Rated M for Mat-hoor.
"Hello Mister Farthing." Hensley said, smiling a smile that just fell short of reaching his eyes. There was a pregnant pause, and Ed just gave them a funny look.
"Surprised we found you?" Cleave asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"I'm sorry, it may just be the concussion," Ed said politely, "But who the fuck are you and where the fucking hell am I?"
"You should watch your mouth, Mister Farthing, you're not in a position to be asking questions."
"I'm not Mister Farthing." Ed said flatly.
"Right." Hensley said, "I forgot you don't appreciate formalities, Denny."
"No, I'm not Denny either," Ed said, and realized that, considering the circumstances, it kind of made sense now why Denny had been hiding. He was in trouble. A lot of trouble, apparently.
"Okay," Hensley said, all too friendly. He pulled up a chair, spinning it around, whacking Cleave in the shin, and sitting down so that he was facing Ed now, "then who are you today?"
"The same person I am every day."
"Whose that? Mother Theresa?"
"Was that supposed to sound even the least bit threatening?" Ed asked, raising his eyebrows, "Honestly, 'Mother Theresa' has to be the worst response you could come up with, under the circumstances."
"He's right, you know." Cleave said, rubbing at his shin.
"Shut it, Cleave." Hensley snarled, waving a hand at his partner.
"Why? Not like you're making progress." Ed said, and Hensley frowned deeply.
"Mister Farthing, you're already in deep enough."
"I am not Mister Farthing, you tit!"
It was a face off, the dead silence as the reunited friends stared at one another, and Soap's expression was more serious than any of them had ever seen it – or at least, more so than Bacon and Tom had ever seen.
"God, I love it when you take command." Osprey said, eventually breaking the silence. Soap sighed, and released his hold on her, getting to his feet.
"Glad to see your sense of self is still intact." Soap said, and offered out a hand to her.
"My horniness, you mean." Osprey corrected him, taking the hand and pulling herself up.
"Something like that."
For some time after that, no one spoke again, and they all just stood in that ever-stretching silence, all of them stuck in their own thoughts, perhaps one of them wondering about his station wagon but not daring to say anything, lest he be told to shut it for the fiftieth time that day.
"So what the fuck are we standing about for?" Bacon said, giving that sneer he was so good at when he was royally pissed off. "Ed's been kidnapped, and one of your other mates are being tortured."
"A plan would be a good course of action." Denny admitted.
"Right. A plan." Soap agreed, pulling himself together.
In unison, all of them looked at Tom, who, in turn, looked up, looked around at them all, looked sheepish, and finally managed to look pissed off because he didn't know why he was being stared at.
"What?" he said.
Author's Note: You probably all want to kill me right about now. I'm afraid Life has swept me up lately and hasn't let me down for a breather – believe me, I thought about the story, but never got to it. Well, now I did, anyways.
Rose Atlee, er, I'm afraid I didn't get this chapter up as soon as you'd hoped. Banshee, happy very late birthday. MciroChips, you made a good guess to think that's who they were based off of. Good on yer. Roaddog, thanks for continuously checking back. If you guys ever want to send me feedback, I can be found at