even more expensive now. I couldn't get a new bike paying the same amount that I did for this one and I wasn't going to have a bike that expensive in the Pit. That's why I kept paying for repairs."
Beach Head eyed him a moment, before turning a glare back on the other two men. The ranger's head had jerked slightly when he'd heard how much Psyche Out had originally paid for it, but hadn't yet said anything. The man's foot tapped on the ground and Psyche Out swore he could hear teeth grinding under the balaclava.
Part of him wondered if he'd still get berated later for having a bike that expensive in the Pit, given it was worth that much. Psyche Out wasn't stupid. He'd known the risks and he'd at least had it insured. He'd fully been prepared for a Fort Wadsworth moment. He just hadn't been prepared for vindictive vandalism by a greenshirt for just doing his job.
"How much would they cost now?" Beach Head asked after a few moments of silence. The ranger's voice was calm, eerily so, and it threw Psyche Out off. He knew the ranger was at his most dangerous now.
"Er...well, a lower end bike for that level of racing would be around $15,000, but they can go up to $20,000, but I couldn't buy a bike that high. The equivalent to my bike would be around $15,000."
No one spoke for several long moments. Mueller continued to glare angrily, as if somehow it was Psyche Out's own fault that this had all happened. Payton, on the other hand, had paled to a sickly shade.
"I hope you two understand how much deep shit you're in," Beach Head finally said. "You were going to be given chances to return to duty after getting therapy, but now after that fuck up, yer goin' to be lucky if you're allowed to return to active duty anywhere." The ranger's voice had lowered an octave, which set off danger signals in Psyche Out's mind. The sergeant major was beyond livid. A bellowing Beach Head was angry and dangerous, but a quiet Beach Head was far more deadly.
"We didn't know…" Payton started. He didn't get a chance to finish, because the sergeant major had already shoved him hard into a wall.
"You knew full well what ya'll were doin'," the ranger snarled. "You were just hopin' you wouldn't be caught! Targeting one of yer fellow soldiers, vandalizing personal property...hell, personal property that represented yer country at the fuckin' Olympics! All because you were deemed mentally unsuitable for duty. You've only proven that the psych evals were correct. What was your next step? Jumping a fellow soldier and beating them?"
"We knew we'd get caught if we beat him…" Mueller made the mistake of responding. Beach Head's temper flared at that.
"Knew you'd get caught? So you actually thought about it and only didn't because you thought you'd get caught!?"
"It...wasn't the only plan," Payton suddenly muttered. Mueller turned his fury on his fellow greenshirt.
"Don't you fuckin' tell…"
"SHUT YER TRAP, MUELLER!" Beach Head bellowed. The Seal glared mutinously back at him, but said nothing.
"What was the other plan?" Beach Head asked. "Payton? This is your chance for an ounce of redemption."
"We...we...were…" Payton stuttered a moment before finding his voice. "We were going to make false claims that Psyche Out was gay when we got away from the Pit. Mueller thought we could get Psyche Out kicked out of the military because of Don't Ask, Don't Tell that way. We'd even come up with fake evidence, like claiming we'd heard him talking about it on the phone with a family member, or saying that he'd come on to us."
The temperature in the room seemed to chill a few degrees. Psyche Out felt his stomach lurch and then drop out. He sucked in his breath and stared at the two greenshirts. The air in the room suddenly felt very short. Law grabbed his arm and pulled him back a few feet away from Beach Head and the two greenshirts.
Psyche Out reeled from the accusation as Law put himself between the PsyOps specialist and the greenshirts.
"He's lying," Mueller sneered, taking advantage of Beach Head's stunned silence. "Nothing fake about it. Look at him, the shrink's probably a faggot anyway, that useless, fucking…"
Psyche Out flinched when Beach Head slammed a fist into the Seal and then grabbed the man by the throat and shook him like a rag doll. Mueller gasped for breath and clawed at the sergeant major's arms.
"You GAWDAMN MOTHERFUCKER!" Beach Head felt white hot rage blur his vision for a moment. "Law, put this piece of shit in the detention area. Put them BOTH in there and let them rot overnight."
"You're going to have to stop choking him for me to arrest him," Law pointed out. "As much as I kind of like seeing that happen."
Beach Head released the Navy Seal, who dropped to his knees coughing and gasping for air.
"It's...cough...it's his own fault," Mueller reasoned. "If he hadn't…"
"It's all your own damn fault," Law told him. "Now get off your ass and…" Mueller lunged at him, but Law stuck a boot out and tripped the man before the punch could land. An angry German Shepherd then found the Seal's ass and Mueller let out a blood curdling scream when Order chomped down.
"Down, Order," Law ordered. Order backed off of the man, who now lay whimpering at the bite wound. The dog continued to growl.
"For fuck's sake," Beach Head complained. "Now we gotta get a medic down here. Yer a piece of shit, Mueller. Ah hope prison and a dishonorable discharge was worth all of that."
"Payton?" Beach Head asked. The Army Ranger jumped.
"Yes, Sergeant Major?"
"Thank you for being honest about what else you two were plannin' to do," Beach Head told him, forcibly calming himself down. "You earned back a tiny bit of faith in you."
Psyche Out stared while Law restrained both men. This wasn't how he had been expecting that his day would go. Beach Head eyed him a moment while he paged the infirmary. A dark figure suddenly stepped into their view and all parties jumped. Well, all parties save for Order, who only wagged his tail.
Snake Eyes quickly signed an apology and then nodded his head toward the two greenshirts, before signing a flurry of ASL. Mueller and Payton both gaped at the ninja. Psyche Out hadn't thought it was possible for Payton to become even paler, but he looked positively ill now that a ninja was present.
"Nah, we got it covered," Law told him. "Thanks for checking in though. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the Pit heard Beach Head."
"I still can't believe…" Psyche Out started, still trying to wrap his mind around the sheer vindictiveness of the two greenshirts. If the military had actually believed the two men, his career would have been destroyed. "My bike and then that!?" And here he had been annoyed by the prank in his office just a few hours ago.
"We…" Payton started to say, before taking one look at Beach Head and Snake Eyes, and wisely shutting his mouth.
"No, say it," Beach Head told him. "Ah wanna hear this."
"We...we shouldn't...have done that," Payton stuttered. "It was wrong and…"
"If you thought it was wrong, then why the fuck did you go along with Mueller!?" the sergeant major snapped. "That's been your entire problem all this time. Ah was gonna give you a second chance at the Joes later, Payton. Ah ain't gonna do that now."
Psyche Out just decided to leave while Beach Head was still rounding on Payton. He paused a moment to let Stretcher pass. The medic was armed with a large pack and had made good time down to the compactor room.
"Daaamn," he heard Stretcher whistle. "What happened to the greenie?"
He nearly collided with Duke after he made a hasty exit through the doors. Psyche Out reached and grabbed the door frame to steady himself. The top sergeant must have seen him first, because he had stepped out of the way before they had walked into each other.
"Sorry…" Psyche Out said. "I didn't see you. I'm just heading..."
"Psyche Out, hold up," Duke said. "Did Beach Head dismiss you yet?"
"No, I...kind of dismissed myself…"
Psyche Out prepared himself for a lecture of some kind, but an irate Beach Head spared him any immediate consequences from Duke.
"The fuck you don't want Stretcher to treat you!? You're a gawdamn racist too!? Bleed out and get an infection, the fuck I care!"
"Oh boy," Duke muttered. "Wait out here a second. I'll be right back."
Psyche Out stepped out into the main part of the motor pool. He leaned back against a wall and closed his eyes. Anger welled up inside him, as well as a flash of fear, over what had just happened. He wanted to be anywhere else but here.
He knew he couldn't escape now without both Beach Head and Duke getting on to him. Psyche Out stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered over to one of the A.W.E. Strikers that Clutch must have been working on, before he'd gotten distracted by Mueller and Payton.
Would the tops had believed the greenshirts? He hoped they would have seen that it was obvious retaliation, but the Jugglers had been looking for an excuse to get rid of him and replace him with one of their own people. Having a psychiatrist loyal to the Jugglers and keeping tabs on the team for them was a goal that they likely hadn't given up on.
There wasn't a shred of proof, but that was besides the point, wasn't it? His own mother believed he was gay simply because his father was and because Psyche Out had never been interested in having a relationship. She had tried so many times to introduce him to "suitable" women and had grown increasingly frustrated with him when he shot her down every time.
She, of course, couldn't see that she was part of the problem. If the Jugglers had made one phone call to his mother, that would have been it. He wondered how much time they even would have given him to pack everything and leave.
"Hey, you okay?"
He nearly jumped when Clutch somehow snuck up on him. The mechanic held out a piece of blue metal to him and Psyche Out recognized that it was a fragment of his bike.
"It was the largest piece I could find," Clutch told him. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop them. I thought you'd like a piece of it at least. Just be careful of the sharp edges. Law's keeping the rest for evidence, but he said you could have this."
"Thanks," Psyche Out said. He felt a pang as he examined the blue shard.
"I didn't know you'd competed at the Olympics," Clutch said. He leaned against the broken A.W.E. Striker. "I guess that makes sense now why you were so attached to that bike."
"Well...it was an old bike," Psyche Out admitted. "It really was time to get rid of it..."
"Maybe, but it was still wrong what they did to it," Clutch told him.
He looked over Psyche Out's shoulder and Psyche Out turned his head to see what was going on. Law, Beach Head, and Snake Eyes were now leading the two greenshirts out of the compactor area. A visibly angry Stretcher assisted Mueller, who limped painfully between him and the ninja master. Order had decided to walk behind the two greenshirts. Psyche Out could tell from the tight body language that all four Joes and even the dog were in a murderous mood.
Duke trailed after the small group, but decided to join Clutch and Psyche Out. The top sergeant frowned as he watched six soldiers finally exit the motor pool.
"I'm sorry that happened," Duke finally said. "Beach Head wants to talk to you later about it. I still can't believe they targeted you like that."
Psyche Out flushed a little and felt more than a little humiliated on top of the mess of emotions that he was currently working through. He supposed he shouldn't be too surprised that it had happened. Given the mental disorders that both Mueller and Payton had, he probably shouldn't be too surprised that they had lashed out like that.
"The bike's a small thing compared to the other thing they were going to do," Psyche Out said quietly.
"Did they seriously think that would work?" Clutch asked. "I mean, that was shitty, but seriously?"
"I've seen good soldiers discharged before because of DADT," Duke answered grimly. "The tops tend to take it pretty seriously and it's not the first time that it's been deliberately used to try and get rid of someone that isn't liked."
Psyche Out gave an involuntary jerk at that and he hoped that neither Duke nor Clutch noticed. The last thing he wanted to talk about was his insecurities regarding his relationship with the rest of the team.
"I've seen it happen too," Psyche Out said, which was true. It had been traumatic for the soldier who had been a victim of it.
"Yeah, but...you've never shown any interest in guys," Clutch said. "How would they have proved anything? I mean, I've never heard you talking about women either...but you're not a horny bastard like me." Psyche Out felt himself smirk slightly at that.
"Psyche Out's interests aren't our business," Duke said. "Even though I personally think DADT is bullshit, we can't ask." Psyche Out felt the smirk slip. It was true he'd never been interested either way, but he'd never really thought about how other people would perceive it. And given Duke's response, Psyche Out now wondered what the other man actually thought about his orientation.
"I mean, I know that," Clutch said. "I just didn't expect Beach Head to be as pissed as he was…"
"A good Ranger buddy of his was outed by someone on purpose," Duke explained. "Beach was already pissed and I think that triggered him even more. The punishment goes way beyond a simple discharge, Clutch. Psyche Out could have lost all of his V.A. benefits. When they discharge you under DADT, you lose everything. No GI bill, no benefits...including retirement. You can't even use a V.A. Clinic."
"What?" Clutch replied. "That's bullshit."
"Think of how the soldiers who are actually in the closet feel," Psyche Out muttered. If he felt this afraid from a false accusation, how did Joes who actually were gay feel? "And with as big of a unit that GI Joe is, especially with the greenshirts and support staff, I'm sure there are at least a few people on base who have to hide because of DADT."
"That's...shit, I've actually never thought about that," Clutch admitted. The mechanic actually seemed dumbfounded about it. Psyche Out supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Clutch was clueless about what the consequences of a DADT discharge were.
"Yeah, so keep that in mind," Duke told him. "By the way, don't forget to fill out an incident report about what happened."
"Yeah, I'll do that now," Clutch answered, waving him off. "Man, I was hoping to get through the A.W.E. Strikers today."
He left then, leaving just Duke and Psyche Out. Psyche Out shifted uncomfortably as he ran a thumb over the bike shard in his hand. His eyes flicked down to his watch and he froze.
"Shit, I have an appointment with Lady Jaye in just a few minutes!" As much as he just wanted to lock himself in his office, he wasn't going to leave Jaye hanging when she needed to talk to him.
Besides, it gave him the perfect out from having to talk to Duke at the moment.
"I can have Mainframe cancel her appointment," he heard Duke say. "You're probably not in the mood to…" but Psyche Out was already sprinting towards the door and pretended not to hear. He was slightly out of breath by the time that he made it to his office, but at least he was only a couple of minutes late. Lady Jaye was waiting patiently for him when he arrived.
"I'm sorry," he told her. "I...something came up."
"Do you need to take care of it?" she asked. "I can reschedule…"
"No, it's fine," Psyche Out answered. He unlocked his office and ushered her in. Lady Jaye quickly settled in a chair and unrolled a small mat to reveal a jigsaw puzzle that she'd been working on. Psyche Out had encouraged her to do puzzles to help her manage anxiety and stress and it seemed to be helping.
"You said it's fine if we work on this while we talk, right?" she asked.
"Of course," Psyche Out told her. He unfolded a small table that he kept on hand just for this and Lady Jaye placed the mat on it. Working on a puzzle with her, while doing talk therapy, was probably the perfect distraction that he needed right now anyway. "What puzzle are we doing?"
She held up a box with a picture of two ballerinas. It was a 1000 piece of puzzle and by the looks of it, she had only recently started it.
"Perfect," Psyche Out said, settling into his own chair. "Where do you want to start?"
He supposed that he shouldn't be surprised that Chuckles stopped by to check on him later that evening. Psyche Out had opted to skip dinner, since he wasn't that hungry. He also wasn't really in the mood to answer questions about what had happened with the greenshirts, though he didn't doubt that the entire Pit would know by the end of the next day.
Psyche Out had buried himself in work and gave a jolt when someone knocked on the door. He had half a mind to ignore it, but he finally unlocked the door and opened it in case it was Beach Head or Duke. The obnoxious Hawaiian shirt on the other side made it clear who his visitor was.
"Hey," Chuckles told him. "We didn't see you at the mess hall, so I brought you something." He held out a sandwich and a bag of Doritos. "I didn't figure you were probably too hungry, but you still need to eat something."
"Thanks," Psyche Out answered. He put the sandwich and chips on his desk. Chuckles wandered in with his hands jammed into his pockets.
"I heard about what happened," Chuckles said. "You want to talk about it?"
"I don't know," Psyche Out replied. "I've been avoiding it, honestly."
Chuckles grabbed a pad of sticky notes and jotted something down with a pen. He then flopped himself into the chair that Psyche Out normally sat in when he was doing talk therapy with another Joe. The other man slapped a sticky note to his chest that said "Psyche Out."
"Oh yes, you definitely look like me," Psyche Out said dryly.
"I can cross my legs like you do and look all pensive while I'm listening. Would that help?"
"I don't do that," Psyche Out denied, before looking down to see that he indeed was sitting with his right leg crossed over the left.
"Okay, I sometimes do that…." he admitted.
"So...you want to talk about it?" Chuckles asked him. Psyche Out thought it over. He trusted Chuckles. They had both joined the Joes at the same time and had been roommates the entire time they had both been on the team. He was probably the closest person that Psyche Out had to a friend in GI Joe.
Chuckles would give his honest opinion and would keep anything they discussed confidential.
"I just...I'm not sure where to start," Psyche Out admitted. He absentmindedly opened the bag of Doritos and bit into a chip. The food was a good distraction, even though he still didn't feel hungry.
"Where do you want to start?"
"...I think the DADT accusation is bothering me the most," he finally said. "And I keep thinking about how it might affect other Joes who are actually gay and...I'm just...really angry about the bike, I'm angry at Beach Head for not listening to me a few months ago, and..." Psyche Out trailed off as he stared down at the chips.
"I mean, my mom thinks I'm gay even though I'm not. What if someone believed her?" he finally asked.
"That's not how DADT works," Chuckles told him. "There needs to be direct evidence. The military's not supposed to call family members up and ask for a confession."
"That wouldn't stop the Jugglers," Psyche Out pointed out. "They'd be happy to have me gone and one of their stooges in."
Chuckles gave a snort at that, which soon became a laugh. Psyche Out glared at him and wondered what was so hilarious.
"Oh come on," Chuckles grinned, seeing his expression. "Do you really think any of the ninja or any Joe, really, would cooperate with some Juggler endorsed flunky, especially if you were chased out for some bullshit reason? None of the Joes would stand for it. I'd give it a week or two tops before Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow had a replacement shrink running for the hills."
"But…" Psyche Out hesitated a long moment before finally voicing a concern that he'd been secretly struggling with. "I'm not well liked."
"Says who?" the other man scoffed.
"...Earlier today, when I was talking to Duke and Clutch about it, Duke said something to the effect that this wasn't the first time that someone tried to use DADT to get rid of someone who wasn't well liked." Psyche Out realized how insecure he must sound and regretted even opening his mouth.
"I don't think Duke was referring particularly to you," Chuckles frowned. "I think you're reading too much into it. Not everything has a hidden meaning."
"I know, just…sometimes I wonder if people actually want me here." He knew he didn't really fit in. Perhaps that was just his perception and not the reality of the situation. Psyche Out was fully confident in his abilities and why he'd been chosen for the Joes. As for what the other Joes thought or felt about him, that was something he struggled with more than he cared to admit.
"It's just, people constantly complain about having to see me or act like I'm intruding if I'm nearby when they're off duty." Psyche Out said. "Or...they pull pranks on me. Someone saran wrapped my office a few weeks ago, remember? And someone decided to prank me again today. I'm not out in the field as much as everyone else and there are probably some people who resent that…"
He was rambling now, so he shut his mouth. Chuckles frowned as he listened.
"How am I not supposed to think that people don't like me?" Psyche Out asked bitterly.
"How long have you been worried about this?" Chuckles asked. "You've never said anything about this before."
"Not long," Psyche Out lied. He saw Chuckles eyes narrow and he wondered how the lie had been that obvious.
"Maybe a while," he corrected. "I just ignored it though, but after today…"
Chuckles rubbed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but Psyche Out didn't catch what he said. The other man sat forward and looked him in the eyes. There was an angry set to the man's jaw that hadn't been there before.
"Ken, people give you headaches for the same reason they try to 'discharge' themselves from the infirmary or get out of PT," Chuckles told him. "It's just a matter of principle for many Joes and sometimes they're just bored. The ninja mess with Beach Head, Duke, and Flint all the time. It's nothing personal against you."
Psyche Out felt too angry to respond. Usually he dealt with the frustrating aspects of uncooperative teammates better, but he just couldn't today.
"People do respect you," Chuckles told him. "You wouldn't still be on the team if they didn't. You were targeted today by two disgraced greenshirts because they thought that you were an easier target than Beach Head. It was shitty, but no one else on base actually wants you gone. People might complain, but they also know how important your work is."
Psyche Out averted his eyes. On an intellectual level, he knew Chuckles was right. But still, he noticed when he walked into a room of off duty Joes and the conversations died. People were worried he was purposefully snooping into their mental health.
Well...sometimes he was. But oftentimes, he just wanted to be social or do something relaxing. Psyche Out could read the room though and didn't want his teammates to feel uncomfortable, so he often just left.
That was another reason he had craved the cycling rides so much. He didn't feel lonely when he was on his bike.
"I...know...at least some people respect me," he finally said. "Clutch and Beach didn't have to help me like that. But I don't really have any friends here, other than you...and I can't really have friends here. I can't do my job without keeping a professional distance and, well, I know people don't like coming to therapy on top of that. I just…" he trailed off again.
Psyche Out had already voiced more than he'd planned. He wasn't going to openly admit to feeling lonely. Hawk had warned him from the very beginning that the job could be lonely. Openly admitting to feeling alone felt like he was admitting to not being cut out for the job after all. And despite his struggles, Psyche Out loved being a Joe.
"Look, I'm not a therapist," Chuckles said. "Despite what my sticky note says. But...do you have someone you can talk to? Who are you supposed to talk to if you need help?"
Psyche Out's first instinct was to deny needing help, then realized that was the same behavior that he was annoyed by when other Joes did it. There was a military psychiatrist who had done his psych evaluation when he'd first been recommended for the Joes, so Psyche Out supposed that he could always contact her.
What would Hawk think though if he knew that Psyche Out was struggling?
"There might be someone," Psyche Out stated. He didn't have any intention of contacting anyone, but Chuckles didn't have to know that. It was helpful just to talk to someone about his feelings. He could always work on cognitive behavioral therapy on his own.
He didn't want to continue this line of conversation and decided to finally eat his sandwich instead. Psyche Out was slightly surprised to see that it was peanut butter with pickles. Chuckles had actually gone out of his way to make one of his favorite sandwiches.
"You...thanks for making this," Psyche Out told him gratefully. "I didn't realize you remembered that I liked this."
"You're the only weirdo on base that I know of who likes peanut butter and pickles," the other man grinned. "How could I forget?"
"Weirdo!?" He'd just poured his heart out to Chuckles and he still got called a weirdo?
"The only weirdo on base who likes it," Chuckles repeated. "As in, the base is full of weirdos. You're just the only one who seems to like that combination."
"Oh." Well, now he'd just made things awkward. Psyche Out cringed internally as he ate the sandwich. He was worried about Chuckles telling him that he was being too sensitive, but the other man didn't say anything.
"I thought you'd tried it?" Psyche Out asked after a moment, pretending he hadn't just been offended.
"I did and it wasn't as terrible as I was expecting, but it's not my favorite," Chuckles answered, scratching his cheek.
They sat in silence for a few, long moments. Psyche Out glanced over at Chuckles and saw that the other man had leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time that his teammate had decided to take a nap in one of the therapy chairs.
"If you fall asleep in the chair again, I'm locking you in here," Psyche Out threatened, though he didn't mean it.
"Hey, this is more comfortable than what I'm going to be sleeping on tomorrow," Chuckles protested. "It's not my fault you chose 'so comfortable that I'm going to take a nap' chairs."
Psyche Out responded with a snort and polished off the sandwich. He drained the rest of his coffee too, though it was too late in the day for him to be drinking caffeine. Psyche Out stared down into the empty cup a moment and wondered if he wanted to bring up the other topic he'd been thinking about.
"...Chuck, do people think I'm in the closet?" Psyche Out finally dared to ask. "Do you think the higher ups would have believed Mueller and Payton?" Maybe he really shouldn't have said anything, to anyone, about the crazy things his mother had said.
Chuckles fiddled with the hem of his shirt and didn't immediately answer. The tension that had been winding its way through Psyche Out's stomach started to return.
"Some," Chuckles finally answered. "But not just you. There are a few others, like Gung Ho, that people are pretty sure are in the closet. No one's been malicious about it. It's just been curious gossip."
"Shit."
"I know I can't ask," Chuckles told him. "But if you are, no one wants you kicked out. I was being serious before. The other Joes really wouldn't take it well."
So even Chuckles thought he might be. He knew that shouldn't bother him, but it did for some reason. Psyche Out was suddenly ready to just call it a night and go to bed, even though he didn't really expect to sleep well.
"I'm...going to hit the showers and go to bed early, I think," Psyche Out said. "Thanks for coming to check on me. I appreciate it."
"Psyche…"
"I hope your mission goes well tomorrow," he added. "You'd better move, unless you plan on sleeping in here."
"Ken, wait…" Chuckles gave up with a sigh when it became clear that Psyche Out didn't want to talk anymore. "Okay, fine, I'm coming. I have half a mind to sleep here though."
"Right…" Psyche Out flicked off the light and locked the door. "Then I'd have to explain to Duke why I locked you in my office overnight."
Chapter & Story Notes:
I went back and forth quite a bit as to whether or not to actually make Psyche Out gay or bisexual, but opted instead to write him as being on the asexual spectrum, as well as an LGBT ally. There's nothing in particular to indicate this is right or wrong in the various canon material, but that's how Psyche Out decided to write himself as I was working on the story draft. I think the story also could have been interesting had I made him closeted, but it took the story in directions that interfered with the main plot.
DADT affected gay, bisexual, as well as transgender and non-binary soldiers. When I had Duke, Psyche Out, and Clutch discussing DADT, they only brought up gay soldiers. While Psyche Out is likely well informed about transgender orientations, I didn't think that Duke and especially Clutch would immediately think about transgender individuals when discussing DADT, especially in the context of the 1980s-early 2000s.
If any discussion does come up in the story of transgender or non-binary individuals, I will likely use terminology that was more commonly used in the 90s or early 2000s, such as transsexual.
The Olympics in San Diego that Psyche Out mentioned was a fictional Olympics.