Skip came back inside a few minutes later, letting the door slam behind him as he headed for the coffee pot. His jacket was wet from the rain that had been falling all evening, and he shot a scowl towards where Homer still sat at the table, erecting a shaky looking house of cards.

"How's the weather?" Tommy asked meditatively. He had moved to lean against the wall so he could watch the road without seeing his co-worker's sad attempts at architecture reflected in the glass, and asked the question without looking around.

"Cloudy. No stars. Driving home's going to be just dandy if it keeps raining like it is."

"Mmm." They fell silent again, the two younger guards studying the approach to the bridge that separated the base from the mainland and trying to ignore the heavy breathing of the man behind them. Had it just been them, the quiet would have been companionable; with Homer's low curses as the cards folded over and over again in the background, it was tense.

"Don't you guys want to keep playing?" the older man asked finally, a slight begging tone in his voice.

"Not in the mood," Skip muttered. Outside, a sliver of moon peeked out of the clouds, casting just enough light on the wet blacktop for him to realize that something was on the road. "Did you see that?" he asked Tommy, straightening up.

"I thought I saw something, but there's no lights. Can't be a car, unless they're running dark."

"Pretty stupid in this weather." He grabbed a rifle down off of the rack by the door. "Or pretty smart, depending on why they're driving blind."

"I'm with you," Tommy nodded, snagging a handheld spotlight from under the counter and following Skip back outside. The falling water sank through his uniform, reminding him too late that he hadn't put his jacket on. "Shit, this is a cold rain."

"Yeah. Shine that light up the road, would you?"

They searched fruitlessly for a few moments before the sound of footsteps became clear. "Someone's walking up," Tommy said unnecessarily.

"Hey, who goes there?" Skip hollered into the dark. The footsteps stopped.

"Is that you, Skip?" a muffled but vaguely familiar voice called back, a note of pain in it's tone.

"Uh…yeah." Exchanging a glance with the other guard, he shrugged. "Who're you?"

"It's Dex."

"Oh. Hey." His eyebrows knit together suddenly. "Didn't you leave here in a car earlier? Why are you walking back?"

"It's kind of a long story. Look, I'm just trying to get back down to the base."

"Step into the flashlight beam before you come any closer." He jerked his head towards the spot the voice had come from, and Tommy aimed the light there. A pair of boots became visible, followed by the standard issue khaki uniform that were all either man had ever seen the engineer dressed in. "You sound kind of funny, you know. Just making sure you are who you say."

"I know. Just doing your jobs. It's fine, guys, really." He raised one hand to block the direct light that was stabbing into his eyes.

"Could you put your hand down? I can't see your face."

"Sorry." He lowered his arm slowly, trying not to hiss as the brightness filled his already pounding head with needles. "Ow."

"Holy cow, Dex, are you okay? Tommy, turn that light off, or away or something."

"I'll live. It looks worse than it is, I think," he called back as he tried to stay on his feet. The world was unstable, the lights of the base beyond the guard post refusing to stay in one place for more than a second. "Can I come forward now?" he asked before taking any further steps. The last thing I need tonight is to get shot, on top of everything else.

"Sure. I mean, hell, you're the boss." The two guards waited as he walked the rest of the way to the glow that surrounded the gatehouse, both of their eyes widening as he came into full view. "Oh, wow, what happened to you?" Skip asked, moving to open the door for the dripping engineer. "You look like you went three rounds with Joe Louis."

"It was more like one round with a deer," Dex replied as he stumbled forward. "Tommy Johansen, right?" he asked as he passed by the flashlight wielder.

"Right."

"Heard through the grapevine you just became an uncle. Congratulations."

"Hey, thanks!" Homer's a dumbass. This guy's all right, he decided as he followed Skip and their guest into the warm guardhouse. "Get you some coffee?"

"Sounds good to me," Dex replied, not certain he'd be able to stomach it with the way his head was spinning but eager to at least wrap his hands around something warm. "Thanks, Skip," he added as he slumped into the chair that the guard pulled out for him. "Sorry," he addressed the fourth man in the room. "I don't think I caught your name."

"Homer Gates," the older man said stiffly, eyeing the newcomer's damaged features. "What the hell happened to your face, kid?"

Despite the agony the action ignited, Dex's mouth automatically pulled a terse smile at the youthful moniker that he hated with a passion. It was one thing for Joe to refer to him as a 'good boy' all the time – that was a term of endearment, after all, a nickname given to him by a man not exactly known for his creativity – but to be addressed like a child by an oaf who hadn't even bothered to get out of his seat while his comrades had been doing their jobs was something else all together. "Like I told the others outside," he replied as best he could with both his lips split and bleeding, "I had a run-in with Mother Nature."

"What, were you driving drunk or something? Roads ain't that bad."

"I hit a deer," he answered tightly, his already frazzled nerves wearing thinner still the longer he talked to this man. Having answered that incredibly rude presumption, he turned his attention back to the other two. "I won't interrupt you for long, I know you're working. I just want to dry off some before I finish walking back."

"Are you kidding? You can't walk back like that. You'll never make it," Skip exclaimed, straightening up from where he'd been rustling around under the counter for the first-aid kit someone had told him once was supposed to be there. "Here, a wet towel's about the best we've got," he gave up finally, tossing the engineer the rag they'd been using to wipe condensation off of the insides of the windows. "Maybe you can get some of the blood off, at least."

"…Does it look that bad?" Dex asked tentatively, dabbing here and there at his face. "Ow! Guess that's broken. No wonder I sound ridiculous," he muttered when he brushed at his nose. "Stupid thing came right through the windshield. It didn't hurt this much outside. I guess the cold must have numbed it some. Hey, thanks, Tommy," he said as he stopped exploring his injuries to take the cup that was being offered to him. He sipped gingerly, wincing as the liquid stung the open wounds in his mouth but grateful for the heat. "You don't have a mirror laying around, do you?"

"Nah. Try the windows. They reflect pretty good on nights like this, if you wipe them off. Homer, aren't we supposed to have a first aid kit around here somewhere? Or a blanket, or something?"

"Hell if I know," the older guard spat back, watching from the corner of his eyes as Dex stood uncertainly and moved towards the window. "Your turn to mop the floor tonight, Skip," he added, seeing the blood that had dripped onto the concrete where their visitor had been sitting.

"Shut up, Homer. Dex, you all right over there?" he asked, seeing him waver a bit and grab the window frame for support.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He peered at his reflection as it rippled in the rainwater on the glass. "Oh, man, Joe's going to kill me when he sees this," he groaned. So much for this shirt, he thought as he noted how the cascade of red that coated his lower face and neck had soaked into the light-colored cotton. He wiped at it ineffectually, managing to do little more than spread it around.

"What's he care if you smash your face up some?" Homer asked, suddenly interested. "Or does he only hire pretty boys for the good paying jobs?"

Dex stiffened. "Excuse me?" he asked icily, his hand freezing a few inches from his lips, the now ruined rag clenched in his fist.

"I'm just saying, maybe you're worried if you lose your looks he'll pack you off up here with the rest of the hangdog gang. You know, maybe he won't want to keep you so close by all the time if your face is all fucked up."

"Just what are you implying, Mr. Gates?" he said slowly. As badly as it hurt to talk, there was no way he was going to let a jab like that go by unrecognized. Comments like the one that had just been made were how rumors got started, rumors that they could ill afford to have taken seriously.

"Jesus, Homer, quit being an ass," Tommy interjected, having caught a frightening glimpse of the steel that made up the engineer's core and not wanting to see any more of it revealed.

"I just asked a simple question," Homer insisted. "If he doesn't want to answer it, that's fine with me. Tells me plenty in either case."

"I'll be happy to answer your real question, if you'd like to spit it out," Dex nearly growled back. Skip had never before thought of the man in front of him as a frightening figure, but as he watched him utter that slightly slurred threat from behind his mask of carmine and angry bruises, he shuddered.

The eldest guard, being either incredibly fearless or completely lacking in a sense of self-preservation, continued his taunting. "I'm just wondering what it is you and your boss do when-"

"Homer, get the hell out of here," Skip interrupted him, his lips pursed. He could see the engineer tensing, every muscle in his body tightening as he tried to hold back the urge to beat his provocateur into the ground. It wasn't hard to imagine how the rest of the night would go at this pace; Homer would end up dead, Dex would be led off in handcuffs, and it would take every connection and ounce of charm that Sky Captain possessed to get him back and clear his record. Worst of all, Skip himself would have to fill out more paperwork than he saw even in his nastiest nightmares, on top of having to explain what it was that had driven the engineer into homicidal madness to begin with. No, it was much better to just stop it now.

"You can't-" the older man tried to argue.

"The hell I can't. You might have been here longer, but in case you haven't noticed my name's above yours on the schedule, and has been for months. If I tell you to get the fuck out of here and go home so you can cool off, you better just do it, all right?"

"…Fine," he spat finally. "I'm going. See you boys tomorrow night, maybe. Good luck walking home in the rain, kid," he tossed in Dex's direction as he stormed out. A few minutes later an engine roared from the ditch behind the gatehouse. Tires squealing, Homer Gates sped away towards the city, muttering curses about sexual deviants and Communist infiltration as he went.

"What an ass," Tommy broke the silence when the red glow of Gates' taillights had vanished over the hill.

"Just ignore him," Skip said when he saw that Dex hadn't relaxed. "No one listens to him, he's just a sorry sack of shit."

Heaving a sigh that he immediately regretted, the engineer settled back into his chair. I nearly blew that, he realized belatedly. If I had attacked him, it would have given credence to his accusations. Normally I can just brush people like him off. What the hell's wrong with me tonight? I never react like that. "Yeah. I'm sorry you guys have to put up with that kind of talk. Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much. We just laugh at him when he's not around to hear us. It's okay."

He shook his head slowly, trying to keep his aching muscles from screaming. "You shouldn't have to deal with someone like that at work. Besides, he doesn't seem very good at this job. If you like, I'll mention his conduct to the Captain. If Mr. Gates is as unhappy here as he looked just now, maybe it's time he found another employer."

Tommy and Skip barely had to glance at one another to know that they were having the same thought. "If you don't mind…" Tommy ventured.

"If it isn't too big of a hassle, I mean, we know you're a busy man…" Skip threw in a little too eagerly.

Dex tried to smile, and ended up flinching. "Leave it to me." He contemplated his now-cool coffee for a few seconds, trying to decide whether he could stand another sip. Just as he was about to give it a try, a bolt of pain flashed through his head, nearly sending him into the cup face-first. "Uhmm…." he moaned slightly.

"Oh, hey, are you okay?" Tommy came forward. "Maybe you should see a doctor about that," he suggested. "I mean…there's a lot of blood on you."

"You could have a concussion, you know," Skip added.

"I just need to go to bed, I think. I'd better head out." He stood up, blinked a few times, and then nearly fell back down. "On second thought, walking might not be such a great idea…"

"One of us could drive you. We've both got cars."

"No, no, there should always be two people on guard. Captain's adamant about that." A thought popped into his aching head. Joe. "You guys have a phone up here, right?"

"Yeah. You want us to call you an ambulance or something?"

"Jeez, I didn't think I looked that bad in red," Dex attempted to joke. Seeing the looks on the other two men's faces, he grimaced. "Just call 3257, would you?"

"3257? I don't think that's on our exchange," Skip said doubtfully, looking closely at the phone roster that hung on the wall by the phone. "Are you sure you've got the right number?" If he took as bad of a hit as it looks like he did, he could be confused. I don't recognize that number, and I thought I knew all of the lines on base.

"It's a private number, but it's on our system," he explained. "I'll take the phone after you dial. I don't want to cause a panic, if you know what I mean."

"Sure. You're the boss." Resisting the urge to call an ambulance regardless of what he'd been told, Skip rang in the requested number and then passed the receiver over, stretching the cord out to reach across the room so the injured man wouldn't have to get up.

"Hey, Cap," Dex said after a few seconds. "I'm at the guardhouse. No. Well, kind of. No…Yeah, I did, but it was just a fender bender. A little. No, Cap, I told you, I'm fine. Just sort of banged up." He paused. "Listen, can you come get me? It's pouring outside, and I really don't think I can - What? Yeah, there are people here. I'll stay here. Yes, I promise. All right, all right. Look, there's really no rush-" He broke off suddenly, a look of exhaustion coming over his face as he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. "Well, so much for not making him panic. I should have known he'd wait up for me, I told him not to…" He looked up sharply, knowing that he had just said much more than he should have. The other two men looked no more uncomfortable than they had before, however, and for some reason he couldn't explain that fact soothed his worry. "Sorry to keep bugging you," he found himself apologizing. "I'll be out of your hair here in a bit."

"No need to apologize," Skip told him. "Hell, I owed you one anyway, for fixing my car."

"What? Oh, no, hey, anyone would have done that. You can't just drive by someone who's broken down in the middle of the night."

"Most people would have," Skip countered.

"Homer would have," Tommy agreed.

"Well, either way, you don't owe me anything." He shut his eyes tightly for a moment. "You mind if I just put my head down for a minute? Sorry to be a bore, I'm just really tired all of a sudden…"

"I don't think you're supposed to sleep if you might have a concussion. Heard that somewhere," Tommy put forth.

"I won't go to sleep, I'm just going to rest for a minute." He lowered his forehead to his arm as if he simply didn't have the strength to hold it up any longer. "Just, you know, let me know when my ride gets here?"

"Sure thing," Skip conceded, knowing there was nothing they could do if he was determined. The last thing he wanted to do was get him all riled up again like he had been a few minutes before. "Hey Tommy, let's take a walk, huh?" Leaving Dex sitting quietly in his chair, they stepped outside and stood, watching, one facing the base and the other facing the approach road.