Disclaimer: I don't own Red vs Blue. Or Princess Bride. If you spot the reference, Grif won't steal your cookie.
Episode 18: The Blues are Weird
It didn't take very long before the Reds, plus one rather disturbed medic, were back at their base. Doc wasn't sure if he believed the claims of Red Team that they'd run out of water six months ago. His skepticism was mostly based on the grounds that the human body couldn't last six months without water, or at least juice... real juice, not that nasty yoohoo stuff. And if they were out of water, how come they weren't out of the rest of the stuff they'd listed? Anyway, if they were truly out of water, they would have died after three days. Give or take. It was hot in Blood Gulch, so likely less. And that wasn't the only thing that got Doc wondering about the honesty of the Team. Once they had arrived at Base, Sarge and the maroon one, Simmons, had told the orange one, Grif, to watch him and then promptly ignored the both of them to fuss with their jeep. Bored out of his mind, Doc had struck up a conversation, which had devolved into a rant against Sarge by Girf. This, inevitably, lead them back around to the events three months ago which resulted in Doc being sent to Blood Gulch. Between runaway tanks, evil ladies in black, and exploding jeeps, there was one story that really stood out. Mostly because it had Grif really indignant. Sarge had been acting out of character, Simmons and Eagle Eye had been knocked out, and then after Sarge led their prisoner out of the base, he got hit in the head with a sniper round. Looking over the orange soldier's shoulder at the very much alive Sarge, Doc had to wonder if this guy was for real. "So then me and Simmons ran out to Sarge and pulled off his helmet. Turned out, he was only mostly dead. With mostly dead, they're still slightly alive. With all dead, well. There's only one thing to do. Go through their pockets and look for spare change. Anyway, Sarge was only mostly dead, so we, meaning I, preformed a field surgery then gave him CPR and saved his life. Of course, when he came too, he praised Simmons. When the little weasel revealed that I did all the work, Sarge immediately turned hostile and complained about the treatment. Who does that?!" Grif ranted, complete with wild hand motions. Yeah. The medic was really starting to think these guys were delirious. 'What's going on here? Bad juice? Too much salt? Not enough actual water? Heat stroke?'
"So he was shot in the head," Doc repeated, hoping he could somehow catch Grif in a lie. The alternative was too outlandish to believe.
"Right," Grif affirmed with a nod.
"And you gave him CPR for a bullet wound to the head," Doc said slowly. Sure bullets to the head hadn't been covered in the few courses he took to become a medic, but he was fairly sure that was because there really was no treatment for them. It was a bullet to the head!
"Well, I took the bullet out and stitched him up first, since it's better to do that when they're unconscious, on account of how much it hurts. Then I gave him CPR," the orange soldier clarified with a nod. Again. Well. If it works...
"Yeah. I think that's a perfectly acceptable treatment," Doc said, nodding. 'Can't beat 'em, join 'em.'
"That's what I said!" Grif responded. The way he said it made Doc think that he was the first to agree with him. He wasn't sure how to take that. On one hand, it was indicative of physiological and emotional abuse, but on the other hand it made him feel important. Needed. He pushed that aside and focused on the fact that this guy had somehow brought his Sargent back from the brink by using an unusual method.
"Oh yeah. People often over look alternative methods of care. Like that Blue guy who was shot in the foot during the battle? All I did was rub his neck with some Aloe Vera. He was fine." Somehow, Doc had a feeling Grif was giving him a 'you're an idiot' look. It was amazing how much a silence and body language could convey.
"Yeah, I don't know about all that," Grif said, further supporting Doc's feeling that he thought the medic was an idiot, "I'm just glad Sarge is wrong."
"Grif!" said soldier yelled, causing the man in orange to turn. "You're supposed to be watching the prisoner! Not playing lookie-loo with him all day long!"
"Come on Sarge! He doesn't even have a gun!" Grif complained. While this was true, Doc didn't see what that had to do with anything. He'd heard that there were people who could kill with their bare hands. Not that Doc himself could do that, or wanted to seeing as he was a pacifist, but still.
"Well! You two will be great friends then! He doesn't have a gun, and you didn't bring any ammo!" Simmons yelled angrily. Doc winced. Yikes, hurtful much? Why did everyone here not like Grif? He really wasn't all that bad. And he saved his Sargent's life! And praised Simmons for his technological prowess! So... why? Why hate this guy? He was likely the most sane out of the bunch! Wait. Was that why? Man, Blood Gulch was weird.
"Hey thanks, Suck Up! If I want to take tips from the guy who lost our last prisoner, I'll be sure to ask you!" Grif shot back. Another wince. Well, one thing was for sure, Grif may get a lot of flack, but he sure gave as good as he got.
"Oh man that is a burn! Dude, you just got burned! Burn dude, burn," the guy in pink said, his tone lightly teasing. Huh. It seemed like Eagle Eye was pretty much the only one who didn't hate Grif.
"Oh shut up, your armor's pink," Simmons returned weakly. Doc quirked an unseen eyebrow. Was Eagle Eye the only one not hated around here?
"Yeah? Well I didn't get burned by Grif!" the pink guy shot back, and Doc was fairly sure he was grinning at his teammate. Time for a social experiment.
"Uh hey guys?!" Doc decided to shout. The others turned to look at him. "I... I just want everyone to know that Grif and I aren't uh technically friends. Uh, we're just talking!" Grif had turned back around to him. Doc could almost feel the hurt look the soldier was giving him. "That's it," the medic added weakly. "Sorry man, but it's pretty obvious that you're really unpopular and if I'm gonna make any progress around here at all, I can't really be directly associated with you. I'm sure you understand," Doc told Grif. "It's only because no-one likes you." A moment passed before, "Stop staring at me." Somehow, Doc got the feeling he'd be regretting this little experiment of his.
"And you really think this guy is a threat?" Grif asked lowly, though even the other three members of Red Team heard him.
"Grif did have a point about the gun thing," the pink guy said slowly.
"True, but you don't need a weapon to be dangerous," Simmons, pointed out. Grif sighed, shoulders hunching just a little.
"Yeah yeah... but he's a medic!"
"And that's supposed to mean... what exactly?" the pink guy asked. Grif moaned and trained his gun back on Doc.
"You have a point. Best keep a close eye on him. Medics make the worst enemies," he said, voice growing dark and fearsome toward the end. A shiver of fear went down Doc's back. This... was not a man to cross.
/*/
While Doc was beginning to realize that something truly strange was going on in Blood Gulch, Church and Tucker were trying to figure out how to use Lopez's body to fix their tank. So far, Church had made a lot of weird noises and found his time and temperature function while Tucker had found an odd switch in the most inappropriate place. Obviously, it had been the Sargent who assembled this android. And so began the toggling troubles of Blue Team. Marley was determinedly not listening while Flowdie was chuckling like mad at the antics of his former subordinates. "Man, this is so weird!" he said.
"It's Church and Tucker, Flowdie. What did you expect?" Marley asked, fiddling with what looked a lot like a lesson plan.
"Still. 'Wiggle your dongle?' Weirdest conversation ever. Of all time," Flowdie said with a grin. Marley blinked, then chuckled.
"You've been thinking about Wash lately, haven't you?" she asked, tone fondly teasing. Flowdie froze, then groaned and dropped his head forward to thump against the table he was sitting at.
"Gosh darn it! He's infected my brain with his silly phrase!" he moaned. Marley chuckled again, flicking through a tablet determinedly. Flowdie had a feeling she was using that tablet to monitor military and Freelance communications in an attempt to find out where she was needed.
"Me too Flowdie. I have to consciously stop myself from using it. All the time. It's maddening," the woman said, archiving a report on a Freelancer mission on a planet called Allderan. Flowdie nodded absently, still watching the Blues down below when something Church said caught his attention.
"Wait wait wait... why would Church hear something beeping?" he asked, honestly puzzled. Marley jerked slightly, eyes widening in surprise, but not shock.
"Ooh! This is the... ! Um. Sarge?" she said. Flowdie frowned. She knew exactly what it was, and she didn't want to tell him. Ugh, she always did this! Even back in Freelancer! Why couldn't she let people in? Wait. Sarge. Oh no.
"... It's a remote for the Warthog... isn't it?" he asked, dreading the answer but still wanting to know if he was right.
"Right in one," Marley deadpanned. Flowdie shook his head.
"Man these guys are weird!" he remarked. Marley snorted, archiving another report.
"Been saying it for years," she said lightly, scanning another set of orders from the SPARTAN division of the military. Flowdie scoffed lightly, but fell silent and just watched the show play out below him. Sure Marley had told him the highlights, but hearing it from her and seeing it were two very different things.
/*/
"Are there any ideas on what to do with the prisoner?" Sarge asked Simmons and Eagle Eye, on the other side of the Warthog from said medic.
"Well, we have to get him away from Grif because, ya know, it's kinda... cruel and unusual ta have to talk ta him," Simmons said. Whether he was talking about talking to Grif or Doc, the other two didn't know. Eagle was leaning toward Doc while Sarge was leaning toward Grif. Honestly, the man's dislike of the often times lazy private was more than a little illogical. He really wasn't that bad a guy. He just had to have a good, legitimate reason to do anything. And a lot of Sarge's orders weren't good enough for him. Eagle could understand that. Still, Sarge had asked for ideas, and he really didn't like the pink... even if he did like his Agent armor. Still, as far as anyone else knew, he still wanted to get rid of his pink armor. And he did... but not like that. And he knew Sarge wouldn't go for what he was planning to suggest, so his Project Red armor was safe.
"How 'bout we make him trade armor with one of us?" he suggested. "That would show him." Rick dimly noticed that the Warthog behind Sarge was beeping. But why would it do that?
"Warthog online," the metal behemoth 'spoke.' Rick jumped back, bringing his rifle up as he did so. Sarge and Eagle did as well, Eagle letting out a quiet, 'it's gonna eat me!' "Homing beacon engaged."
"Sarge?! Did the car just talk?!" Rick asked. Behind his helmet, Sarge paled ever so slightly.
"Uh-oh," he muttered.
"Sa~rge~?" Dex called warily. "What did you do?!"
"I, uh, may have, um..." Sarge stammered caught off guard by the subtle tones of command in Grif's question.
"Okay. I think I got it. You built a remote control for the Warthog into Lopez," Rick said, making an astounding leap of logic, if it could be called that. Then again, this was Sarge they were talking about. Dex groaned.
"Yep. But there's no way anyone could have found out how to turn it on. I hid it in a place no-one would ever look!" Sarge admitted. Dex groaned louder.
"These are the Blues we're talking about!" he pointed out. Sarge ignored him.
"Unless... Hey! Pretty in Pink!" Sarge called. Frank turned to his CO, glaring under his not pink helmet. "Were you messing with my robot?" Dex and Rick had to blink at that. What the heck?
"What're you asking me for?!" Eagle asked, shocked and appalled.
"So someone else controls the Warthog right now? And the big gun attached to it?" Dex asked, mildly concerned. Rick still hadn't lowered his gun, though Dex noticed that he'd switched to a pistol at some point.
"Oh get a pair you bunch of Barbies," Sarge said, turning back to the Warthog and so missing the glances the three Privates behind him shared, "even if they figured out how to turn it on, they'd never know the set of code words to control it. Only me and my dairy know that."
"Couple of things there, Sarge," Dex said, settling into one of his favorite battle stances, "first off, I'm not a Barbie. Secondly, a dairy? Really? And third, unless you actually encrypted it, chances are they'll figure them out by accident... and possibly not even know they've done it!"
"Grif... I don't think Sarge is listening," Rick sighed. He felt for Dex, he did... Wait. Dex? He looked closer. Yep. That was the way Dex always stood during a lull in training, relaxed yet poised and ready to attack at a moment's notice. But no. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Rick refused to believe Grif and Dex were the same person!
"Of course he's not. He's Sarge," D... Grif! said, shaking his head.
"Drive."
"Jumping Jehosaphat! They've cracked the code! Those durn wind talkers!" Sarge exclaimed as they scattered. Though, Doc didn't move. Dex considered firing on the Warthog, but by that point, it had already hit Doc, who somehow got flung into the air only to land in the driver's seat.
"Hey, he's taking the Warthog!" Eagle exclaimed, bringing his sniper rifle, which he had claimed and was not going to give up, to bear on the runaway jeep.
"Help! This jeep is kidnapping me!" Doc screamed. Dex idly noted that he had a rather girly, whiny voice when he yelled. Frank decided to see what other tricks the Warthog would pull before he put a 'destroy everything in it's path' round through the engine block. Figuring it would add to his 'character,' Frank said,
"And now he's taunting us. This is just embarrassing."
"Hey Sarge, new rule," Simmons said, turning to their CO. "How about we just don't take any more prisoners? Because we seem to suck at it."
"Simmons? It... really wasn't your fault they rescued Tex. And... since when did Warthogs randomly decide to kidnap prisoners? And even if the Blues knew what they were doing, which I doubt, how would they know where Doc was standing in order to direct the Warthog to pick him up? Seems pretty far fetched to me," Grif said. Simmons smiled at him, once again telling himself that Dex and Grif were not the same person. Cousins perhaps, but not the same person. He couldn't allow himself to believe that.
/*/
Back over at Blue Base, Church and Tucker had gotten Caboose in on their attempts to get the infernal beeping to stop. It was going about as well as expected. "Okay. I see a switch down here. It's not very big," Caboose said, false whispering the last sentence.
"Hey yeah, that's it. Flip it," Tucker urged, wanting to get this over and done with. Why was there a switch down there? Why not... higher? Or... on the leg? Or... why have an analog switch at all?
"Wait wait wait stop," Church said. In the distance, the Red Team Warthog came to a stop on a hill with a deep, robotic 'stop.' "Caboose? You do know how to operate a switch... right?" Church asked.
"Uh..." the regulation Blue soldier said. Tucker groaned, resting his head in his hands. Of course the only one they could get to mess around with the switch would be a total idiot who couldn't even operate it. No wonder this guy managed to blow up Church.
"All right, here's a full tutorial then," Church said, "The switch is pointed in one direction. Just turn it around so that it's pointed in the other direction." The Warthog, still unnoticed on a distant hilltop, 'said' 'turn around' and pointed itself back toward Red Base. A moment later there was a dull 'snick' and Caboose stilled.
"Oops! It broke itself," he said, childish tone at odds with how perfectly still he'd gotten, as though he knew exactly what breaking that switch could mean but didn't want to believe it.
"Ugh," Church said, rather irritated. Tucker honestly couldn't blame him, he was feeling rather irritated himself. And he wasn't the one whose switch just got broken.
/*/
Poor Doc, still in the driver's seat of the Warthog, let out a plaintive, "Oh man, what now?" as the runaway Warthog turned around.
"That does not look good," Dex remarked, seeing the Warthog was pointed back toward their base. "Nice kitty. Nice kitty." Frank decided, he'd have a better shot from on top of the base, and so began to retreat toward the ramp.
/*/
"Okay, I see two wires down here. One's green, the other one's red," Tucker said, crouched down in front of Church once again.
"What about the blue one?" Caboose asked.
"That's your thumb, idiot," Tucker retorted.
"Come on guys, just grab whichever one goes to the switch and yank it out," Church requested.
"See, I can't tell which one goes over there," Tucker said slowly.
"So just yank them both," Church suggested.
"Church," Caboose began seriously, standing from his crouch in front of the cobalt soldier, "if we pick the wrong one, you could explode."
"I don't care," Church began, "look just follow the red one."
/*/
"Acquire, target, Red," the Warthog growled.
"Uh, Sarge, you... you may want to start running... now," Dex suggested, knowing that Sarge was the only 'red' in the area. 'I am so glad my armor's orange,' Dex thought. 'Even if it means I have a dorky code name, I am so glad I'm orange.' Frank emerged on top of the base, while Rick and Dex moved back. No way were they getting caught in this!
"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh, fudge pops," Sarge said, not moving.
/*/
Up in The Ghost, Flowdie blinked in surprise. "Did..." he asked, unable to finish his question of 'did he really just say 'fudge pops?'
"Yep," Marley said, popping the 'p.'
"'Fudge pops?'" Flowdie asked, incredulous.
"Uh-huh," Marley replied, smirking down at the Reds. Her companion still couldn't get over the oddity of it.
"Really?" he asked.
"Said so in the script," Marley said, smirk becoming a bit more devious as she did so.
"Wait... there's a script!?" Flowdie asked, backpedaling in shock.
"Yep. Didn't they give you one at the door to the studio?" Marley asked, turning toward him with a carefully crafted 'innocent confusion' facade. It would have been perfect... if she could have controlled the amusement dancing in her eyes. Luckily for her joke, Flowdie was too confused to notice that she really just wanted to burst out laughing at him.
"No! Wait. Studio?" the bamboozled man asked.
"Uh-huh," Marley said slowly, nodding. By this point, Flowdie had calmed down enough to notice the hidden amusement in Marley's eyes and huffed.
"I'm in love with a mad woman," he muttered morosely after a moment.
"No you're not," Marley countered, shaking her head at him. Flowdie decided, it was his turn to smirk and be a smart alec.
"Right. I'm in love with a rouge Freelancer," he said, 'correcting' himself. Marley gaped at him, trying to from a proper response.
"N...! Fine. Whatever. Blues, on a base, doing weird stuff... Roll camera!" was all she managed to come up with. Still, it seemed to do the job.
"... We're not on set," Flowdie remarked.
"No. We're behind the scenes," Marley countered smoothly, crossing her arms and looking at him like she thought he was behind the times.
"No I mean, we're not in a show," Flowdie said, trying to bring her back to reality... such as it was.
"No. They are, we aren't. That's what behind the scenes means, Flowdie," Marley 'explained,' though she looked rather annoyed.
"... I give up," Flowdie sighed, throwing up his arms in defeat. Marley grinned.
"VICTORY!" Flowdie ignored her dorky victory dance with all the patience and experience of an ex-Blood Gulcher. Which was to say, to him, there was no dancing Marley waving pom-poms and chanting.
/*/
While Flowdie and Marley were having their... conversation... the Warthog had attacked Sarge, ramming him against the wall of his own base. And still, Frank held off blowing the engine block. Why? Not even he could tell you. "Oh! I'm pinned!" Sarge exclaimed rather unnecessarily.
"Way to be Captain Obvious," Dex snarked, using the helmet to helmet radio to be clearly heard. Which was needed, seeing as he was nearly twenty feet away. Yeah, no way was he getting anywhere near that can of Sarge.
"Eliminate Red target," the Warthog growled, its gun repositioning to aim at the pinned Sarge.
"You're gonna kill him!" Grif yelled to Doc, who couldn't reply out of shock. And who couldn't stop the gun even if he wanted to. Crazy Sargent with his crazy remote controls in his crazy robot!
"What a way to go, killed by my own mechanical creations," lamented Sarge. That was when Frank put a 'destroy everything in it's path' bullet through the engine block, and another through the battery for good measure. Finally. The jeep went dead immediately, though it still held Sarge pinned to the base.
"Nice shot," Rick remarked, approaching. Frank huffed, shouldering his rifle.
"I would have rather not 'kill' the thing. If we ever get Lopez back, he's going to be ticked!" he remarked, hopping off the base.
"Now now Private, you were saving the life of a commanding officer. I'll take the blame for this one son," Sarge said. Frank shook his head and turned to Doc. Jerking his head to the side he said,
"Get out. You're helping us push this thing off Sarge." Doc got out, and Grif let out a large moan.
"Really? Really dude!? Is this how you respond to all stressful events? Because if it is, I'm wondering how you managed to survive in this army. At all. Like, how did you get past Basic?!" he asked, staring at the... dirty... driver's seat.
"I got kidnapped by a killer jeep! What did you expect?!" Doc said, trying to defend himself. Dex growled and shoved the man toward the base.
"You, get cleaned up. I refuse to work with a man who can't keep himself unsoiled. Eagle, go get the cleaning supplies, heavy duty. They should be in the south hall closet, top shelf. Simmons, you're helping me get this hunk of metal off Sarge. We'll deal with the mess afterward," the agent barked. The other three found themselves jumping to obey, something Eagle and Simmons had never experienced in Blood Gulch, not even from Sarge. For his part, the ed Sargent was speechless and found himself wondering if Marley had been right and he was merely making Grif's behavior worse by sidelining him.
/*/
When they had finally gotten the Warthog both off of Sarge and cleaned, Dex and Rick both turned to Doc, now also clean, and grabbed his arms. "Hey! What?" he exclaimed.
"Yeah... we've decided we don't need a medic," Rick said darkly.
"Yeah. Turns out, we all have basic first aid training. No need for you, Pointdexter!" Dex added, far too cheerfully.
"So we're taking you back to the Blues," finished Rick, dragging the hapless medic forward. The two marched Doc across the empty, though not desolate, canyon to Blue Base. Doc kept trying to convince them otherwise, but they didn't appear to hear him. That, or they just really didn't care. Yay for selective deafness!
"Uh? Church? I think you should know that the Reds..." began a soldier in regulation blue armor once the trio arrived at Blue Base.
"Dang it Caboose! In the short time I've known you, you've managed to call my girlfriend a slut, blow me up with a tank, shoot me in the head, and now paralyze me from the waist down. So I hope it's not too much for me to ask, just for once, if you'd shut your freaking mouth!" Church yelled, easily heard by the two Agents on the ground below. Dex and Rick shared a look. Poor Church. At least Eagle wasn't that bad. In fact, they rather liked the young soldier. He was basically their little brother. With wicked aim and a 'blow your brain to bits' sniper rifle. Rick decided, it was time to make their presence known.
"Hey blues, we're here to... what the heck are you guys doing?" Simmons yelled up. Hey, all he could see was a guy with his back to him and the other two crouched in front of him. Wouldn't you be a little confused? And disturbed?
"Oh carp, the Reds are here," Tucker said, standing quickly to better see the Reds. And aim. Can't forget aiming.
"What?" asked Church sharply, which was pretty much his default tone. "Caboose, why didn't you say anything?" he demanded, rather unfairly in Doc's opinion.
"Maybe because you gave rather compelling reasons why it would be reasonable for you to request that he be silent when he tried," Dex remarked snidely. "Now, I'll get right to the point so we can all go back to our own pursuits. We're giving back the medic," he added.
"What? Give him back? You can't give him back. You took him. A deal's a deal," Tucker said, coming to the edge of the base.
"Yeah? Well, forget it," Grif shot back, feeling rather irritated with the Blue. "We don't want him."
"Well sorry! You can't have another prisoner. That was our last one!" Church called down, not turning around.
"Hey dude, what is your problem?" Grif asked. 'Just pull out your gun and shoot him. It'd be easy. A single shot to the neck, where the armor's weakest. Hit there, it penetrates and has a high likelihood of severing the neural link between SPARTAN and armor. That done, he wouldn't be able to... oh wait. Wasn't he dead? HOW THE HECK IS HE STILL AROUND!' Grif shook his head, trying to silence Dex's thoughts. It was easier said then done and the Agent part of his mind was still freaking out. Crazy Agent.
"I told you, these guys are weird," Doc muttered. Dex scoffed.
"Shut up, we didn't ask you," Rick said, cuffing the back of the medic's helmet with his pistol. His partner was torn between approval and irritation. Simmons had stolen his move! But... Simmons had used his move! It was indeed a dilemma. A dilemma that would have to wait.
"Look, we don't want him back," Church said, "and we don't care what you do with him. And if you don't mind, we'd appreciate it if you'd leave us alone. We're in the middle of something... kind of private over here." Grif and Simmons shared yet another look. Just more proof that the Blues were weird.
"Fine. But don't come asking for him back later," Simmons said, clearly hoping they'd change their minds and ask for Doc.
"We won't," called Tucker, already turning back to Church.
"Last chance," Grif tried.
"Beat it Reds," Church growled.
"All right, we're going, we're going," Grif said, running off after Doc and Simmons. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he muttered darkly to himself. Dex agreed.
/*/
Up in The Ghost, which had a near permanent holding pattern over Blood Gulch, Marlene White and Butch Flowers, also known as Marley and Flowdie respectively, had finally decided to forgo their armor aboard ship and were lounging in their pajamas, watching the drama unfold below them. Marley was dressed in a deep green t-shirt and gray sweatpants, soft white socks covering her feet. This outfit showed off her toned arms... and the network of scars that spoke of her violent life. Flowdie was similarly attired, but his socks were black, his pants were darker and had a cyan stripe down the sides, and his shirt was a light gray with cyan sleeves. Flowdie was a pale man with short cropped, sandy blond hair. Peeking from the v-neck of his shirt was a thick, pearly scar. He had received that not too long before he was sent to Blood Gulch. Marley could remember the mission clearly, oh so clearly. It was the mission that had cost C.T. her life, and Wash a part of his heart. It was a poorly kept secret that Wash had a crush on Connie. Almost as poorly hidden as York and Carolina. Marley forced her eyes to focus on her old friend's face, on his ice chip blue eyes and his slightly mocking, slightly smug, little half-there smile. She couldn't look at the scar left by the ax that embedded itself in his shoulder, couldn't bare to take in the various scars littering his arms. She hadn't seen what caused them, but several looked rather painful, thick and pearly. "Marley..." Flowdie began seriously, watching the soldiers he had once lead as they talked with Dex and Rick. The woman he was addressing was sitting in the window, cradling a mug of what he assumed to be either Earl Grey or hot coco.
"Yeah Flowdie?" Marley asked, eyes still fixed on 'her boys,' hands playing unconsciously with the warm mug between them. The man sighed, leaning against the wall to the front of her.
"Why did you decide not to train the Blues?" he asked, rolling his own warm mug between his hands. Unlike his dear Marley, Flowdie favored the Japanese style of cup, which allowed him to roll his cup between his hands without the hindrance of a handle. Marley blinked before slowly turning her head to look at her companion. His usually sunny expression was dark and solemn, just like his voice. His jaw set in that hard, stubborn way that meant he wasn't about to be swayed. She sighed.
"I'm not training them... because they're the ones all the drama is really centered around and I thought the Reds should get a shot at drama and adventure," she told the ex-Freelancer. "I'm not training them because they get into so many situations that they're basically training themselves."
"But the Blues don't have drama and adventure!" Flowdie protested.
"The Alpha A.I. Agent Florida posing as a Blue Team Captain. Tex. Yeah, I'd say they have drama," Marley countered, dropping to the floor and kicking her stockinged feet up behind her. Flowdie winced, sinking to the ground and resting his back against the wall.
"... Yeah. Okay. I see your point."
"Plus... it just. Gets. Worse."
"Seriously?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Marley nodded, eyes shadowed with visions of a likely future.
"Reggie's going to try to kill Tucker on O'Malley's orders. While O'Malley possesses Doc," she said. Another wince.
"That... would qualify as worse."
"Yep," Marley said, popping her 'p' before taking a sip of her hot coco. It was one of those days. Flowdie shook his head with another sigh, looking back down at Rick and Dex, who looked like they were going to be abandoning Doc in the middle of the canyon. No-man's Land.
"We going to pick Doc up?" he asked, sipping from his cup of coffee. He was surprised when Marley shook her head, looking pained.
"No. His abandonment is... kind of a plot point. His possession by O'Malley, and subsequent attempt to 'take over the universe' results in Tucker getting seriously injured and the Reds and Blues teaming up to track down Doc so he can treat Tucker. True, the Reds have no reason to want Tucker patched up, and I realize that my being a real doctor and allowing the Reds to know that I am makes the likelihood of that happening now reduced, but they need to work together and that won't happen unless they're forced. Which is what happens when Tucker gets shot with a rocket and O'Malley steals Lopez. I can only hope my boys don't reveal their Agent sides fully until after they are forced to work together," she said. Flowdie sighed, shaking his head.
"Ever feel like we're playing god?" he asked, eyes going distant. Marley sighed heavily.
"Far too often, Flowdie. Far too often," she replied darkly, "but if I don't get these guys to work together... I doubt Freelancer will get torn down. Them overcoming their differences and working together to overcome all odds was what... made it possible. Them breaking out of the 'Blue! Kill! Red! Kill!' mentality was the beginning of the fall. The true fall. Freelancer failed the moment Tex, North, and York attacked the MoI."
"That... that happened?" Flowdie asked, halfway between shocked and awed. Marley chuckled, though it was a dead, mirthless sound that sent shivers down Flowdie's spine. He hated it when she laughed like that.
"Yes. Lucky for you, you were already out here, in the craziness that is Blood Gulch. Believe it or not, this was probably the best thing that ever happened to you." Flowdie scoffed, taking another drink of coffee.
"Oh, I can believe it," he said, chuckling lightly, some semblance of his usual boyish good humor returning. Marley found herself letting go of a breath she hadn't known she was holding. But... why was she worrying over Flowdie's dark mood? Hadn't she, at one point not that long ago, wished he'd grow up and settle down?
/*/
Grif caught up with Doc and Simmons a moment later, frowning under his helmet. "Man, and I thought our team was obnoxious," he said, "but those guys are really rude." Doc turned back around to continue back to Red Base, when Simmons cut him off.
"Whoa, hey, hey, whoa... where are you going?" he asked.
"Back to base with you guys," Doc said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And, as was so often the case with Blood Gulch, in most cases it would be... but this was Blood Gulch and very little was actually logical. "They don't want me over there," Doc went on, jerking his head toward Blue Base.
"Yeah, I don't think so," Grif said, shooting that idea down.
"What? You're just going to leave me here, in the middle of nowhere, by myself?" Doc asked, shocked and appalled by the soldier.
"Yeah, that's kind of the general idea," Simmons answered.
"Not you too, right Grif? Old buddy? Huh?" Doc tried, though he knew it wasn't likely to work. Still, he had to try.
"Sorry man, it's pretty clear that you're not very popular around here, and if I'm gonna make any progress at all, I can't be directly associated with you. I'm sure you understand," Grif said, throwing Doc's words back in his face. 'Poetic justice anyone?' Dex thought darkly. Simmons mentally shook his head. Doc really should have seen that one coming. As it was, the purple medic just kept staring at Grif.
"Really man, you should have seen that coming. Grif's a beast when it comes to burns," Simmons said. 'And with the amount of times I've seen him rubbing burn paste on himself, it's most certainly not a lie. He never even acts like he's burned!' Rick added. Simmons forcefully shoved that thought away. Rick was thinking of Dex, who most certainly was not Grif!
"You guys are mean!" Doc whined. Dex Grif let out a hearty groan.
"A whiny pacifist who can't even drive. How in the hell did you get into the Army? Why are you in the Army?! You should be in some hick town, treating little kids who fall off the swing set, not foul mouthed soldiers who get shot!" he asked, shooting a burning glare at the medic, even if he couldn't see his face. "If there's one thing I hate in this world, it's people like you. People who can't accept the harsh reality of life. You... are a child, playing at being an adult and sooner or later... you're going to break. You're going to break and burn and when that day comes... nothing is going to be able to save you, because you'll be the cause of your own destruction." Rick Simmons shook his head, but couldn't argue.
"Come on Dex. Leave him," he said. The orange soldier turned without a word, stalking back toward his own base, a dark aura hanging about him and leaving a shaken Doc behind. Rick sighed, shaking his head, before jogging after the stalking soldier. Doc was the only one to notice that Simmons had called Grif 'Dex.'
/?/
A/N: Wow. I... was really hard on Doc in this one, wasn't I? Still, I've got to wonder, why is Doc in the army? I've got to agree with Dex on this one. Doc shouldn't be in the army.
A/N 2: These characters man... they love to run away with me. Anyway, minor edits made. Mostly spelling and word choice. 8/18/16