Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter One:
"So, what do you think?" Vanessa Kimball asked two of her co-workers with a flourish, the dust particles in the air moving to life with the motion of her arms.
David Washington looked around the large, vacant space that his friend had brought them to. It was hard to figure out what the large, empty warehouse-like building had been used for before given how void of personality it was now. The few crates that were still there were covered by dirty and dusty canvases.
"It's…nice." The blond finally said at length, unsure of what else to exactly say.
Their other companion, a brown-haired man who they simply known as Felix, snorted at Washington's carefully chosen words. "You drove us all the way out to Blood Gulch for what, exactly?" he asked the dark-skinned woman, his tone bordering on an incredulous pitch, "To show us an empty warehouse?"
"Felix!" Wash hissed out, but neither of his co-workers were paying him any heed.
Kimball's arms had fallen to her sides, though the look in her brown eyes was still oddly hopeful, "This warehouse would have more than enough space for a garage. Don't you think?"
Wash blinked at her comment, understanding as to why Kimball had brought them here in the first place dawning on his features. It wasn't surprising that that was her motive. After all, Kimball had always seen her work as part of Hargrove's security task force as temporary at best. No, what truly beat inside her chest was the heart of a mechanic.
It had taken Donald Doyle's unfortunate and tragic passing three years prior for Kimball to truly understand and accept that identity for herself. Ever since, she had been steadfast in her desire to see that goal come to fruition.
Hargrove had promised Kimball that he would help her set up a shop of her own at some point in the future, but that promise had taken a backburner to his takeovers of pretty much all of the businesses of Rat's Nest.
Corporate takeovers that Hargrove and his company Charon had managed with profits made during the war. Washington supposed it was only right that someone had profited from that horrible, fucked up situation. He certainly hadn't, and neither had Kimball.
He had lost too many friends to count during the heavy fighting. The causalities of war: York, North, South, Connie, Maine…
Hell, he even counted Carolina among the list of lost Freelancers despite the red-haired woman currently living in Rat's Nest. She was even someone he saw on a rather daily basis, but Carolina was practically a stranger to him now with how distantly she acted towards him. Washington had certainly lost her friendship thanks to the war.
Still, none of that changed the fact that he was well aware of how much Malcolm Hargrove was leading Kimball on. It seemed as if Kimball was starting to realize it too now, especially if she was looking at real estate for her dream business on her own.
"You have got to be shitting me." Evidently, Felix had his own opinions regarding Kimball's reasoning as well, "That's why you brought us out here?"
"Felix—" Kimball began, but the man in a black business suit cut her off.
"Come on, Vanessa! You have to get over this." Felix informed her matter-of-factly, "No matter how you spun it to him, here's no way that Hargrove would flip the bill for this. Why the hell would he? And why the hell would you get your hopes up for something that's not even guaranteed to make you a profit?"
Kimball frowned, "It's not just about turning a profit," she stated succinctly, "And if I were to get Project Freelancer on board…"
Felix snorted again as she trailed off, crossing his arms over his chest, "Yeah, good luck with that." He muttered, "That Carolina chick's been refusing more sensible business merger ideas from Hargrove for years. She's even more stubborn than you."
Kimball's frown deepened at his words, but her shoulders and overall posture remained steady, "I didn't say it would be easy."
"Try impossible." Felix corrected her, "Come on, Vanessa. I know you're smarter than this."
"Maybe not." The dark-skinned woman shrugged defiantly, "There's no harm in trying, at any rate."
"Well, it's no skin off my back if you fail, so I suppose you're right." The other bodyguard stated, a smug smirk crossing over his features as he fiddled with his orange tie.
She smiled bitterly, "Sorry for wasting your time then, Felix." She noted before heading towards the exit, "I'll inform Locus that we're heading back."
"Great. I get first shift with him again." Felix rolled his eyes, "Fun times."
While his tone was sarcastic, Washington couldn't help but notice an odd little glimmer of anticipation in Felix's eyes all the same. He decided not to comment on that, instead waiting until Kimball was out of earshot before turning his full attention to the bodyguard, "What the fuck was that?" he asked him.
Felix looked positively bored as he scratched the inside of one of his ears with his pinky finger, "Uh, you're going to have to be more specific, Washie." He mocked.
Wash didn't even bristle at the annoying nickname this time, more angry over what he had just witnessed, "You trying to talk Kimball out of going for this!" he elaborated, "I thought you were her friend!"
Felix looked at him coldly then, "Isn't it a friend's job to talk someone out of doing something completely idiotic?" he countered.
"But if she plays her cards right—!"
"Which she can't when Hargrove's stacked the deck." Felix cut him off, "Face it, Wash, I'm just trying to keep her on the winning team." Felix strode past him before stopping and giving the blond a sidelong glance, "You might want to remember that too." He advised.
Washington bristled at the condescending note in Felix's voice, "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Felix smirked, "You, Vanessa, and Tex spend way more time than necessary being buddy-buddy with those Project Freelancer guys, especially you with that one asshole driver. What's his name? Sucker?"
The freckled blond clenched his fists at his sides and tried, for the sake of their continued working relationship, to remain civil towards Felix, "Tucker."
"Tucker. Right." Felix nodded, glancing at Wash again speculatively, "You fucked him yet?"
"Wha—!" Wash's face turned bright red and he spluttered at the question, "No!"
"Oh, my mistake then." Felix mock apologized, obviously amused by the response he had gotten from Washington, "I just figured you must have given how often you seem to need rides to places, even on your off days. Never learned to drive, Wash?"
The gray-eyed man's blush intensified, "L—leave Tucker and the others out of this." He told the brown-haired man, suddenly remembering why mercenaries for hire like Felix always pissed him off.
Felix shrugged indifferently, "Whatever you say, Washie." He stated, nodding to the door that Kimball had exited through earlier, "Now let's get the fuck out of here before Sam bitches that I'm late again."
Washington fumed, but nodded his head in agreement all the same as he moved towards the exit until something that Felix said finally registered enough to give him pause. "Wait a minute…" he began, realization sinking in, "Locus' real name is Sam?"
Felix paused, making a face as though he had forgotten something important, like an explicit agreement between himself and Locus to not use their real names even amongst co-workers. Not that Washington was one to judge: he definitely understood the appeal of code names.
Felix covered his grimace up quickly by smirking at Wash in a taunting fashion, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Then he was heading in the same direction that Kimball had left in, apparently eager to leave the empty warehouse behind, a smug saunter evident in his steps just to further mock Washington. The former Freelancer sighed as he followed his co-worker out, finding himself tempted yet again to call Tucker.
"I'm just saying, the asshole keeps constantly requesting me specifically and he doesn't even fucking tip!" Dexter Grif bitched over his second mug of coffee for the day, "How fair is that?"
Lavernius Tucker gave his friend since childhood a pointed look, "Dude, are you seriously complaining about having a steady gig?" He asked incredulously from where he was sitting across from the orange-wearing Grif at the table in the Project Freelancer breakroom, "Some of us would kill for that right now."
Grif snorted at Tucker's comment, "Maybe you should have avoided telling the old guy an innuendo joke then."
"He said it was so hot out! What was I supposed to do with that perfect of a setup?" Tucker groaned, resting his forehead on the table.
The heavyset man rolled his brown eyes at his teal-wearing co-worker, though he knew how difficult it could be to hold your tongue in front of Malcolm Hargrove. Ever since Tucker's unfortunate remark, Grif had been forced to do so for the sake of the company. He had to admit, it was downright exhausting. For an admittedly lazy ass like Grif who enjoyed being apathetic, it was kind of dangerous exerting so much self-control.
To be perfectly honest, Grif would much rather be here in the confines of the garage. At least here he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without worry or restraint. None of his asshole friends and co-workers really gave a shit if he was also an asshole: it helped him fit in.
However, since Hargrove pretty much had Project Freelancer in a stranglehold right now, the chubby man had to be on his best behavior around the corporate windbag. Grif was honestly somewhat envious of the fact that Tucker didn't have to deal with Hargrove directly anymore. The elderly businessman was intimidating as fuck.
Still, he also knew that, like himself with Kai, Tucker was trying to support his son with this job. Unlike the now-in-college Kaikaina Grif, Junior wasn't yet at an age where he could help with anything financial yet.
Truthfully, the older Grif sibling had been surprised when Kai had started doing odd jobs around town a couple years ago. Kai even offered him the money that she earned from them to "pay you back or some shit" as she called it. Well, whatever it was she had left over after buying her rave supplies that is.
While it wasn't a ton of money since Grif had wanted Kai to focus on getting a degree, something Grif himself had never gotten around to, it had certainly helped their family out in several different emergency situations.
Since Junior's mother had pretty much been a no-show ever since the young boy's birth, Tucker relied solely on the money he got from being a driver for Project Freelancer to support them both. Naturally, having steady jobs went a long way towards that, especially when congruent with their hourly salaries, particularly if someone was a good tipper. …However, Grif could say with the utmost confidence that Hargrove was not one.
Tucker sighed, "Well, it's his fucking loss if he can't even take a joke." He muttered, before glancing over at his lazy friend, "I can't fucking believe you haven't snapped at the old asshole yourself yet."
"Believe me, Tucker. It's a challenge not to." Grif let out another long-suffering sigh, "The things I suffer through."
Indeed it was a challenge, though the chubbier man had plenty of opportunities to be as carefree and sarcastic as he wanted at the garage or at his home. With Kai always getting into dumb-as-all-fuck trouble, and the assortment of people working here or who visited, he still got in his quota of wry commentary.
"I'll bet." Tucker noted, taking a swig out of the water bottle nearby, "He's practically asking for it all the time. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!" No sooner had the common catchphrase left his mouth then the dark-skinned man seemed to realize what he had actually said, making a sick face, "Ew, never mind."
"Yeah, thanks for that." Grif muttered, joining the dark-skinned man in making a disgusted face. See? He delivered enough sarcasm at Project Freelancer to last a lifetime.
Calling the place Project Freelancer instead of the Mother of Invention still felt weird despite the new name having been in use for over a year now. The garage-and-driving service's name had changed ever since Carolina had taken over the business following the death of her and Church's father.
The redhead had only said the new name was her way of honoring her comrades from the military, though further attempts to pry into the backstory behind change was always met with a stony, green-eyed glare.
Even weirder was Sarge's crazy attempt to change the name yet again, this time to the Reds and Blues Garage for…whatever reason Sarge ever had for doing anything. Thank God Carolina always vetoed that fucking lunatic idea.
Speaking of Carolina, Grif glanced wearily over through the open doorway of the breakroom to their boss' office. Carolina had entered her office at the start of the day and they hadn't seen her step outside since. Truthfully, only Church, or possibly Tex if she was around, had the balls to enter said office when the door was shut. Carolina wasn't exactly known for her open door policy—a trait she must have inherited from the former boss, since he was definitely not the "mingle with the underlings" type either.
Whatever the hell the redhead did in her office for hours on end was seriously a pretty big mystery around here, one that was probably not going to get solved any time soon. So, with Carolina sealed away in there doing who knows what currently, that just left himself, Tucker, Sheila, and Lopez at the Project Freelancer garage.
Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. Church was likely around too, but since Tex had stopped by earlier in the day, who the hell wanted to know what they were up to now? With those two it was either fighting or making out, neither of which Grif was too eager to step in on.
Sarge had taken his lunch break to visit with his younger girlfriend, a doctor working at a nearby medical clinic called Valhalla. Doctor Emily Grey and Sarge were so affectionately "lovey dovey" with one another that they had arranged for their lunches to always be at the same time, just so that they could always see each other at least once in the day.
…It was cutesy enough to make one want to gag, if the two maniacs weren't so terrifying together. Given Sarge's penchant for insulting Grif and threatening him for being a "lazy excuse of a driver," the tan-skinned man welcomed the reprieve from the crazy old guy even though he was mentally preparing for the day when the two mad scientists inevitably decided to take over the world.
Looking around the garage, Grif noted some more absences, as well as less things catching on fire in the background. The lack of explosions made sense given that Caboose had needed the intern Andersmith's help with a recent delivery of his. Who knew how long they would be out given Caboose's penchant for getting distracted?
Michael J. Caboose was the roommate of one very reluctant Leonard Church, who had gotten the more simple-minded young man a job as an "errand boy" or sorts at the garage largely to help keep his roomie from lighting their curtains on fire for the fifth time in one month.
…At least the blond had John Elizabeth Andersmith with him this time for the delivery, though the older intern seemed not to notice many of Caboose's odd quirks. In fact, Andersmith often praised the younger man for them, which made Grif question his judgement. At least they'd probably not get lost thanks to Caboose's smart phone, which he had named Freckles for some reason, being equipped with GPS.
Project Freelancer's other intern, a young man around Kai's age named Matthews, had stepped out for his own lunch break too. Grif had forgotten Matthews' first name and now figured it would be too much of a pain to ask. Still, knowing the kid's penchant for always supplying Project Freelancer's staff with coffee since he was a grade-A kiss-ass after all, the auburn-haired man was no doubt at the Big Gulp right now.
If Grif cared more, he would worry that Matthews had a caffeine problem given how often he would go there in his spare time. But, the bespectacled intern provided them with fresh coffee and baked goods, so he didn't see much reason to complain or exert energy by having to be concerned.
All in all, it seemed to be shaping up to be a pretty quiet afternoon. The kind of lazy day where he could probably sneak off later to do a little napping, which was always awesome in his book. Thinking about that very thing, Grif couldn't help but yawn slightly. A nap would be good right about now…
Of course, at the exact moment when he was about to inform Tucker of his amazing plans for the rest of the day, there was a knock on the doorway. Glancing in that direction, Grif saw a pretty petite woman with brown hair in a bun standing there.
Sheila, the office assistant here at Project Freelancer, smiled politely at both Tucker and Grif. In her hand was clasped two pieces of paper with information scrawled on them in neat, cursive writing.
Behind the brunette was the tanned form of Lopez, one of the mechanics at the garage. He looked rather bored, having no doubt been conversing with the woman before she had gotten up from her work area to talk to them. She was one of the only people who understood him since he only spoke Spanish. It was fairly obvious that Lopez was smitten with her too.
"Hey, Sheila. Hey, Lopez." Tucker greeted the two, nodding his head in their direction, "How's it hanging?"
"No puedo quejarme demasiado cuando el viejo loco de rojo está lejos." {"I can't complain too much when the crazy old man in red is away."}
Sheila gave Lopez a knowing smile in response to whatever he had just said before turning back around to the two drivers sitting at the breakroom table, "It's going well. Thank you."
"I take it you have work for one of us?" Grif let out another long-suffering sigh at the notion. There went his perfect napping plans out the window.
"Yes. For both of you, actually." She glanced down at the papers that she was holding even though she had probably memorized every detail of their new assignments by heart, "Grif, Chairman Hargrove has requested a pick-up for the airport in two hours' time."
Damn it. Of course the old bastard had. The dark-haired man chose to ignore the amused smirk that Tucker shot his way, admirably resisting the "fuck off" that was on the tip of his tongue for the time being.
"Tucker," Sheila smiled in bemusement, a sudden twinkling in her brown eyes, "David Washington has requested that you pick him up from the usual spot."
Tucker's face turned red, and even Lopez smirked at his reaction.
Grif raised an eyebrow, "Oh, what does this make it, Tucker?" He asked his friend, "The seventh time Washington has hired you outside of his work?"
On occasion, employees of Malcolm Hargrove would hire out Grif or Tucker for Charon job-related reasons. But, the interesting thing with Washington, was that he had stopped doing that weeks ago. The blond was now getting Tucker to drive him places completely out of his own pocket.
If the chubby man didn't know any better, either Washington couldn't drive worth shit himself or he was completely infatuated with Grif's teal-wearing co-worker.
"Shut up." Tucker gave him the finger then, "I'd rather ride with hotness than old and cranky any day of the week."
"Parece que a veces también está de mal humor cuando visita aquí." {"He seems to sometimes be cranky too when he visits here."}
"You should get him to stop by sometime again, Tucker." Sheila noted, "He and Carolina are friends, after all."
"I don't know." Tucker looked unsure at the idea, "They seemed pretty icy to one another the last time."
That was a bit of an understatement, as Carolina had walked right past Washington on his last visit to Project Freelancer as if she didn't even recognize him.
Tucker shot up from the table a second later though, with way more pep in his step than when he had entered the breakroom earlier to sit with Grif, "At any rate, I should get going!"
"Yeah, you don't want to keep Wash waiting." Grif remarked jokingly.
"Hey, at least he fucking tips, fat-ass!" Tucker shot back, grinning from ear to ear, "Plus, he's easy on the eyes!"
As Tucker moved past Sheila and Lopez, the Spanish speaking mechanic sighed and shook his head, "Tanto por ser profesional." {"So much for being professional."}
By the time Grif had lazily finished his coffee and had gotten to where his car was parked, he noticed that Tucker's was long gone. He smirked, suspecting that Tucker was already halfway to meeting Washington wherever it was that they had deemed their "usual" spot.
His old friend was definitely not trying to conceal the obvious crush he had on Hargrove's bodyguard in the slightest. If Grif wasn't so apathetic, he would almost be jealous. He couldn't even remember the last time that he had a crush on someone.
…High school, probably. Which was definitely a while ago. An odd flash of freckled skin and red hair came to him then, but he shook his head to dispel the odd passing thought as he approached his car.
Grif stopped when he noticed the backseat windows were a lot steamier than he remembered them being earlier. He groaned at the realization as to why that was, especially since he had figured out the mystery as to where exactly Church and Tex had snuck off to. As well as what it was exactly they were doing while having disappeared.
"Guys, what the fuck?!" Grif shouted, looking away from the tinted windows, "Get your own car to do that shit in!"
His comments were met with fucking laughter as both Tex and Church stumbled out of the car, their clothes and hair looking obviously more rumpled than before they had gotten in.
"Aw, but where's the fun in that?" Tex countered, grinning deviously in a way that had Grif wanting to run away or get something to shield his balls with.
"Yeah, and way to ruin the mood, dipshit." Church chimed in.
Grif rolled his eyes, "Please, you both should be paying me for the mental images I'm going to be having."
"Jealously is not a good color on you, Grif." His friend mocked, his cobalt shirt wrinkled.
Tex nodded her blonde head in agreement, smirking, "What is your shirt color of choice anyways? Gold?"
"Fuck you, you know it's orange!" He motioned to his clearly orange undershirt at that remark.
Tex and Church both laughed before heading inside the garage once again, fingers interlaced together.
Grif sighed lazily, staring at his car. Now he would have to actually clean the damn thing before taking Hargrove to the airport. Fucking perfect.
The drive to Armonia Airport wasn't nearly as eventful as Grif had feared it might be, the traffic in Rat's Nest being surprisingly light given the time of day.
Thankfully, Hargrove had opted to leave his security retinue behind this time. Felix had mock-waved goodbye in Grif's rearview mirror as they had pulled away from Hargrove's estate, Locus standing beside him as imposing and stoic as ever.
The car ride was pretty quiet considering that Malcolm Hargrove wasn't one for socializing with those that he considered beneath him, which served Grif just fine. After all, if they didn't engage in small talk in the first place it was a lot harder for him to be a sarcastic asshat. Which, admittedly, Grif was prone to be with the stuffy types.
It took them about half an hour to reach the crowded airport, and another ten minutes for Grif to pull into the Arrivals lane. Hargrove was looking out the window, clearly searching for someone. He finally tapped at the window to indicate that he had found whoever it was they were picking up.
"Ah, there he is." Hargrove elaborated verbally, his voice a command as he added, "Stop right here."
Grif did as he was told, not even bothering to look at whichever business associate they were picking up this time. He simply got out of the car to put their bags in the trunk, as this type of thing had been a pretty common routine in his line of work.
However, the chubby man was surprised that the new arrival had only one small suitcase with them. In his experience, the big wigs that Hargrove usually picked up at the airport traveled with more stuff. As he picked up the suitcase carelessly with one hand, he noted that it was quite light too.
"This is it? You don't have more shit somewhere?" Grif couldn't help but ask, not really caring either way what the answer was.
"Um…!"
There was something vaguely familiar about the hesitant voice that had just tried to speak, and Grif finally looked up at the new arrival's face for what he learned was not actually the first time.
His dark-eyed gaze met with vibrant green eyes, red hair, and pale skin dotted with too many freckles to count. …Though Grif recalled that he had tried on occasion to count them when he had stolen glances at the person before, years ago.
The not-really-a-stranger's face was turning an impossible fire hydrant red under Grif's scrutiny just then, and suddenly the name of Donut's friend from high school came so quickly into the orange-wearing man's mouth that he couldn't help but blurt it out.
"Simmons?"
Author's Notes: Here is the first actual chapter of the story! :) I had fun writing this part out, and I can only hope that will continue to be the case as the story progresses!
As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D