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 Nine:
Four Seven Niner looked at C.T. askance.
"You know what I hate?" she asked almost conversationally as the Freelancer regarded her questioningly.
When the fighting had started, Four Seven Niner had been ordered to hold back unless otherwise noted for potential emergency pick-ups later. So after receiving the altered plans on what was happening from Tex, Connecticut made her way back to the transport's location. Since most of the battle was located farther away, she'd joined the Freelancer outside of the transport for the moment while C.T. "repaired" damage to her leg armor from a supposed skirmish. Shooting herself just below the knee had not been pleasant, but she had needed a valid reason to fall back for repairs. Her status as one of the lower-tier Freelancers due to her earlier mission failures meant the lie had more clout in an ironic sort of way.
"Waiting?" she finally supplied when the pilot hadn't elaborated further.
…She was certainly hating how often she was doing that now herself.
"Well, that definitely sucks too." Four Seven Niner tapped the ground with her foot in an impatient gesture, "Though I was more referring to being stuck here. Underground."
Ah, that made sense. A pilot trapped in a literal anti-thesis of her chosen field.
C.T. glanced around the space. This area was one of the larger places underground, with rock and metal plating adding a nice visual harmony. Auxiliary power casted odd, dimly-lit multicolored shadows everywhere.
"I don't know. I suppose it could be nice if we weren't in the middle of a battle."
Honestly? While she'd never call the underground of the Slums "beautiful" she'd learned to appreciate certain aspects of them a great deal.
It was probably more to do with having someone who had been patient with her misgivings on the place and willing to show her the sights. Being with a person you eventually started to care for deeply could make you start to see the beauty anywhere, she supposed. Not that she'd probably ever admit that to anyone, mainly on account of who that person had been. Also because she didn't want to be accused of being as corny when it came to love and romance as everyone used to tease York for being when it came to his more than obvious views of Carolina.
They hadn't been able to have a lot of moments like that, but she'd learned to appreciate how much time she'd been able to have with him still just as C.T. had learned to develop a certain fondness for the bleak aesthetics of underground.
"Huh." Four Seven Niner shook her head in disbelief, "Remind me to take you flying again one of these days when we get back. I think you need a refresher on what's actually nice."
"The view from the top of the Mother of Invention is quite nice too, of course." She said consolingly, trying to make amends.
"Pales in comparison to the view flying above it though." The pilot shook her head again, glancing around them and back at the transport distastefully, "You guys owe me big for this one."
"Don't we always?" she joked, finally "fixing" the malfunction in her leg armor and clamping it back down on herself before standing up.
"You mind telling everyone else that?" the other woman was heading back to the boxy vehicle she loathed, "Because I could really use a pay raise."
It wasn't even two minutes after that that four figures ran into view dressed in familiar armor she'd seen quite a few times over the years.
C.T. was relieved to see that Simmons and his teammates were all right by all appearances, unsure of what to make of the orange-armored man with them.
Right, Tex had said there'd been complications that she would need to be ready for. She would have loved to have known that she'd meant a hostage ahead of time though!
"Simmons!" She ran over to them when they were closer the vehicle.
Four Seven Niner had turned around at the commotion and was trotting over as well, "What the hell happened?"
"We escaped, that's what." The man in the cobalt armor, Leonard Church (C.T. cringed inwardly at the name choice: yet another indication that the Director was sick in how he approached things), said dismissively, "No thanks to this so-called "rescue mission" that made everything about fifty fucking times worse."
The pilot shrugged, nonplussed by the attitude, "Not really our call, tough guy, but I do drive the hulking piece of metal that can get you home if you're nice to me."
This was promptly followed by him mumbling sarcastically, "You're my new best friend."
"A charmer. Thrilled."
C.T. looked them over, trying to discern any injuries, "Are you all right?"
"Beyond our nerves being shot to hell because we could have gotten killed due to angry Resistance fighters or trigger-happy allies? Yeah, we're fucking great."
Connecticut turned to Simmons with a questioning look, choosing not to respond to Church's sarcastic rant as he was clearly just venting his frustrations.
Simmons nodded his head to indicate that, yes, they were all fine more or less. But she noticed that the still flesh part of his face was unnaturally pale even for him and he glanced down nervously at the chubby tan man he still had in a hold. It looked like the man was struggling to catch his breath.
When Simmons didn't supply any further information, the robot, Sheila, stepped in, "There were…unfortunate complications." She tilted her head regrettably at Simmons then.
"That's one way to put introducing someone who has a gun to their head." Four Seven Niner muttered.
"Well, we had to do something!" Church stated defensively, bristling, "It's not like they were going to just let us walk out of there."
Definitely couldn't have afforded to do that, she knew. Especially with appearance so at stake on all fronts.
Simmons looked at her then, imploringly, "We can…just let him go now, right?" he asked, an odd mixed note of both hopefulness and panic in his voice, "He's not armed so he's not a threat."
"Yeah, I'd kind of feel bad about killing him off after all of this." Church spoke up afterwards, pointedly not looking at the Resistance fighter.
"He was most cooperative." The robot stated helpfully.
C.T. glanced at Four Seven Niner to gauge her reaction. She had to tread carefully where others were concerned.
The pilot looked back and shrugged, "You guys are the fighters, so it's ultimately up to you. Though I probably wouldn't be too keen on killing someone who wasn't armed or threatening me either."
C.T. nodded: "Agreed."
She imagined some of her fellow Freelancers or other soldiers might object to that. The Council's stance on Resistance members were pretty harsh and some agreed with it while others didn't. But since it seemed unanimously like everyone here didn't want to see the Resistance fighter's brains spilled everywhere, they were in the clear and she could probably berate Tex later for not completely filling her in on the situation without any added guilt on her end.
Hell, she probably wouldn't even have to justify her reasoning for doing so later if someone told the others.
Even Carolina, harsh as she could be when it came to the war, would hesitate with killing an unarmed person when there wasn't a justifiable tactical reason for doing so. C.T. could actually still remember the red-haired Freelancer getting livid at the news of the Council's "retaliation" on the civilian population of the Slums for the Insurrection's attack a few years ago.
The three soldiers seemed relieved at the verdict, as did their hostage who managed to get out a heavy sigh despite still breathing hard. C.T. looked at him more closely and was, truth be told, surprised to see that he did not seem to be in the best of shape for someone supposedly fighting in a war.
Simmons in particular seemed ecstatic. He looked almost close to crying.
Odd reaction, that, for a total stranger in particular. Maybe he knew the person? She made a mental note to ask him about it later.
"For a vaunted Freelancer, you do seem to make some very questionable calls." A gravelly, somewhat filtered-sounding voice she'd only heard a few times before this mission said from the very same corridor the three missing soldiers had just run through.
The group started and there was an odd shimmer in the air far closer than C.T. would have liked in front of them before a figure in steel and green armor materialized there: "Then again, I suppose that's why you've always been ranked lower when compared to your peers, Agent Connecticut."
The brunette narrowed her eyes at the mercenary.
"Locus." She said evenly, trying to get the dread filling in the pit of her stomach at his sudden appearance under control, "There was no order to pull back yet."
He titled his head to the side, seemingly amused by her comment, "I'm not employed by your Director and I am under no obligation to follow Agent Carolina's orders either." He said slowly, as if trying to explain something to a particularly stubborn child, "My business here is done."
"What business was that?" she swallowed nervously.
As far as she could tell, all Locus had done on the mission was slaughter enemy combatants. Was he only supposed to kill a quota of them then or had that just been a cover for something else entirely? It was hard to say with the Council.
He shrugged and C.T. really wished he'd just go on his fucking way then if his "business" was supposedly so taken care of, "Not my place to say. If you want that information, ask my employer."
He stepped right up in front of her then, towering, and she did her best to look at him dead on in the visor and not let him intimidate her. From what she knew about him, the mercenary seemed to enjoy mind-games almost as much as killing.
"Of course, you'd have to find out who that is first." He told her, "But I have a very strong suspicion that the one thing you're adept at is information gathering, Agent Connecticut."
Shit, that was definitely a not-so-subtle threat that he suspected something. They had only met a few weeks ago though. How was that possible?
She took a deep breath and kept up a calm façade. Hopefully he was just bluffing.
"So shouldn't you be on your way then, if you're done here?" she asked, voice only slightly faltering, "Or are you planning on hitching a ride?"
For once, Four Seven Niner didn't have a snappy comeback and C.T. was glad for it. Locus had a reputation for unpredictability. Perhaps the pilot intuitively knew it wasn't the right time given the charged atmosphere. Or perhaps she was inwardly hoping the psychotic mercenary would just reject the ride notion entirely.
Locus actually chuckled at her attempt to stand up to him. C.T. had to bite down on the urge to say something nasty back. He probably was hoping to get a reaction from her, after all.
When she didn't respond like he'd probably hoped, the mercenary cast a disinterested look over at the other soldiers.
"Agent Florida's group made it out safely, I see." He said and how the hell he'd even known who had been their commanding officer before (let alone his Freelancer codename) was beyond her, "That is fortunate."
He stared at the Resistance fighter squirming in Simmons' grip, his voice that same creepy monotone the whole exchange, "Though taking a hostage was unfortunate."
Simmons' grip on the man visibly tightened, the hand holding the gun near his head going lax. With the sudden panic and horrified realization crystallizing on the redhead's face, C.T. prayed he didn't attempt to aim the gun at the mercenary.
"Why is that?" she tried diffusing the situation, "We already made a decision on what to do with the hostage."
Locus turned to face her again, "Oh, I know. It was a bad decision though."
"And yet, as you said, you have no say in Freelancer decisions." She was trying to fight the urge to grab her weapon from her holster, "And that did fall into Freelancer jurisdiction."
His body language through his armor once again almost seemed amused, "You misinterpreted what I said completely, C.T.." His take on her preferred name definitely had mocking undercurrent, "Freelancers have no jurisdiction over me. I am completely within my contractual obligations to override the decisions of most Freelancer agents on the battlefield if I see fit."
He turned then, his gun aimed directly at the orange-armored soldier's exposed head, "And I consider any Resistance fighter a liability."
Simmons' gun was pointed at the hired soldier almost simultaneously, but before he could react to the threat Church was actually standing directly in front of the mercenary's weapon with his own pointed as well.
"What the fuck is your problem, asshole?" he shouted, "We'd already agreed to let him go."
"Your opinions on the subject matter even less than Agent Connecticut's." Locus said plainly, his finger squeezing slightly on the trigger for added emphasis.
"You can't!" Simmons' voice, though high-pitched slightly, was more emphatic than C.T. had ever heard it before.
Sheila was moving to step in-between Simmons, the fighter, and Locus as well at this point.
C.T. could hear Four Seven Niner muttering "Holy fuck." in response to what was happening: a sentiment she also shared.
Locus seemed just amused by what was transpiring, "I'd advise you to rethink this. Your friend has already served his purpose." He indicated the Resistance fighter who'd remained silent throughout this whole thing, face paling, before looking at all three Above Grounders again, "It would be a shame if all three of you were executed as traitors after dragging him this whole way for nothing, wouldn't it?"
"Shove it, you fucking—"
While Church was in mid-rant, C.T. was reaching for her sidearm. Maybe she could get a clean shot from behind while Locus was distracted. She doubted anyone present would object horribly.
The mercenary cast a sidelong glance at her before her gloves had even touched the gun and her blood ran cold.
"Go right ahead, C.T.. Prove exactly what you are."
Her eyes widened. Was he doing this whole thing on purpose just to provoke her into revealing herself?
Goddamned asshole!
"What the hell is going on here?"
C.T. had never been more thankful to hear any angry outburst from Carolina before in her life.
The leader of the Freelancers was making her way towards them at a steady pace, her Plasma Rifles pointed squarely at the mercenary in the midst of the conflict.
Most people would have been shitting themselves to have Agent Carolina aiming guns squarely at their heads, as she was as deadly proficient with them as she was with martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. …Especially when Carolina's body language showcased the kind of murderous rage it was displaying right now.
The fact that Locus seemed oddly calm in the face of even an angry Carolina was beyond disconcerting.
"Nothing at all." He stated, gun still pointing at the Resistance fighter and the soldiers actively blocking him, "Agent Connecticut and I were just having a bit of a disagreement over how to handle a prisoner situation. Things got a little heated."
"That's putting it fucking mildly."
C.T. had to admit that Leonard Church had some pretty huge balls to be able to say something like that with a gun pointed directly at him.
"Church." It was hard to tell what kind of emotion was going through Carolina when she said his name, "Good to see you three are all right."
He scoffed, "Ten seconds later and we wouldn't have been."
Locus tilted his head to the side slightly, "You really think it would have taken me that long?"
"Enough." The woman in the cyan armor cast a glance at C.T., "What's the situation exactly?"
"These three apparently managed to escape by taking the Resistance fighter hostage. Locus wasn't too keen on just letting him go."
"Easy enough to incapacitate a restrained and unarmed prisoner without killing them, Locus." Carolina's tone was clipped and even.
"Better just to make it permanent."
"Even if I remotely agreed in the first place there's still the very big fucking issue of you threatening to kill my subordinates." Her voice was getting progressively angrier as she spoke. She was mere meters away from Locus now.
The atmosphere was thick and heavy then, a tense silence passing between the Freelancer and mercenary as they sized each other up.
Locus' weapon was still pointed at Church and the others, but Carolina's were aimed directly at his skull. It was more than apparent that she wouldn't think twice about shooting him if he tried anything.
"Four Seven Niner, get the transport ready." She said, never taking her fixed gaze from Locus, "We're getting ready to pull out."
"Right." The pilot seemed relieved to have a valid excuse to leave the standoff, only casting a few glances over her shoulder as she headed back to the transport, "I'll be ready in case you need me to crash into something. Or someone."
"It's appreciated."
"And the prisoner?" Locus seemed not at all fazed by recent events.
Carolina barely spared the tan man in question a glance, "Not. Your. Call." She emphasized each word by taking a step closer to him.
He scoffed, though whatever he would have said or done next was made completely irrelevant when a wall close by exploded.
"What the hell-?"
Church stopped his exclamation when an Above Ground soldier's body flew through the gaping, smoking hole—followed by a figure in black armor calmly stepping through the space.
"Oh, shit." was what he decided to go with instead.
Locus finally lowered his gun then, "Well, this is an interesting turn of events."
Carolina swiveled around and one could hear the snarl emitted from her helmet when she realized who it was from probably just about anywhere in the adjacent area, "YOU!"
"Me." Tex gave a slight nod of her head in the Freelancer's direction, "Sorry to butt in, Carolina, but I'm here to get the fat idiot back."
Of all the ways for this day to end, helping an opponent through enemy lines was not one of the ones Washington had figured on.
He wasn't even quite sure why he was doing it in the first place, truly. What happened to this Tucker person wasn't any major concern to him, after all. If he'd been foolish enough to risk his own neck for someone like him, well, that wasn't on Washington.
Still, he did know that he hadn't been as ready for the collapse as he should have been. So if Tucker hadn't been a complete idiot and decided to help him, he could be way worse off. The part of him in particular that still hesitated at the thought of confronting North and York, that disliked the idea of killing Caboose, and that still wasn't sure what to do about the C.T. situation... That tiny part of him kept saying he owed the Resistance fighter at least a little bit.
What had Tucker said earlier? That he'd been "returning the favor" for him helping Caboose?
No reason why he shouldn't do the same, he reasoned.
"Do you fucking mind?" the teal armored fighter was trying to yank back his arm, the repeated jostling finally breaking through Washington's thoughts.
He stopped and turned around. "What?" he asked in annoyance.
Tucker looked at him as if he had two heads. The cut on his forehead was still bleeding, causing Washington to frown. It would have been a lot better if they'd had some kind of medical supplies on hand.
"Seriously?" he raised his arm up, the Freelancer's moving with it, "I'm not fucking twelve and I'm not that injured!"
Washington blinked. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding onto Tucker's wrist for as long as he had. Or when that hold had somehow turned to him gripping his hand and pulling him along with a claw-like grip around his fingers.
"Besides, I've lived in the Slums my whole life. I probably know my way around here a lot better than you do."
He wondered what that would be like. Living down here. All he'd known as David, as Washington even, had pretty much been Above Ground.
Epsilon had memories of Above Ground too. And tight, cramped, dark, lonely places. Solitude or bodiless voices telling him how everyone he knew had died. Not like the tunnels though, not like the city beneath the earth. A prison, cold and empty as space. He hated the night, falling asleep alone.
Maybe that was why he hadn't noticed his grip on Tucker's hand. Having physical contact with someone, even while lost in his own thoughts, had helped to lessen some of the panic that usually happened if he dwelled too long on memories of places he may or may not have actually been. It didn't matter now: they were a part of him all the same.
He'd remembered actually almost being afraid when he'd recovered from the fall and had thought for a moment that the Resistance fighter might have been dead since his helmet had fallen off. Even being around a relative stranger was better than being completely isolated in the dark, after all. Hated being alone. Hated goodbyes. Hated that they were the only things that seemed truly constant in this world.
Arguing and lecturing with him the second Tucker had woken up had helped put his mind at ease, oddly enough.
Washingon's silence seemed to infuriate the other man, "Are you that fucking paranoid that you honestly think if you weren't keeping hold of my hand I'd attack you or something?"
Short answer yes: don't trust anyone, don't give them the chance to betray you. Long answer no: but really didn't want to go into that with anyone, ever.
"I mean, if you were a hot chick or if you bought dinner first that would be different, bow-chicka-bow-wow!"
Tucker had a way of saying exactly what was necessary to unintentionally diffuse awkward situations, he had to give him that.
Washington sighed and shook his head, immediately dropping his hold of Tucker's hand.
"You're an idiot."
"And you're a jackass." Tucker looked at him pointedly, brown eyes narrowed, "Jackass."
"That repetition there really proved your point."
For a moment, it almost looked like Tucker might say something in retaliation. There was a spark in his eyes that seemed to be annoyance, but then realization crossed over his face instead and he stared at Washington in open shock.
"What?" he glared at the Resistance fighter suspiciously.
Tucker simply shook his head and grinned, "Nothing. I just had to make sure I actually heard that right."
"Heard what?" he was curious now, against his better judgment.
"You joked just then, mockingly." Tucker explained, as if it should have been obvious what he was talking about, "It's a miracle."
Though Washington wasn't quite as amused: "And my initial point still stands."
Tucker rolled his eyes, "Whatever, dude. Are we going to get moving again or what?"
"You're the one who stopped." The Freelancer pointed out.
"Only because you wanting to hold hands after a little while kind of got weird." He muttered as they started making their way through the passageway again.
"I did not want to hold hands." Eye rolling seemed like it was going to be commonplace for Wash in this exchange.
He scoffed, "Please, you were gripping on as tightly as Junior does."
Washington paused again to look at the Resistance fighter questioningly, "Junior?"
A shrug, "He's my son."
"Oh." Washington looked over at the younger man in surprise, giving him a reassessing look.
He wouldn't have expected Tucker to have a child. For some reason, he wasn't sure he wanted to think of the people they were fighting against having family. Or friends. Or lives in general.
Made it a bit harder to fight them, in a way.
"He'd been here earlier actually." Tucker said quietly, more to himself than to Washington. He seemed like the type of person who sometimes talks just to fill silence: "I'm fucking glad I brought him home when I did."
"That's…fortunate." Washington was definitely not good at these sorts of conversations. What could he say, really? Technically speaking, he'd actually been attacking this place not too long ago. That made discussions of a more personal nature rather awkward, to say the least.
"And then some."
They fell into silence after that, Washington glancing down at the sword held uselessly in his other hand. He was tempted to ask how Tucker had gotten a hold of it, considering how hard alien tech was to come by, much less alien tech that required imprinting to access it, when a figure emerged from a room up ahead.
They were wearing orchid-colored armor.
Shit. South!
He turned to Tucker then, putting a gloved hand firmly over his mouth to keep him silent and pushing both of them into a side passage. Fortunately, there was a large piece of leftover sheet metal there that provided enough cover for the two of them.
There was a murderous look in Tucker's eyes and he thought it best to talk before removing his hand to avoid a shouting match or potential scuffle.
"Change of plans." He said quickly in a low voice, "There's another Freelancer headed this way."
He waited a few moments to see if the Resistance fighter figured out what he'd said. He only lowered his hand when he saw realization beginning to dawn on Tucker's features replacing his earlier surprised anger.
"Do you think they'll try killing you like that Wyoming asshole did?" he was whispering instinctively too. Good.
Washington frowned, "Hard to say, really. Though she'll have no qualms with killing you."
"You guys are awesome. Really." The comment was dripping with bitter sarcasm.
Washington didn't even bother arguing. He couldn't really, not after what he knew now. Not after what the project had become.
"So, what do we do?"
It felt odd, to actually have someone include him as part of a "we" again. Washington hadn't really heard that in a long while, especially not since he'd come back to active duty. It was a strange sensation, even though he knew the term was used in an innocent, general sense in this situation and also by someone who didn't really know him all that well.
"We aren't going to do anything." He said finally, after weighing his options, "I'm going to make sure she stays away from this area."
"But…!"
He wasn't sure why Tucker's protest actually made him slightly hesitant, but he managed to push past it.
"I'm returning the favor, remember?"
Before Tucker could ask in confusion what the fuck he meant by that, Washington brought his gauntleted fist down on his left temple purposefully avoiding the right side of Tucker's head where his injury was.
The force of the blow had the desired effect and Tucker crumpled like a bag of bricks.
Washington knelt over him for a moment, just to make sure that he'd only knocked the younger man out and had done nothing more serious. He ignored the slight stab of guilt that hit him as he gently pressed a finger to the spot he'd hit.
It was definitely already starting to bruise and when Tucker woke up he was going to be pissed.
No avoiding that, really.
But it wasn't like Washington would see the fallout anyway and at least the Resistance fighter would be alive to be angry with him in the first place.
Still, he mumbled a slight "Sorry." before resting the sword next to Tucker's limp hand. He had promised earlier to give it back and, besides, it was useless to him anyways. Like Hell was he all that eager to hand alien tech over to the Director now.
Washington got up and made sure Tucker's prone form wasn't visible from the corridor, then moved into the large tunnel area once again.
"South!" he called out, noticing that she seemed to be looking for something.
She stared at him for a moment before walking over, "Washington, what are you doing down here?"
There was a suspicious note to her voice. She'd been like that a lot around him, ever since the operation.
He kept his voice neutral, "I could ask you the same thing."
Washington was positive that she was glaring at him through her visor, "I was on clean-up duty, but there was a tunnel collapse somewhere close by. Figured I'd investigate."
"Same here."
He assumed it wasn't the best time to probably tell her about what happened with Wyoming or that he'd actually been in the tunnel collapse. Then again, wasn't really sure when would be a good time to mention all of that. Particularly depending on what Wyoming would do or say in regards to the encounter.
He made a mental note to not mention that he'd run into North at all. Truthfully, he still didn't know what South would do if she saw her brother again given what had happened before. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.
Besides, right now, it was more important to figure out a way to get her out of this level of the mines. His thoughts flashed to Tucker again. He'd prefer her not finding out about him either.
Surprisingly fortunate though, South gave him the out he'd been trying to brainstorm all on her own, "Since I found you, we should get moving. We got the fall back order a little while ago."
"So the mission was a success?" he thought of Simmons and the others, and was inwardly slightly relieved.
"I'm not sure. I guess it was." She seemed largely disinterested in the mission's outcome. Made sense, he supposed, as the soldiers involved had been pretty low level and she'd never bothered interacting with any of them beforehand.
"Only one way to find out, I guess."
She grunted and turned to head back the way she came through the corridors. Since North's defection she seemed bizarrely at ease with the fact that most of her comrades now preferred that she walk in front of them.
Washington followed, eager to leave the darkness of the tunnels that seemed suddenly a lot more confining to him than they had just a little while ago.
They were probably fucked. That was all Simmons could think at this point.
"We don't have to fight, Carolina." Tex's voice was quiet, an odd note of hesitation in it given her usual demeanor.
The other red-haired woman laughed once, sharply, "Like hell we don't."
Tex sighed, but she was already moving into an attack stance regardless. More than likely she'd known well beforehand that there was no avoiding the outcome: "I told you before that we really aren't enemies."
"Your actions at the time kind of negated that." There was a quiet fury in Carolina's voice, brimming just below the surface.
With that remark, Carolina flew at the former Freelancer. Her shape a cyan blur as speed augmentation was one of her armor's enhancements. The two met with blows that would have probably incapacitated anyone else besides them, Carolina opting for fists and Tex apparently choosing to do the same.
"Stubborn as always, aren't you?" the black-armored fighter called out as she blocked with her forearm a punch meant to hit her head.
"You're one to talk!" Carolina ducked down and swept under Tex's feet with her leg, attempting to throw the other combatant off balance.
It worked in a way, though Tex recovered more quickly than anticipated, reaching out to grab Carolina's arm and subsequently dragging her down with her though Carolina somehow managed to roll through the fall and was pressing on with her assault seconds later.
"I thought you were dead, after what happened." There was that odd hesitation in Tex's voice again. How the fuck she was able to breathe normally with all of that physical activity was beyond Simmons.
"It took awhile to recover. Not that I was missed." There was a bitter note to Carolina's voice, "The Director's always been more concerned with his agenda."
"Hasn't it ever crossed your mind to ask why?"
A vicious jab to the throat followed. Carolina was pressing hard. She probably knew from past experiences that letting up on Tex even remotely was not a smart thing to do.
"Even if it has, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you."
Tex grabbed a fist that came dangerously close to her visor in a vice-like grip, pulling the Freelancer closer with the motion.
"Carolina, listen to me." She practically hissed through her helmet, "This whole thing is—"
Locus' gun firing drowned out whatever she was about to tell her. The two women pulled apart at the last second to dodge the bullet that pierced the space their heads had been occupying moments before.
"I hope you don't mind if I cut in." The mercenary's tone was cold and brisk, "I've been curious to see the fabled Agent Tex's combat skills in person."
"Locus." Carolina's rage was now practically radiating off of her in waves.
"I hear she's almost as skilled as you are, Agent Carolina." He was probably smirking through his helmet, "Better, even."
He definitely knew how to get under someone's skin. Carolina seemed ready to murder him.
"You could have killed us both, asshole!"
It was Tex who yelled that, surprisingly angry at the prospect of someone who seemed to vehemently hate her getting killed too. Simmons glanced briefly over at Church, noticing a confused look forming on his face then as well.
"Oh, that? It was just an attention-grabber, really. I had faith you'd both dodge." He sounded slightly amused again, "Otherwise, this wouldn't be worth my time."
"Mother fucker…!" Tex swore.
C.T. had her gun aimed at Locus' head then, the mercenary turning to regard her in an almost bored fashion.
Simmons' mind went blank, suddenly realizing that the hired soldier would have no issue with shooting his friend before she even had time to pull the trigger.
"C.T.!"
Carolina seemed to know this as well, casting a glance at her subordinate while trying to focus most of her attention on the two opponents before her.
"I'll deal with Locus. Get the others onto the transport and have the pull out order issued."
C.T. hesitated and Locus twitched dangerously, "But—"
"Go!"
It was actually sort of surprising that the thunderous quality of Carolina's voice just then didn't cause the corridor to shake in and of itself.
C.T. gulped and nodded, lowering her gun at the exact same time that Locus was turning around with his.
Tex took that opportunity to grab a piece of rubble that, realistically speaking given its size and probable weight, she should not have been able to pick up at all and threw it in his direction with one hand.
He dodged it, but only barely. He wasn't as fortunate when it came to the kick Carolina slammed into his chest seconds later while he was distracted.
Shit, shit, shit… Things were definitely getting out of hand.
Simmons could feel the fear he'd only just managed to push down again after that last exchange fighting to break through to the surface once more.
"Let's go." C.T.'s voice was deceptively calm as she ran up to them in the midst of the conflict, "You heard her."
Church was staring on at the fight as if in a trance, his expression unreadable. Sheila touched his arm. He flinched at the slight, unexpected contact and turned to glance at them.
Reluctantly, Simmons removed his arm from around Grif. He should have probably done that awhile ago, but his brain had kind of refused to work properly in light of what had happened with Locus. He still didn't technically want to do so now, either. The gun in his hand was pretty much forgotten as it would probably be next to useless if he'd even attempted to use it to help out Carolina or Tex.
His friend, maybe unfortunately a stretch to consider Grif that now given what had happened, took in several deep, gasping breaths. Simmons fidgeted nervously, woefully apologetic but unable to think of any words or actions that could even remotely make things right. Grif turned to glare at him and a part of him almost wished that he'd punch him, or anything really, if it meant the Slums resident had a chance to vent.
"I gave you an order!" Carolina shouted over at them.
"What the hell are you idiots thinking?" Tex called out as well, her gaze through her helmet focused squarely on the one person who was still riveted on her and Carolina's fight, "Get moving, asshole!"
The look of worry on Leonard Church's face intermixed with anger then when he realized she was talking to him, "Jesus, I'm going!" then under his breath he muttered, "Bitch."
He turned then, mumbling something about how he wasn't sure why he even worried about her anymore. Then he stated to his team, "Let's let the crazies duke it out and go."
"But…" Simmons hesitated, glancing at Grif nervously. The idea of leaving him here with the fighting going on was not a welcoming one.
"Get going, nerd." Grif's voice was raw. He still looked understandably ticked off, but he was motioning to the transport, "This is what all of this shit was for, wasn't it?"
Simmons frowned, wanting to respond but still having a hard time looking the Resistance fighter in the eyes, "I'm—"
A bullet hit the floor directly at their feet. Locus had been aiming at Carolina, but a kick from Tex had thrown his aim off and Simmons panicked again.
He did not want to see Grif get killed on account of what he'd done. That wasn't fair. If he could get him to the transport for safety, then maybe…
"Private Simmons." C.T.'s voice was firm, authoritative.
He blinked, his hand outstretched still as if to grab onto Grif's arm again.
"Above Ground's policy on Resistance members is harsh. Death on sight if they're brought to Above Ground." She reminded him. Her tone softened with a rather sympathetic note, "Your friend has to stay here."
He knew that, really, but he still felt himself getting ready to voice protest. Here there was a definitely possibility that Grif would be killed too. He didn't want that happening either.
"Get going, Simmons." Grif repeated his earlier statement, voice a lot sharper and clearer this time, "I'll be fine. They're too busy trying to kill each other and I'm great at hiding. Remember?"
"You said you were great at napping." He responded lamely.
It seemed very dumb to be having this conversation in the middle of a fight, after all that had happened.
A shrug: "Yeah, but I usually have to hide in order to nap, so the two go hand-in-hand."
"That is—"
"If you guys don't leave right now I am going to be way more pissed than I already am with having been made a fucking hostage. So you'd better move your scrawny ass." There was a finality in Grif's tone that he had never remembered having heard from the other man before.
Whatever argument Simmons was going to try making died away, though he still didn't want to leave and it felt like his feet were rooted to the spot. He'd lost so much in Above Ground. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to Grif so soon down here either even if things had gotten royally fucked.
Sheila gently pulled him along though and he followed with dragging steps behind her. Church and C.T. close behind.
Though it took all of his willpower to not give in to the urge to turn around and pull Grif along with them.
By the time they had followed Tex's path of destruction to where she and Grif were, York was pretty certain of two things.
One: Red Team was insane and yet they could actually get things done despite their quirks. Which was kind of impressive, in a way.
Two: they were going to be in for a fight. If the frantic rounds of gunfire and the loud crashing, booming noises they'd been hearing for a good long while up ahead were any indication.
The second thing was pretty much confirmed when they stepped through a very large hole in the wall and came across Tex fighting two other people. One was a guy in green and steel-colored armor York didn't really recognize and the other figure in cyan…
His heart slammed into his throat. He would have recognized that armor anywhere, as well as the combat moves he'd seen countless times both in the training room and out on the field.
Carolina!
Both she and Tex had their hands full, it seemed. They were fighting each other whenever they had the opportunity to do so, but also attacking the unknown person together at the same time. It was sort of amazing how they could double-team like that while still actively trying to take one another out. If they ever were able to simply fight together truly, it would probably be all sorts of frightening.
The unknown fighter, while seemingly at a slight disadvantage with attacks coming from both sides, was still holding his own. The fact that the fight wasn't nearly as one-sided as it should have probably been spoke volumes of the fighter in green and steel-colored armor's skill.
It also meant he was formidable enough to be able to make the most out of the fact that both Carolina and Tex were still trying to attack each other at the same. Using that as an opportunity to strategize and conserve his own efforts.
"Hiya, Grif!"
York turned his attention away from the battle momentarily to see a familiar orange form running towards them at Donut's relieved exclamation, feeling slightly the same himself. At least the chubbier soldier was okay still from the looks of things.
"We came to rescue you!" the pink-armored fighter smiled cheerily, very much thrilled to see his teammate unharmed.
"Ten minutes ago would have been a lot better." Grif joked, though he looked more than just a little relieved to see them all the same.
"Well, some of us came to rescue your sorry butt. Others of us just came to mock you for your continued incompetency out on the field." Their commanding officer said in his usual gruff voice, giving Grif a look over to assess his condition and nodding his head slightly in his direction, "So way to go there, numb nuts."
"¿Dónde están Sheila y los demás?" {"Where are Sheila and the others?"}
Grif pointedly ignored Sarge's insult and looked at Lopez instead. Apparently, his mentioning one of the Above Grounders by name was enough for the tan man to understand what the robot said this time, "They got on the transport and left when that asshole started shooting at people." There was an odd look on Grif's face when he said that, almost as if he was upset by something, "They're okay, but...they're gone now."
Lopez said nothing, but York could swear he almost heard the robot sigh for some reason.
"Good riddance, I say." Sarge harrumphed, "Now we just need to kick their friends out."
"Easier said than done." Grif looked over at the combatants once more, so engaged in the fighting that they didn't even seem to notice that more people had entered the area, "That douche in the steel and green is that Locus mercenary Kimball was talking about earlier. The scary lady, the one that isn't Tex, is kind of all sorts of scary too."
York couldn't help but snort, knowing from personal experience just how much of an understatement the comment was.
Sarge sighed, thinking for a moment. He stepped forward decisively after a terse few moments of silence beyond the sounds of the fighting, his weapon of choice at the ready, "All right, Grif, since you're unarmed and don't even have a helmet, you're beyond useless in this situation." He was quick to correct himself by adding in, "Not that you're much use when you are even remotely prepared for a combat situation, mind you."
"Oh wow, thanks for that." Grif rolled his eyes.
The older man continued on as if Grif hadn't said anything, "Normally, I'd order you to go distract the enemy or be a human shield in situations like this."
"Your leadership skills are truly amazing."
Again, Sarge ignored the commentary, "But I want you to go find Kimball instead and report on the situation." He sighed, "It's not ideal, but as long as you at least get shot at some along the way I'll deal with it as best I can."
Grif groaned.
"Well, what are you waiting for, dirt bag?" Sarge yelled when his subordinate didn't move, "Get going!"
Rolling his eyes, the orange soldier did as instructed all the same. Since he wasn't fully equipped, he probably thought this was one of the few times where an order from his C.O. made some sense at least. Even if the reasoning behind it was still a little questionable.
"What are we going to do then, Sarge?" Donut asked the second their only recently reunited with teammate was out of sight.
The old man let out a chuckle in response, his shotgun poised and at the ready.
"What Red Team does best, Donut," he said gleefully, "Charge in and kick ass!"
York blinked. The likelihood of this not ending well was probably pretty high.
But if he could just get the chance to talk to Carolina, then maybe…
"Probablemente deberíamos tratar con el mercenario primero. Lo más probable es más fácil de tomar porque su atención está dividida." {"We should probably deal with the mercenary first. He will most likely be easier to take out because his attention has been divided."}
"First, the mercenary goes. He's distracted by two enemies and has probably used up more energy." Sarge surmised.
York was once again impressed. That was actually a pretty good, all-around strategy.
"Acabo de mierda dije eso!" {"I just fucking said that!"}
"Quiet, Lopez! We need to strike while we still have the element of surprise." Sarge told his creation.
"Maldita sea." {"Goddamn it."}
Sarge raced forward, shooting in the direction of Locus as he turned to strike out at the two other soldiers he was fighting against with a combat knife. He looked to be trying to aim it directly in-between Tex's shoulder blades while she was punching Carolina right after the two had sent Locus sprawling to the ground earlier. Sarge's team and York moved in after him.
Donut yelled "Fire in the hole!" as he lobbed a grenade in the mercenary's direction. "Hey," he said after a few minutes, joyful realization creeping into his voice, "I guess that can apply to fights too!"
York shook his head and Sarge sighed, "Son, do we have to go over what we'd talked about before again?"
Locus glanced at the grenade, which had landed only a few centimeters from his head on the wall directly behind him. He moved quickly, almost with a feline's agility, rolling out of the way of a majority of the subsequent blast mere seconds later. He patted out the flames that had managed to strike his arm still disinterestedly and with no sense of any immediate urgency.
Well, that's not disconcerting at all. York frowned at the sight, aiming his gun at the other man. Nearby he could see Lopez and Sarge doing the same.
"That aim wasn't bad." Locus glanced over at the new Resistance fighters who had joined the fray once the last bit of smoke dissipated from his armor. Seemingly nonplussed that all of their weapons were drawn on him now.
"Reinforcements," he focused on the tan-armored fighter in their midst, seemingly recognizing him despite how York hadn't known about him until he'd heard Kimball talking about Locus earlier, "And another traitor Freelancer as well."
"York." Someone else, whom he was very familiar with on the other hand, said his name just then. He wasn't sure what to make of the fact that there didn't seem to be any kind of emotion attached to it.
He grinned sheepishly in response, despite knowing how she wouldn't be able to see it. One hand rubbing the back of his helmet subconsciously before he could stop himself, "Hey, Carolina. Long time no see."
She said nothing and he had no idea what he should do next. He wanted to do lots of things, really. But most of them he imagined would probably end up with him getting knocked out cold unless they really had a chance to talk. …Even then it wasn't like his chances of that not happening would probably improve too much.
Locus used the distraction of their exchange to activate his camouflage. Apparently having six fighters to do deal with all at once was something he wasn't as keen on from a tactical stance. The mercenary disappeared from view completely.
"Fuck!" Tex was moving past all of them to the closest tunnel nearby, probably hoping that she could catch up to the asshole before he got away.
Only seconds after Tex had vanished through it after him, there was a blur moving quickly past York and a scuffle that lasted way too quickly for comfort. Sarge and the others were out cold and York was facing an unreadable Carolina staring at him farther away than she had been before, hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Holy shit, she's not holding back today.
York swallowed, not sure what to make out of why he wasn't on the ground yet too and knowing that could change in a matter of seconds given how quickly she was capable of moving. Even if York did try to put up a fight, which he would if he had to even if he didn't want to do it at all, he also knew from past experience that it would most likely end with him out cold like the others. Exactly as it had happened on the Mother of Invention.
"So you're working for the Resistance now too." Carolina turned her entire focus on him, her tone cold: "With her."
York still remembered how their last meeting face-to-face had gone down. He was desperate to avoid a repeat of it even though he knew that probably wasn't going to happen.
Which wasn't fair, really. Especially since there was so much he needed to say still.
"Carolina, you know that what the military's been doing down here is wrong." He tried reasoning, really hoping that the sense of déjà vu he was getting wouldn't play out completely this time, "That something strange is happening with the project."
She said nothing, but at least she wasn't pummeling him senseless. That edged him on, made him a bit more confident that maybe this time she might be willing to listen to him.
"You almost died because of it!" he stepped forward, trying to close the distance between them.
It had become a virtual chasm over the years since they'd first met. The separation and defection certainly didn't help, but he knew a part of her was listening, at least. If he could get through to that part of her, maybe things could start to change.
"What happened to you, to Maine, to Wash! You know none of it had to happen!"
There was a sharp pain in his gut before he even took another step. He was doubled over with Carolina's fist slammed upwards into his abdomen. Even with his armor on, he could taste blood in his mouth.
She was definitely not pulling her punches today. Then again, and he couldn't help but smile sadly despite how much it fucking hurt, when had she ever?
"I know that, York." She was tilting her head to talk closer to his ear, his body almost close to collapsing on top of her due to the incapacitating blow. The emotion in her voice was hard to define, "We've both just chosen differently how to deal with it."
She removed her fist and he slumped over onto the ground, wheezing and seeing stars in his one good eye. Confused as all hell by her remark.
"W—what does that mean?" he managed to gasp out, though it was a struggle to not want to pass out on the floor right there. Or vomit, which would be a decidedly bad thing to do with a helmet still on. He recalled them once teasing Washington about the regulation systems of the armor when it came to a person getting sick and somehow that memory made everything hurt even worse. He really didn't want to test it himself either.
"Stay alive and you'll find out eventually, York."
He could almost swear when she said that that her voice sounded similar to when they had first met, when the pretty girl in the club had teased him by snatching away his lighter. Had the punch somehow addled his brain and made him prone to wishful thinking? Or was there something more to what she was talking about that he couldn't figure out yet?
A flicker of green appeared at Carolina's shoulder as she watched him trying to remain conscious and his good eye widened at the sight.
"Hello, York." Delta's calm voice, one he hadn't expected to hear again, filtered familiarly to his ears, "It's good to see you, though I regret it is not under better circumstances."
"D—D, what the fuck?" York blinked his vision admittedly still very spotty, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He glanced at Carolina questioningly, "Why...is D with you?"
"Agent Carolina is—"
"That's enough, Delta." She cut him off before his former partner could say anything else, "We need to get moving if we're to catch up with the transport."
Her voice turned venomous at the next part and he could just imagine her green eyes darkening in anger, "I need to have a word with the Council on their choice of a mercenary."
"Of course." Delta flickered and turned to York again, nodding slightly, "I hope we will be able to meet again."
"Wait—" there was so much York wanted to say to both of them. But the force of his outburst caused his weakened form to fall forward onto the ground completely as the A.I. Fragment that had once been his partner and later on, begrudgingly, friend, disappeared from sight once more.
With no small effort, he moved his head so that he wasn't lying face-down on the ground, staring sideways up at Carolina who was still looking down on him. Her body language unreadable.
Had she shown him Delta on purpose? Did she want him to know that she had his partner? That he was okay?
Why did she even have him in the first place? York had been certain that once their implantations had been removed, the Director wouldn't let anyone use his and North's partners again given what had happened. He'd always felt horribly guilty over that. He couldn't even bring it up with North at all.
"C—Carolina…"
She turned to leave then, apparently convinced he wasn't going to be getting up to move after her anytime soon. Only stopping once to say over her shoulder without turning back in a quieter voice, "It…was good to see you again, York." A pause, and then that almost hesitant train of thought was followed with a steel-edged: "Just don't try to get in my way anymore."
With that she disappeared and he was still trying to figure out how to get back up on his feet again, more questions floating through his head than answers now. A sinking feeling growing in his chest that he could very easily lose two people he still cared a hell of a lot more for than he'd ever want to admit before they had really ever had the chance to reconnect properly again.
"Si alguien no repara mi cuerpo pronto, voy a estar enojado." {"If someone doesn't repair my body soon, I'm going to be pissed."}
Lopez's severed mechanical head was still twittering incomprehensibly a few meters away, but York had just as good an idea of what he was saying as he did about whatever Carolina was up to... Which made him feel even more sick and out of sorts.
Damn it.
"Jesus, what the hell happened to you?"
Tucker winced at the unknown voice forcing him awake. He could just barely make out a blurry form in steel (he was kind of sick of that armor color by this point) and orange hovering over him. It was jumbled together with a whole lot of other blurry spots in his vision.
He probably should be wary since he didn't remotely recognize the guy, but his brain was in no mood for that level of clarity yet.
"A gunfight, a tunnel collapse, and an asshole. In that order." Tucker managed to groan out, trying to sit up again.
Granted, the asshole had kind of been interspersed in there a whole lot more before this incident even occurred but he really didn't see the point in telling all of that to a total stranger.
The steel and orange figure was hovering over him almost immediately, pressing gloved hands on his shoulders to keep Tucker from moving around too quickly, "Hey, now, better take it easy. It looks like your head in particular's taken a beating."
Yeah, doubly so because of Washington.
He was almost disappointed that the Freelancer hadn't stuck around in order for him to give him a piece of his mind and a punch to the face for good measure too... Just to see how the fucker liked it!
He didn't bother responding to the newcomer, trying instead to get the fogginess to clear from his mind and his vision to return to normal.
"You might have a concussion, which would make moving around too much a really bad idea." The stranger seemed to not pay attention to the fact that Tucker hadn't said anything. He probably figured he would have to acclimate himself now that he'd just woken up from unconsciousness.
Tucker was sort of surprised when he looked down to see his sword lying on the ground next to him. A frown formed on his face as he picked up the familiar item. He'd been sure, especially after the whole "knocking him out" incident, that Washington would have just kept the damn thing.
He was glad Washington hadn't as he very much preferred stabbing and swishing to firing a gun once he had gotten used to the energy weapon, but he wondered why.
After what Tex had told all of them earlier before Caboose had introduced them to Freckles, he had assumed most Above Ground military would be eager to get their hands on any kind of alien tech they came across.
Whatever. Doesn't make him any less of a dick.
Speaking of military and alien weaponry, the stranger who had found him was eyeing his sword with obvious interest once he'd realized what Tucker had picked up.
"Is that a—"
"It's mine." Tucker gripped it tightly and glared at him for added emphasis, "Let's just leave it at that."
"Okay, fair enough. Didn't mean for you to get all weirdly possessive over it." He shrugged and whistled slightly, still looking at the weapon in Tucker's hand intently, "Though alien energy swords are pretty rare."
The guy knew his weaponry and tech then. Now Tucker was even more cautious, since that pool of people was pretty limited.
The armored figure seemed to not pay attention to his suspicions though. Or maybe he noticed them and was just deciding to be nonchalant over it, hard to say: "You're a member of the Resistance, right?"
"Yeah." He shifted slightly to get a better look at the unknown person, "Who are you?"
"Felix." He slightly nodded his head in a way of greeting, "I'm a freelancer."
Tucker's sword was glowing brightly and was pointed at Felix's throat almost immediately following his introduction. The other man quickly held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, "Whoa, I didn't mean one of those Freelancers." He explained quickly, "I'm a mercenary. Hired for your side."
"Describe yourself that way first next time, damn it!" he winced and hoisted himself up by leaning against the wall, his body screaming in protest at the effort. Stupid fucking Washington and his twisted views on "returning favors"! Now his body ached worse than it did after the tunnel cave-in.
"Oh, right. Sorry. Those guys must be major pains in your asses, huh?" Felix's apology also held a note of amusement to it, which made Tucker sigh.
You have no fucking clue.
He was going to glare at him again for that, when what the mercenary had actually said moments before suddenly clicked in his head.
"Did you say your name was Felix?"
Another nod, "You've heard of me, huh? Not surprising. I am pretty good at what I do."
Wow, his smugness almost made Tucker's own look tame.
"Kimball was talking about you earlier." He recalled, "Was debating hiring you."
"She ended up making a good call in the end." Felix crossed his arms over his chest, posture almost thoughtful, "Though I can't say my first day is going too great."
Tucker couldn't stop himself from recalling another random thought related to the mercenary too, "Sarge was pretty against it."
"The crazy old military guy?" he seemed more amused by that than anything else, "I thought he might have been since he was always glaring at me when I met with Kimball. Hard to tell with the mumbling though. He kept ranting about orange for some reason."
Shit. That reminded Tucker of Grif and he sort of hated himself for bringing it up. Maybe he should get his head checked out like Washington had said, though it was certainly in worse condition now thanks to him.
He hoped the chubby asshole was okay.
"We should probably find someone to look at your head. Just in case you do actually have a concussion." Felix said matter-of-factly (holy shit, was he a mind reader?) as Tucker stopped leaning on the wall and moved away from it slowly, heading down the corridor that he and Washington had been traveling before on shakier steps than he'd like to admit.
He had a feeling he'd been out long enough that they wouldn't run into him or that Freelancer chick. Tucker couldn't tell if he was honestly more glad or disappointed.
"I'd like to find Kimball too." Felix was walking beside him then, glancing over to see about Tucker's progress but not trying to actively assist him. He was a hired gun, after all. Maybe just voicing a suggestion on what Tucker should do about his injury was the closest he'd come to being concerned over it. Or maybe he was just afraid offering to help would hurt Tucker's pride, "Maybe renegotiate some things in my contract."
Felix did seem to enjoy hearing himself talk. He wasn't sure who that reminded Tucker of, but it seemed strangely familiar to him all the same.
"That's fucking fine and dandy, but I also need to check in with my teammate."
"Why?" Felix regarded him curiously, "Are they injured too?"
He didn't sound too concerned, though he did turn his head slightly to peer around at the area they were in as if on the off-chance that maybe Tucker's teammate was close by.
Tucker's eyes narrowed, "No, I just need to tell him that all of his new friends are assholes."
The mercenary paused then, turning back to look at him once more at a loss. Tucker could tell he was looking at him questionably even though he couldn't see his face.
He continued on with his mumbling rant, oblivious to Felix's confusion, "The only one I can even stand at the moment is the killer robot and that's only because the fucking thing hasn't tried threatening my friends or shooting me. Yet."
The awkward pause lingered with Felix looking at Tucker who was staring determinedly ahead of him, and then looking anywhere else as if hoping to find clues as to what exactly the teal-armored fighter was going on about.
Finally, Felix gave up and sighed, "This…is going to be a weird as fuck group to work for, isn't it?"
Tucker shrugged indifferently, "You get used to it. Sort of."
"I'm definitely going to be renegotiating my contract now."
The doors to the infirmary opened and closed quickly, though Simmons didn't even bother looking up.
"Hey. How'd it go?" Church asked, standing next to the chair that the maroon soldier was currently occupying in the far corner of the examination room.
They had returned to Above Ground several hours ago, with Church being whisked off by a thoroughly perturbed Carolina to a briefing. Simmons had been somewhat thankful he didn't have to attend for once, given how aggravated she'd looked.
Sheila had been taken to get looked over in maintenance. Simmons had been brought to the infirmary onboard the Mother of Invention on the off-chance that he might have sustained possible injuries. Or that his cybernetics perhaps needed some tuning. Though he knew he hadn't been hurt in the slightest and that everything was working fine in regards to his enhancements thanks to his own diagnostics.
But he understood that it was just standard procedure, so he didn't argue the point. The doctors found out soon enough on their own that he was perfectly all right. He'd just been sitting here since then to try to collect his thoughts since the last several hours had become one big fucking blur.
"Fine. We weren't injured or anything." He was sort of surprised Church would even ask, raising an eyebrow in response and glancing over at his teammate, "What about you?"
"Oh, I'm fine." he brushed the question off uncaringly, "The doctors here never want to look me over for some reason."
"Probably due to your attitude." Simmons couldn't help but blurt out his joking comment before he could stop himself on the off-chance that Church might react negatively to it.
"Oh, shove it, nerd." Church's response was surprisingly mild and more joking himself. He took a seat in the chair next to Simmons, looking oddly pensive.
Not that Simmons couldn't understand why, or why Church seemed distracted in his own thoughts now. Things had happened so quickly after getting on the transport, after all. They hadn't really had a chance to talk or really reflect on anything since then.
"H—how did the briefing go?" he was almost afraid to ask, given the clouded look on Church's face.
But the goateed man surprised him once again by not snapping something volatile back as he usually would have.
Instead, he sighed in frustration, "Oh, it went great. Carolina's mad as all fuck, but not at any of us." His eyes narrowed on a spot on the other side of the room filled with medical equipment, "Apparently a whole lot of shit is going down we don't even know about."
"Oh." He blinked, not really sure he wanted to know more.
Then again, a large part of him did want to know more simply because they'd gotten directly involved in the whole mess as a result. Which wasn't fair to them at all. Or to Grif. Or to any of the other people who had been affected by it, really.
"And you know what? I can honestly say I don't want to know about whatever the fuck is going on." Church seemed to have the opposite reaction to the news than Simmons did. His voice had a level of vehemence to it that was rather surprising, "This whole damn situation is way too messed up as it is without knowing anything. Whoever said ignorance is bliss is a goddamned moron. I can only imagine how much worse actually knowing would be."
"You mean like with the Slums?" Simmons couldn't help but ask despite Church's rant, naturally curious and inquisitive as he was.
Church frowned but didn't yet rebuke him for having not dropped the subject, "Well, yeah, that's one big part of it." He said, "Freelancer too. And the Council."
"Do you—think that's maybe why Tex and the others defected?"
That was apparently the wrong thing to say because Church turned to glare at Simmons, causing the maroon soldier to instantly shut up and fight the urge to shoot himself in his own foot for not knowing when it would have been wiser to keep his mouth shut.
Tex definitely seemed to be one of those touchy subjects. Especially where Church was concerned.
"I wouldn't mention her in particular around here again. To me or to anyone else, really." His teammate advised, voice low and emphatic, "At all."
Right, probably a sore subject not only for him, but others here as well. Simmons was honestly curious about Church's past with Tex, but knew better than to bring it up again after that very obvious warning to drop the subject.
Once he seemed confident that Simmons wouldn't say anything else, Church's expression became slightly less severe and he looked away disinterestedly, "Anyway, thought I'd let you know that you don't have to write up a mission report or anything on this one. Carolina said so."
"Oh."
Church looked at him in amusement at how half-hearted his response had sounded, "Are you actually disappointed by that? Jesus, you are a nerd!"
Heat rushed up to the parts of his face that could still blush and Church snickered. Simmons' offended glare moments after only causing his black-haired teammate to let out a sharp burst of laughter instead.
He turned serious a couple minutes later though, regarding the still somewhat glowering Simmons carefully, "I figured you would have trouble writing one anyways." He said, the expression on his face indicating that he was unsure of how to approach this topic at all, "You know, on account of what happened."
Right. Grif.
Simmons had actually been rather grateful for how busy things had been since he hadn't had any time to dwell on that at all. The reminder sort of brought everything rushing back to him and he couldn't look Church in the eyes anymore.
He wished things could have gone differently, especially at the end there. Leaving when he had just been a stupid little kid had been hard enough, but that was nothing compared to how he felt as he was leaving then.
He was pretty sure that would be the last time he'd ever see his friend from the Slums again. Hopeful for it, really, given how much of a cluster fuck that had ended up becoming. Simmons wanted to apologize. To talk more. But, even more than that, he just wished he knew for certain if Grif had managed to get out of there okay.
If he hadn't… Simmons clenched his knees tightly with his hands, desperate for that train of thought to just go away.
"Thanks for—for helping. With that mercenary guy, I mean." Simmons managed to squeeze out in a shaky breath instead, "I owe you and Sheila both."
A shrug: "He was an asshole. No big deal."
Actually, it was a big fucking deal given what very probably would have happened if Carolina, and later on Tex, hadn't interfered. They both knew it too, but neither felt comfortable saying it out loud.
Church regarded him carefully, as if debating something in his head. Finally, he asked, "You wouldn't have been able to kill him anyways, would you?"
Definitely not.
It had been panic that had spurred Simmons to action then: fear for them and fear for the rebels too given what had been going on. He doubted very much that he would have ever been able to bring himself to pull the trigger on anyone. Least of all on Grif.
No, what was far more disconcerting was the fact that, despite knowing Above Ground policy on Slum dwellers and Resistance members, Simmons had still been tempted, had wanted to haul Grif up there with them. Without any thought on what his friend would have wanted on the matter too. The desire to do so had been inside Simmons even before the hostage situation had come into play, if he was honest. Hell, he'd sometimes debated it on occasion when he'd first come down there as a kid. Back when his self-appointed deadline to return to his family and military training had been up and he found that he hadn't wanted to really leave at all.
Losing Grif again had been that terrifying, that objectionable a thought that he'd very nearly lost any rationality in one particularly big moment of weakness.
He'd never felt that way before about anyone. It honestly scared the shit out of him if Simmons let himself dwell on it too much.
He didn't respond to Church, but the redness on the flesh and blood portions of his face and neck no doubt said it all for him.
Church surprised him by not insulting him or teasing him. Instead, he reached out and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. Clearly not that used to doling out comfort and probably hating the action as a result, "Look on the bright side. At least you aren't the mechanics right now who are probably confused as all fuck as to why Sheila keeps humming in Spanish!"
It was an awkward attempt at consoling, but Simmons was grateful for it all the same. He smiled weakly, not trusting his voice to talk just yet.
"He's probably fine, anyways." Church continued, figuring out that was probably what his worrywart of a teammate needed to hear.
"Y—yeah, you're right."
Simmons hoped so, at least.
A purple helmet peeked through the door just then, interrupting their conversation.
"Hey, guys. I just heard you got back!" Doc's tone was happy. Simmons figured he probably didn't even know the whole story about what had happened due to being so focused on his medic training, "Did you bring back any souvenirs?"
"For the love of—Doc, where would we pick up souvenirs in the goddamned mines?" Church rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"It isn't nice to typecast, Church." Doc reminded him gently, "Maybe someone wanted to set up a shop there for the ambience. You never know."
"I really hope your medic training is doing better than your perception of reality is." The man in cobalt armor sighed heavily, "Though I somehow doubt it."
"If you guys are feeling under the weather or happen to get shot, let me know! A little orange juice and aloe vera works wonders on pretty much everything!"
"So Locus is still being employed by the Council after all of that?" C.T.'s voice took on a disbelieving tone to the news she'd just heard.
Carolina nodded grimly, a very displeased look on her face, "Unfortunately. They consider him a valuable 'outside source' now that Project Freelancer is no longer as credible as it once was, apparently."
"But that's—"
"Drop it, C.T." her voice left no room for argument and the other Freelancer promptly closed her mouth.
This was not good. Not only was Locus just not someone one would want hanging around in general, but he was somehow onto her as well. Which meant that if he was hanging around, C.T. was liable to get caught eventually.
That would not be good for a myriad number of different reasons.
"If he steps even remotely out of line again where we're involved, it will be over." The leader of the Freelancers stated, her green eyes flashing in anger, "But at the moment he's smart enough to be hiding under their jurisdiction."
Strictly speaking, on the planet's surface, he was pretty much untouchable given how much influence the Council had.
She wasn't sure what to make of that.
When she said nothing, Carolina simply left without another word. She'd probably just believed that C.T. should know about the situation since she had been the other Freelancer involved in the dispute.
Which left C.T. with a lot of time in the lounge area to think.
Though ten minutes or so of that was more or less devoted to wishing that Tex had been able to find the bastard despite his camouflage and beat his ass.
But even Agent Texas, skilled as she was, wasn't perfect and Locus was far too good at fighting and knowing when to make himself scarce when he needed to from what all of the reports on him said.
After that, C.T. tried figuring out what the hell the Council had to gain in all of this. From the fake repair mission, to the rescue, to hiring a dangerous and not-all-that-stable mercenary like Locus in the first place.
They'd pulled out far too quickly to eradicate the Resistance entirely. While the rebel forces had sustained heavy losses regardless it was pretty much well-known due to their usual patterns that they'd simply move to another area of the mines and start the slow, probably painful process of rebuilding again and recovering from what had happened. They had always been exceptionally resilient like that. Especially after the split with the Insurrection and its tragic consequences had more or less forced them to become that way.
So it just didn't make any sense!
There had to be some sort of reason they had chosen to orchestrate this whole mess. The Council never did anything without reason. They usually were pretty methodical in their approach once they had decided on a course of action.
It was really just an issue of figuring out why at this point.
She sighed, frustrated at her lack of knowledge at the moment.
Maybe she should go talk to Simmons and his team. Ask about what exactly had happened when they found that the surveillance terminal they'd been sent to repair had been manually shut off instead of damaged like they'd initially believed.
She wanted to see how Simmons was doing in particular too. She'd been concerned about him due to how unresponsive and sickly pale he had looked before he'd been dragged off to the infirmary after he'd left his friend from the Resistance behind. She was fairly certain they had known each beforehand after seeing that last interaction. No doubt about it, really, though that had made that whole exchange rather hard to watch seeing how the younger man reacted to it.
"C.T. ."
Washington was standing in the doorway, dust and dirt still covering his armor. He had refused to say what had happened when she'd asked him about it earlier. Wyoming oddly enough had been rather silent on sharing what he'd done during the mission as well.
His helmet was off and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. He looked like he'd aged decades since they'd been next door neighbors growing up when he wore that expression in particular. Which he wore quite frequently now, she noticed. She missed the dorky smile and goofy laugh he'd had before. It was always rather painful to look him in the face these days.
David hadn't deserved whatever had happened to him during that surgery. She knew that much.
There was a light in his gray eyes as he regarded her and she couldn't quite read it. Reluctance, it looked like. And something else too. Frustration, maybe?
Though thinking that made her more than just a little unnerved.
Washington took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he appeared to be calmer than he had been only a few seconds before. Both his posture and voice were much more controlled.
"We need to talk."
Author's Notes: All right, the conclusion to that "story arc"! XD Haha, I am never going to try writing so much out before I start typing. That took forever. 0_0;
Anyways, I hope this final portion was an enjoyable read and the last few parts I did leave a little more "open-ended" on purpose since I have plans to go into what happens in them in a future portion of the story.
Next chapter will have the start of yet another time-skip and even more happenings and interactions! Don't worry though, I have some reunion plans already in the works too so they'll be happening a lot earlier on in the plot. :)
Thank you for reading, as always.
EDIT: Sorry, my beta and I were rushing to get this chapter up so I have gone through and edited it again now. :)