Disclaimer: I own only Marly and a laptop. Flowdie's personality and the altered Red Team(AKA Project Red) might be considered mine. As well as parts of Doughnut's backstory. Or, any backstory really.
Episode 11: Head Shot!
Church met Tucker at the other end of the teleporter. "Are you okay Tucker?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Tucker said, a little grouchy, before turning to Blue Base where Caboose was hesitating. "Come on Caboose!" he called.
"Does it hurt?" Caboose called back.
"No, not at all!" Tucker answered.
"Okay! Here I come!" Caboose yelled, then ran through the teleporter. Church turned to Tucker.
"Does it hurt for real?" he asked. When Tucker answered, Church could easily imagine he was smirking nastily.
"Oh~ho yeah. Big time." A moment later, Caboose came through.
"Ouchies!" he whined. To be honest, Tucker and Church couldn't tell if he said 'ouchies' or 'oh geezes.' But it didn't really matter, because Caboose was turning around, kinda slow, then said, "you lied to me." He said it in such a way, you'd think he had been betrayed by his brother.
/*/
Up in Marley's space craft, Flowers and Marley both fell over laughing. "The delivery!" Flowers gasped.
"I know! These guys are so funny! Even if they get hurt, they manage to make it funny! And Caboose... Caboose is a master. More than a little simple and likely having sustained quite a bit of brain damage, but a master none the less. And a decent sniper, when he puts his mind to it."
"Ya know, I'm kinda glad I got to watch from here. Thanks Marley."
"No problem Flowdie. It's my job to help others."
/*/
Sarge noticed movement near the center of the canyon and called Lopez up with the sniper rifle. "Do ya see something out there?" he asked the silent droid. While Lopez was looking with the scope, Sarge decided to call down to his other soldiers who were, oddly enough, arguing over how to pronounce the word 'both.' It kinda sounded like Grif was saying 'bolth.' Sarge shrugged it off. Sounding kinda like a Wisconsin or Illinois accent to him, and a man's accent was no arguing matter. "Grif! Quite your yammering and get up here!" Sarge called, interrupting the rather inane argument. Unknown to him, Tex was silently thanking him. O'Malley was just chanting 'kill kill kill' in her head. It wasn't helping her desire to return the pistol whip to the face the orange one had boasted about giving her. At all. "Need some help. Got some more of those special ops fellows headed toward the base." Grif and Simmons both moved to where they could see Sarge.
"As in, more than one?" Grif asked, surprised. What were at least three Spec Ops troopers doing in Blood Gulch? There was no value in the canyon at all! "Uh, maybe we should both go sir."
"Boooth." Simmons said, emphasizing the lack of an 'l' sound in the word. A sound which Grif almost added. Grif sighed.
"Seriously man, like a prat," he told the other soldier.
"Well well. Another brilliant idea from the think tank!" Sarge called down. Dex reprimanded himself for speaking without thinking. And acting a coward. "Why don't you both come up? Leave the prisoner alone? We can just put her on the honor system, have her guard herself."
"Good point sir," Grif sighed.
"You're gosh darn right it is! Now get your hide up here. We got just enough time for me to spray paint the bullseye on your back. Uh, by bullseye, I of course mean camouflage. Now move it cupcake!" Sarge yelled. Grif sighed.
"Yeah. I'll be right up." As he watched the orange armored form leave, Simmons gave a little sigh himself. It wasn't really fair how Grif got treated. Sure he was lazy and at the very least mildly irresponsible, but he wasn't really a bad guy. Just lazy and messy and not the best soldier.
/*/
Dex ran around the base, headed toward the roof. Of course, he wasn't doing this quietly. At least, not in his head. He was rather put out that he got sent out to face two Spec Ops guys. I mean, really! Out of the five soldiers there, he was the one sent out? Sure Sarge was the kind of leader to sit back and direct, and Doughnut was on light duty, and Lopez was the only mechanic, but there was still Simmons! Oh, but of course, Sarge liked Simmons didn't he? Oh yes, Teacher's Pet becomes Sargent's Pet. How quaint. Ah. Here was the ramp. Lovely. At least he might have a chance to use the sniper rifle, even if it was just a glorified telescope. When he got up there, Lopez handed over the sniper and Grif took up looking. For a moment, he thought he saw Church, but that couldn't be. Church was dead, and he doubted their rookie would take his armor. "I don't see any... uh oh. Yep. There's one," he said, spotting a black Spartan. This one was all black, no distinguishing marks whatsoever, so he knew it wasn't Marley, or that new guy she had, Hippie. Who was he? And... "Why is he just standing there?" Lopez shrugged and a moment later, the soldier turned, seemingly saw the base, and then hid behind the rock. Grif slowly looked up from the scope, and blinked. "Huh. That... was odd," he said, then returned to the scope, hoping to find the other one. Sarge had said there was more than one after all.
"They're definitely Special Ops," Sarge said. "I ain't seen troop movements this coordinated since- my days on SiHURCKGERURG!"
"Sarge?" Grif asked, turning around and lowering the sniper rifle in his hands. "Are you okay?"
"Uh? Who you talking to Red? Me?" Sarge asked, though he sounded like he was only pretending to have Sarge's Southern accent. Grif decided he could have a little fun with this and said,
"No. I'm talking to Lopez. Because, ya know, that's real rewarding." Lopez didn't even hesitate to attempt pistol whipping him. "Hey! That's my thing! No stealing Lopez," Grif chastised, as though speaking to an unruly teenager.
"Iugh, I'm fine," not-Sarge said. Grif quirked an eyebrow. Really? "I'm just... just so mad about these uh, these gosh darn Blues out here. See, I'm so gosh darn mad I could spit! Hugh ptt!" Grif blinked again.
"Um, sir? Did you just spit inside your own helmet?" he asked, just to be sure.
"Uh... yeah. I guess I did." Okay. That really didn't seem like Sarge. One last test, and then he'd radio Simmons.
"Permission to speak freely sir?" Dex asked, hoping that Sarge hadn't been switched out when his back was turned. Someone sneaking on top of the base, knocking Sarge out, striping him, donning his armor, and then hiding the body all in a few moments? That's... that's just too scary for words!
"Go ahead." 'IMPOSTER! But how'd he do it?' Dex pondered, pointing his gun at Sarge's knee.
"That's really fudging gross," Grif said, then opened a private channel to Simmons. "I think Sarge is possessed or something. If he comes down, don't do anything he says."
"Why?" Simmons asks, real slow like. Dex gave the inside of his helmet a blank look
"He spit in his helmet," he said dully.
"... What? Man that's gross," Simmons replied.
"That's what I told him," Dex relayed, as though it was a proclamation that the planet was about to get blown up.
"Say what?! He let you?!" Simmons squawked, now fearing for reality.
"Gave me permission to speak freely. Believe me now?" Dex asked.
"Yeah... I'll be careful," Simmons said, obviously shaken.
"Guess I can't ask for more. Grif out," Dex said, cutting the connection. "I sure hope nothing bad happens because I let Sarge go," he muttered, then slammed his forehead into his palm. "Darn it! I jinxed us!
/*/
Simmons had just finished his call with Grif when Sarge came around the corner. "Hey man. What's up yo?" the red Sargent... asked?
"Uuh?" Simmons questioned, turning around. "What's going on out there sir?" he asked, just to be sure. Of course, Sarge wasn't acting like Sarge and Grif had already warned him but... possession? Really?
"What the, why, nothing. Why would you ask me if something's wrong?" Sarge asked, sounding a little flustered. Rick narrowed his unseen eyes at his CO.
"It's a perfectly normal question in a time of war, sir," Simmons said, not lowering his gun. Grif was right, Sarge was acting weird. Sounded weird too, kinda like another voice was coming out of him, trying to talk with his accent. And failing. Miserably. Seriously, not even he was that bad at mimicking Sarge!
"Yeah well, you're starting to act kinda suspicious there, other red guy. So I'm... keeping my eye on you." Oh yeah. So not Sarge in that armor. But, just to be safe, non-lethal force.
"Sarge, I'm real sorry about this," Simmons said, firing a shot at Sarge's shoulder. The man dodged and hit him in the back of the head and his world went dark.
/*/
The fuzzing in Sarge's head stopped as he gave a great 'HURK' and his vision returned to see Simmons knocked out on the floor and the prisoner standing there calm as you please. "What in Sam Hill?! Where the... ? Who spit on my visor?!" he asked, rather disoriented. And disgusted if he's perfectly honest. Who spits inside their helmet?
"Tex, there's not much time to explain," a transparent specter began. Deciding it would be a great time to gather intel, Sarge decided to stay quite. "So I'm just gonna give you the summary here okay? I'm a spirit now, and I'm trapped in the physical world. I possessed this Red guy so that I could sneak into the base and rescue you while the rest of our guys run around in the middle of the canyon, dressed in black armor that they got from going through the teleporter" the... spirit... said. 'Oh, so that's what happened. Let's see how the prisoner reacts,' Sarge thought, shifting his gaze to the woman, Tex.
"Okay," she said.
"What? That's it? 'Okay?' You're not surprised by any of this?" the ghost asked.
"No. It all pretty much makes sense," Tex replied.
"Not even the whole, 'Church is a ghost' thing? That didn't do anything for ya?"
"I can see right through you, it's pretty obvious."
"Okay, well, let me hop back in this guy and we'll get out of here," Church said. 'Wait, no!' Sarge thought before his mind went fuzzy again and he lost the use of his eyes.
/*/
Grif watched, transfixed, as Sarge lead the prisoner outside. "What is he thinking?" Grif muttered, just before Sarge fell to the ground. "That son of a gun!" Dex exclaimed, swiveling the gun around in an attempt to find the Spec. Ops. sniper that just landed a headshot on his Sargent. "You're going down you rotten scoundrel," he growled. Two injuries to his team in one day? Dex was not happy, not happy at all. Marley and Flowdie were in for a rough time the next time they picked him up. That was when he saw the Spec. Ops. guys hightailing it out of there and Simmons running out of the base.
"Who made Sarge knock me out?!" the maroon soldier yelled, firing bursts at the running Spec. Ops.
"Atta boy Simmons, atta boy," Dex muttered, firing three rounds after the fleeing soldiers. He leapt off the top of the base and ran to Sarge. "Oh man, that's... wait. He's not gone yet," he said, kneeling beside Sarge's bleeding body. "Simmons! Get over here! Sarge's in a bad way!"
"What!? They got Sarge?!" Simmons yelled, running over.
"Yeah," Dex stated grimly. Rick ran his eyes over the bleeding head wound, then saw the bullet lodged just above his right eye.
"Looks like the energy shielding unit in his armor combined with his helmet robbed the bullet of most of it's penetrating power. If we remove the bullet, there's a chance he might pull through. It's slight, but it's a chance," he said. Dex nodded, then pulled out his emergency med kit.
"Exactly what I thought. Now hold his head steady, I don't fancy cutting him further than he already is," he said, pulling out the energy tweezers Marley had provided. Rick firmed his jaw and held his Sargent's head while Grif preformed a hasty field surgery. It was just one of those days.
/*/
The colors were washed out, the air was still, and his voice echoed like no-body's business when he yelled. Sarge had no idea what had happened, or where the base had gone, but he was pretty sure he was in Blood Gulch still. So, he did the logical thing in such a situation. He yelled "Hello, can anybody hear me!" over and over. After about the fifth call, somebody answered. It looked like a blue guy, but the color was faded.
"Holy cow! Will you stop yelling," he said, running up, "I'm here."
"What is this place?" Sarge asked. Hey, even if it was a Blue, it was somebody to talk to.
"Well... it's kinda... hard to explain. Um..." the blue guy trailed off, looking to the side for a moment before looking back. "You were shot in the head buddy. So, here ya are."
"Am I dead?" Sarge asked. Really, it was the only explanation, but darn if it wouldn't be disappointing.
"Are you dead?" the other guy repeated, sounding like he was actually thinking about it, but that might just have been the sarcasm. "Well. Yeah. That's how I ended up here."
"Are you some kind of angel?" Sarge asked. He wasn't sure if he was taking this seriously... or just messing with this weirdo Blue. Either way, it relieved the boredom.
"Am I an angel?" the Blue guy asked with a laugh. "Yeah, hem, yeah actually I am. I'm an angel. Um, do you want to go to heaven? Cause it's like, ten bucks to get in."
"Well I... I didn't really bring any... my wallet's back in the car..." Sarge stammered, deciding that even if he didn't buy in to all this, it was fun to at least play along.
"Hey, you don' have it there huh? Well uh, that's too bad. Pretty lousy reason to be sent to hell for all eternity," the Blue(angel?) guy remarked.
"I don't remember dying," Sarge pointed out, wondering if that was normal for people who got shot in the head.
"Yeah, that's my fault too. I was kinda possessing your body at the time that you were shot. Sorry 'bout that." 'Well this guy doesn't sound all that sorry about getting me shot in the head and stealing my memory! Oh wait... he's that darn dirty Blue ghost what took control of me! Darn dirty rotten scoundrel!' Sarge thought, glaring at the 'ghost' under his helmet.
"Now hold on a second, that ain't fair!" he shouted, because it really wasn't!
"Not fair?!" the other guy asked, getting irritated. "Yeah, join the freakin' club! I got shot by my own tank." 'Okay. Gotta admit, that is rather unfair,' Sarge admitted to himself, but of course he didn't say anything out loud.
"Target locked," a mechanical female voice said. Sarge followed the other guy, who he supposed was really Church, to see a large battle tank aiming it's cannon at Church.
"Oh ha ha. Very funny, Shelia," Church groused at the tank. "Shut up. Ya know I still haven't forgiven you. I didn't say you could talk to me yet. Go... get... go over to the base. Shoo shoo." The tank lowered it's cannon and trundled off, for all the world like a scolded dog. Suddenly, a section of the land began to waver like a heat mirage and Sarge saw Grif kneeling by his body, Simmons watching from above.
"Sarge! Don't you give up on me soldier! Do you hear me?! I'm ordering you...!" Grif yelled.
"Wait a second. Who's there?!" Sarge yelled, not sure if he was just seeing things or not.
"Looks like your guys are trying to save you," Church stated, watching impassively. Grif started hitting Sarge's chest with the butt of his gun.
"You gotta breath man! You gotta pull through!" Grif yelled as he hit the prone body, "come on Sarge!" Was that desperation in his voice? But no. Why would it be? Grif hated him! And the feeling was mutual! Wasn't it? But... if Grif really hated him... why was he trying so hard to save him? Ah! It was just so darn confusing! Time to fall back on what he knew.
"That is not the way you were trained to do that, Private!" Sarge yelled at the apparition.
"He can't hear you," Church stated apathetically.
"Grif, this isn't working. We have to try something else," Simmons said, watching Grif beat up Sarge's body.
"If he gives you mouth to mouth, I'm leaving," Church said, disgust creeping into his voice.
"Maybe you should give him mouth to mouth," Simmons suggested.
"I'm leaving," Church said, though he made no move to.
"I can't believe how hard they're trying to save me," Sarge said, getting all choked up.
"Why wouldn't they?" Church asked. "I mean, my team didn't but why wouldn't yours?"
"I thought they didn't like me," Sarge admitted.
"Aw, don't sell yourself short. I don't even know you and here I am about to guide you to heaven for only five bucks," Church said.
"Now hold on. If you're an angel, how come you ain't got no wings?" 'Heh. This is actually kinda fun. Though... I would rather like to live.'
"Because no-body rang a bell. Hahaha. Seriously, do you have the money or don't you?" Church(yeah, that was his name) demanded. Sarge wasn't listening. He was too busy focusing on the land of the living and all the things he'd miss being able to do. Like mess with Grif's head.
"Oh I feel the worst about Grif. I always made fun of him. I never even told him, he was my son," Sarge said, getting all choked up.
"No way. The orange guy is your son?" Church asked, interested despite himself.
"Nah. I just wanted to mess with him one last time. But now I'll never get that chance." And darn it but he was really upset at the missed opportunity!
"He's breathing! I saved Sarge!" Grif exclaimed happily.
"I'm what?!" Sarge exclaimed in shock, staring at his laziest soldier in shock. Had he really just said what Sarge thought he said?
"He's what?!" Church exclaimed in equal shock.
"Well I'll be a monkey's... they saved me," Sarge said in awe as the odd, echoy plain faded.
"No! Wait! We need to even the sides!" Church called.
"Thanks for yer help, wingless angel fella. Will I remember any of this?"
"Yes! But only if you pay me two dollars!" Church called.
/*/
Seeing Sarge get up and cough was a relief for Grif. He hadn't been sure that would work. "What?! What happened here?" Sarge asked, looking from Simmons to Grif then back.
"Sir! You got shot in the head, so we took out the bullet, sewed you up, gave you CPR, and saved you sir," Simmons answered. Grif was just a little busy not whooping in exhilaration.
"I always believed in you Simmons," Sarge said. Simmons gave off the feeling of being just a little sheepish.
"Ugh... actually... it's Grif you should be thanking. He did all the work," the maroon soldier admitted.
"Grif?" Sarge asked, disbelieving. Grif, the lazy idiot, did all the work... of saving him from death?
"Yes sir," Simmons confirmed.
"Grif, why the heck would you give someone CPR for a bullet wound in the head?! That doesn't make a lick of sense!" The orange soldier sighed heavily.
"You're welcome sir," Grif said sulkily, pulling himself to his feet and brushing the dirt off his knees.
"I mean it's all so darn inconsistent! What would you do if they stabbed me in the toe, rub aloe vera on my neck?!" Sarge demanded, confused by their insane methods. Grif sighed, straightening his back and giving his CO a level look.
"Actually sir, I'd wash it with Vodka then bind it with strips of cloth until we could get you to proper medical help," Grif replied before turning on his heel and walking inside. "I'm gonna go check on Doughnut now, since a bump on the head is so much more dangerous than a bullet wound," he said sarcastically, leaving Sarge and Simmons to stare after him. Simmons felt his respect for the orange soldier go up a notch... as well as his 'Is-Dex' evidence poll, but he ignored that last one. He didn't care if he was in denial, Grif and Dex could not be the same person!
"Don't you cheek me soldier!" Sarge yelled after him. Grif just waved a hand lazily in the air, tossing,
"Whatever you say sir," over his shoulder as he did. Simmons couldn't help but chuckle. Sarge rounded on him.
"Are you insubordinatein' now too?!" he asked.
"No sir. I was merely appreciating the dark humor Grif displayed. Permission to speak plainly sir?" Rick said, completely relaxed, not to mention amused.
"Denied!" Sarge barked. Rick blinked, then shrugged.
"Alright. Maybe you should let up on Grif. If you insult him for doing well, you are only going to encourage rebellion. Good day sir," he said, speaking his mind anyway and walking away from his stunned Sargent. Like a boss.
"What is going on here?" Sarge asked himself.
"Your team is finally coming together, Sarge," Marley said, blurring into view. "It wouldn't hurt to listen to Simmons and pay closer attention to the emotions in Grif's voice. You might just get better quality work out of him if you do," she said before sitting him down. "Now sit still and let me look over this wound."
"Doughnut..." Sarge tried, but Marley's grip on him was too strong.
"I've already checked him. He's good. You, however, are less so. I must say though, for the limited resources and experience your men have with such things, they did rather well," Marley said, poking the tender wound. Sarge hissed and fell silent. Perhaps Marley and Simmons were right. He wasn't the best listener. A few minutes later, Marley patted his head lightly. "That's you done. I suggest you get some rest. The Blues won't be making a move again today. Probably not for another few days. Take it easy and let yourself recover. You're going to need it," she told him before blurring back into the surrounding area. Sarge sighed and leaned against the base's wall, closing his eyes and drifting off into a natural nap.
/*/
Meanwhile, Simmons was fiddling, once again, with the broken teleporter Marley had dumped on him. "Sarge is rather confused you know," said Spartan's voice said before she blurred into view, leaning against Simmons' door.
"How'd you get in here?" Simmons asked curiously. She shouldn't have been able to get through the door without alerting him by opening it.
"A woman has her ways," Marley purred. Simmons could imagine the mad grin on her face. He sighed and set the teleporter aside.
"Why are you here, Marley?" he asked, turning his full attention on her.
"Can't a girl just drop in to say 'hi?'" she asked, sashaying up to where Simmons was sitting at his workstation. His helmet was to the side of the workstation, so when Simmons sighed and dropped his head down, his rust red hair hid his clear green eyes.
"Not to me, and doubly not when it's you. Now, why are you here?" he asked. Marley huffed, but sat down.
"You really got Sarge thinking, Simmons. He's finally beginning to question his treatment of Grif. And I have to say, I'm rather pleased with how you've finally started standing up for Grif. What baffles me... is why you haven't been standing up for him before now," she said. Simmons sighed and looked into the distance, like he was staring through the walls of the base.
"Before now... it was easier. Grif was... he was Grif. But now... more and more... I've been seeing Dex. He'll do something, move a certain way, and I have to remind myself that the armor's solid orange, not accented with gray. He'll say something and I'll have to tell myself that he's Grif, not Dex. But even with that... when Grif gets reamed out, I keep putting Dex in his place and it just... feels wrong. Before, he really did seem like an idiot but now... now I'm the idiot. And it... I... Grif's treatment by the whole team is wrong. Except for when he blew up the Warthog. But even then, it was a little overboard. We honestly didn't know about the tank. And that was one of the days I really had to tell myself it was Grif, not Dex," Simmons explained. Marley nodded. Grif had been acting more like his Agent Persona lately. She figured it had something to do with the legitimate threats to his team that had been popping up with more regularity these past few days. It was kind of expected actually.
"I see. Well, keep up the good work and... what you told Sarge was true. Remember that, pay attention to the emotion in a soldier's voice, and you might actually make a decent CO some day," she told the maroon soldier before clapping him on the shoulder and standing.
"Where are you headed now?" Simmons asked. Marley chuckled softly and Simmons just knew she was grinning again.
"I'm headed to see a man about a spar. I've already checked on Doughnut by the way. He was asleep when I dropped by. He's doing just fine. I also approve of the treatment you gave Sarge," she said. Simmons sighed.
"You know as well as I it was Grif who brought Sarge back from the brink," he said, giving her a look. Marley sighed as well.
"Actually... He's who I'm going to check on. He seemed a little... upset over how Sarge treated him, and after he made such an effort to save the man," she revealed. Simmons sighed again, slumping a little at the reminder.
"Yeah. Sarge was unnecessarily cruel with that. That's part of the reason I stood up to him. Plus, and this is going to sound crazy, I felt like Rick was screaming in my ear, telling me he was out of line," he said, running his neck uncomfortably. Marley sighed and gave him a quick one-armed hug.
"I understand Simmons. I don't think you have Split Personality Disorder, but I'm afraid it's teetering on the edge. Just... go along with Rick's instincts a bit more and don't fight with yourself. Maybe... maybe it'll help," she said uncertainly. Simmons shrugged.
"It's not that bad, just a little odd is all," Rick said. Marley was glad her helmet hid the uncertain look in her eyes and the fact that she was chewing on her lip. It was a noticeable shift, what had just happened. Simmons always stood straight, but he was stiff, awkward. Rick wasn't. He stood perfectly straight and perfectly comfortable. Simmons was always just a little nervous, but Rick... She had never seen him with his helmet off when he was in Agent Mode, but now it was obvious that when he went Agent, there was a change in his face. That smirk was just a little to confident for Simmons. Even his voice changed, granted it was slight, but it was there. It got a little deeper and a little rougher, like Simmons' nervousness made his voice a little squeakier than it really was.
"If you say so, Rick," she said, putting emphasis on the name she called him. He blinked and frowned, and even that didn't look like a Simmons expression.
"That bad huh?" he asked, then sighed and he tensed back up, nervous demeanor back in full force. "I'm not always aware when the shift happens. But I'm fairly sure... Fairly sure I'm fully Rick when in a combat situation."
"Well, separate personality or not, I'm glad you're fully Rick when under fire. It wouldn't be good if you froze because of nerves," Marley told him. He sighed again and waved her out of the room, looking like a rather weary mix between Simmons and Rick. Psychological considerations aside, Marley had to admit, it wasn't an unpleasant mix, though it was still odd. There was still too big a disconnect.
"Just... go. I'm fine. Or I will be anyway," he said with a sigh, though he tried to give her a smile. She had a feeling it didn't turn out quite as confident as he'd have liked.
"Fine, fine... Ya know, that reminds me of a movie quote," Marley said. Simmons quirked an eyebrow questioningly. "'Fine stands for Freaked-out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional,'" Marley revealed before vanishing in a ripple of distorted light. Simmons sighed as he closed the door once more before resting his forehead against the cold metal.
"Way to make me feel... fine," he whispered before turning back to the teleporter. He was almost finished with it, and didn't real right leaving it be.
/*/
Marley found Grif at his hidden gym, walloping the punching bag he'd appropriated. His brown eyes, which many would say were of a dark amber color, were intent and focused. Piercing. Marley smiled at him, and made her entrance. "Care for a sparring partner?" she asked. Grif spun around, hands up in a prefect guard position before she even finished. She chuckled and started to shuck off her armor. Grif huffed, but he was smiling, eyes soft and fond.
"So, what brings you to my humble gym?" he asked.
"I'll take that as a 'yes please, Madam Black,'" she said slyly, sliding into a combat stance in her under armor. Grif chuckled, throwing a solid punch at her shoulder. She rolled with it and slapped his head with the back of her hand.
"No, seriously, what brings you here?" he asked, once he'd come up from the roll he'd preformed to minimize the damage done by Marley's hit.
"Just checking up on my favorite weapons specialist," Marley said, dropping low and sweeping at Grif's legs. He jumped and kicked out at her head, missing as she rolled forward before landing a light punch to the small of his back.
"Favorite huh? And why are you holding back?"
"Yes, favorite," Marley said, falling back and kicking out with both legs as she supported herself with her arms. "And I'm only holding back my strength, not my skill. You're just better than you thought." Grif huffed out a laugh, dancing lightly on his toes, eyes flicking here and there looking for an opening.
"Me? A decent fighter? Now you're just pulling my leg," he said, suddenly lunging forward toward her right side, before shifting and swinging at her head. Marley blocked and countered with a swift jab followed up with a side kick that forced some separation between them.
"Come now Dex! You're selling yourself short!" Marley smiled. Grif shook his head, kicking out at her.
"No, I'm really not. I was one of the worst when it came to hand to hand in basic," he said. Marley chuckled.
"Well, you've certainly improved since then. Due in no small part to the training I've put you through. I was never the best, but I was always a fair hand at it," she said, just a touch smug. Grif huffed, just before Marley lashed out with a lighting fast combo and laid him out on his back. "I think you're the one holding back, Dex. Still thinking like Private Grif. I came for a spar with Agent Orange," she said, pouting lightly at him. Grif huffed and pushed himself back to his feet. He rolled his shoulders and bounced on his toes a few times before centering himself and flashing her a cheeky grin.
"Round two, Marley?" Dex asked. Marley laughed and made the first move. This round lasted a little longer, but still ended with Dex on his back. By now, the sun had set. "It's late," Dex said, accepting Marley's hand and allowing her to help him up. "I should get going," he added, already headed toward his makeshift shower. Marley sighed, but put her armor back on.
"Good spar, Dex. One last thing before I leave... don't be afraid to care. A compassionate CO is often more successful than one who couldn't care less," she said when the man came back, dressed in his under armor rather than his gym clothes. "Take it from someone who knows," she added, putting her helmet back on and vanishing completely into the night. Dex shook his head and put his armor back on before trudging back to the red base. When he got there, the rest of the team was eating dinner.
"Told you he'd show up just when we were about to eat," Simmons said smugly.
"Grif! Get in here!" Sarge yelled, brandishing a BBQ rib. Grif quirked an eyebrow.
"First, where did you find ribs? Second, since when did we have BBQ sauce? Or a grill for that matter?" he asked, already making himself a plate.
"Are you questioning a superior officer Private?!" Sarge barked, slamming a fist against the table. Grif shrugged.
"Depends, superior in the field or superior in intelligence?" he asked, pulling out his seat with a faint smirk.
"Just sit down and eat your dinner Grif. It saves on head aches," Simmons said, popping a forkful of... something... into his mouth. Grif shrugged, but threw the other man a smirk before sitting down.
"Aye aye, chief budget officer sir!" Simmons growled and swatted at him, but there didn't seem to really be any heat behind it. Grif laughed and settled in for a decent dinner and celebrated surviving another day.
/*/
When Marley returned to her ship, she was greeted by Flowdie. "Find what you were looking for?" he asked. She shook her head with a fond smile, taking her helmet off.
"Sarge and Doughnut are doing well, Simmons is close to having split personality disorder as well as the truth about Grif, Doughnut's pouting about getting stuck on flag duty, and Sarge is thinking about how he treats his team after Simmons finally stood up for Grif. Ya know... I'm rather looking forward to their reactions when they find out Project Red is the Blood Gulch Red Team. Especially Doughnut. He's getting the burgundy armor, as you know, but command isn't sending him the same color."
"What color are they sending him?" Flowdie asked. Marley grinned in a distinctly evil manner.
"Not telling~!" she sang, heading back into her living quarters. Flowdie groaned. No way was he getting anything more out of her today.
"You... are evil Marley," he said quietly to the still air around him before he too retired to his living quarters.
/?/
A/N: and Simmons sticks up for Grif! Honestly, Grif gets the short end of the stick a lot in the series, and so you get Simmons telling Sarge off for picking on his so much, especially when Grif does something right. Until next time, Caio.
A/N 2: Edited from it's original format to fit the rest of the story, flow better, and have better spelling. You are welcome. 8/16/16