Disclaimer: I don't own RvB. But Marly's mine! No touchy.

Episode 15: Burgundy Vs Red

A week after his 'match' with Agent Maroon, Frank found himself facing Agent Red. While Agent Orange was regarded as a one man army with mythical weapon capabilities(meaning he seemed to pull weapons from nowhere) Agent Red was regarded as a berserker. He favored his shotgun and his fists above any other weapon, even going so far as throwing other weapons aside in favor of his fists if his shotgun ran out of ammo. This... wasn't going to be a knife and pistol match like with Rick. This was going to be a straight up, full contact, sparring match. And it was going to hurt. A lot. "Heya, Agent Red. I'm Agent Burgundy," he said, holding out his hand. He sounded so calm, so confident. He didn't sound like himself. It was an odd feeling, not sounding like himself, sounding like some confident super solider when he knew, he knew, he wasn't. He wasn't some sort of amazing warrior, he didn't even know if he passed as cannon fodder. He was just Franklin Delano Doughnut, high school drop out, run away, failure. How could he do this? Why was he doing this? It made no sense!

"Heard 'bout ya from Maroon. Said he told ya ta call 'em 'Rick,'" Red said, and Frank was surprised to heard the strong southern accent in his voice. He wasn't sure why, but he had always thought that Red was from the north.

"Yes Sir, he did," he answered, unnecessarily. He wasn't sure why he did it, but it felt right. Red chuckled.

"Well, don't know if ya picked up on it, but that mean he likes ya. Seemed to think you had real promise kid. He was near'y bounc'n when he said ya had the potential to beat out Orange as a sniper. Ne'er seen 'em so 'cited before," Red said, and Frank was sure the man behind that helmet was grinning at him.

"Now I understand why you're so fond of that shotgun of yours," he said. Why had he said that?! It really didn't fit the situation and now Agent Red was going to think he was crazy! And hadn't Rick told him not to mention the shotgun? Way to go Frank! Way to go. But Red just laughed.

"I t'ink I see w'at Rick was tal'in 'bout!" he said between his laughter. Frank was glad of the helmet as it hid his blush. That was two Agents who came out and said they liked him.

"I don't," he whispered, and now he sounded like himself. But it wasn't the comfort he thought it would be. It was crushing. Frustrating. Painfully pathetic. Would he still have a place in Project Red? Now that they could see how...

"An' that's what we like 'bout you kid. You're confident in the field but know you could always be better! Arrogance is dangerous son, don't let it claim ya," Red said before pacing out to the center of the sparring ring. "Now come on! I wanna see what 'cha got boy!" Frank swallowed heavily. Right into hand-to-hand then. Oh joy.

/*/

Sarge had to hand it to the new guy, he wasn't half bad. Not half good either, but hey, details. As he looked at the panting, sweating, moaning rookie, he came to the same conclusion Rick had. Burgundy had potential. Maybe not as a hand to hand fighter, but dagnabit was the kid a fighter! Hit after hit, with Sarge not holding back in the slightest, and still the kid kept coming. Sure he kept shouting phrases in Spanish and he kept getting the stuffing knocked out of him, but he kept coming. It meant quite a bit. He grinned behind the helmet. "Well kid, you ready for round three?" he asked. He was fairly sure Burgundy was glaring at him now. Oh well!

"Yeah, just... need a minute," the boy said and Sarge just grinned harder. Yep. Kid kept coming.

"Alright, but only a minute," the man replied, leaning against the fence. Burgundy sighed and rolled to the side, facing away from the older Agent, and took off his helmet. Sarge wasn't sure why, but all of the Red Agents didn't like others seeing their face. The back of the head wasn't so bad, and occasionally they'd catch a glimpse of someone that way, but the only one they felt completely comfortable taking their helmet's off around was Marley. This of course meant that Sarge was a bit surprised that Burgundy would so willingly take his helmet off like that, even if he was looking away. He was blond and kept his hair clipped short. There seemed to be a small scar on the back of his head. It was jagged and the blow that caused it had likely hurt like all get out. Sarge wasn't sure why he kept staring at that scar, but he did. It reminded him of someone, but who? Who did he know that was blond and had a scar like that on the back of his head?

"I'm ready, Red. Let's go," Burgundy said, popping his helmet back on and standing, though it was a little shaky. Sarge frowned. He liked the kid's spunk, but it looked like he was pushing himself a little hard.

"Last round kid," he decided. Burgundy jerked in surprise and Sarge couldn't help grinning. "Ya got spunk, and I like that, but ya won't be any good to anyone if ya push yerself too hard," he explained, dropping back into his combat stance. Burgundy shook himself slightly and mimicked the stance, altering it slightly to suit himself.

"Va," he said softly, then charged. Sarge shook his head. Head long charges weren't going to work for this kid, that was for sure. Five hits later, Burgundy was back on the ground, moaning.

"Kid, whoever taught you hand-to-hand short changed you something fierce!" Sarge said, looking down at the young soldier.

"No-one taught me," Burgundy growled. Sarge blinked. "It's a miracle I passed basic! I know it was. Maybe that's why I got shipped out to this planet of crazy!"

"Is that what you think got you here son?" Sarge asked, half wishing he could take his helmet off to give the kid the full brunt of his incredulous expression.

"Why else?" Burgundy asked, struggling to his feet.

"Well, perhaps because Marley saw something in you your training officers didn't! Maybe it's because you're better than you've been given credit for! No-one gets into Project Red without some sort of skill!" Sarge yelled.

"I'm a sniper sir! Long range. I'm done for if you drop me in a melee!" Burgundy declared, finally making it to his feet.

"That's what I'm gonna be workn' on changen', but I can't if you won't learn boy!" Sarge roared at him. Burgundy growled and began circling. "What ya think yer doing boy?! That was the last round! You lost! You lost every round! You're done soldier!"

"I'm not done!" Burgundy roared, leaping at Sarge, but not as he had the countless other times they'd fought. He went for the knees. Sarge jumped over the tackle, but got caught by the donkey kick Burgundy threw as he stood on his hands. "I'm not done!" he roared again, falling back to his feet and throwing a haymaker at Sarge. The more experienced soldier caught the blow, then dodged the jab, and took the right cross to the face. Burgundy held his head down and brought up his knee before allowing the force to drive Sarge back. The southerner shook his head, grinning.

"That! Is more like it soldier!" he said, circling around again. Burgundy was breathing heavy, his feet were shuffling, but the helmet stayed on target and Sarge could feel the boy's eyes on him. "Come on, you telling me that all that was a fluke?!" he taunted the young soldier. Burgundy growled lowly and kicked at the ground, moving like he was going to send a kick at Sarge's left side, but he spun instead and hit him with an elbow to the head. Or, tried to anyway. Sarge caught it and brought the younger man up, over, and down on his back before flipping him onto his chest and pinning him with a foot to the base of the skull and a firm grip on his wrist.

"Now," Burgundy panted, the strength leaving him, "I'm done. Sir," he said, going limp, his free hand thumping the ground twice. Sarge chuckled and helped him up.

"You're not bad, Burgundy. For a kid who never actually got taught hand to hand, you're actually pretty good," he told the moaning soldier. Burgundy huffed and reached out with his right hand.

"Frank," he said. Sarge grinned.

"Everyone just calls me Red," he answered, taking the young man's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Rick was impressed with you, and I'm liking your spunk, but now you've got to get Orange's stamp of approval." He felt Frank's hand begin to shake.

"But..." the young man stammered.

"Don't worry too much son. You've got everyone else on yer side. Orange ain't gonna kick ya out without a darn good reason. He'll likely just test yer skill with various weapons. Maybe test yer driving while he's at it," Sarge said, leading Frank toward The Phantom.

"Knew I should have taken my mother's advice," Frank said darkly. Sarge chuckled.

"Get that a lot kid, and every soldier I've ever heard use that line turn out to be the heroes that make their mamas proud," he said. Frank shook his head, but didn't say anything else.

/*/

He hurt. Everything hurt. Red was even more of a beast than Maroon. How often did Red beat Orange in hand to hand? Frank didn't want to know. The sole fact that he was now Red's newest punching bag kind of overshadowed those kinds of thoughts. "Raise and shine, dirtbags!" Sarge yelled. Frank growled.

"I'll 'raise and shine' you, ya evil troll," he snarled, though kept it quite so his intimidating CO wouldn't hear him. Sighing and shoving the fuming Agent to the side for the moment, Eagle rolled out of bed and got dressed in his light-ish red armor. "I'm up Sarge!" he called with an enthusiasm he didn't really feel, exiting his room with his helmet under his arm.

"The Blues seem to still be in a deep depression, and I'm still smart'n from when Grif hit me with the Warthog," Sarge said, causing Eagle to blink. Sarge did look a bit banged up, but it looked more like he went a round with Lopez. "So! We're doing target practice today!" Eagle sighed and got up to fetch himself some food. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day. Turned out, it wasn't that bad. All the training he'd done with Project Red paid off big time.

"Not bad Eagle Eye," Simmons said, hitting a target dead center. Eagle huffed a laugh.

"Coming from you, that's high praise," he said sarcastically. Simmons chuckled, hitting the fourth ring for the tenth time.

"This thing is a piece of junk!" the soldier growled, looking down at the pistol in his hand.

"Oh. That might be the one I hit Tex with," Grif said, missing his target by five inches. Simmons shook his head and turned the gun over in his hand. Shaking the weapon a few times, he shook his head again, twirled it, then unloaded a full clip into the bulls eye.

"Huh. Looks like I fixed it," Simmons said, turning away to reload. Grif shared a look with Eagle before shrugging and finally hitting the target. In the largest ring.

"Dude, you really can't shoot," Eagle said, hitting the second ring. Grif huffed.

"Shut up rookie. I'm better with a rifle," he said, switching out his clips with easy familiarity. Eagle hummed, noticing the swift, sure motion. Observation noted, he brought his pistol back up, firing once more at his target before pausing and asking,

"Ever hear of Project Red?" Grif jumped, nailing the target. Eagle quirked an eyebrow. Okay. That was odd.

"What of it?" the man asked gruffly. Eagle shrugged, turning back to the range.

"Which Agent's your favorite? Like, if you could meet one, which would you pick?" he asked. Grif hummed, taking careful aim at his target, which looked like Swiss cheese by that point. Badly made Swiss cheese, but Swiss cheese nonetheless.

"I'd have to say Orange. I'd like to ask how he manages to pull off a dorky codename like that," he said. Eagle chuckled, following suit and putting a nice new hole in the second ring.

"Yeah, it is kinda dorky, but ya know? Once I joined Basic, Agent Orange kinda took over for Master Chief, only in a bad way," Eagle said before putting another hole in the second ring. Grif hummed softly, then asked,

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's a beast ya know? One man army, hundred-to-one odds, masters pretty much every weapon he puts his hand to. Master Chief was the role model, the guy all the other guys wanted to be. Agent Orange... he's the guy no-one wants to tick off, the guy who seems like he could take on Master Chief. And win. A loose cannon that no-one knows. Kinda like a myth, only people have managed to snag pictures. Only the military knows about him, and the other Agents, and that made him sort of a... a military boogie man so to speak. Like those stories your mom would tell you to make you behave. 'You will listen to orders or Agent Orange will come for you in the night!'"

"Huh. Those aren't the stories I heard about him," Grif said, once more hitting the paper target dead center. Eagle frowned.

"You're not very consistent, are you?" he asked, noting the wide spread of his shots. Grif shrugged.

"As long as I get close, I'm doing good, right?" the lazy soldier remarked with casual indifference, which was basically his default tone.

"Maybe, if you were hunting game. Soldiers wear armor for a reason, it protects the biggest vital regions. If you want to cause damage, you're going to need to hit the small spots, the weak points. Close won't cut it. How did you manage to get out of Basic?" Grif grinned at Eagle, the expression clear as the Hawaiian had forgone his helmet long ago.

"Same way you did, Private!" he said, then missed the target by five feet. Eagle shook his head.

"If you're not a marksman, do us all a favor, and don't pull the trigger when your eyes aren't on the prize," he said, walking back to the table where the guns were laid out. He put the pistol down and picked up an assault rifle. "So. Who'd be next on your list?"

"I hear they've got a new guy. A sniper. It'd be kinda cool to get a rookie's perspective of the group," Grif answered, taking the rifle off his back and putting the pistol he held in his thigh holster. Frank laughed as he sent a six bullet burst directly into his targets center mass.

"I'd bet you five bucks he'd describe them just like I have!" he said. Grif shook his head.

"You've only described Agent Orange," he said. Frank shrugged.

"Agent Maroon, the second oldest Agent in Project Red, in terms of appearance, is a knife wielding bad-ass of an IT guy and Agent Red's a hand-to-hand master who seems opposed to using any weapon other than his fists or his shotgun," he said. Grif laughed.

"You had more to say about Agent Orange than the other two. Any reason?"

"Project Red is a young story. Agent Orange has been around the longest, shown himself to the most people. I'm actually kinda surprised people call it Project Red, with Agent Orange being the poster boy. Make more sense to call it Project Orange," Frank said, firing another six bullet burst, though this one wasn't as perfect. He clicked his tongue. Was it the weapons, the canyon, or the conversation that caused him to miss? Because he knew he could aim. You don't get to be a sniper without being able to aim.

"So, what have you heard about the new guy?" Grif asked. Eagle shrugged.

"Haven't yet," he said, firing again. Grif chuckled.

"I hear he's a master sniper," he said, watching Eagle handle the rifle.

"Didn't he only go on one mission?" said soldier asked as he fired off another five bullet burst, all within the two smallest rings.

"You know more than you let on, Eagle," Grif said, turning to the Red Team rookie. "Best be careful. Wouldn't want something top secret to slip, would you?" he asked softly, though Eagle felt a shiver go down his back as Grif smirked and walked off, slinging the rifle back across his shoulders. 'That man is dangerous,' Frank's mind told him. 'Stay clear.' He shook his head. It was Grif. Even if he was as dangerous as his subconscious was telling him, the orange soldier was on his team. 'He's orange. Orange has haunted your nightmare's since the first day of Basic.'

"He's Grif, not Agent Orange. He's not going to kill me. He wouldn't kill me even if he was Agent Orange," Eagle muttered to himself. 'Watch him. Dangerous. Deadly. Watch him.' "He's my teammate. Teammates don't kill teammates," Eagle told himself firmly. 'Explain Caboose blowing up Church.' "Caboose didn't know how to drive the tank. It was unintentional." 'Keep telling yourself that, Doughnut.'

"Ya know, talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Simmons said, coming up beside him and fiddling with what looked like part of a nav system. "No, stay in the hole you stupid wire!" the maroon soldier growled at an errant length of copper. Eagle chuckled.

"I thought that was talking to inanimate objects," he said before heading back into the base. Simmons blinked and watched him before a smirk slowly slid across his face.

"Well played, Eagle Eye. Well played," he remarked to the empty air, then looked at the 'rookie's' target. He shook his head. "I really must be loosing it if I think even the rookie is part of the Project," he muttered.

"So, those concerns about Grif are still bugging you, huh?" Marley said, her voice echoing in his helmet as she made use of the link between it and The Ghost. Simmons chuckled wryly.

"Eavesdropping, Marley?" he asked quietly. Checking to make sure the shadows mostly hid him, he leaned against the base to talk further with his 'boss.'

"Spying. More or less the same thing. So, still seeing Dex in Grif's place?" she asked, a slight creaking sound telling Simmons she was sitting in an office chair and had likely tossed her legs over the arm.

"Yeah. And Eagle's... well. He's a better shot than any of us, and I know he wasn't that good a shot when he came to Blood Gulch. And Sarge looked more like he'd gone a round with someone then gotten run over by a Warthog. Sure Grif hit him, but he stopped before he did more than the initial impact. And you told me Red was having a match with Burgundy yesterday. The bruises were fresh. And Burgundy had similar wounds. What's really going on, Marley?" The woman sighed and Simmons could hear her chair creak again.

"You know I can't tell you, Rick. The illusion... it still means too much. There will come a time when all the secrets come falling down. Crashing even. But now... doesn't feel like the time, Rick. Live the dream, until it becomes a nightmare, then pick up your guns and fight until the sun comes back," Marley said. Rick snarled and threw a knife at the last unscarred target, hitting it dead center.

"Are you so sure?" he growled.

"Positive, Rick. Now come on. Just a little longer. Who knows? Someone might just pull the curtain down before I'm ready to raise it."

"You... love being beyond cryptic, don't you?"

"Sadly, yes. Now clean up. I think it's time for lunch," Marley replied before she cut the link. Rick shook his head.

"Madwoman," he muttered before he began to clean the guns. Grif came out and joined him after a moment, sitting beside him in silence as they worked. It was peaceful, something they didn't experience often. They reveled in it.

/?/

A/N: Okay, so it's a little short, but honestly? Without blowing the whole secret that Red Team was Project Red, which is quite honestly a really flimsy secret, I couldn't make it much longer. One last chapter and then Season Two begins. Yays! Let me know what you thought of this one in the box down below. Please and thank you!

Regenengel3

A/N 2: Minor edits to this one. It was decent, for a filler chapter. Spelling and continuity have been checked and maintained. Whoot. 8/17/16