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 Eight:
The gunshot went off close by his shoulder and Washington cursed having to be locked in a firefight with North of all people.
He fired a shot of his own and was slightly gleeful (not that he would show it) that North had to move out of the way instead of just firing off another bullet in retaliation.
"Your aim has gotten better." His former teammate said almost conversationally despite the current standoff.
"Yours seems about the same." Washington called out from behind his hiding spot in a recessed alcove, "Though you're not really aiming for anything vital."
He could almost picture the frown that was forming on the other blonde's face under his helmet at that, "I don't want to kill you, Wash."
Of course not. North Dakota was kind-hearted, the sort to always look after his teammates. No doubt the decision to leave had been extremely hard for him. It had probably been bad enough for North just abandoning Washington, let alone Theta later on after what happened during the defection itself, like they had.
"I don't plan on letting you do that either." Washington dove out and fired another round, noting the definite slowness of North's dodging response that time.
Right, because South had shot him before. He'd heard about that later, after everything had occurred.
Soft-heartedness would only get you killed in this line of work. …Or abandoned and betrayed. Take your pick.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caboose still standing there, his body language indicating confusion. The mech, Freckles, stood stock-still some meters behind him assessing the situation.
Oh, for fuck's sake!
"Caboose, go behind Freckles!"
It would be one thing if Caboose attacked him or something and he'd had to kill him then, but it would be something else entirely if the simple-minded fighter who resembled far too much a little kid in his mind was killed in the crossfire between him and North.
Not that there was much chance of that happening on North's end. He was a controlled, precision shot-maker and he'd been holding back on firing whenever it seemed the young man could be hit. No, Washington was more worried about any other potential people who might decide to join the fray later.
North seemed surprised at his statement to Caboose and tilted his head slightly in a questioning motion. Washington chose to ignore the movement entirely.
"Oh, but the two of you are such good friends!"
How Caboose got "friends" from a gunfight in the middle of a corridor he'd never know, even with the conversation they were having being as tame as it was.
Despite himself, the audacity of the comment caused him to respond.
"We used to be." Washington's throat constricted slightly the moment he said that.
"Wash…"
"A lot of things have happened since though." He glanced over at Caboose again, gun still aimed at North, "Get over to Freckles, Caboose."
"But the two of you should catch up then."
Caboose wasn't listening. Typical though, no one seemed to listen to Washington.
Besides he really couldn't afford to keep diverting his attention between potential targets.
"I'm sorry we left you there."
Don't shake, damn it! He fought to keep his hand steady as Washington registered the defector's words.
"Things were chaotic and we had no time. We didn't mean—" North was lowering his gun as he was speaking and Washington had to fight the urge to yell at him for taking an action the former Freelancer knew full well was foolish and to keep it up.
"I was a liability then." Washington was surprised his voice didn't shake, "I don't blame you."
But I have my orders and even if you're acting like my friend I will shoot you if you get in my way.
He didn't say it, but his rigid body posture and pointed gun spoke volumes.
North regarded him carefully, sympathetically—and Washington wished he could tell the older man to shove it.
He could not afford to remember in any way how he used to be: the naïve younger teammate everyone teased and looked out for. Not now. There was no way to ever go back to that person.
Though a small sliver of that former self probably did poke through a little when he spoke next.
"You were all still a bunch of dicks though."
An exhale, probably a slight chuckle, came from the other man. It was harder than he thought to interact with North like this—he was torn between almost wanting to laugh and cry himself.
Just like with Caboose, he didn't want to shoot North either if he could avoid it. Washington didn't want to be in his former teammate's presence either though: North made him remember too much, and he was still trying to find something that was separate to hold onto since he'd lost everything else. Better to keep a far distance from it entirely, if he could. He couldn't and he knew it, but it would be better if he could. That much he was certain of.
He sighed, "North, take Caboose and get away from the base."
North was a little puzzled but didn't seem particularly shocked by the request, "Why?"
"Because I'm not the only Freelancer here and I doubt very much any of the others would hesitate to kill you." Washington said pointedly, his voice flat.
"Thanks for the heads up, but I can handle myself just fine, kid." North reminded him gently.
"Even if you ran into South?"
North stiffed and Washington continued knowing that maybe he could use North's reaction to the possibility of his twin sister being here to get him to listen to him, "She's here too, you know."
"I—"
"Caboose!"
Washington was really starting to lose count of how many times Hell broke loose while on this mission as a teal blur raced forward past North and straight for him. He barely had time to dodge an energy blade nearly ripping into his armor.
"What the—"
"Tucker!" North shouted, clearly referring to the newcomer.
"Hey, Tucker!" Caboose exclaimed happily as well, "You say hello really funny to new friends."
The armored figure turned to Washington again and practically snarled at him, the alien sword in his hand out at the ready once more.
"I am really fucking pissed off at you dicks right now so back off, asshole!"
Things had definitely gotten out of hand incredibly fast. York blinked, trying to pinpoint when exactly it had all started.
In this case, probably the second that Florida's team had been given the assignment to travel down here. Going back even before that though? Fuck, if he knew.
Kimball and Tex had left with the "prisoners" and Grif to show them the route they would take.
"Sarge, be ready to follow in ten minutes." Kimball had advised him, "We'll need your team to provide support."
"Yes, sir!" he saluted, and York could practically see the manic gleam in his eyes even through his red helmet's visor. Well, he'd seen it more than enough times to actually be able to picture it pretty clearly in his head now at any rate.
"I guess I'll stick with them then, if you don't mind." York had said, gesturing over to Red Team.
"Suit yourself."
Tex's words of encouragement were always good to hear, he recalled with a wry smile. As was the nod from Kimball indicating it was all right before she disappeared from view completely.
And Tucker? Well, the poor guy had a lot on his plate and, as much as it sucked, Tucker only had the time to focus on one of the pressing issues surrounding them at the moment. While it was pretty obvious that he was upset over what had happened with his friend, York also knew he had a teammate missing in action to contend with.
"Fuck this shit." He'd said the minute he was alone with York and what remained of Red Team, "I need to find Caboose—I don't even want to think of what kind of trouble he's getting into during this."
Sarge nodded understandably, "He's your teammate, son. That takes priority."
"You guys better rescue that fat-ass though." Tucker's sword was already gripped tightly in his hand, "I really don't want to tell his sister that he got killed in some domestic squabble!"
York glanced over questioningly to Donut, but the "lightish red" soldier shook his head and stage whispered, "I'll fill you in later—and tell you about that too!"
Okay, sometimes York wasn't sure how much he really wanted to know about these guys at all.
Sarge harrumphed, practically shoving the teal soldier out the door, "Son, we don't need you to tell us that. Red Team takes care of our own, even if one of us is as lazy and worthless as Grif. About time you did the same."
"Say hi to Caboose for me when you see him!" Donut called out cheerily from behind.
Which pretty much led up to the four remaining men (well, three men and one Spanish speaking robot if you were going to be "uber-technical") drawing out their battle plan. Not that it really was going to be much of one: they'd need to get more weapons for Lopez and Donut, then they'd probably just follow the carnage that Tex would no doubt leave in her wake.
"All right, men," Sarge did like to spell things out for everyone still though, "Let's regroup and get some more firepower. Operation: Kicking Above Ground Ass is about to commence full circle!"
"Um," Donut tapped his helmet contemplatively, "That title isn't very catchy, Sarge."
"Además, ¿no es falta el punto entero de mierda?" {"Besides, isn't it missing the whole fucking point?"}
"Lopez is right, we can't forget about Grif too!"
The robot turned to look at Donut, acting as though he were astonished by something.
"Wow, yo soy una especie de impresionado que en realidad tienes que algo de razón, por una vez." {"Wow, I am kind of impressed that you actually got that somewhat right for once."}
The younger fighter waved his hand in the air, "Lopez and I vote for a name change!"
"No importa. Usted acaba arruinado." {"Never mind. You just ruined it."}
Their commanding officer sighed, "Fine. I guess we can call it Operation: Kick Ass and Maybe Rescue Lazy Orange Dirt Bag instead."
"There you go, Sarge, that's more like it!"
York had to fight the sudden urge to bang his head repeatedly into a nearby wall. Things could certainly be entertaining with these guys sometimes and he had a feeling they'd probably need some help if they were going to be following after Tex as they planned, but their eccentricities could be a little off-putting.
He was starting to wonder if it was already too late to join up with Tex and Kimball.
Lopez noticed his reaction and shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"Bienvenido a mi mundo." {"Welcome to my world."}
To say that Tucker was good and pissed by the time he had finally found Caboose still near the outskirts of the base was probably the biggest understatement of the year.
He was well and truly furious: not only was one of his oldest friends now a hostage in a really fucked up turn of events, but in practically every corridor and room he came across there was fighting and people lying on the ground either dead or dying.
Several of those people were familiar faces to him from around the base—people he'd shared stories with or who laughed at his exasperation over the antics of his teammate in the mess hall during quieter hours.
He'd look at them and try not to think of Grif or Caboose lying there. He didn't want to wonder if that was how his mother must have looked during the fire.
He was just grateful that he'd sent Junior home earlier. Yes, his son was actually surprisingly capable of handling himself given the other side of his family tree, but now he understood why Grif probably didn't like Kai coming here even if not taking into account her party girl side. The likelihood of something like this happening wasn't small. Truthfully, it was probably a fucking miracle an outright confrontation hadn't taken place before this.
Now if he could just find Caboose, at least he'd be able to scratch one worry off of his list. Provided he wasn't bleeding out in a tunnel somewhere.
That thought made him speed up more, so he was a ball of nerves and rage when he finally did come across his teammate.
Caboose had been with Freckles still, thankfully. Tucker wouldn't trust the damn thing to not shoot him at some point, but he did seem oddly attached to Caboose which was especially good news in the all-out firefight the battle had become. His blue-armored teammate was just standing there in the middle of a tunnel littered with bodies and debris like it was nothing.
Figured, here Tucker was all frustrated and worried over him and Caboose probably didn't even realize just how dangerous things were. He couldn't decide if he wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that that was the case or sigh in exasperation over it instead.
North was there as well and the person in steel and yellow battle armor standing between the two Resistance fighters wasn't someone Tucker recognized.
He also had a gun pointed directly at the former Freelancer.
North was saying something to the person and his sniper rifle was lowered, but Tucker wasn't really in the mood or right frame of mind to hold back and read the situation carefully. Especially not with Caboose standing right there, seemingly nonplussed that a gun could be pointed at him in a matter of seconds.
Generally speaking, in his mind, when a fight was going on and someone had a gun pointed at you they would be counted as the enemy.
…Which is how Lavernius Tucker ended up between his teammate and an armed Above Grounder, sword already out and swinging even as the enemy combatant was moving out of his initial surprise and managed to dodge the swipe.
"Tucker!" it was North who called out his name as the Above Ground soldier removed one of his hands from the gun he'd been holding seconds before. With the momentum of dodging the sword strike, he grabbed onto Tucker's arm and threw the dark skinned man over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.
The impact with the ground hurt and he could see stars floating around his visor as he moved to roll over from being sprawled out on his back to his side. If he could get up on his knees, then…
The sound of a gun being cocked extremely close to the back of his head gave him pause, as did the harsh sounding "Don't move." a few seconds later.
Fuck, what is with these people and guns to the head?
Tucker's sword was only a meter or so away if he could reach it. He debated his chances and odds. They weren't very good probably, given how fast the guy had moved.
"You're fast, I'll give you that." The man was speaking in an almost conversational tone, though he sounded pretty annoyed all the same, "But you could definitely use more training. That follow-through was beyond sloppy."
Oh, shit, this jerk was not going to be one of those types who would blab on about how he'd made a critical mistake before he shot him! Even in this situation, the cliché was too much for him not to mock.
"Really?" Tucker smirked from behind his helmet, "Because that's not what she said last night, bow-chicka-bow-wow!"
That gave the asshole pause.
He tilted his head slightly, probably regarding Tucker strangely. Getting people to lower their guard by being his usual ridiculous, immature self: it made perfect fucking sense from a strategic stance.
"That…doesn't even make any remote sense given the context of what I said. At all."
The surprised frustration in the Above Grounder's voice lessened how harsh he had sounded earlier. Maybe he wasn't quite the old hard-ass Tucker had thought he was before.
"Whatever, dude, I just call them like I see them."
"Washington." North was speaking again and Tucker could make out that he now had his sniper rifle out and pointed at the person towering above him, "Tucker is Caboose's teammate."
Washington glanced down at him again and Tucker raised an eyebrow questioningly. Why would this guy give a fuck if he was Caboose's teammate or not?
"Tucker and I go way back." Caboose spoke up at the mention of his name. He then attempted to mimic Donut's mastery of the stage-whisper, "Even if he is not really wearing blue and not very smart."
"Caboose, I can fucking hear you!" Tucker called out in frustration.
"His hearing is good though."
"That's because you weren't really whispering!"
Throughout the exchange, the man called Washington seemed to be debating something to himself, though Tucker really wished he could have fucking debated whatever it was without the gun pointed at his head.
"If you shoot him, there's no guarantee Caboose's dog won't react." North continued, voice calm and controlled, "I won't hesitate to shoot either."
A stand-off. Fucking great.
Tucker really wished he had his sword in his hand right now.
"Your move, Wash."
However Washington would have responded was completely made moot when a gunshot embedded itself on the ground right near Tucker's hand and the Above Grounder's foot.
Washington spun around, dodging another bullet that came whizzing through the air at him.
"Knock knock." A man in white armor called out with a British accent, aiming a sniper rifle steady at the group.
"Wyoming? What the hell?" Washington asked.
A teammate of his, it seemed like.
"Not very sporting of you to not continue the joke, Washington." His tone was casual as he fired again, this time at North who barely maneuvered out of the way in time, "Ah, North, I see our dear Agent South didn't exaggerate your injury then. That shot would have barely reached you before."
"Firing on teammates now?" North took cover behind a piece of rubble, lining the white-armored man in his sights.
Tucker used the focus being on this Wyoming person to dive for his sword, though he remained lying there when a bullet flew past his shoulder.
"Stopped being a team quite some time ago, don't you think?" Wyoming asked, "Right now all I'm doing is getting rid of a traitor and a potential traitor. All for a handsome reward, mind you."
"The people you know are fucking awesome, North!" Tucker risked calling out from where he was pinned on the floor.
North glanced at him apologetically before firing at Wyoming and ducking behind the rubble again to avoid the counter attack sent his way.
"Though this would probably go easier if I had more firepower." Wyoming paused, glancing over at the lumbering assault droid, "Getting that mech to go on a rampage should make things interesting."
Oh, no! Oh, fuck no!
Tucker struggled to get up again, surprised to note that time seemed to be practically standing still and he was moving slowly, far too slowly to reach Caboose.
Just like with his mother, he remembered, and he hated himself for remembering that right now.
Wyoming aimed and fired, but the shot only went through empty air because Washington had actually kicked Caboose out of the way—the bullet almost hitting his knee in the process. A millimeter or two down and even with his armor there would have probably been blood spraying everywhere.
Caboose sprawled forward, barely keeping on his feet though he managed to get out a rushed "I'm okay!" shout while doing so. Tucker gasped in shock that the person who had almost shot him in the head had just saved his comrade.
"COMMENCING ENEMY FIRE."
Freckles came to life, turning to face Wyoming.
"…Might have miscalculated there." The Freelancer managed to get out, the gunfire that subsequently filled the tunnel being a further testament to his statement.
Tucker stood up and was about to say something (wasn't sure what, exactly—figured he'd just let his brain figure it out as it went along), when another round flew past them.
This one was coming from the side of the tunnel that North was in and he gaped at the white-armored figure standing there and looking not at all as holey as he should be.
"Good show, mates." Wyoming's voice had a jovial note to it, "Want to go another round?"
"How the fuck—"
"Temporal distortion." North supplied in response before Tucker could even finish his question, whipping around to aim his gun at Wyoming's new location, "It's his armor enhancement."
"Yes, some of us are still lucky enough to have ours. So sorry, chaps."
"TARGET REACQUIRED."
Shit, Freckles was repositioning to aim at Wyoming's new location on the other side of the passageway and it was probably not a good idea to be standing in-between him and his target.
"Caboose, get to Freckles!" Tucker yelled out to the younger man.
Caboose, thankfully, did as he was told.
The tunnel was shaking as Freckles moved forward, and bullets were flying everywhere. At this rate, they were all going to be pinned down here or…
The tunnel's going to collapse.
Tucker's breath froze in his throat at the minute cracks forming from underneath the assault droid's feet and spiraling outward in a pattern that was only getting larger with each passing second.
A bullet barely missed North's helmet and Wyoming was aiming again with Washington firing at him in a distraction ploy as North managed to get himself into a doorway off to the side so that he wasn't left out in the open thanks to Wyoming's new location anymore.
…That's when it hit him.
"Hey, Caboose," Tucker called out over the near-deafening sounds of Freckles' weapons, "Why don't you show everyone that trick you taught Freckles?" he grinned, "Now's the perfect time for it! Really bring down the house!"
He saw Caboose nod slightly from behind his "dog," "That is a great idea, Tucker!"
Then, in a loud voice, Caboose yelled: "Freckles, SHAKE!"
The splintering in the ground was joined by cracks in the walls and ceiling with debris falling all around as the ground started to collapse and cave-in on itself.
But Tucker tried not thinking about that or what he was doing really, somehow managing to stumble forward and latch onto the shoulder of a very surprised Washington. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see North lining up a distracted Wyoming in the scope of his sniper rifle and firing: served the fucker right.
If he could get them to behind Freckles or one of the adjacent rooms off to the side, then maybe…
But the ground underneath them couldn't hold out any longer and suddenly they were in the air. That was the last cognizant thought he was able to make before the walls and ceiling came crashing down on them and Tucker knew only darkness.
The "route" Kimball had talked about turned out to be a tunnel located further inside the base. It led to a smaller corridor along the outskirts of the base that they generally never used save for the odd supply run. Actually, it was one of Grif's prime napping spots when he wasn't on duty or trying to shirk said duty when Sarge wanted him to do something idiotic again.
It led to a mining shaft that had a lift designed to haul miners and their equipment either further down below or to the higher tunnel levels just below the planet's surface and Above Ground.
The power had always been shitty in this particular section, which was pretty much why the tunnel wasn't used too frequently. It was a pain enough moving things around in the dark. Getting stuck on a lift in near darkness was no one's idea of a picnic, so it really didn't matter much after the blackout that only the emergency power was on.
After going with them to the start of the tunnel as protection since no one was stupid enough to bother Tex if they wanted to keep breathing and a stand down order from Kimball would probably be more than enough to deter most Resistance fighters even if they did have some sort of stupid revenge scheme on hand (she could be pretty scary when provoked herself, after all!), Kimball and Tex held back.
Understandable, really. Kimball being around would make the "escape" very suspicious and Tex was probably a walking target to Above Ground military given her defection status.
Which meant that Grif would be on his own with the three Above Ground soldiers for a while with a gun to his head and still struggling to breathe because Simmons was terrified as all Hell himself apparently and didn't realize that mostly metal arms were kind of strong.
Kimball shot him a look, and Grif couldn't tell if it was an apologetic one or some kind of mental assurance that he wouldn't be on his own for too long. He never was good at assessing body language, and helmets were not the see-all to facial expressions others might claim them to be, but it really didn't matter as gunfire could be heard from further inside the base and he caught a glimpse of the Resistance leader and Tex running in that direction to provide support while the three Above Grounders took full advantage of the chaos that was erupting in the base to run down the corridor and Grif being dragged, almost accidentally strangled, along with them.
He'd never been so happy to see that dingy, shitty elevator life in his entire life. He'd never run that far or fast save when he'd been fleeing for his life from the massacre on Level One.
None of the soldiers seemed to have that particular issue of his. Then again, Sheila was a robot and Simmons didn't have lungs anymore from what he'd said before. For all of his complaining, he supposed it was possible that Church was really actually pretty fit since he was a soldier and everything, though it did seem odd that he wasn't really showing any signs of physical exertion when even Simmons had some sweat forming on the parts of his face that were still flesh and blood.
Oh well, not that it really mattered. Grif didn't really care at all if the lift broke and they got stuck at this point or it careened down to the very bottom of the shaft: he was getting a break from the running for at least a little while and that was all that mattered.
They stepped onto the lift, which was literally just an open platform that moved the entirety of the shaft. Since it was meant to be able to carry numerous people and heavy, often rather large and bulky pieces of equipment at the same time it wasn't practical for the lift to be enclosed like how they often were in actual buildings.
There was a panel with control mechanisms located directly right by where the platform connected to the entryway.
"Jesus, this thing is fucking massive." There was almost a note of awe creeping into Church's voice as he gazed upwards, barely able to make out the ceiling of the shaft looming high above them, "And it goes on down below us for awhile too, huh? Shit."
"Kimball said that an Above Ground transport was located in an area about five levels above our current location." Sheila reminded him.
"Right. As if the layout of this place isn't goddamned confusing enough with all of the adjacent tunnels running everywhere with no rhyme or reason. Multiple levels was a great idea too."
Church turned to the controls for the lift after his rant, moving to activate them.
Frowning slightly, as if just remembering something, he stopped and turned around to face Simmons and Grif.
"Simmons, we really have no idea how this whole thing is going to play out. You took a pretty big fucking gamble and it was the best bet we had at the time, but whatever happens from here on out with your friend, it's on you." He said neutrally, "No guarantees, unfortunately."
Oh, so fucking great to be talking about like he wasn't even there! If Grif didn't have to keep struggling just to breathe (thanks to a combination of the chokehold and probably one too many snacks, loath as he was to admit it), he would definitely be saying something nasty back.
Simmons nodded, swallowing nervously, "I—I know, Church."
There was a way too heavy atmosphere in the air after that, especially since it was involving him.
"Hopefully a peaceable solution will present itself and it will be a moot point." Sheila offered to all three males consolingly.
"Yeah. Hopefully." Church sounded doubtful, though, which made Grif's stomach churn.
Church activated the platform and it started its lurching progress upwards. The lifts weren't built for speed, but with safety in mind so they were generally slower rides all in all. It was far quicker normally to walk if where you were going was only a matter of one or two levels.
The silence that fell after gave Grif the chance to think, though he sort of wished it hadn't. Before, he'd just been going with events without having time to really dwell on what exactly was going on. Now that he was in a position where he was forced to do so, reality was far too nerve-wracking.
On the one hand, he truly believed that Simmons wasn't planning on actually killing him. No, he had seen what had happened when everything took place. Had a front-line seat for it, in a way: things had just gotten too heated, too tense, and Simmons had panicked. Things had simply escalated from that point as the reality of the situation hit everyone. Grif had just unfortunately been the closest person around at the time.
But Simmons, Church, and Sheila being reluctant to kill him didn't really mean a damn thing in the end depending on how this played out. It was all fine and dandy that they didn't want to and that they would be more than willing to just let him go on his merry little way after they reached their destination, but other Above Grounders might not be so accommodating and that was where the real concern lay.
Even still, he'd be lying if he didn't say he wasn't pissed at the situation. He was mad at Simmons for what happened in the first place, mad at his teammates for going along with it, mad at Kimball for just accepting it and frustrated beyond belief that he really didn't have any kind of say in what was going to happen next at all.
Hell, if he died, who was going to tell Kai?
He wondered if she'd cry, like she had when Tucker's mom had been killed, or if she'd cuss him out instead. Or both.
Grif suddenly very much regretted ever agreeing to join the Resistance. For reasons that had very little to do with the pressure still crushing down on his lungs and more to do with why he still had an involuntary gag reflex and a newfound fear of heights from a couple years back, he found that he was having a whole new level of difficulty with breathing than before.
"Grif?"
Simmons' voice was a hesitant whisper in his ear. He hadn't really spoken or addressed him at all during this whole incident beyond pushing Grif along with them. He had probably felt too guilty to do so.
Good. Asshole.
His voice now though forced him to focus on something else beyond the weird spots that had started to form in his vision.
Briefly, he wondered if his hitched breathing and accelerated heartbeat had sort of pushed Simmons to finally get over his own awkwardness about the situation. Grif could practically hear his heart hammering in his own ears now. Could Simmons somehow feel it too even through their armor thanks to his freaky new cybernetics?
Grif didn't respond. Right now it seemed like a far better use of time to get his lungs to start working properly (or at all would be great) and to try to calm the fuck down.
Whether or not Simmons could tell that he was starting to freak out he couldn't say. But the maroon soldier shifted position slightly, adjusting so that Grif was more or less falling back into him as they stood there instead of being forced into an awkward standing position.
The movement helped to alleviate some of his arm pressure on Grif's chest. Not enough to free his own arm or anything, but Grif could get air into his lungs a lot easier now when he focused on it.
"I—" Simmons paused. There seemed to be a lot he wanted to say, but he finally settled on: "I'm really sorry about this."
Grif let the words linger in his brain. At least he could breathe easier now and listening to Simmons meant he wasn't focusing as much on more morbid topics.
"You're doing great though." The words were the usual nonsense kinds one normally tells someone to get them to calm down. Who knew if Simmons honestly believed them himself or not?
"This…this will all be over before you know it." He was trying to be assuring. It was odd to hear it coming from Simmons given how prone he was to nervousness himself. He must have been really obviously getting upset or Simmons just felt really bad about the whole thing. Possibly both.
"You'll see Kai again, don't worry."
Grif was torn between wanting to actually cry (though he would vehemently deny it if asked) or yell at Simmons for being a patronizing dick even if he was trying to help and be encouraging given how awkward this whole thing was. His eyes watered slightly in frustration regardless, which annoyed him to no end.
After a few uncomfortable moments of standing there like that, Simmons sighed.
"I really wish you had found your damn helmet." He muttered in a whisper so low that Grif could barely hear it.
Despite the effort it took to breath, let alone talk, and how not a good time it was for nagging anyways, Grif couldn't help but wheeze out with an accompanying roll of the eyes for good measure, "Like—like that would do a fucking thing with a gun this close to my head."
It wasn't a situation for jokes or smartass responses and it was bizarre to even fall into that odd routine again in the middle of all of this, but by tilting his head slightly and looking up Grif could just make out the watery smile forming on Simmons' face and the teary look in his one remaining green eye.
He wasn't sure why that exactly made it hard to breathe again.
Simmons chuckled weakly, adjusting his hold on Grif once more.
The arm wrapped around his chest pulled him in even tighter, but not so much in the crushing, restrictive way he'd been doing before. No, it almost struck the Slums dweller as a very awkward sort of embrace in a way. As if Simmons was attempting just a comforting one-armed hug from behind on someone who was upset.
His fingers splayed out on Grif's side in a repetitive motion, as if he was trying to grip onto him there through the armor.
They remained standing quietly there in that position for the rest of the time that the lift made its slow ascent, Church and Sheila pointedly giving them as much solitude as was available by standing on the opposite side of the space and looking elsewhere.
For some reason Grif was left wondering if Simmons still had a heart in his chest if he would be able to hear and feel it beating just as forcefully as his own was doing at the moment.
Felix was very close to regretting all recent decisions he'd made in his life right about now.
Bad enough that on his first day of fucking employment for the Resistance he somehow got on the wrong side of an attack. He had adjusted to it pretty well though because he was a fucking professional and awesome at what he does, thank you very much.
Then who should happen to be working for the douches who were attacking the place he hoped would be a lucrative source of income for him?
Locus, of all fucking people.
Asshole was just the tip of the iceberg of insults that, in his opinion, were a little too nice of descriptions for the other mercenary.
So it looked like Felix was probably going to have to deal with a fucking psycho from his past that he really wasn't sure he wanted to ever deal with again if he upheld this contract.
Far from ideal, really, but he could get through it if he tried and it was possible it could work in his favor from a renegotiation of his contract stance. Which wouldn't be so bad, in the long run.
Plus, if he was completely honest with himself, there was a very large portion of himself that was scared of Locus, yes—but there was also a part of him that was just really angry with him too. Or disgusted, really. Felix didn't know if it was possible to take him out, but he'd be all for it if the situation presented itself.
Those things were complications, yes, but he could work through them. He had worked through similar ones in the past, even.
The tunnel he was in collapsing right before his eyes though?
Yeah, he totally could have lived without that happening.
"Shit!"
He barely had time to swear as chunks of rock started peppering him and the ground. He looked up to see a very ominous crack forming in the ceiling above his head.
Felix jumped back quickly, energy shield held up in front of his face.
He was fortunate, in a way. The tunnel collapsed in front of him for quite a long distance, but stopped just a few meters from where he was standing. Had he not moved quickly enough… Oh, boy, would that have been a different story!
But when the dust settled, the sight before his eyes caused him to swear again. The entire corridor he'd been attempting to get through was now completely blocked.
Felix examined the ground underneath his feet carefully. The mining tunnels were sturdy and built to last. Theoretically, at least, they had been designed with the concept that should an above tunnel happen to cave in, the added weight on the ones below shouldn't cause them to collapse either save in extreme circumstances.
Though, generally speaking, he'd describe any tunnel collapsing as an extreme circumstance so what did he know?
He knew enough to know that those kinds of theories were hardly foolproof, however, and it would really suck if he just managed to avoid getting buried alive from up above only to get caught with his feet in the air because the floor under him had given way
Thankfully, as far as he could tell, it seemed to be in stable condition.
He glanced at the pile of rubble completely blocking his way now and sighed.
That was quite a lot of tunnel, it looked like. He gazed upward again warily at the gaping hole overhead that dust was still filtering through.
Whatever had caused the collapse was probably really huge, but he couldn't make out what it was at all from down here. It was hard to say, really. He'd been hearing gunfire and explosions this whole time even with it being somewhat quiet in these lower areas.
Plus, given how much of the tunnel had caved in, it seemed very plausible that whatever had happened was on the other side of the collapse, which could have explained why he had been lucky enough to actually dodge it.
Briefly, he wondered if there had been other people who hadn't been so lucky.
Not that he really cared. He didn't, not really. Or at least not to any level where he'd lose sleep over it if someone asked, but he couldn't help but wince slightly at the thought. Definitely not a pleasant way to go, all things considered.
But standing here dwelling on that wasn't going to get him to the base proper anytime soon. He'd have to backtrack yet again and find another way through. Felix sighed at the realization.
Maybe this new route would have flamethrowers he'd have to dodge lining the way. Or maybe even an old-school trapdoor with spears lining the bottom.
…Because that would be fucking awesome.
Tucker had woken up with massive headaches before that were usually the aftermaths of way too many fun nights (if you could catch his drift), but this one was probably one of the worst.
Not to mention that his whole body hurt too, which was definitely not fun.
He hurt almost as much as when he had given birth to Junior (oh boy, had that fucking hurt!), which was saying something.
"I am never doing that again."
A steel helmet with yellow trim was looking down at him dispassionately, "You shouldn't have done it the first time."
"Wow, that's all I get for trying to save your ass?" he groaned, "Fucking unbelievable."
They were laying on a massive pile of rubble, more than likely now on the level directly below where they had been before. Well, he was laying down. It looked like the Above Grounder had recovered quickly and was standing over him.
In a way, they were lucky. The walls and ceiling had collapsed so they could have been buried in the subsequent fall, but some larger sections of the wall had fallen against each other and created something of a pocket that had kept them away from a large portion of the debris. Since they'd been on the beginning end of the collapse, they could actually just climb down to the tunnel they were technically in now and be on their way.
Which was probably a good thing, considering that it seemed like somehow his helmet had been torn off his head. He'd seen Caboose and Junior playing with it a couple of days ago. Tucker probably should have had one of the maintenance workers look it over after that. He didn't really want to think about what would have happened if he'd been buried without it.
"No, what's unbelievable is that you risked your life doing that at all." He couldn't see the guy's face, but he imagined Washington's eyes were narrowed at him, "I wouldn't have."
"Wow, feel the love."
Something wet and warm was dripping down the side of his face. He didn't even need to bring his hand up to it to know it was blood. Again, though, even a rather deep cut was probably a more fortunate turn of events than the myriad nightmare list of even more serious injuries Tucker knew he possibly could have gotten instead.
"We're fighting on opposite sides. It's to be expected."
Tucker glared at the soldier through the still unsettled dust, forcing his protesting body to sit up and trying to fight the urge to cough and vomit.
Washington was still standing there staring at him, though he noticed through his wincing that the Above Grounder's hands were clenching and unclenching constantly at his sides.
Probably just wants to pull put another of his guns.
"You're so fucking full of it." He told him, remembering what had happened earlier, "Why'd you save Caboose then?"
The Freelancer actually visibly flinched, which caused Tucker to raise an eyebrow. Was he embarrassed at having gotten caught having done that?
He finally came up with, "Caboose…wasn't a threat at the time. Besides, saving him was possibly the only way to keep the assault droid from going on a rampage."
"Uh-huh, sure. Keep telling yourself that." Tucker said smugly, "And North?"
"A former teammate." His voice had a sharp edge to it at the mention of the ex-Freelancer, "I don't necessarily want to kill him, but I will if I have to. I'd do the same with any of you, so I'll say it again: what you did was stupid and pointless."
"You consider us your enemies but that whack job guy in the white armor who shot at all of us is a teammate? Your department must have some serious issues."
Washington's voice had all of the softness of steel when he responded: "He isn't my teammate. Clearly, no one is anymore."
Okay, this was going from lecture territory to way-too-heavy-shit-he-didn't-want-to-touch-with-a-ten-meter-pole. Best to move on and be done with it, Tucker figured.
"Look, you can think whatever the fuck you want. It's not like I have a stellar high opinion of you anyways, so as far as how you see what I did: I really don't care." He sighed, "But, whatever your reason for it, you did help a friend of mine out and without you and North, we'd have been screwed when that jackass Wyoming showed up. I was just returning the favor."
"Returning the favor?" The Freelancer repeated in disbelief.
"Yes." He squinted up at the rubble blocking his view of how far they'd fallen, "Though with your attitude and how crappy I'm feeling, I'm probably going to regret it."
There was silence then, with Washington staring at him through his helmet.
Tucker tried ignoring the feeling that the soldier was perhaps debating on whether or not to kill him outright, instead finding his sword poking out of a nearby pile of rocks and reaching for it.
Washington's hand was gripping onto his outstretched wrist so tightly he could feel it even through the armor.
"I'll hold onto that for right now." He said in a voice that left no room for argument, grabbing the alien relic with his free hand.
"What? Why?" Tucker's annoyance wasn't going to just go away though because of some guy's scary voice, "It's fucking mine. It won't even work for you!"
"I noticed that." Washington appraised him slightly and then the object resting uselessly in his hand, "Alien tech that someone imprinted on you. Interesting."
"Yeah, yeah, it's a real scientific curiosity." He glared right back, trying to yank his arm out of Washington's vice-like grip, "But it's mine."
He couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain that the slightly older man was regarding him with mild amusement behind his visor. Which kind of pissed Tucker off even more.
"And you'll get it back. I'm just going to be holding onto it for the time being."
"Why?" he was beyond frustrated now.
Washington stared at him for a few seconds before stating blankly as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world: "Because holding onto it is the only guarantee I can rely on that you won't try stabbing me in the back with it later."
Tucker stared at him then, open-mouthed and disbelieving. He wasn't even sure how to respond to that.
He'd nearly died trying to help the Freelancer out and he was still so damned paranoid that he thought Tucker would try killing him afterwards?
The guy was being completely serious too, which was—wow. He wasn't sure he even wanted to know what had happened to Washington to cause him to view things that way.
He didn't take offense to Tucker's lack of response, instead standing up and dragging the teal-armored fighter with him.
"Let's go." He said quickly, already beginning to carefully make his way down the rubble pile with the dark-skinned younger man in tow.
"Go where?"
The whole situation was getting way too bizarre for Tucker's taste.
The Freelancer didn't even spare him a glance, eyes fixed straight ahead on the passageway before them, "We're getting out of here. You need to be checked out by a medic to make sure that cut is your only head injury."
Tucker blinked, surprised.
Given Washington's comment earlier about how stupid he'd been and how he was more than willing to kill any of them if he had to, he was honestly shocked that he'd even have any remote interest where Tucker was concerned.
"Why do you even care?" he couldn't help but ask, mostly just out of curiosity.
Washington glanced back, though the brisk pace he was walking with never changed.
"You tried helping me." He finally replied, voice sounding just as stiff as his posture was, "I'm just returning the favor."
Author's Notes: Okie-dokie, so I may have been a bit too hopeful in assuming I could fit all of this "story arc" in two chapters. XD So, following this one, there will be another chapter that will conclude this part and help set the stage for what's to come next!
As always, thank you and happy reading!