A/N: Yeah…kinda don't really have an excuse for being lazy as all hell, but meh. I just work here. I can't believe I forgot about fucking Donut last chapter. Seriously what the hell? How could I forget about him?

*Chapter 77*

After the thunderstorm had finished drenching literally everything in the span of about two hours, Reach had gone out into the jungle and found some of the local wildlife. Three dead birds dangled by their feet from his armor and he felt a strange feeling of satisfaction at having caught his own dinner. 'Are any of the plants poisonous to humans?'

"You consider this group human?" Eta asked dryly.

'Just answer the question...' Reach rolled his eyes under his helmet.

"The purple flowers on the trees are a form of belladonna. Even the smallest dosage can be fatal. Everything else seems to be edible. Interesting...it appears as though the records for this planet have been wiped out of the UNSC database." Eta hummed. "I'll have to see where the error occurred. Why would this planet's information be wiped out?"

'You think there's something to it?'

"Absolutely. A planet doesn't just go missing. There's something else at work here. Sloppily done, too. The AI responsible for this is dumb, even by fragment standards. The sooner the tower is finished, the sooner we can get to the bottom of whatever is going on here."

'Or I can steal us a ride and leave this shitty little rock far behind me.' Fuck this damn jungle. Poisonous flowers, giant insects that refused to die despite being blasted in half by a shotgun, tremendous humidity, and now it seemed as though someone didn't want this planet found. Whatever the hell it was named.

The retired Spartan pushed his way through thick vines and dense foliage, eventually coming to their crash site. He heard irritated shouting coming from Red Base and he wisely pointed himself in the opposite direction. 'Nope. I'm not dealing with that. Someone else gets to.' The Reds had never been so dysfunctional before; just what the hell happened to make every member of Red Team lose whatever braincells they had left?

He didn't want to know. Nor did he particularly care. He had enough headaches to worry about without the Reds being added to the list.

A pair of gunshots sounded off and Simmons came stalking out of Red Base, the maroon-armored trooper wearing a thunderous expression. It was unusual for Simmons of all people to be this angry about something and Reach stared in disbelief as the designated 'Bitch of Red Team' fired an assault rifle angrily into the air for no reason, roaring out in frustration.

"WHY WON'T YOU DIE, YOU STUPID OLD MAN!?" Simmons bellowed.

Oh.

That answered why Simmons was so pissed off. Sarge. Of fucking course. Who else could possibly drive any reasonable person to the brink of insanity in such little time? Sarge practically had a PhD when it came to pissing everyone in the vicinity off. The only real reason Reach could think as to why he hadn't yet teamed up with Maine, South, Wash, and the simulation troopers to murder the old sergeant was because they were saving him in case they needed to completely ruin the enemy's self-esteem. Sarge was good for little else. Well, he wasn't a bad mechanic and he knew how to use a shotgun, but he had less tactical genius than Caboose and that was saying something.

'Oh my God. I've been in this damn jungle for far too long.' Reach sighed and against his better judgment strolled over to the still very irate Simmons. "Alright. Talk to me. What happened and why are you out here wasting ammo?"

Simmons fixed his glare onto Reach only for it to die a horrible death and settle for the face that could only be described as, 'Fuck it, I'm done with this shit.'

"Sarge," Simmons answered with a dejected sigh as if that explained everything. He didn't lower his rifle and fired another three-round burst into the sky.

"Oh, I get it. Not." Reach rolled his eyes. "Be more specific."

"ARRGGGH!" Simmons let out a desperate scream and threw his rifle angrily out into the jungle. It plopped pathetically into the dense undergrowth and the simulation trooper's hands shook. "Everything he does pisses me off! I had an idea to repurpose a robot building kit we salvaged into something that could be used to repair the tower. What does he do!? He makes another fucking robot that doesn't speak English! The only reason I can somewhat understand it is because I downloaded some sort of translation feature for my helmet! Why!? WHY!? Why do I have to be on the same team as someone who should be in a retirement home!? The only thing Sarge should be ordering is for his nurse to give him another dose of morphine!"

Reach sighed and wished he had a cup of coffee in hand. Alas, the secret stash was hidden in his bunker and Simmons was on the verge of actually committing murder. "Congratulations, you've finally cracked. You hate everyone and want them to die screaming."

"I humbly request that Sarge be fired out of a cannon and into the nearest supernova."

"I don't have a MAC cannon on standby." Reach snorted. "But I have something better that will calm your nerves in my base. Come on. Before you murder someone."

In reality, it wasn't so much that he was worried about Simmons staining his hands with someone else's blood. It was more of the fact that the Spartan did not want to deal with the headache it would cause. Red Team would be thrown into disarray and then questions would spring up as to who took command, and the paperwork. Good Gods, the paperwork.

There were very few times where Reach agreed with the Covenant that humanity should be wiped from existence. The invention of paperwork was one of them.

Another time was when Tucker showed him a video consisting of two girls, a cup, and a serious lack of hygiene. Yes, sometimes the Covenant had a point about their whole genocidal campaign. A point on their heads, but a point nonetheless. Thankfully, he had plenty of brain bleach on standby. It went by the name of Jack Daniels.

And coffee. Glorious, hot coffee that could wash away any and all feelings of intense rage.

Reach led Simmons to his bunker, hoping that a mug of hot coffee and someone to vent to would calm Simmons down. Not because he wanted Sarge to live. It was to save perfectly fine ammunition from being wasted so indiscriminately. Simmons had already burned through half a magazine just shooting at the air. Granted, it was warranted; Sarge was driving everyone to the point of insanity with his antics. But still, they had a very limited amount of ammunition available. Maine and South could only raid so much at one time and with them babysitting the Blues thanks to Wash being currently comatose, it was doubtful that they'd managed to get anything done today.

It was for the better. Wash desperately needed to sleep before he started committing war crimes.

And he needed to stop letting his dick do all the thinking.

Simmons let out a soft groan at the sight of Reach's bunker. "Y-you have a roof...a proper roof. You don't ever have to worry about getting washed into the corner every time it rains." He sniffled. "It's beautiful."

Reach rolled his eyes, the heavy titanium doors sliding open after he punched in the code. "Yes, I haven't been idle while you lot have all been playing house. Do you seriously think I'd be able to convince Tex to sleep in a leaky old shed?" She'd throw the world's worst fit and leave no survivors. She nearly had his head for merely pointing it out to her.

Her exact words were, "I swear to fucking God if you make me sleep in that steaming pile of horse shit, I will rip off your arms and legs, chew them up, and spit them all over your stinking carcass."

Tex could probably pull it off, too. And that may or may not have given him a bit of a fear boner at the time.

"No," Simmons admitted. "And are those doors made out of battleship armor?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Reach led him inside his command center and Simmons took a seat in the closest chair. The Spartan handed him a thermos and a clean mug he stole from the bridge, offering it to him. "Drink up."

Simmons graciously took the steaming mug and raised it to his lips. He took a slow drink and quivered. "O-oh my god...did I just lose my virginity?" A tear rolled down his cheek and he cradled the mug in his hands. "Why is this so good?"

"Because sometimes, all you need is hot coffee." Reach poured himself a mug and took a seat, unclipping the dead birds that were dangling from his armor. They flopped onto the floor and he pushed them aside. He'd deal with the plucking later. "Now. Talk to me. I doubt it's just Sarge."

"It's mostly him, but Grif hasn't helped much either." Simmons sighed and set his mug down to put his head in his hands. "Not only is his laziness worse than ever, but he keeps me up all night masturbating into socks! SOCKS! We don't even have an internet connection! What the hell is he masturbating to!? And Sarge is...he's Sarge! Not to mention Lopez 2.0!"

Reach stared and started to snicker.

"His power switch is on his crotch!" Simmons whined. "It's...why are you laughing!? This is serious! I don't want to have to give a robot a handjob just to make it shut up! I'll never have people stop questioning my sexuality or worse, try and get me and Donut together! Did you know he dedicates an hour each day to have wine and cheese?"

Reach broke into loud laughter, nearly spilling hot coffee all over his crotch in the process. He set his mug down and clutched his chest. "I think I needed that. Thanks."

Simmons pouted and folded his arms. "Are you done laughing at me?"

"For now." Reach smirked and looked at Simmons' now empty mug. "Another?"

"Oh Gods yes, please..."

"What are they doing?" Felix asked.

Locus growled and glared in his direction. "I'm getting tired of your games, Felix."

"You have the fucking sniper rifle; I can't see shit. Don't get mad because I'm not going to just sit here and play with my dick." Asshole.

Locus let out a heavy sigh and reigned in his temper. Out of the two of the mercenaries, he was always the cooler headed one. Felix was brash, loud, and had a flair for the dramatic. Locus much preferred quick efficiency, especially on the job. It was why Control insisted on partnering them together but making sure they kept apart for most of the time. Sadly, this was not one of those fantastic times away from Felix.

"The Freelancer agents are standing around talking," he said slowly, using smaller words for Felix's brain to compute them. "That's what they were doing when you asked me five minutes ago, and the five minutes before that. So five minutes from now, when you ask me what they're doing, my answer is going to be the same. They're still standing there, and they're still talking!"

Felix fell silent and Locus rolled his eyes, looking back through the scope of his sniper rifle and satisfied that he managed to get his loud-mouthed partner to just shut up.

The blissful, beautiful silence was short-lived.

"What are they talking about?"

"Rarrrgh!"

Agent Washington, the current acting captain of Blue Team, slowly blinked his eyes open and found himself in bed. That was normal. What wasn't normal was being strapped down to his bed and unable to move. Last he checked, he didn't have any major injuries that required it. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, the faces of South and Maine floated into view.

"He's awake," South said.

Maine growled and undid the straps, letting Wash sit up. The black-haired Freelancer yawned and ruffled his hair, feeling much more refreshed than he had in a long time. "How long was I out?"

"Surprisingly, twelve hours," South replied. "Don't even think about apologizing; you needed it before you went on a murderous rampage. Now go and get something to eat. You have to be starving."

Wash opened his mouth to say otherwise when his treacherous stomach rumbled loud enough for all three Freelancer agents to hear. He glared down at the floor in shame and South let out a sigh. "You're a damn handful, Wash..."

South left, leaving the acting captain alone with the mute force of nature that was called Maine.

"...got any beer?" Wash asked hopefully.

Maine hissed.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, Dad. I'll eat first." The blue armored Freelancer grumbled as he walked into the makeshift kitchen he had installed. Well, he hooked it up to the generator connecting them to their shipwreck at least. Maine took all the credit for lugging the stove from the ship itself, seeing as he was the only one capable of lifting the damn thing without pulling every muscle in his chest. Seriously, was he once a Spartan candidate or something? He had to be.

It was never brought up by anyone in the Freelancer program, not even by Reach himself. Most people when they saw Maine without the armor assumed he was big naturally. Most people didn't notice the ugly surgical scars that covered most of his upper body and down his legs.

"Hey, Maine? I know this might be personal for you, but were you in the military prior to joining Project Freelancer?" Washington dared to ask.

Maine looked at him with a curious growl.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that there is no way in hell you're this massive normally." Wash winced when he heard Tucker's loud laughter from next door and pinched his brow with a sigh. "And now the aqua idiot thinks I'm asking about your dick size. I really should have worded that better."

"You better not be hitting on my man, now," South called helpfully from outside. "I might have to kill you."

"I'm not!" Wash's cheeks burned red and he glared at Maine, the brute of a man roaring with laughter. "Dammit! Don't you start too!"

"So, how soon are you going to crossdress for him?"

"Arrrgggh!" Wash tugged at his hair in frustration. "How many of my closest friends are assholes!?"

"YO!"

Wash turned around, looked at South, Maine, and Tucker all smirking with their hands raised to show their support for their team leader.

The black-haired man groaned in despair and let his head fall into his hands. "I knew it. I'm surrounded by assholes." He mourned the lack of coffee. He also mourned not being dead so he didn't have to deal with this shit.

Maine saved him from further humiliation by offering him a steaming hot cup of what was presumably the strongest coffee they could raid. Wash took it, waiting for one of them to say he was drinking motor oil, and he looked at it suspiciously. "There isn't a dick in this, is there?"

"No you jackass." Tucker rolled his eyes. "Reach came by about an hour ago and figured you'd want some. He's been busy dealing with the Reds, so yeah. Coffee was needed. Also, you might want to check on Caboose. He's been staring at a wall for the past day and he really needs someone to talk to." Great. Way to ruin delicious coffee.

"I'll do it after I eat," Washington said with a sigh. "How bad is it?"

...

"Dude, it's bad."

"Fuck my life..."

This day was going to get worse, he just knew it.

Donut hummed a cheerful tune as he watered his flower garden, smiling at how well his sunflowers were growing. He didn't know what to expect for plant growth on Valhalla, but it was amazing. Good temperatures, an endless supply of crisp and invigorating water, and he even had a good friend along for the ride. Another one of the troopers who sought out a nice quiet life without any of the silliness of his teammates came to join him, though he wasn't completely sold on the flower garden. He would come around in time.

They all did eventually. For the most part. If he didn't count the angry and irritable Freelancer people. So rude.

Donut finished watering his flowers and just in time. An alarm pinged in his suit and he perked up. "Oh! My wine and cheese!"

The pink (or was it lightish red?) armored soldier ran back into the modest hovel he called a home, passing by the scarecrow he made. "Hi Lopez! How's it going!?"

"Chinga tu puta madre," Lopez (or rather, his head) responded. Whatever that meant.

Donut didn't know, but he wasn't going to let that rain on his parade. "It is rather nice out, isn't it? I thought you'd like it out here with the birds."

"Pandejo."

When Donut entered his hovel for his wine and cheese, he saw Doc was already setting up the glasses. The now retired medic didn't have anything to really do, seeing as he never actually passed any medical exams and the UNSC only wanted the intelligent medics. "Hey Doc."

"Hey," Doc returned in a bored voice, holding out the phone. "You got a phone call by the way."

"I do? Who is it? Oh no, let me guess! Is it someone nice or rude?"

"They sound like they're stuck in eternal torment and want someone else to deal with whatever's going on," Doc replied with a yawn. "I'm going to catch some sleep."

"Oh! Did they leave a name?" Donut asked before he could leave.

"Yeah. Said their name was...I think it was Felix or something? Sounds like an asshole."

"Well tell him I'm busy! He can call back when I'm done with my wine and cheese!" Donut huffed.

Felix's hand fell from the transponder on his helmet. "He hung up on me."

Locus remained silent. Mainly because he could not care less. He was too old for this shit.

"He. Hung. Up. On. Me," Felix repeated, pausing between each word.

Locus imagined himself on a nice sandy beach surrounded by beautiful women and a coconut cocktail in his hand, enjoying the ocean breeze and massages. Anywhere but here. By here, he meant within five feet of his partner.

"Wine and cheese!?" Felix let out a strangled scream and his hands flashed up to the combat knife strapped to the front of his scout armor. He threw it into the jungle angrily and seethed. "Who the fuck even does that anymore!? This isn't 1800s France!"

Locus sighed and wished he could fire Felix out of a cannon and into an erupting volcano without getting an earful from Control. 'I hate him.'

'I hate all of them.'

"FELIX! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

A/N: Nope. These two do not get along. At all. And it is funny to write them both being assholes in their own ways.