Disclaimer: I only own Marly and a laptop.
Episode 12: Armor Troubles, Grenades, and Nick-Names
Doughnut opened the crate command had sent him and groaned. Pink. It was pink. Why, in the name of all that was good in this universe, would command send him PINK ARMOR?! He shook his head. It wasn't pink, he told himself. It was just... faded. Yeah! It was just pale red! Not pink. He put it on and looked at himself in the mirror, helmet under his arm. Short cropped, slightly messy sandy blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, boyish face, average shoulders bearing up heavy pink metal plating stared back at him from the polished surface. "This is ridiculous. I look like a Ken doll," he sighed, dropping his head in the face of the not-so-manly image staring back at him. "NO!" he told himself firmly, jerking his head back up, determination alight in his eyes. "It's lightish red!" he told himself just as firmly, putting his light-ish red helmet on. Denial firmly in place, he made his way outside. "Dude! This is sweet! Command was so happy I got the blue flag, they gave me my own color armor!" he told Grif and Simmons. They shared a look before Grif spoke up.
"Uh, hey Doughnut?" he said, sounding a little... confused.
"What?" Doughnut asked, dreading that they'd tell him it wasn't lightish red.
"About your armor..." Simmons picked up, sounding even more awkward than usual.
"What about it?" That dread from a moment ago? Twice as strong. Doughnut began pleading in his head, 'Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it!'
"How do I put this? Your armor is, um, it's a little, uh, um... Grif? Uh, you wanna help me out here?" the maroon soldier asked, apparently uncomfortable about bursting Doughnut's bubble. The mantra in the Private's head grew more frantic.
"It's pink! Your armor is freakin' pink!" Grif stated, sounding a little shocked. 'NO! HE SAID IT! HE SAID IT! DENY! DENY DENY!' Doughnut's mind screamed.
"Yeah, that's it. Pink," Simmons confirmed. 'GAH! NOT BOTH OF THEM! DENY HARDER! DENY HARDER!'
"Pink?!" Doughnut echoed, desperate hysteria building, "It's not pink!" 'Must deny, must deny, deny or go mad!'
"Pink!" Grif repeated, a little firmer. 'Not pink. Not pink. Deny! Deny! Save sanity!'
"Yeah, definitely pink," Simmons said, nodding. 'No! No! Lies! Lies! Not pink!' Doughnut forced himself not to hyperventilate. 'Deny deny deny!' his mind yelled at him, 'it's the only way to stay sane!'
"You guys are color blind. Why would they give me pink armor?" he asked. 'They hate you. No! They don't! It was all they had! Deny the pink, deny the pink!'
"Hey! Don't ask, don't tell," Grif said. Doughnut glared at him('Not gay not gay do not kill do not kill!'). And here he thought they were getting along. Jerk.
"That's not funny," Simmons said, trying to defend the younger soldier.('He may live. Grif must die. No! Do. Not. Kill. Teammate!') Grif chuckled lightly, like he was trying, and failing, to hold it back.
"It's a little funny," he said. 'Must. Not. Team. Kill!'
"Look at it! It's not pink!" Doughnut denied again, fighting back the voice in the back of his head telling him to beat Grif to a bloody pulp. "It's like a... a lightish red."
"Guess what," Grif began, still sounding highly amused, "they already have a color for lightish red. You know what it's called? Pink!" he finished. Simmons nodded off to the side, hammering it in just a little more. Denial constantly being beaten down, there was only one thing Doughnut could say.
"I hate you guys." 'Must. Not. Kill. Teammate! Will. Get. Court marshaled! Law is rather gray on the matter of kneecaps. And laxatives. Oh! Lemon in his orange juice! Rocks in his bed! Mud in his shampoo! Oh, the marvelous, dastardly deeds I can still get away with~,' Doughnut mused darkly, glaring at Grif.
"Well hello, dirtbags," Sarge said, running on on top of the base followed closely by Lopez. Seeing Doughnut in his pink armor, he added, "and a fine hello to you, madam."
"It's light red," Doughnut insisted, though he was fairly sure he could hear Grif laughing at him. Sure it could have been Simmons, but Grif seemed more inclined to laugh than the IT wizard. 'Spiders in their beds. Snakes in their boots. Worms in their food. Lemon in their drinks. Laxatives in their sweets.'
"Don't get your panties in a wad there, Barbie," Sarge retorted. Even Simmons had to stifle a snicker at that, though both he and Grif had a feeling that if they could have seen Doughnut's face, they wouldn't have been laughing. "Do ya have a package for me?"
"Package?" Dex muttered as Doughnut nodded and pulled out a piece of techno... metally... something.
"Yes sir," the private said, holding it up.
"Excellent," Sarge said, moving to take the package from Doughnut.
"They said this speech unit should work for Lopez," the private informed the Sargent.
"Speech unit?" Grif questioned as Doughnut handed said item over with a 'here you go.'
"Affirmative. Command was fresh out of speech units when I started building Lopez, but once I get this baby installed, I'll finally have someone intelligent to talk to," Sarge said sharply. "No offense Simmons."
"Oh, none taken," Simmons drawled. "I know you think everyone younger than you can't possibly be all that intelligent. After all, how could we when we haven't experienced as much as you?" Doughnut chuckled appreciatively at the comeback. It may not have been the best, but the delivery was near perfect.
"Cheeky private," Sarge muttered, setting about installing the speech unit.
"Wait... so Lopez really is a robot?" Grif asked.
"Of course. Didn't the not speaking and the drinking motor oil thing tip you off?" Simmons said. Grif shrugged.
"Well I was suspicious, but I thought he might have just been the silent macho type. Seems pretty stupid now I think about it, there's limits to those kinds of things ya know. It's just... I've got this... thing... about androids," he said, a hint of fear in his voice. Simmons shivered.
"Betazoid 771," he muttered before pushing the memories of that particular misadventure out of his head. "Hey sir? You really should ground yourself before handling that card," he said, noticing Sarge moving to insert the speech unit into Lopez.
"How come?" Sarge asked, having stilled his activity to watch his men.
"Well, static can damage fragile equipment like that," Simmons said, nodding toward the speech unit.
"Aw, that's an urban legend they used to sell those stupid bracelets," Sarge retorted. Simmons shared a look with Grif.
"Sir, who's the IT guy around here?" Simmons asked with all the weary dignity of an overworked housewife lecturing her three year old.
"Uh... you?" Sarge asked, now looking like he was considering it.
"Exactly. So, ya gonna listen to me, or are you going to be like Grif and mess up," the maroon soldier asked.
"Low blow man," Grif muttered.
"Yeah, but being compared to you might just get him to listen," Simmons shot back.
"Fair enough," Grif relented. Doughnut was now questioning the over all sanity level of the canyon. And their CO in particular. Just what had Grif done to deserve such hate? He really wasn't all that bad to be honest, a bit rude and lazy, but he had some good points every now and again.
"Fine," Sarge relented, and grounded himself before putting the speech unit in. "Done and done. Lopez, active speech unit." There was a digital fuzzing sound, then a thoroughly bored mechanical voice began to speak.
"Good morning, my speech functions have been activated. Model number 010113..."
"Can we skip the model number?" Doughnut asked.
"Very well. My name is Lopez," the robot responded.
"Yeah, like we didn't already know that," Grif commented. Lopez raised his gun threateningly.
"Good job Princess Peach," Sarge said. Doughnut growled.
"Seriously, for the last time, not! PINK!" Simmons took pity on the poor guy and patted him on the shoulder.
"Sorry Doughnut, but the armor's pink. Just put up with the teasing for a few days to three weeks and it'll all be over," he said. Doughnut sighed, slouching just a little.
"If you say so."
"I know so, because if they keep picking on you past three weeks, I'll beat 'em up for you," Simmons said, pulling out one of his knives and flipping it about with great skill and dexterity. Doughnut didn't know if he should be touched by the gesture... or freaked out. 'Yeah, he may live. But spiders in the bed isn't out of the question. Just make sure they're harmless. Or maybe worms. Frogs?'
/*/
Lopez kept chattering on, though no-one really cared what he was saying. "Man, first he doesn't speak at all, now we can't get him to shut up. Why is he even telling us this?" Grif asked.
"Why are you asking me?" Simmons asked back.
"Well, you said it yourself. You're the IT guy around here," Grif pointed out. Simmons shook his head.
"IT, not robotics," he clarified. Grif blinked.
"Wait... there's a difference?" he asked, unclear on just what the distinction was. He was a weapons expert and wheel jockey, not a rocket scientist.
"Yes, now shush. I'm trying to remember how to code a video virus," Simmons shot back. Grif quirked an eyebrow. 'Well that was a Rick comment,' he thought, eying his teammate contemplatively.
"Why are you doing that?" he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.
"So that the next time the Blues annoy me, I can put a virus in their computers that makes it so that all they can see when they turn on their HUDs is a video of you dancing the macarana," Simmons informed him with a hint of malicious glee. Grif was confused. How would Simmons have footage like that?
"You dance the macarana?" Doughnut piped up. He wanted to know where and when so he could avoid it... or maybe he should join in? He did have pink armor after all, it's be all too easy to play with people's minds like this. Hum... this bore more thought.
"Shut up!" Grif and Simmons chorused at the pink soldier who raised his hands and turned back toward the canyon. Grif threw his arm around Simmons' shoulders and pulled him around.
"I dance the macarana?" Grif asked, just a little confused.
"Well, you might. And really, it was just a suggestion. What else would I force upon them? Sarge cooing over the warthog? Singing to his shotgun?" Simmons asked, a little surprised by Grif's action. Not to mention his arm strength. 'I thought Grif was too lazy to work out,' he mused.
"More likely to happen than me dancing the macarana. And that video would go on for longer. More torment," Grif said, releasing the slightly taller man.
"Hum... yeah... OH! LAYERING! Every time they try to get rid of it, another video pops up! Yes... more torment. More work, but more pay off. Yes... we'd be able to hear their anguished cries from here!" Simmons replied, putting his confusion to the side as more dastardly thoughts and devious plots came to mind.
"... There's something seriously wrong with you, Private Simmons," Doughnut said lowly. "Something really, seriously, wrong."
"Thanks for that vote of confidence Doughnut," Simmons said, rolling his eyes at the younger man, though he wouldn't be able to see it. Grif chuckled as he leaded against the wall. This was Blood Gulch, these were his friends, and come what may, they were going to pull through. 'I'll make sure of it.'
/*/
A couple hours later, Simmons and Grif were standing on the base. Doughnut had gone off goodness knows where and Simmons had dragged Grif back from his favorite napping spot not too long ago. Hence, the orange soldier was a little miffed. Especially when Simmons asked, "Hey, you ever wonder why we're here?"
"No. I never wonder why we're here. Simper Fi, suck up," Grif snarled. Just then, Lopez made an odd noise, causing both Grif and Simmons to turn. Grif tuned his helmet to the private channel and said to Simmons, "That was really close to the same sound Sarge made before he went all weird!"
"Best be careful then. No telling what Lopez will do now," Simmons replied over the same channel.
"You okay Lopez?" Grif asked, discretely aiming his gun at the wire sending power to the servos in the robot's arms.
"Guys, I need to give you a warning," the robot said, though he didn't sound a thing like Lopez. For one thing, he actually sounded like he had emotion.
"A warning?" Dex asked, though he didn't move his gun. He considered it good behavior not shooting the robot's arms stiff.
"Yeah! The mean lady's going to kill you! She's fixing the tank!" whoever was in control of Lopez exclaimed wildly.
"Well. That's certainly something to warn us about. But here's the thing... why tell us if you're not really Lopez? Why would you care?" Simmons asked reasonably, aiming for the legs. Grif nodded his agreement, both of Simmons' question and his choice of target.
"Well... because... it's complicated okay?!" not-Lopez retorted, sounding frustrated.
"Is there a girl involved?" Grif asked, lowering the gun, but only slightly. "Girls complicate everything."
"YES! Okay? Like I said. Mean. Lady. Fix. TANK!" Lopez shouted. Simmons just faintly heard a female computerized voice say, 'target locked,' before the base was rocked by an explosion.
"SON OF A GUN!" the three on top of the base yelled, hunkering down.
"SIMMONS!" Sarge yelled from the green, "I'm coming around in the warthog. Be ready to take the gunner position when I pass by."
"Roger that," Simmons replied from the ramp, which was a safer position that the roof during a tank attack.
"There's no need for me to go. I'll stay here and look out for Doughnut. And see if I can't find some grenades while I'm at it," Dex said, heading toward the storage unit.
"Good idea. Do try and blow the tank up, if you can," Simmons said, hopping into the gunner position as the warthog pulled up. Dex rolled his eyes and continued on his way.
"Crazy gunner," he muttered.
/*/
"I'm on board," Simmons said, taking control of the mini-gun mounted to their jeep. He really hoped Sarge had a good plan. And knew how to drive the vehicle Otherwise, this would be a really, really, short ride.
"Alright. Here's the plan," Sarge said as they drove off toward the tank. Before he could get further, the tank blew them up. Surviving due to the subtle enhancements Marley had made to the armor, Sarge and Simmons ran back to the base.
"Not a word, Grif. Not. A. Word," Simmons bit out, his left side burning. He was fairly sure he had cracked a rib or two. And maybe that rock he'd slammed into.
"Aw~! But I had such a wonderful welcome back speech all planed out~!" Grif said, far too pleased with himself. And standing beside a box of grenades.
"Yeah... sure. Hey Sarge, want to finish telling me the plan now?" Simmons snarked.
"If we survive this, I'm killing both of you," Sarge muttered darkly. "Slowly," he added, tank missiles exploding outside, causing them to crouch.
"Hey! What are you guys doing out here?!" Doughnut yelled, running up the other side of the base.
"That chick in black armor's back!" Grif called from the top of his ramp.
"What?!" Doughnut yelled back, outraged. "The one that stuck a grenade to my head?" he asked.
"That's the one," Simmons agreed with a nod.
"The same one whose fault it is I'm stuck in this light red armor?!" Doughnut asked. Simmons was fairly sure the kid was shaking by this point.
"Doughnut, I understand the need to safeguard your masculinity, but really dude. It's a whole lot faster to just say 'pink,'" Grif said.
"Oo~ho! Oh I've been waiting for this!" Doughnut said with savage glee. Grif actually felt a little scared as Doughnut ran to the edge of the base. "HEY BITCH! REMEMBER ME?!" Doughnut yelled at the tank, picking up a grenade from Grif's box.
"Doughnut?" Grif questioned warily.
"I SAVED SOMETHING FOR YA!" Doughnut continued, either not hearing Grif or choosing to ignore him. He chucked the hissing blue explosive at the tank, which it reached, even going so far as to hit the operator and sticking to Tex's black armor.
/*/
"Man. That girl's got a really good arm," Tucker commented to Caboose, meaning Doughnut. Caboose only nodded, eyes fixed on the blue thing stuck to Tex. Inside Shelia.
"Oh crap," Tex muttered when the explosive made contact. She hadn't thought anyone could throw a grenade that far, that accurately.
"Hell yeah!" Doughnut shouted, his voice echoing and carrying to the Blues. "Three points you bitch!" Then the grenade exploded. Church was shocked.
"My Godiva! NO!" he shouted, watching as the tank flipped over once again. He began to run, calling out to Tex.
/*/
"Um..." Simmons said, watching the possessed Lopez run toward the tank, "where is Lopez going?"
"To fight the enemy head on," Sarge said, sounding rather proud. "In hand to hand combat. Mano y mano. What a brave soldier. Lopez, I never really understood you, but you hated Grif, and that's the most important thing there is." Simmons turned to Sarge.
"Shouldn't we help him?"
"Nah. That would just ruin the moment," Sarge said.
"Any~way. Doughnut! That was amazing man!" Grif said, running back up to see the pink soldier, who was laughing evilly at the edge of the base.
"Try to blow up my head with a grenade huh? Well, I got you. Oh~! I got you," Doughnut muttered.
"Hey! Light red guy!" Grif called, "That was some throw you made."
"Yes. Yes it was. I'm rather proud of that one. One of my best. I recon the grenade actually stuck to that evil chick," Doughnut stated proudly.
"Remember when you first arrived? And I said I refused to call you 'Doughnut?'" Grif asked, a smirk forming as he considered the new name he'd come up with for the pink armored soldier.
"What about it?" Doughnut asked, turning away from the blasted tank and looking at Grif curiously. The other Spartan chuckled.
"Well, I think I've got the perfect nickname for you."
"Yeah?" Doughnut asked, intrigued despite himself.
"How does 'Eagle Eye' sound to you?" Grif asked, grinning.
"Eagle Eye... I like it."
"Can I call you Eagle for short?" Doughnut thought it over, then nodded.
"Why not? Besides, you're right. It does sound better than 'Doughnut.' A bit more manly too," he said, honestly pleased with his new nick-name. And to think, Grif had been the one to suggest it. Maybe... he wasn't without friends after all.
"Hey! What sounds better than Doughnut?" Simmons asked, coming up as well.
"Eagle Eye," Doughnut replied. He could have sworn Simmons was grinning when he held out his hand and said,
"Welcome to the team, Eagle Eye."
"Thank you sir." Simmons shook his head.
"No no no. You can't keep calling me sir. Call me Simmons, like Grif and Sarge do. You're firmly part of the team, and that means a certain amount of disrespect among us. Got it, Eagle?" he said. Again, Doughnut was fairly sure Simmons was grinning.
"Got it... Simmons." Well what do ya know? He was grinning too. "Does this mean I can have the sniper rifle?"
/*/
The newly christened Eagle Eye was pouting. Why? Because Sarge refused to assign the sniper rifle to him. "Hey, don't pout so, Eagle Eyed Frank," Marley said, melting into view. Eagle sighed, barely even jumping.
"Hey, Marley," he muttered. Marley gave off a rather ruffled air.
"And here I thought my turning up and offering you a deal would make you happy," she said. Eagle didn't bother dignifying that with a response. "I'm offering you a place in Project Red, Eagle Eye. New weapons, new missions, new... armor." Eagle twitched. Was she really offering him a way out? "Of course, I wouldn't be able to take you on many missions. Sarge isn't necessarily lax when it comes to knowing what his men are up to after all. But, I can offer you training sessions ranging from thirty minutes to three hours pretty much every day. You can get that sniper rifle you wanted, burgundy armor, a reputation as an Agent... I could even arrange for you to meet my other Agents; Orange, Maroon, and Red." Eagle forced himself to be calm. She was offering him pretty much everything he wanted out of the military, aside from having to stay in Blood Gulch the majority of the time.
"The catch?" he asked, knowing there had to be some form of strings attached to this offer.
"Catch?" Marley asked, sounding a bit confused. Eagle turned around. She hadn't moved, but he felt like she was a predator, stalking his every move. She made him wary.
"There's always a catch to these kinds of things," Eagle clarified. Marley sighed and rolled her shoulders.
"The catch is that you're a soldier and will occasionally be required to kill to complete a mission. This is unavoidable. It is also unavoidable that you will need to maintain a presence here, at your official posting. With your armor masked to mimic your current suit. I recommend dissociative personality syndrome. It seems to help the others deal. Perhaps one day it will no longer be needed, but until then... be prepared to have two persona; the real you, and the Blood Gulch mask," Marley remarked coolly. Eagle sighed, then held out a hand.
"This feels a bit like selling my soul, but I'm in," he said. Marley chuckled and shook his hand.
"It's really not that bad, Frank. Meet me behind the base at dawn. We have much to do, and so little time," she said, and then she was gone, melted back into the shadows of the base. Eagle shivered and hurried to his bunk. Marley gave him the creeps.
/*/
The next person Marley appeared to was Sarge. "So, a new team member to break in, huh?" she asked.
"Will this... ?" he began, mildly worried.
"No. It doesn't effect our missions at all. Just give them breaks and trust Simmons to take care of the base while you're gone," Marley interjected, knowing exactly what was on the man's mind. Sarge was a south Texan man whose close cropped hair had gone steel gray earlier than most due to the stress of his military career, and his face bore the marks of said career. He had taken off his helmet for this discussion and Marley could see the emotions plain in his emerald green eyes.
"I trust Simmons, it's Grif I have a problem with," he said, that south Texan drawl becoming just a little more pronounced. Marley sighed and took off her own helmet.
"Sarge... ya gotta loosen up with the guys a little. Let em know ya care. And Grif... honestly, all he seems to need is some motivation. There's nothing in this canyon that really motivates him aside from food. If he were on the battlefield, a real battlefield... you might just see a different soldier. But here... he can't reach... no. Can't show his full potential. You might be surprised by Grif one day Sarge, and I can only hope you open your eyes to see what he becomes," she said earnestly to the man before engaging her cloaking unit once more and vanishing. Sarge sighed and looked out toward the hill that hid Grif's favorite napping spot. He could just see the top of that orange helmet vanishing under the grass.
"I know he's not showing us, showing me, what he can really do. I know he's not a total idiot. All the teasing, all the smack talk... that's just me trying to get him to prove me wrong! Are you telling me that it's having the opposite effect?" he asked the still air. Marley didn't respond and Sarge was left with his thoughts, staring after him most troublesome subordinate.
/*/
Marley found Simmons right where she thought he'd be. In his room, discarded helmet sitting on the desk to his left, fiddling with the teleporter she had given him not too long ago. Just like last time they'd had a post Blood Gulch Event conversation. "Still can't get it quite right?" she asked, not bothering to mask her voice, though she had to dodge a flying knife before the first word was fully out of her mouth. Pulling the still quivering weapon out of the wall, she quirked an eyebrow at the man who was now blushing furiously. Though, she kept a wary eye on the knife still in his grasp. "Jumpy much?" she asked.
"Don't sneak up on me like that Marley," Simmons squeaked, blushing deeper, before turning back to his work. Marley hummed and switcher her voice modulator back on.
"And having a female voice didn't really help, did it?" she asked, back to sounding like Agent York. Simmons snorted, still focusing on the tech in front of him.
"Need something?" he asked shortly, doing his best to ignore the woman behind him.
"Yeah, for you not to be so short with me," Marley said sharply, falling to sit cross legged in front of the techie. "Simmons... Rick... look at me. Please," she pleaded softly. Simmons sighed and looked up at the black helmet. Tex came to mind and he shivered. "Tex?" Marley asked kindly.
"It's the black armor," Simmons replied with a nod. Marley tilted her head, and then touched him on the shoulder. Simmons jerked a little in surprise, but her hand stayed where is was, maroon accents appearing on her armor.
"I can't change the shape of them, but the color? That's easy. I can have them take on the color of whatever my left hand touches. Hence, maroon. And ya know... I kinda like the maroon. Maybe later I'll do magenta, or burgundy. Possibly orange. But for now," she said, shrugging, "I think I'll stick with maroon." Simmons huffed and set the mostly completed teleporter to the side.
"So you wanted to talk, Marley?" he asked, sitting back against his bunk. Marley smiled and unmasked her voice.
"Yes. Just a few minutes, with my unfiltered voice. You still need work, Rick." He sighed, uncovered head falling forward in resignation. "Though, before we get started for real... get changed into night clothes. Sarge is giving the whole team the rest of the day off. The Blues won't be attacking any time soon. Not after Doughnut blew up Tex," Marley added. Simmons nodded and shooed her out. Laughing, she complied, leaning against the door until she heard his voice call out,
"I'm decent, you can come in now." Smiling, she walked in. Bare headed. Simmons immediately lit up with a brilliant blush. Marley's smile grew into a wild grin.
"Come now Rick. I told you unfiltered," she said, mirth dancing in her eyes. Simmons gulped.
"You... you're... ahHEM!" he stuttered nervously, face growing steadily redder.
"Please finish a sentence Rick. It makes things so much easier in the long run," Marley said, leaning against his wall with a smirk. Simmons cleared his throat and tried again.
"You're really pretty," he said softly, like an eighth grader talking to the popular girl in school. He almost immediately looked mortified, like that same junior high student had gotten told off by the class jock. Marley frowned.
"Why are you so... ashamed? That was a decent complement, Rick. It's nice being told that I'm pretty," she told him. Simmons cringed slightly and when he spoke, his voice was high and strained, only barely refraining from cracking and sending him into a stuttering mess.
"You.. you think so?" Marley sighed and nodded at the man.
"Yes. I do. Don't be so unsure all the time, Rick. You miss out on far too much that way," she said. Simmons shook his head at her and looked away, face heating rapidly.
"I... I don't think..."
"Rick, look at me," Marley admonished, drawing his lowered eyes back to her. It was clear he didn't want to, but he did. "What happened, Rick? Why do you sound like the geeky kid in the eighth grade when I'm unmasked, and a confident Science Officer when my helmet is on?"
"It's... not a happy memory," Simmons said, dragging a hand through his short red hair. Marley groaned and lightly tapped her head against the wall behind her.
"Of course it isn't or you wouldn't have such a problem talking to me about it!" she said, sitting back up and giving the man a mild glare. He began to sweat slightly and Marley sighed once again. "Please, just tell me. Did you get rejected? Bullied by the class jock? What?"
"All the above," the man muttered, face still flushed.
"What was her name?" Simmons squirmed, hand inching toward another unfinished project. Marley covered that hand with her own. "Tell me, please?" Simmons sighed and seemed to deflate a little.
"Jacqueline. Her name was Jacqueline, but she preferred Jackie. Or, I thought she did. Anyway, she was the most popular girl in school. Head Cheer Leader, Class President, Year Book Staff, top of the class. Shoe in for Homecoming Queen and pretty much every other award a girl can get without any of the 'lame' clubs. I was second best in robotics, computer club, and the chess team. Never the best, always second. I was second under her in class as well. I thought I might, might, have a chance with her, so I asked her to Homecoming, Junior Year. She turned me down, in public, after leading me on for a whole day. With her boyfriend with his arm around her. He was the quarterback. I didn't stand a chance. After that, I tried to talk to girls in the chess club, but they seemed so much scarier after Jacqueline. Like... like I thought they would all try to lead me on only to crush me. Just like her. And it just... it just got worse, week by week. Girls are just... scary. You're really no exception. Just a different kind of scary," he revealed. Marley hummed, back in her position.
"So why did you join the army?" she asked. Simmons huffed, staring at his hands.
"I thought... I thought I'd be able to do something. Something I could feel proud of. Something that would make it so I could say to myself, 'you've faced worse things, worse people, how bad can she be?' Something that could give me the courage to face that fear. And then, I got stuck here. This is no worse than Jacqueline. In fact, it's tamer. Even with Sarge and Grif." Marley shook her head at the man.
"Ho boy, you got it bad buddy. Real bad. Alright. How about this," she said, getting up and setting her discarded helmet to play a slow song. "Would you dance with me, handsome?" she asked, holding out her arms in invitation. Simmons swallowed hard and Marley chuckled. "Come on, I'm not going to break your hand. Relax and dance with me. I'm in full armor! You can't hurt me," she encouraged. Finally, Simmons took her hand and placed one of his own at her waist before sweeping her away. Marley felt her eyes go wide as Simmons guided her around his room, eyes closed, in a darn near perfect Waltz. The music faded into nothing and left a ringing silence. Marley stared at the serene face of Simmons, usually so awkward and flushed when she saw it. Being so close, she could see that his eyelashes were a pale red, and that light dusting of freckles across his nose was darn cute. Honestly, she hadn't been lying when she called him handsome. Slowly, she felt herself leaning in. She stopped, a short way from his firm looking rose colored lips, then continued toward his pale cheek. Feeling her lips on his skin, Simmons opened his eyes with a gasp.
"You... you kissed me!" he gaped. Marley chuckled, still in his arms.
"You, sir, are a marvelous dancer. Miss Jacqueline doesn't know what she missed," she said, voice slightly husky. Simmons blushed redder than his hair, causing Marley to giggle a little. "Where did you learn how to Waltz?" she asked, stepping back. Simmons cleared his throat and determinedly looked away from her.
"My mother. She taught ballroom dance for many many years and insisted that no child of her's would be ignorant about dancing. The Waltz is the simplest, and the best fit for the song you played. I know five others." Marley fought against gaping at the man.
"Wow," she breathed, still staring at him. "Now I'm even more determined to break you out of this awkward stage. I have a feeling you'll make a woman very pleased to snag you."
"Really?" Simmons asked, caught off guard by Marley's reaction to the revelation that he could dance, and dance well.
"Yeah, really," Marley insisted. Simmons looked away again,trying vainly to hide his embarrassment. Why did she always have to take their talks in this direction? Marley chuckled and looked out the small window Simmons had in his room. "Well, looks like you're off the hook for now. I still have a few things I want to get done here, so I'll be leaving you. Do try to get to bed at a reasonable time, Simmons. Dark bags under those pretty green eyes wouldn't be quite as attractive," she said, patting his cheek before slipping out of the room. Simmons let out a great huff of breath in her wake.
"She's a piece of work she is," he said, but as he reached for the teleporter once again, he stopped at the sight of his hand. Usually when thinking of girls, his hands would start to shake slightly. They weren't now. Frowning, but not necessarily displeased by this, Simmons left the teleporter and set the radio he'd fixed to play ballroom music. He spent the rest of the night practicing those half remembered dances his mother had taught him. As he was laying in his bed that night, he thought to himself how odd it was that five minutes and a complement to his dancing did more than all of Marley's 'sessions' to date. He fell asleep with a smile on his face and visions of himself and Marley dancing in his head. A man could dream after all.
/?/
A/N: And there's the end of Season One. I'll be doing a little on what the Reds get up to in the three months or so that pass before the beginning of Season Two, mostly Marley working with Simmons and Doughnut getting inducted into Project Red. Also, I'd like to ask, should I make Doc a part of Project Red? Just an idea.
A/N 2: Spelling, context, and a few other fiddely things have been fixed. Mostly spelling. 8/17/16